Deepwater's Daughter

By Andrew Hunter

When Ysara first came aboard the strange airship of the goat-like satyrs, she never dreamed that she would be swept away on an adventure into the wild jungles of Neshat. Fortunately, the serpent girl was born in that savage land, and perhaps that is why the mysterious satyrs have chosen to kidnap her!
Now, the young healer finds herself acting as a replacement for the ship’s doctor, lost in an accident that no one aboard the airship wants to talk about. Together with a fox-kin mage and a mouse girl who likes to blow things up, Ysara must learn the secret of the satyrs’ quest, and try to keep everyone alive in the process.
Maybe Ysara can convince that cute satyr boy to let her in on the captain’s plans?
(This story takes place in the world of The Songreaver’s Tale fantasy series and further explores this magical realm)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Hunter
• Release date: Mar 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463380734

Andrew Hunter

Andrew Hunter is Managing Editor of Microsoft's MSN.

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Deepwater's Daughter

By Andrew Hunter

Copyright 2020 Andrew Hunter

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Chapter One

Have you ever been aboard an airship before? the satyr asked. The clop of his black hooves on the gangplank drew Ysara’s eyes downward, the very direction she’d been trying not to look.

Me? she answered, her voice little more than a squeak as she choked back her fear of the yawning gulf beneath the narrow walkway, No… never!

Are you all right? the satyr boy asked, looking back with concern in his honey-colored eyes. The faintest hint of a smile teased at the corner of his thin, rather serious-looking lips.

Ysara looked down again and realized she had stopped moving. Her long, serpentine tail simply refused to propel her an inch further across the bridge of rope-bound wooden slats that tethered the great balloon-ship to the city’s only mooring tower. Orange light from the airship’s gas-lamps played across the cloud-dampened gangplank, and the night wind imparted a sickening sway to everything around her.

I… Ysara gasped, trying to master her fear. She clutched her medicine staff and leather satchel tightly to her chest, feeling the bite of the wind through her patched brown cloak and faded olive tunic. Naga don’t usually go up this high, she admitted at last.

You get used to it, the satyr chuckled, Take my hand. As he reached toward her, the jacket of his black uniform opened to reveal the crimson shirt he wore beneath, and this too parted slightly at the throat to reveal a patch of downy white that contrasted sharply with the sleek gray fur that covered his face, hands, and his goat-like legs beneath his knee-cropped sailor’s trousers.

Come on, he said, I won’t let you fall.

Ysara pulled her gaze away from the satyr’s throat to find her hand already in his grasp, though she did not recall reaching out to him. His fingers felt very warm, and surprisingly un-calloused.

"Soft," she thought aloud.

What? he asked.

Nothing! she murmured, willing her tail into motion again. With a few convolutions of her serpent-like lower body, Ysara made it across the gangplank to the relative safety of the airship’s deck.

Ysara looked up at the bulging mass of rope-bound canvas that blotted out the night sky above her. She understood the concept of balloons, but, until tonight, she had never dreamed that she would ever see one large enough to support an entire warship beneath it.

Master Geffen, a white-haired satyr barked as he clopped across the deck toward them on splayed hooves. His hunched shoulders rolled with the gentle sway of the deck, and his long, spiraling horns bobbed with each step.

Lieutenant Mangle! the young satyr replied, quickly releasing Ysara’s hand to bring his fist up over his heart.

The old satyr returned the salute, his narrowed eyes turning on the naga girl now. His scowl revealed his crooked, yellow lower teeth and his upper front gums, stained nearly black. What’s this then? he demanded, and Ysara flinched at the syrupy stink of redweed on the lieutenant’s breath.

"The physician the captain requested," the young satyr replied, his voice strangely tense.

Ysara gave him a curious look. She thought about correcting him, but then physician seemed a rather sophisticated title compared to woodwitch, potioneer, leech-wife, or any of the other, less-savory, titles she’d earned for her service to the people of Brahmel.

Put her on the scale, Lieutenant Mangle sighed, waving his hand toward a brass-topped platform affixed to the deck nearby.

"What?" Ysara demanded, her coppery eyes gone wide.

I’m sorry, Geffen said with an apologetic wince, Everyone coming aboard has to…

"I know the weight of everyone and every thing aboard the Black Rose, Mangle interrupted, Everything except you and your gear! He jabbed a thick, furry finger at Ysara’s chest and then thrust it toward the brass platform. Get on!"

Ysara gave the old goat man a hard look as she slithered over to the device. She shivered at the icy chill of the brass beneath her tail, and felt the platform sink slightly beneath her weight as she coiled her body atop it.

Mangle grimaced at a swinging needle atop a nearby gauge. You need all that gear? he grunted, gesturing toward Ysara’s satchel.

"A… physician isn’t much use without her supplies!" Ysara hissed back.

What about that stick? the old satyr demanded.

Ysara tightened her grip around her carved mahogany staff, her eyes going to the graven head of the River Spirit that topped it. It’s mine! she cried.

Am I now? the carven head of the great water serpent almost seemed to whisper back, her scaled lips curved in perpetual amusement.

I’m sure it doesn’t weigh very much, Geffen said, his amber eyes friendly and warm as he smiled at Ysara. His eyes were very pretty, after all, Ysara had decided.

Fine! Mangle huffed, pulling a charcoal pencil from one pocket of his black coat and a small canvas-bound notebook from another, What do you call yourself? he asked, squinting at the snake girl.

Ysara, she answered.

Anything else? he sighed.

"The… physician?" she offered.

"Any other name? he prompted, House? Family? Anything?"

Moon Dancing on the Waters of my Heart, her mother’s voice answered from the silent depths of Ysara’s soul.

Just Ysara, the naga girl said quietly.

Lieutenant Mangle grunted and made a few scratches in his notebook before snapping it shut and stuffing it back into his pocket. Captain’s down in sick bay, he said to Geffen, Best not keep her waitin’!

Aye, sir, the young satyr answered, beckoning for Ysara to follow him.

Ysara slipped off the brass scale with a disgusted flick of her tail and followed the young satyr toward one of the many open hatches in the long, slope-walled structure that ran fore to aft along the spine of the deck.

Mind the lip, Geffen warned, his hand on Ysara’s shoulder.

She smiled at him as she shifted her coils over the rim of the hatch, moving into the shadow of the ship’s interior. The night wind through the rigging made a mournful sigh, drawing her attention back toward the dark spires of the city behind her. Those slender towers had seemed to reach all the way to the sky the first time she had seen them from the southern road. Now they seemed no taller than the trees that lined the river of her birth.

A little thrill of fear stirred Ysara’s heart, a sense of being up too high, of being beyond the reach of the earth and water and everything she knew. The sky was no place for a river naga.

Are you all right? Geffen asked.

Yes, she said, moving into the passageway to let the boy step through the hatch as well.

Geffen smiled again as he squeezed into the narrow passageway beside her, and she smiled back, almost nose to nose with him now.

This way, he said, pointing down the hall and then taking the lead. Small glass discs, set into the low ceiling of the hall let light in from the lamps on the deck above, and they walked together through the dim beams that striped the corridor.

Geffen’s little tuft of a tail waggled as he walked, just peeking out from beneath the hem of his jacket, and Ysara giggled at the sight of it.

Something funny? he asked over his shoulder.

Oh, no! Ysara said, clearing her throat, I guess I’m just a little dizzy still.

You’ll get used to it, he assured her.

They reached a flight of steps leading further down into the hull, and Ysara followed him down, twisting her coils to descend each step in turn while Geffen waited patiently at the bottom.

He reached out his hand again, and she gratefully took it.

I would have thought a ship this size would have had its own physician, Ysara said, letting the satyr boy lead her by the hand down another, shorter corridor, lit with a single glass lamp.

Geffen hesitated a second before answering, We did… but we lost him.

Lost him? she asked.

Killed, Geffen said.

Was there an accident?

Geffen looked back at her and then looked away. His fingers fidgeted a little against her palm. Yes, he said, an accident.

I’m sorry, Ysara said.

Here we are, Geffen said, sounding a little relieved as they reached a closed hatchway. He rapped lightly on the circular wooden portal and waited for an answer.

Come, a woman’s voice spoke from within.

Geffen released Ysara’s hand to work the lever that unbolted the cabin’s door and then pushed it open.

The scent of mold and rot washed over Ysara, stinging her eyes and stirring old memories… bad memories.

Don’t be afraid, Geffen said, though his eyes told a different story as he motioned for Ysara to follow him inside the sick bay.

Ysara put her hand over her nose as she coiled through the hatch and saw the room’s occupants.

A female satyr, wearing a black coat with gold trim, sat on a chair beside the only occupied bunk in the well-lit chamber. Her gray-shot fur looked to have been a fiery shade of auburn at some point in the past. Her slightly curved horns sported twin golden caps, and she wore a ruby pendant at the throat of her white cravat. Her white-gloved hands rested on the brass scabbard of the saber that lay across her knees, and her coal-black eyes glared suspiciously at Ysara from beneath her furrowed brows.

The satyr in the bunk beside her more resembled something out of Ysara’s nightmares. Bulbous yellow growths of fungal polyps dotted his tangled brown fur, and both his eyes were swollen shut beneath a foul mass of pinkish flesh that had covered most of his head.

Captain, Geffen said, his voice tinged with fear as he looked at his diseased comrade, this is the physician you sent me to find.

The captain got to her hooves, shifting the sword to her hip as she took stock of the trembling naga girl.

Ysara, Geffen said, "this is Captain Okasie. She sent me to find someone who could help with… with this." He gestured toward the fungus-riddled satyr on the bed.

Have you seen anything like this before? Captain Okasie demanded.

Ysara nodded.

Can you treat it? the captain asked.

Ysara looked at the thing on the bed and nodded again.

The captain’s shoulders sank a little as a tiny bit of tension drained from her body.

You know what this is? Geffen asked, looking at Ysara.

Bogrot, Ysara answered, though I’ve never seen a case this bad… and never beyond the jungles of my homeland.

You are a Neshite? Captain Okasie asked.

Yes, ma’am… captain, Ysara said.

Then treat him, the captain said, nodding toward the bed.

Ysara shook herself from the spell of horror and moved her medicine staff to the crook of her arm as she began to dig through her satchel. At last she found what she was looking for and drew out a dark brown bottle, gauging its contents with a slosh. She breathed a sigh of relief to find it nearly full.

What is that? Captain Okasie asked.

Tincture of Phaeselin, Ysara said, slithering closer to the satyr on the bed.

And that is all you’ll need to treat this infection? Okasie asked.

Yes, captain, Ysara said, working open the bottle’s stopper.

And that’s something that can be purchased locally? Geffen asked.

Yes, I got this at the market. It isn’t very expensive, Ysara said absently as she thumbed open one of the patient’s eyes. The satyr’s golden iris dilated in the light. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Is he going to be all right? Geffen asked.

I believe so, Ysara said, but you’re lucky this hasn’t begun to spore yet. The whole crew might have become infected, if you’d breathed the spores.

Captain Okasie gave a disgusted snort.

How much time do you need to treat him? the captain asked.

Not long, Ysara said, dabbing some of the tincture onto her thumb, but I could use a bit of silence for a few moments.

Silence? Captain Okasie scoffed.

Ysara looked back at her and nodded. I must… concentrate… for the treatment to work properly, she said.

Is that what you call praying these days, child? the voice of the River Spirit chuckled in Ysara’s mind.

We will give you a moment alone then, Captain Okasie said, looking a bit dubious.

Thank you, Ysara said as she watched the two healthy satyrs step outside.

The latch closed and the naga girl turned her attention back to her patient.

Where did you get a case of bogrot? she asked, but the sick satyr only moaned in response.

He moaned louder when she rubbed the tincture directly against his eyeball. A scent like burning sage filled the room as she repeated the process on his other eye.

She wiped her fingers clean on the spell-woven sterile cloth her mother had given her and then tucked that relic safely back inside her satchel along with the bottle of tincture.

Are you ready? the River Spirit’s voice whispered in her thoughts.

Ysara sighed as she drew her tail into a tight coil around the base of her staff, gripping its wood in both hands. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head.

Blessed Mother of Living Waters… Ysara thought.

Are you ashamed to speak the words, child? the spirit whispered back.

Blessed Mother of Living Waters, Ysara repeated, aloud this time, flow through me, your servant… hear my call and answer. Heal the sick and wounded. Flow through me as you flow through the great river, touching all… bringing life wherever you touch…

The medicine staff grew warmer in Ysara’s grip, and a sense of peace settled upon her.

Touch this child of earth and water. Touch him and draw out the poison and pain which afflicts him… Please, oh Mother of Many Waters, hear my prayer… Hear my prayer and answer!

Ysara felt a sensation like warm waters pouring over her skin, washing away her doubts and fears, and she smiled.

The satyr on the bed groaned, and Ysara opened her eyes to look.

She gasped.

The pinkish mass on the satyr’s head deflated as she watched, and the pale polyps that covered his fur shriveled into grayish husks.

Ysara had never seen such a rapid change in one of her patients before.

By the time she relaxed her grip on the staff and shifted her coils away from the bedside, the unconscious satyr had lapsed into a quiet slumber, with the mottled reminders of his previous, hideous condition little more than dry flakes of mold on his brown fur.

That wasn’t so difficult was it? the River Spirit’s voice asked in amusement. The serpent head carving atop Ysara’s staff