Training with Gost
1238 Words
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I raised my hand.
The water rose with it.
It wasn’t a wave. It wasn’t a splash. It was a wall. Smooth, dark, and silent. Ten feet high, maybe more. The surface of it rippled like it was breathing. Cold air rolled off it and bit my skin.
Kazeem didn’t say anything. He just watched.
I could feel it. The water wasn’t separate from me anymore. It was like it was an extra limb I’d forgotten I had. Heavy, yes. But obedient.
“Hold it,” Kazeem said quietly.
I held it. My arm shook. My head pounded like I’d been running for hours. But I didn’t let go.
For ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
The lagoon was still. The boats at the shore didn’t move. Even the wind seemed to stop. It was just me, the water, and the sound of my own breathing.
“Good,” Kazeem said. “Now let it go. Slowly.”
I lowered my hand.
The wall of water collapsed back into the lagoon with a sound like thunder rolling through the sky. The ground shook. Water sprayed up and soaked us both.
I staggered back, gasping. My legs felt like jelly.
Kazeem caught my arm before I hit the ground. “You’re ready,” he said.
“For what?” I asked, wiping water from my eyes.
“For them.”
Before I could ask who, the water at my feet rippled.
Not from me.
The ripples came from deeper out in the lagoon. Circles spreading fast, cutting across the surface like something huge was moving underneath.
Kazeem’s face went hard. “Run.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
We turned and ran back toward the path. My legs burned, but I didn’t stop. Behind us, the water started to churn.
“Don’t look back,” Kazeem said.
I looked back.
Bad idea.
Three shapes were rising from the lagoon. Tall, thin, skin the color of dirty floodwater. No faces. Just holes where eyes should be. Drifters. But these ones were bigger. Faster. And they weren’t alone.
“They found us,” Kazeem muttered.
“How?” I said, panting.
“Because you just pulled half the lagoon into the air, Ada. You’re loud now.”
Great.
The first drifter hit the shore with a sound like a wave crashing. It didn’t run. It slid. Its body stretching and reforming as it moved, water dripping off it in thick ropes.
“Get behind me,” Kazeem said.
I didn’t argue.
Kazeem stepped forward and slammed his hands together. Water from the lagoon shot up and wrapped around the drifter’s legs, pulling it down. It screamed. That same sound from the canal. Like pipes bursting.
“Go!” Kazeem shouted. “To the boathouse!”
I ran.
The boathouse was old, wooden, half-rotten. It smelled like mold and old rope. I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the bolt across.
It wouldn’t hold. Not against that.
Kazeem came in a second later, breathing hard. “Barricade it,” he said.
I grabbed a broken oar and wedged it under the door handle.
The door shook.
“Talk,” I said. “Why are they here? Why now?”
“Because you used too much power too fast,” Kazeem said, pulling a knife from his boot. “The Bloodline leaves a trail. The stronger you get, the brighter it burns. Drifters can smell it.”
“So what now? We fight three of them in a rotting shed?”
“No,” Kazeem said. “We don’t fight them. We lose them.”
The door splintered. Water started seeping through the cracks.
Kazeem grabbed my arm and dragged me to the back of the boathouse. There was a trapdoor in the floor, half-hidden under old netting.
“Down,” he said.
I pulled it open. Dark. Smelled like stagnant water and rust.
I didn’t hesitate. I climbed down.
Kazeem followed and pulled the trapdoor shut above us.
We were in a tunnel. Narrow, wet, and low. The air was thick and heavy.
“What is this place?” I whispered.
“Old drainage tunnel,” Kazeem said. “Leads under the market. If we’re quiet, we can lose them.”
We moved fast but quiet. Water came up to my ankles. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it.
Behind us, we heard it. The sound of wood splintering. The drifters were in the boathouse.
“Keep moving,” Kazeem said.
We turned a corner.
And stopped.
The tunnel was blocked. A collapsed section of concrete and twisted metal. No way through.
Kazeem cursed under his breath.
“They’re coming,” I said.
I could hear them now. Sliding. Dragging. Getting closer.
Kazeem grabbed my shoulders. “Listen to me. You have to push them back. Use the water in the tunnel. All of it.”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” he said. “You did it with the lagoon. You can do it here. Focus. Feel it. Command it.”
I closed my eyes.
The water in the tunnel was cold. Stagnant. Dirty. But it was water. And it answered.
I felt it under my skin. That pull. That second heartbeat.
I raised my hands.
The water rose with them.
It filled the tunnel behind us, a wall of dark, filthy water. The drifters hit it and stopped.
They screamed.
I pushed.
The wall surged forward, slamming into them, crushing them against the collapsed concrete.
The tunnel shook.
Debris fell from the ceiling.
“Go!” Kazeem grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.
We ran.
The tunnel was collapsing behind us. Water and concrete and drifters all mixing into one screaming mess.
We didn’t stop until we burst out into a storm drain under the market.
The air was better here. Cleaner.
I dropped to my knees, gasping. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.
Kazeem crouched next to me. “You did it,” he said.
“I killed them,” I said.
“You stopped them,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I looked up at him. “Are there more?”
Kazeem’s face was grim. “Always. But not today.”
We sat there for a long time, listening to the water drip.
Finally, I asked, “Why me? Why now?”
Kazeem sighed. “The Bloodline has been quiet for years. Too quiet. People thought it was gone. But it’s waking up. All over Lagos. And you… you’re the strongest signal I’ve felt in a decade.”
“So what? I’m some kind of beacon?”
“Yeah,” Kazeem said. “A beacon. And a target.”
I leaned back against the cold concrete wall. “Great. Just great.”
Kazeem smiled, small and tired. “Welcome to the Bloodline, Ada.”
I didn’t sleep well that night.
When I did, I dreamed of the lagoon again. But this time, it wasn’t alone.
Dozens of lights moved beneath the surface. Dozens of voices whispered my name.
“Ada.”
“Ada.”
“Ada.”
I woke up at 3 AM with my hands pressed against my bedroom wall. The paint was peeling. Water was seeping through from somewhere.
I pulled my hands back like I’d been burned.
The Bloodline wasn’t quiet anymore.
And neither was I.
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- Writer
