THE RIVER THAT TOOK MY SISTER

Chapter 4

The Maw

The fall ended with a bone-shattering impact.

Clara was thrown from her disintegrating canoe, hitting a deep, churning pool of water that drove the air from her lungs. She spun in the darkness, fighting her way to the surface until her head broke through, gasping for breath.

She was inside a colossal, subterranean cavern. The ceiling was lost in a shroud of black mist, but the walls were made of weeping limestone, glowing with a fierce, phosphorescent blue fire. In the center of this massive chamber, the entire volume of the Blackwood River converged into a sixty-yard-wide, roaring whirlpool—The Maw.

The vacuum of the vortex was immense, pulling everything toward its center. Clara clawed at the slippery rock face, finding a narrow ledge to anchor herself against the terrifying suction.

At the absolute center of the whirlpool, untouched by the spray, sat a throne of ancient driftwood and human bone.

Occupying the throne was the River King.

He was a terrifying elemental entity, standing nine feet tall. His body was a fluid, shifting construct of dark water, rotting river-weed, and jagged river-stones. His face was a featureless mask of shifting currents, except for two burning points of pale blue fire that served as his eyes.

Suspended in a sphere of perfectly still, pressurized water beside his throne was Maeve. Her eyes were closed, her long hair floating around her head like a halo. She was pale, but her chest was still moving in a slow, unnatural rhythm.

The King’s eyes locked onto Clara, and a sound like grinding boulders echoed through the cavern.

"YOU HAVE DEFIED THE GROVE. YOU HAVE SHATTERED THE GLASS. WHY DO YOU TREAD IN THE HOUSE OF THE TAKEN, LITTLE INSECT?"

Clara swallowed the lump of terror in her throat, her fingers white as she held onto the rock ledge. "I came for my sister," she shouted over the roar of the water.

The King let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated the stones beneath her. "THE RIVER DOES NOT RETURN WHAT IT CLAIMS. THE BALANCE MUST BE KEPT. A SOUL FOR A SOUL."

"Then take mine," Clara cried out, her voice echoing off the limestone walls. "Take me instead. I am older, stronger. My soul is bitter with grief and anger—it will feed your current longer than her light ever could. Let her go, and I will take her place in the ledger."

The River King tilted his massive, liquid head, intrigued by the transaction. "AN EXCHANGE. A WILLING SACRIFICE. THE OLD LAW LONGS FOR SUCH TRIBUTE."

The water beneath Clara surged, lifting her body from the ledge and depositing her onto the slick, central platform of driftwood before the throne. The King reached out a long, branch-like arm of dark water. His liquid fingers pressed directly against Clara’s chest.

Instantly, a freezing, paralyzing numbness flooded her body. She felt her warm blood slowing, the river trying to drain her life force and replace it with brackish silt. Her vision began to dim, the pale blue fire of the cavern fading into gray.

But Clara had kept her right hand hidden beneath her oilskin coat.

As the King focused on draining her soul, Clara summoned the absolute last of her physical strength. She brought her right hand forward, holding the corroded iron spike—still heavily coated in the black, toxic sap of the parasitic orchard.

With a final, desperate scream, she drove the poisoned iron spike directly into the King’s liquid elbow, where his arm joined his torso.

The reaction was catastrophic.

The parasitic sap, a concentration of stagnant death and rot, acted as an immediate, fast-acting venom to the elemental deity. The King’s liquid form began to boil and turn into muddy, brown sludge. The pale blue fire in his eyes sputtered and died.

The entire metaphysical structure of the cavern began to buckle. The River King let out a final, deafening roar of agony as his body dissolved into an inert mass of mud and sticks, collapsing into the whirlpool.

With the administrator of the law destroyed, the subterranean springs exploded upward. The pressure in the cavern inverted, creating a massive, violent geyser of water that erupted toward the ceiling.

Clara felt herself being lifted by the rushing torrent, her arm locking around the limp, floating body of Maeve as the world dissolved into an explosion of white water and breaking stone.