Read Tales of Noreela 04: The Island for Free Online

Either way, right then she agreed with him. It was a time when it felt better to trust their own two feet.
    Buildings blocked their view of the valley for a while, the path they followed winding between old stone walls and newer timber structures. They passed a few people coming the other way, up from the valley, and all of them had a haunted look in their eyes. One woman was bleeding from a terrible head wound, but when Kel reached out to stop her she lashed out, knocking his hand aside, determined to walk on.
    “Wait!” Namior said. With time and a chant she could stem the bleeding and heal the wound. But when Kel tried to stop the woman again, she panicked and pushed him away.
    Namior went to go after her. “Wait, I can—”
    “At least she’s walking,” Kel said. “There’ll be many more who can’t.”
    “Yes,” said Namior, watching the woman’s back as she staggered away. And the impact of what had happened really struck her then. She could hear the steady roar of the receding waters, the grind of the village’s ruins scouring the land as the surge carried it away, and she thought of all the people who would not be with them anymore. There would be wraiths to chant down, if the village Mourner was even still alive, and bodies to collect, and …
    “Namior?” Kel said.
    She looked at him, eyes blurring with tears.
    “We should go. Your mother.”
    “My mother.”
She saw this
, Namior thought. “She knew something was wrong.”
    “Nothing could have been done,” Kel said. “It’s just nature.”
    “Just nature.” Namior nodded.
    Kel came to her and folded his arms around her, holding her tight. She thought that if he hugged her hard enough, maybe she would not be able to hear the flowing water, smell the scent of sea mist in the air or taste salt on her tongue like spilled blood. But she was wrong.
    THE AIR WAS heavy with mist and tasted of the sea. It was a taste that Kel had never become used to—exotic, distant, alien. He had been born and bred in Noreela City, and he had almost died there. Though he had been in Pavmouth Breaks for over five years, still it felt like a retreat, not a home. He was a visitor. He’d started to believe he always would be.
    The buildings on their left opened up, only a short wall bounding the street, and Kel looked over, down at the harbor and the surrounding area. He realized with a shock that there should have been a house blocking his view, but it had gone. The ground it had been built on was washed away, leaving a sheer drop beyond the wall of at least twenty steps. If he fell, the mud would suck him down and drown him.
    Namior gasped behind him, pressing back against the building across the street.
    Kel backed away from the wall. Its footing had been exposed, and the slightest touch could send it tumbling. He looked across the ruined village at Drakeman’s Hill; a section of its lower slope had also been washed away, a dark wound in the land. As he watched, a two-story stone house slid gracefully down into the swollen river, maintaining its integrity until the rushing waters took it apart. He hoped no one had remained inside.
    Namior nudged him, nodding along the street. A machinestood there, stubby legs shaking slightly as though balancing against a tremor. There was a wide, deep dent in its side. The metal shell was scored, part of its stone interior crumbled, and a spread of flesh that connected the two was hanging loose, dripping blood and gore to the wet cobbles. It keened—a high, pained sound.
    Namior rushed to the machine and placed her hands against its metallic carapace.
    “Your family!” Kel said. He was not surprised at her concern for the machine. It was in magic’s control, after all, and he sometimes thought of Namior as a slave to magic.
    “It’s damaged,” Namior said.
    “It can stay damaged. Practitioners will fix it. We should check on your mother and great-grandmother, then …”
    “And then down there?” Namior stepped away