Ava
Water poured into her throat with the violence of a burning fist and instinctively the teen girl struggled against the icy embrace of the winter river that pulled her downwards. Swirling dark water confused her vision and leadened her limbs. Above her, in the midnight sky a storm raged, hurling punitive winds across the land and sea.
Three minutes, she thought to herself with growing horror. At most, she had three minutes left to live if she could not break the surface of the maddening fluid around her. In that moment, the clarity of her mortal peril struck her heart like an arrow. Her lungs screamed for release and her mind crystallized around her desperate desire to survive.
She felt blind.
Was the water truly this dark? Had it always been this dark? Or was this the result of oxygen deprivation shutting down her brain already? How much time was left?
Her thoughts became slippery. Chest burning, her lungs desperately wanted to let go and suck in anything if in exchange she could at last release her pent-up gasp; meanwhile, her brain was mortified by the thought of more water punching her lungs. Gagging in the storm-tossed waters, mentally frantic and panicking, she accidentally allowed more icy water into her mouth.
She was already dying.
No! Not like this!
In the numbing water, she felt something in her pocket burn.
Did I just piss myself? The thought was incredulous to her. She didn’t have a moment to spare for her shame and embarrassment over peeing her pants in fear. Her focus needed to be on breaking through the surface of the water…
It was then that she started to feel hands touching her body and plucking at her clothes. A small hand grabbed her kicking right ankle and jerked her down, farther into the abyssal waters. Another hand grabbed her left thigh, two more clasped her on the waist of her jeans and tugged viciously, as if to tear the fabric from her body. Someone, something, grabbed her hair, jerking her head back. Nails scratched her tender flesh, drawing blood and sending the hands into a frenzy. Innumerable malicious hands to her foggy mind. Her icy limbs struggled in the grip of her unknown attackers. They held her so tightly; she knew she would have bruises. Would have… if she could survive long enough.
Mentally, she felt torn asunder as half of her already accepted her death, while the rest of her weakly fought on. Mere seconds drained away her strength, making each desperate movement more and more difficult to perform. However, she chose to keep fighting, even as she began to blackout. Emotionally, her heart ached—she would have done anything for a chance to survive.
The scratching pressure of hands became distant to her mind and her eyes closed in the darkness.
Bubbles escaped her blue lips.
Limp, her body sank downward, guided by her attackers, and tossed in the swirling waters like a ragdoll that had been abandoned by its child. In the icy river, the hands began to peel from her body one pair at a time, accompanied by burbling laughter. The laughter sounded hungry, and eager.
Mouths fell upon her body. Teeth pierced her flesh.
Above, the surface of the water broke as two wrinkled hands plunged down, plucking the teen from the water, from the teeth and hungry hands, and dragging her onto a sunny, stony beach. No storm raged. Outraged screams roared from the waters as the creatures were denied their meal at the last moment.
“You don’t even belong in these waters!” a gruff voice boomed over their cries, quelling their plaintive anger. Despite his words, the old man, attired in blue wool coat and a plain grey cap, eyed the body he’d rescued with and expression of mild perplexation. It seemed as if he had expected something entirely different to be lying on the beach.
A silvery equine head with a long lustrous mane, popped up out of the water and glared at the old man. Looking upon the watery creature was unnerving, despite the obvious equine beauty, the forward-facing eyes and wide, deep mouth were strange. When the creature opened its mouth to speak, sharp teeth glinted in the sunlight like that of a hound.
“Give her back to us, she’s ours to devour.”
“Be gone, pests! Go back to unseelie waters.”
“Nameless scum.” The horsehead bobbing in the water neighed in disgust, dipping back into the liquid from which it came.
The tall, thin old man was soaked as he stood on the beach until the creature had left. He knew that it wouldn’t be gone for very long. Removing his sodden cap, he wrung out most of the water before replacing it atop his head. Looking down at the form he’d dragged from the river, he saw that she hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even breathed.
“Ugh, disgusting.” He assessed. The old man kicked the teenager’s shoe with his navy-blue boots, noting her strange outfit, and still got no response from the figure. Her clothing marked her as a foreigner, though it was unclear what had brought her to the river.
“Hmm,” a mischievous male tenor ventured. “I seem to remember when you used to love the folk, Bodach.”
“They’ve always been hard to love,” the old man, Bodach, countered. Bodach brushed his shoulder absently and his clothes began to dry rapidly in the sunlight. “This is just a corpse polluting the water. It’s not like I could leave it in there.” He did not tell his companion that he had never intended to draw her from the river to begin with.
“Yes, yes, but it would be so boring without them. You know all my tricks now and I can never surprise you.”
Bodach rolled his eyes at the obvious pouting. “I have never heard a bigger lie in my life—don’t even try to lull me into complacency, Reynard.” The old man jabbed an accusing finger at the anthropomorphic fox who stood before him wearing a sage green tunic. The tunic was completely unnecessary, though he seemed to wear it as a social nicety. Reynard the fox wore no other clothing, being covered in his own thick fox pelt, and as he drew close to the over six-foot tall Bodach, he only came to the older man’s shoulder in height. His bare paws seemed to be unbothered by the wet stones and silt of the beach.
They were, in appearance, an odd set of fellows, but between them stretched the intimacy of a long-standing friendship.
“Je suis accuse!” Reynard touched his chest in mock horror with a forepaw.
On the beach, the girl’s hand twitched reflexively, clawing the air.
“Oh!” The fox became distracted, “now this is interesting…”
“It’s just a death spasm.”
“I don’t think it is, my friend.” The fox knelt next to the girl’s pale and icy visage and sniffed her head. “She smells odd.”
“She’s a corpse. She probably smells like the river and like post-death voiding.” Disgust caked Bodach’s voice as his eyes searched along the rocky shore.
“Well, she does smell like the river,” Reynard conceded thoughtfully.
With a sudden spasm of energy, the girl twisted on the beach and began to violently vomit water from her stomach and expel it from her lungs onto the smooth river stones she had laid upon. The retching was horrendous to hear, and both Reynard and Bodach looked away from the sight. After a few moments she quieted into a shivering, shaking mess.
“Disgusting,” Bodach reaffirmed.
Reynard ignored him and approached the cold, wet wretch. He sniffed again. “Very interesting…”
The girl, on her hands and knees looked up at Reynard.
Impishly, he smiled. “Hello, friend, who might you be?”
“Don’t give him your name,” Bodach interjected quickly. He looked around again but didn’t appear to see anything of note. It seemed to disappoint him.
She looked down at her bile covered hands that propped her up on the beach. Blinking, she didn’t speak as her eyes adjusted to the sudden warm sunlight, she found herself in. Reynard stayed just out of arms reach—and outside of the radius of her puke.
“What?” She croaked with a raw throat.
The fox huffed impatiently at her answer. “What can we call you, so you can thank us?” Bodach scoffed at Reynard’s words, but didn’t correct him.
She shifted and sat on her rump. Her hands reached up to touch her temples as her mind reeled.
“I—” she began but didn’t finish. In the following silence she realized she couldn’t recall her own name.
“Lovely, she’s polluted the river and she’s stupid enough to give away her name.” The old man groused and despite his obvious distain he came within arms-reach of her and flicked his hand at her without touching her. The clothing she wore began to dry more quickly in the balmy daylight. Her pocketed jacket, dark flannel shirt, and thick denim of her pants became less icy against her shivering flesh. Even the spongy sneakers she wore became light and comfortable again. Though drying, she remained filthy from the river and her own sickness. Bodach watched to ensure his magic worked on her but made no other movements to aid her.
She met Bodach’s eyes, not quite understanding what was happening. “I don’t know my name.” The correction sputtered from her lips in a voice that conveyed her own disbelief.
Bodach raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. “She is an idiot.”
Reynard yipped at Bodach with consternation. “Well, you’re the one who saved her, so who’s the real idiot here? Now she’s got a debt to you and we both have a new travel buddy.” He looked at the old man meaningfully, who groaned at the notion.
“Besides, she’s not lying, Bodach. I could smell her lies if she were—why don’t you give her a name?”
Bodach glared at his companion. “Why would I? We can’t keep her; she’d just get in the way.”
The teen wiped her mouth clean on her shoulder, and then rose to her feet on unsteady legs. Her clothes were nearly fully dry, but they were still filthy. She felt supremely uncomfortable.
“I think I must have hit my head. This man looks like a fox, so I must have some brain damage. And I have no idea what you mean by debt. Debt for what?” The words tumbled from her mouth as she tried to process her situation; she felt lightheaded.
Reynard, delighted to be sociable, steepled his fingers. “You may have hit your head, but your eyes are seeing correctly. As for the debt,” he waved at Bodach. “This sourpuss pulled you from the river, saving you, thus you’re indebted to him for his action. Quite simple, really.”
“I don’t think I have any cash on me…” absently she began patting the pockets of her jacket and jeans, but she didn’t have her wallet with her. Looking over her shoulder at the water, she wondered if it had sunk to the bottom of the river.
“I don’t think Bodach would accept a wergild anyway,” Reynard touched her gently on the shoulder, and then turned his gaze to the old man. “Well?” The fox asked the old man. The girl, for her part tried to understand what he’d meant by ‘wergild’; the word seemed entirely foreign to her.
Sighing, Bodach reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief that he offered to the messy teen. “Please clean your face.”
She accepted the item, “thank you, Bodach.” She replied with gratitude. Her face felt crusted and filthy from puke and silt. Eagerly, she scrubbed at her face with the cloth.
“Ah! See? Now we really must keep her—she’s so polite. Such a refreshing change to have a polite companion who doesn’t mind small talk. Now what to call her?”
The old man and the teen shared a gaze. Now she fully took in his appearance. His irises were grey, and his hair was a snowy, dignified white. Deep wrinkles on his face conveyed that he had once been a mirthful man. Those same muscles that caused the wrinkles were slack now, and she was hit with the impression that it had been a very long time since he had smiled. Grief clung to him like a fine mist, sapping energy from his features.
He was tall, and lean, wearing a large, deep blue wool overcoat despite the mild weather. On his head was a grey cap, his breeches were brown, tucked into navy-colored boots. Bodach didn’t use a cane and didn’t have any obvious bags on his person. Though she had never seen him before, the teen had this niggling feeling of recognition as if she knew him somehow. Reflected in his pale eyes, she saw that same spark of near-recognition.
Bodach was the first to look away and break the connection between them.
“Ava, I guess.” Bodach huffed. He seemed embarrassed and eager to be done with the situation.
The girl tried the name on her tongue, testing it, rolling it in her mouth like a marble. Something about it felt comfortable to her, though instinctively she knew the given nickname wasn’t what she had forgotten.
“Really?” Reynard said with dismay. He walked up to the taller man and poked him in the chest with familiarity. “You’re just going to call her “water”? That’s a little on the nose isn’t it, mon ami?”
Ava began using the cloth Bodach had given her to wipe her hands as clean as possible. Anything was better than allowing them to remain crusty with puke. Sniffing the air delicately, she could tell that she had an acrid aroma hanging off her like a miasma of sickness.
“Should we call her ‘Baothan’ instead?” Bodach returned.
“Ugh, even worse. You’re terrible at naming children.”
“I don’t name children, it’s not a hobby of mine, not a desired skill. I didn’t even want to name this one. Besides it’s better that she doesn’t have a name here.” Bodach’s voice rose with irritation and his chest puffed with anger. Even the river behind him seemed to lap more furiously at the stony shore with his outrage.
“I like Ava,” she said quietly. “You can call me Ava, though it might take me a while to get used to it. It sounds nice.”
Bodach turned his attention away from Reynard and his face softened at her words. She smiled weakly, shifting upon her feet. She still felt woozy from all the energy she expended on the beach. Dimly, she felt something warm trickle on her abdomen, it amazed her that she was sweating while Bodach remained untouched by the heat in his wool coat.
“See?” he said quietly. “It’s fine.”
Reynard’s pointed nose twitched and crinkled. Distantly Ava could hear the calm lapping water of the river at her back and thought she could hear something that morphed between giggling and whinnying. She turned to get a better look at the noise, and stumbled feeling much more tired than she expected. Reynard caught her before she could fall.
“Careful, Ava.” He admonished.
“Did you hear that?” She implored him.
“I heard you,” he said still holding her. She breathed in the scent of his natural pine-scented musk and felt a surge of embarrassment knowing how badly she must stink of bile. Ava struggled out of his grasp, still unsteady, but on her own feet.
“He fancies himself very clever, Ava. He’s a liar.”
Reynard touched his chest in offense. “You impugn me, old man. I simply dance with the truth.”
Bodach rolled his eyes and offered wisdom to Ava. “Reynard is a trickster. Feel lucky that this fae could not con you out of your real name the moment you met. Now come on.” He started walking away from the river and waved for her to follow him. She did, at a respectful distance due to her odor.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Ava admitted. Reynard joined them.
“Oh, she is delightful. I hope she stays a while.”
Bodach sighed, aggrieved. “I know you don’t understand Ava. If you ever remember your name, don’t tell anyone what it is—even us.” He jerked a thumb at the fox. “And especially him.”
“You know, you are so mean to me. If you didn’t catch the most delicious fish, I just don’t know why I would stay friends with you.”
“No one else will take you, interloper.”
Reynard pouted and said nothing as his ears flattened ever so slightly.
“Thank you for saving me from the river, Bodach. I don’t know what happened earlier, but—”
“Kelpies,” he interjected without any follow-up.
“Kelpies?”
“Just some unseelie trash that has been encroaching on this area lately. Seems like they are everywhere.” He glanced back at her and noted that there was no recognition upon her face. Bodach felt compelled to elaborate.
“Look, Ava. If you see a very pretty horse next to the water, just don’t touch it or it will drag you to the bottom of the riverbed and eat you.” He stopped, causing her to abruptly stop in her tracks as well. Bodach spoke very slowly at her: “Pretty horse—no touch, alright?” The old man peered at her with the intensity of a mother attempting to coach a toddler away from a hot stove.
Ava frowned, feeling insulted, “alright, noted. Where are we going?”
“To the washerwoman’s house, you’re filthy.”
Ava felt exhausted and hoped it wasn’t far. “Will I owe you a debt for this, as well as saving my life?”
Bodach’s steps paused, for which Ava was grateful for, and he exchanged a dark look with Reynard. The fox looked down but said nothing.
“Did I say something offensive?” Normally a social faux pas would make her heart hammer in her chest like it was trying to escape. To her relief, she didn’t feel that same kind of physical anxiety.
“No, it’s just...” Reynard trailed off as his tail curled around his own legs nervously.
“I didn’t save your life,” Bodach rumbled.
“Reynard, said you saved me though.” Ava felt confusion touch her mind again.
“Well, he did get you out of the river,” Reynard quipped. “And personally, I find you very interesting, so I’m glad he did. Those kelpies can be just awful to humans, so you deserved better than being torn to pieces by them. I mean—can you imagine?”
“I don’t—” Ava began, but Bodach cut her off.
“I don’t know how you made it here,” Bodach’s icy grey eyes bore into her, and she touched her still chest as if to guard her quiet heart against his words. Relentlessly, he poured the truth onto her like a waterfall.
“You were already dead, Ava. You are dead.”
