The swamp quieted as the water walker approached. Mardella waited on her stilts, her arms and back aching from holding the second pair in front of her, but she remained still. The Inkwater swamp was her domain, her home, no matter how dangerous; the twisted creatures inhabiting her waters wouldn’t scare her off. Especially when her life was at stake. 

The beast lumbered closer, planting each long, thin leg with purpose. Its shoulder height was only fifteen feet, antlers still small and velvet-covered. The strings of moss that would drape its hide en masse were young and frail, just clinging to its pale fur. Mardella had put more moss on herself, the rough strips tangling with her dark hair. Her plan to dress as a walker to sneak into their territory now seemed laughable. Even on her stilts, she only reached the joints of the creature in front of her, giving her a good view of its distorted face. It may have once resembled the deer with whom it shared similar horns and pelt, but its snout was short, its mouth wide to accommodate fearsome teeth. The creature’s eyes were still beautiful, though; huge and liquid, dark as a doe. She wondered if the young walker’s fangs would be sharper than an adult’s, like a kitten. Would death by this creature be less painful than what she faced? She shuddered, not wanting to join the others who’d died after creeping past the boundaries in her swamp. Boundaries she herself put up.

The walker stopped barely ten feet away, huffing the thick air. Freezing in place wasn’t working. She shifted her arm stilts low, arching her spine and lifting her head and back end in a bow. Years ago, before her life had fallen apart, her pup had signaled play in the same manner. Mardella yipped, waving her imaginary tail and jostling her makeshift paws. The water walker reacted, jumping into a similar pose and letting out a loud, keening cry. She yowled, attempting to mimic its cry as she positioned her stilts and hopped forward as much as they’d allow. The young walker startled and scampered away, moving with an alacrity that resembled a skeeter on a pond. Many things could kill you in the Inkwater swamp, but none as swiftly as the water walkers. How foolish of her to journey into their territory. It had been years since anyone had ventured beyond the boundaries crossing over the sweeping tributaries and cypress knees of the swamp she’d called home for over a century. Nevertheless, her treacherous errand was worth the effort if she wanted to save herself.

Her stilts squelched in the muck as she moved toward the bit of land she had spied moving past. She pushed her arm stilts deep into the mud, letting go once they held on their own. Standing and stretching her back, she swung her arms from side to side. She’d feel the pain from this tomorrow. Once I’m home, I’ll brew some tea to help with the healing. She knew she wouldn’t, though. Once she reached her hut on the edge of the delta, she’d begin her other potion, the one that brought her deeper into the swamp than she’d been in decades. She gazed at the blackening veins tracing her wrists for a long moment before forcing her attention away. Unclasping the straps for her leg stilts, she jumped down to the grassy bank, one of her feet punching through to the soft earth beneath, almost to her knee. Mardella pulled herself up and yanked her poles toward her, laying them on the small embankment. 

The scarlet baneberries were even more plentiful than she had seen, with more bushes hidden behind the trees that connected a series of narrow landmasses. Hurrying forward, she stripped the bushes as quickly as she could. The small hard berries gave a faint pulse of red light as she detached them from the stem and dropped them into her wide-mouthed bottle. A tingling awareness grew in her breast… it was the same sensation she’d had weeks earlier. Her magic reacted as if someone had invaded her territory; expectancy mixed with dread, tickling at the edge of her mind. Nothing had come from it before though, so she pushed her concern to the side. She worked with care, stopping to scan her surroundings after each branch.

Soon, she’d filled two large bottles of baneberries and a pouch of fresh leaves to be dried. More than enough for her remedy. Her thoughts were grim, turning to the errand ahead. She didn’t realize that the young water walker’s mother had returned. The creature in front of her was massive, dwarfing its child, watching her from beyond the next patch of land. Mardella reached for her stilts without breaking eye contact with the parent, craning her neck to watch as its black eyes followed each of her movements. A coarse growl echoed in the creature’s chest, small ripples of water lapping at its limbs. In the swamp’s silence, the snap of her stilt catching on a root was enough to goad it into attacking. It leapt forward, unleashing a roar that shook her as she scuttled backward. Her heart pounding, Mardella whipped her hand toward the creature, calling forth the inky water to rise and hold the walker’s legs. It stumbled and fell, droplets exploding in every direction before Mardella pulled them back, the water coalescing into a wave. The walker regained its footing, its legs folding in unnatural ways. The creature pushed against the force of the wave, inching closer to her as it screeched. She called forth more brackish water, twisting her hands into a complicated pattern that created a net over its shoulder, forcing the creature down into the muck. Mardella saw the madness and hate in its doe-like eyes, and a pang of guilt hit her. It was her fault.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, gathered her stilts and ran, leaping from each connected landmass where she could, slogging through the morass where she couldn’t. The panicked bleating of the younger walker grew fainter as the strain of the magic wore her down. Still, she held the creature in place, even as her mind swirled and blackness pulsed in her vision. The well inside her beckoned, green strands of power twisting within her reach, enticing her with promises of freedom. All she had to do was accept it. Never. Her connection to the water faded, including her innate awareness of the streams and tributaries that surrounded her home and the creeping sensation of invasion. A howl of rage echoed through the swamp, causing the birds nearby to take flight. Her lungs burned as she held her breath, listening. Another roar sounded in the distance, followed by the loud pops and cracks of breaking branches.

Mardella took off again, pushing herself faster as she leapt from an embankment to the exposed roots of a towering kopek tree. She vaulted from tree to tree, each jump taking her closer to the docked piragua. Not that the boat would be much help if it caught up to her. Still, she pressed on. The hard thrumming of her heart echoed in her ears as she flew through the swamp. She reached the piragua in time to hear the creature crashing through the trees she’d just passed. Mardella threw the stilts and bag into the bottom of the boat, ignoring the shattering of the glass.

Shoving the boat deeper into the current, she leapt inside and pushed what little power she had left into the river, launching her forward through the waters, trees streaming past in a blur. The enraged bellow of the walker sounded far behind her and she let go, the last bit of her power sapped. The well beckoned, and she shivered, tempted to claim the birthright she’d denied herself for so long. She collapsed onto the seat, careful of the shattered jars and scattered berries.

It was getting worse.

She lifted her hand, inspecting the veins running down her arm. They’d once been a bluish-green behind her ochre skin. Now they resembled the dark indigo of the swamp water, spreading from her hands up her wrists like tributaries. She panted, energy slowly returning, and wiped the sweat from her brow, surprised to find the fake horns she’d attached within twirls of her hair still there. She looked like the forest sprites her mother had told her watched over their home in the Mirror Glades. Her heart twisted. No matter how much she wished it, the Inkwater swamp wasn’t the same as her childhood home. 

Heaving a breath, she stood, grabbing one stilt to begin pushing her way back to the edge of the swamp, where she could heat a bath and unwind before dealing with the arduous task of removing the mess of moss and mud coating her. Then she’d brew her cure.

“I mean it,” she told the colorful macaw sitting in the branch she passed. “I’m going to relax and drink some tea before I get to work. Oh, don’t make that face. Just because I always say I’ll do it and never do doesn’t mean I won’t today.” She chatted with another bird, its plumage a shocking fuchsia. “This time will be different.”

The musical calls of the birds and insects hummed through the swamp, their buzzing and cawing a soothing balm to Mardella’s soul. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was there. Back in her family’s small shack, with her mother standing over a pot of bubbling on the fire and her sister braiding her hair. She could feel it in her heart, the longing so intense to return to that safety. Before Ferula found them. Before she began her training and lost her family. Before she had to spend every day alone in a swamp, working herself to the bone so she didn’t have to think.

A memory came to her unbidden. It was familiar, details worn smooth with constant reminiscence.

Her sister’s arms were around her, begging her to save her child.

She could feel the pressure of the embrace, the stickiness of the blood coating Teodora’s skin, cool as the wind kissed it. Her throat locked as she stared into her sister’s eyes as she died, unable to admit that she’d been too late. That her daughter already waited for her on the other side.

The pain was shocking; burning through her even now. She clenched her teeth against the impotent rage coursing through her corrupted veins. Deep within, she could feel the well of magic pulsing, wanting to be unleashed once more. She shoved it away, ignoring the siren call of that additional power. Elemental magic, like manipulating the water, was bad enough. If she tapped into her true potential, people would die again. Not that there were any people around. Her voice was the only one echoing through the swamp as she talked to various animals and plants as she passed. Until she heard her name drifting on a warm air current.

“Della…”

Mardella squeezed her eyes shut, willing the apparition away. Her name sighed on the breeze, the sound drawn out in her sister’s lilting accent. It was as if they were once again children, inseparable sisters playing in the waters of their home, calling out and hiding, only to be discovered with an outburst of squeals and giggles. But this wasn’t her sister. Even if she wished for it, she knew she couldn’t raise the dead.

She’d tried.

She opened her eyes, locking them ahead and refusing to acknowledge the echo of her sister drifting toward her. It wasn’t Teodora. She was gone. Mardella pressed the boat forward, ignoring the whispers crawling over her skin. It didn’t look like a ghost. That was the worst part. It looked as Teodora had before her death. Her hair was shorter than Mardella’s but the same rich, earthy black, her skin ochre-brown and smooth, like her sister.

Early after she’d lost the last of her family, she made the mistake of believing the echo. She’d rushed into the water and tried to hold her close. To clasp Teodora to her breast and erase the memory of their last embrace that had haunted her. But she’d always been out of reach, drifting further and further into the twisting tributaries. By the time she’d realized it was a trick, she was stranded in the heart of the swamp and had to battle her way back to the safety of her hut. That had been over a century ago.

She didn’t test her will against the swamp anymore, content to stay safe in her territory on the outskirts near the Matasoll sea. Trading occasionally with brave merchants who shook as they approached with their wares. The apparition drifted along with her, calling until she reached the edge of her boundary. Her shoulders slumped as she crossed, feeling the eyes watching her melt away. The deep ache in her arms and back made themselves known, now she was in the safety of her waters. Immortality didn’t numb the pain, only speeding her healing. Yet, even that had slowed in the last weeks once her illness struck. 

She cracked her back and rubbed a hand over her face. Some of the dried mud she’d applied as a disguise cracked and fell away. Guiding the boat in a smooth motion, she made her way through the paths that she traversed daily. A heron struck, pulling a minnow from the shallows into its jaws. Birds sang, their melodies drifting over the lazy water. Moss hung from the bows overhead, small creatures hiding within their gray masses. Inkwater had become her home and even if she didn’t love it the same as her previous dwelling, she was still safe here. That was one thing her training had taught her. If they feared you enough, they wouldn’t dare attack you.

Her piragua bumped against the spongy bank, the thick grass rasping against her arms as she pulled the boat to her makeshift pier. Her first pirague that she’d hand-carved floated next to her larger piragua. Rough hewn but lightweight, able to easily navigate the slow-moving waters of the swamp. Mardella tied her piragua to the small dock and began the laborious task of picking through the glass to retrieve the bane berries.

“I know, I know.” She told the little toad hiding in the overhanging grass of the bank. “I said I’d take a hot bath and drink tea first, but what if some animal overturned my piragua and all my work was lost? Of course, you’d never do such a thing, you’re much too polite, but…” She continued chattering as she sorted through the mess of berries and glass, folding her cloak in front of her and tying it to create a pocket. Only a handful of baneberries were lost once she’d filled her dress. She maneuvered the stilts onto the dock and stepped from the boat’s wooden planks, thankful the tide was high. In fact, she could smell the crisp briny air from the Northern Depths. The bitter winds coming from the ice-capped mountain range to the west mixed with the magical temperate air of her swamp, producing terrible storms during the cold seasons, another reason merchants feared her waters.

Mardella stepped off the dock, her bare feet and dress covered in mire. Bath, she promised herself. Right after these berries are secure. She hobbled forward, hunching to hold her load of precious baneberries away from her body. Moss drifted from her hair into her eyes and she attempted to blow it off when unease crawled down her spine. She halted, glancing around.

The birds had stopped singing. Her swamp was never silent, its music one of her few joys. Now even the insects seemed to hide.

She tilted her head toward the entrance of her hut, willing her regenerating magic to creep along the grass to the tree around which she’d built the structure. Using her elemental power, she ripped it open, the force of it yanking the door off its hinges. A startled yelp sounded from within, and she stalked forward. This was her home now. She wouldn’t be forced from another. Whoever dared to violate her territory would regret it.

She gathered magic, intent on tossing the intruder far into the sea when a large body tackled her. He brought her to the ground, her head knocking against the uneven stone walkway with a disturbing crack. White hair obstructed her view as she twisted, desperately reaching for the well. Mass destruction be damned, as blackness creeped into the edges of her vision and the crisp scent of winter filled her nose. A growl sounded from the man on top of her, and she froze before tumbling into the comforting dark of unconsciousness.