Storm Strider

Glide. Spin. Pause, raise arms. Twirl and caper. Sharp turn. Sharp pivot. Then jump—soar.

Ow!

Marisol rammed the top of her head against the ceiling as she jumped, wincing on the way down. She landed on the tip of her glaives nevertheless, holding one leg parallel against the ground as she did; it was still a graceful recovery, and now she’d finished her most basic step-routine for the four hundred and fifteenth time in her tiny prison cell.

The cell was barely larger than a pantry, the cold cobblestone walls closed in like a tomb. Water droplets clung to every surface, and the air was thick with the smell of metal and mildew. It was difficult enough balancing on uneven stone as was, but when the ground beneath her was also slick with moisture? It was hell for a Sand-Dancer. This was almost as tough as training on loose sand.

[... I cannot believe, after five thousand two hundred and eighty-six kilometres, that–]

–shut up–

[–this is the obstacle barring you from reaching the whirlpool,] the Archive sighed, shaking its head from the steel window bars above her head. She looked up and scowled; the shaft of moonlight falling into her cell was the only source of light she had, and the few candles in the hallway outside were pathetically weak, so she was sure she’d be plunged into darkness the moment the midnight storm clouds decided to blot out the moon.

She was not looking forward to spending another night in this cell.

What was I supposed to do, huh? she grumbled, plopping down cross-legged with her back against the bars, staring up at the moon. Ain’t like I got all the time in the world to spare. I need that vial of healing seawater, and I need it now.

[So you punched a Harbour Guard for it?]

He was… that guy was–

[Stupid,] the Archive said, reappearing on her shoulder and poking her cheek with multiple sharp legs. [Stupid. Stupid. Stupid–]

She growled and tried to swat the Archive off her shoulder, but it simply skated around her, continuing its barrage of insults that made her feel—strangely—more at ease. It almost made her think she’d been thrown into an overnight cell for a petty crime instead of… well, punching an esteemed Harbour Guard of the Whirlpool City.

It ain’t my fault, though.

I woke up three days ago in an infirmary, a bunch of needles and tubes stabbed into my legs, so obviously I was disoriented and sickly and I wanted fresh air.

[Uh-huh.]

And it was the middle of the night without any doctors nearby to help me remove the needles, so I just pulled everything out and went outside. ‘Black Storm’ was—and is—still active, so I couldn’t see really well out on the streets, and couple that with my insane headache, the super steep streets, and the fact that I had no idea where I was really going–

[–let it be known I tried to stimulate your adrenaline output to clear your head–]

–how the hell was I supposed to realise that guy with the crab head who rounded the corner looking for me was a Harbour Guard, and not some sort of Mutant? Seriously! After I hit him on instinct once, he even drew his sword on me, so of course I…

[...]

… Kicking him a few more times as he went down was a bit excessive, I guess, she muttered, sighing as her head lolled down and she put her face in her hands, curling up into a ball; the chitin plates on her right glaive had all but regenerated while she was in an eight-day coma, so it didn’t hurt touching it anymore. Dammit. And then the rest of them just threw me in here without letting me explain anything. They even took mama’s book and all my Swarmsteel from me.

[On the bright side, spending three days in this cell has worked wonders for your patience,] the Archive offered, reappearing and tapping on her shoulder in consolation. [You also understand my explanation of your ‘anomalies’, yes? Do you understand what happened with Antonio’s ship and the Mutant skeleton shrimp’s appearance now?]

Her lips thinned into a line, but she nodded slowly.

You’re saying… it followed me all the way from Antonio’s ship to the city because it wanted to camouflage inside your ‘aura’, and when it found Catrina that first night—that husk that was standing over her—it decided to eat inside her belly for even better camouflage.

And when it decided we wouldn’t be able to carry it all the way into the city because of ‘Black Storm’, it came out.

Catrina… and the guards who were with her… they…

…

Her eyes closed softly as she raised her head, leaning against the cold bars behind her.

“... Who could’ve guessed that the Whirlpool City’s prison food is so mushy?” she said, not bothering to glance back as she let out another heavy sigh. “The textbooks all speak of the city’s legendary cloves and cinnamon, gazpachos and marzipans—none of this watery broth you’ve been making me drink the past three days.”

The man behind her let out an amused hum as he sat down cross-legged, placing something long and sharp horizontally across his lap. A blade? Or a walking cane, perhaps?

“How did you know I was coming to visit you?” he asked, and his voice was dry, raspy; he sounded like a weary man in his forties, his lungs scratched and eroded by coarse sand grains. “The prison floor is infused with ground-up slimewood, which makes it so that vibrations don’t travel very easily. After all, we keep all sorts of prisoners with all sorts of insect abilities in here—frankly, it’d be horrifying if even half of them could tell via vibrations whenever a guard is coming around. Think of all the breakouts that could occur.”

She snorted with her arms crossed. “Ripple and vibration sensors ain’t got anything to do with it. You’re a light walker, like you’re used to stepping on thin sand, but your head ain’t swinging and distributing your weight correctly. Your balance is off, and you’re probably injured from head to toe, too. I can feel someone who’s trying to be quiet but failing so miserably from rooms away.”

The man was quiet for a moment.

Then, he harrumphed and laughed at the same time.

“You speak of sand and swinging heads, and your skin is tanner than most. You’re continental folk, then, from the mainland,” he asked, accompanied by the sound of him shaking his head. “A Sand-Dancer, perhaps. From the Sharaji Desert? A bit more to the east? A bit more to the west?”

“... More to the west,” she said, shaking her head in return. “You wouldn’t know its name, but its name is the Luzde Desert.”

“No, I know of it. I’ve been there before.”

“You have? Tell me one thing about the local oasis town, then.”

“It’s boring. And the oasis barely has any water in it.”

“Huh. You have been there before.”

“I’ve been to many before. My question is, what sort of oasis town breeds a Sand-Dancer talented enough to slay a Mutant without proper combat training?” the man asked, and she clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Name: Marisol Vellamira. Age: twenty-four. Education history: eight years in your local general school. These are the only things you’ve been able to tell the guards before me–”

“And what more do you want to know?” she snapped. “I’ve told the guards before you over and over, but none of you believe my story. Fine. I’ll ask my question, then: where’s Enrique and the rest of the Harbour Guards I was sailing with? Are they alright? Are they safe?”

“Captain Enrique and the two dozen men he was with are, indeed, safe. Though they are still stuck outside the city with ‘Black Storm’ underway,” the man answered promptly, and it made her eyes widen; none of the guards before him had answered any of her questions. “I’ll have you know that dragging you, and only you into the city through ‘Black Storm’ cost a lot from us. There are Harbour Guards outside asking why you’re the only one who gets preferential treatment, and the Imperators of Lighthouse Five are currently doing the best they can to quell the protests. Imagine my surprise when I heard the first thing you did after waking up was punching a Harbour Guard in the face.”

She groaned under her breath. “I told you guys over and over. It ain’t my fault. He had a crab head. My instincts told me to–”

“You also told the guards before me that you skated all the way to this city in hopes of obtaining a vial of healing seawater for your mother,” he interrupted. “I assume you crawled out of your cosy little bed in the infirmary that night to get a lead on that front?”

“I… yeah.”

“And do you realise you don’t have a single silver to your name? Could you have afforded a single vial even if you got to the only store in the city that sells healing seawater?”

“I had the money before I set off on my trip. I was thinking I could just… you know. Find a good spot, dance my heart out, and get as many donations as possible before–”

“Stupid.”

[Stupid,] the Archive echoed.

“I don’t need you telling me, too,” she grumbled, glaring at the Archive as she did. “Now, I don’t know what you guys are still holding me here for, and it don’t seem like there’s anyone else in this hallway of cells, anyways, so would you mind just letting me go? I won’t punch anyone ever again, and… please tell that Harbour Guard I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I did, but I have to get a vial of healing water as soon as possible.”

The man sighed aloud. “Assaulting a Harbour Guard, mistake or not, is a serious crime in the Whirlpool City. As busy as all of us already are, you must wait five days before appealing in a trial.”

“Two more days? In here? I can’t–”

“Of course, I am not with the Harbour Guards, nor am I with the Harbour Imperators, so I will give you… ten minutes,” the man said nonchalantly. “The store that sells vials of healing seawater is at the very top of the city. If you can get there before the time limit’s up, I’ll convince the Imperators running the store to give you a vial for free. I’ll also return your possessions, clear all of your charges, and find a way to get you out of the city. No questions asked.”

“... What?”

She jumped onto her glaives and whirled around in the same motion, but by the time she managed, the man was gone—and the thick steel bars were cut open in the shape of a rectangular doorway.

Then, the bars that’d been tossed into the air clattered loudly against the floor, raising a bunch of suspicious shouts from the Harbour Guards standing by in the next room over.

… Huh?

What did he… where’d he–

[Well, he gave you a way out, and I detected no lie in his voice,] the Archive said plainly. [Updating objective.]

[Objective #12: Escape the prison and reach the top of the Whirlpool City]

[Time Limit: 10 minutes]

[Reward: A vial of healing seawater, return of all your possessions, and a free ride back home]

[Failure: Indefinite imprisonment]