Storm Strider

… Great Makers, dammit.

What is it this time?

Sitting upright with her back turned against the waterfall, Marisol held her breath as the skittering at the darker end of the cave grew louder and louder.

[Analysing quality of sound. Measuring the pattern of steps. Matching it with pre-existing records. Match successful,] the Archive said plainly. [It is a crab.]

You don’t say.

[Please be ready to flee or fight.]

Her imagination wandered to dark, scary corners as the skittering continued. Sunlight didn’t reach so far into the deep end of the cave, so whatever type of ‘crab’ was making that sound, she couldn’t even get a peek of it. If the Archive was giving her the option to fight, then it probably wasn’t a Blackclaw Marauder—but it wasn’t as though she could beat a giant crab, either.

I really should run, right? she thought, biting her lips, preparing to jump onto her glaives at a moment’s notice. I mean, I’m… I’m tired. And I’ve never fought anything or anyone before. Well, I guess there was that one time with that vagrant who tried to steal my donations when I first started sand-dancing, but that doesn’t–

[Focus.]

The Archive sounded serious, so she clenched her teeth and swallowed a hard gulp. She narrowed her eyes at the deep end of the cave, trying to see through the dark like she’d never tried before, and… when the ‘crab’ skittered sideways into the light, a shudder of animalistic fear rippled up her spine.

It was shock at first.

Then surprise.

Then confusion.

What she saw was a little boy’s physique, a body incontrovertibly human. He was thin on the bones, and he wore only a pair of shorts that was fashioned from the bark of young saplings, carefully stripped and twisted together to create a fabric-like texture. His bare chest was inked with faded tattoos depicting what seemed like waves and vines, the ink snaking around to his back, down his arms, down his legs.

If the way he skittered out of the dark with both hands touching the ground in front of him didn’t tell her he was probably an island tribesman, then the fact that his head was a giant, bright orange crab without the legs and pincers would probably have alerted her to the fact.

Admittedly, she was a bit freaked out by the crab head. She kicked a pebble at him, but it bounced off the top of his head with a little clang. In response, he tilted his head a full ninety degrees, his protruded eye stalks blinking pointedly—and then he skittered sideways to swerve closer to her, his bare feet making crab-like tip-taps along the ground.

His strange manner of movement, his crab head, his narrow eye stalks, and the fact that his left hand was actually crab pincer made her freak out even more. She scooted backwards, kicking off the ground with her glaives, and–

She felt herself losing her balance.

She was falling over the edge of the cave.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no–

But then the boy skittered forward, darting in to clamp her wrist with his pincer. If he wanted to rip her entire arm off before she fell, he probably could right this instant, but instead he yanked her back in with what was the most gentle and graceful of pulls—completely unbecoming of a half-crustacean human like him.

…

As she fell forward, landing on her forearms and gasping for breath, the boy skittered back near the deep end of the cave and tilted his head at her. She glanced up at him, furrowing her brows; something was a little off about his head.

“... Wait a second,” she mumbled. “Your head just wobbled, and it felt like there was a human hand underneath your pincer. Are you… not a mutated human, like those Marauders outside?”

“...”

The boy continued staring at her quizzically, so she crawled over to sit by the wall of the cave before miming taking off an invisible helmet. It took a few moments—she had to repeat the motion a few more times, even miming taking off an invisible glove over her left hand—but eventually the boy seemed to get the message.

He grabbed the edge of his crab shell helmet and made it wobble just a little bit. The helmet still seemed glued onto his neck from her perspective, but then he took off his pincer with ease and showed off his boringly normal human hand: five fingers, five nails, and a tattoo of a crab in the centre of his palm.

She let out a huge sigh of relief as he secured the helmet over his head, pinching his neck as though doing so would make it less wobbly.

Great Makers, that took a few years off my life. If he were a mutated human like those Marauders–

[If he were a Marauder, you would have been dead already,] the Archive finished. [It would appear he is simply wearing the pincer and the shell as Swarmsteel; equipment made out of insect parts that enhances his human attributes.]

She shuffled up against the wall, losing her consciousness, her eyes closing slowly by themselves; she really, really, really needed to sleep now.

And he’s probably not dangerous, right? she thought, hugging her mama’s book as her head drooped. I mean, he’s just a little boy. Doesn’t look older than ten to me. What are the odds I’ll wake up missing an arm or two?

[Not very high. I will alert you if he attempts to harm you in your sleep.]

You can do that?

[I am integrated with your cervical spine. I can administer adrenaline, numbing agents, and various other compounds into you as the situation calls for it. I could even stimulate your nerves to make you feel as though your entire body is on fire, which has a ninety-nine percent chance of waking you up within three seconds.]

She managed to squint down at the little water strider on her shoulder. Ninety-nine percent? Who have you tried that on and failed to wake them up?

[The second strongest man in the world. Now, you need not be worried—I will make sure the boy does not harm you in your sleep.]

The last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep was the boy tilted his head at her once again, as though he wanted to take a bite out of her.

… Don’t wake me up unless it’s an emergency, she muttered. Between you and the boy, you’re more likely to be the one to hurt me.

It wasn’t until well into the night that the sounds of crackling fire woke Marisol up.

Groggily, she sat up straight against the wall and rubbed her eyes, trying to adapt to the incredibly dense ball of light in front of her—the world was dark outside, and the crab boy had started a bonfire in the middle of the cave, squatting with his back turned to her.

… It’s warm.

While she hugged herself and let out a cold, shuddering breath, she did a quick internal assessment of her body. Her thigh muscles were no longer burning with exhaustion, check. She wasn’t light-headed from all the running and skating around, check. Her earlobe wound was no longer dripping with blood where the Marauders had grazed her with a sharp stream of water, check. Save for her growling stomach and her thirst for fresh, clean water, she was about as rested as a Sand-Dancer could be.

How long was I asleep for, Archive?

[Five hours, twenty-six minutes, and eighteen seconds,] the Archive answered diligently, waving a little leg at her from her shoulder. [Your brainwaves were quite calm and stable, like those of an infant. I trust you had a good rest?]

The worst part about waking up is hearing your voice ringing like drums in my ears. She groaned, stretched her arms over her head, and gave nobody in particular a great, big yawn. Couldn’t you… tone it down a little? Make your voice a little less grating, a little less metallic?

[Most certainly,] the Archive said, switching to an exact replica of her own voice. [Is your own voice to your liking? You can simply pretend I am your ‘inner voice’. Statistically, most Altered Swarmsteel System users prefer their Archive speak in their own voices, but there are exceptions every once in a while, where people request we mimic the voices of someone dear to them–]

Where’s mama’s book?

She was halfway to nodding off in the middle of the Archive’s ramblings when she noticed a significant weight off her lap; her mama’s leather-bound book wasn’t in her arms anymore. She’d definitely fallen asleep with it.

Hey! I thought you said you’d pay attention! Where’s my book?

[The boy took it an hour ago, but I did not wake you up because it was not an emergency–]

‘Ain’t an emergency’ my ass! Mama wrote it for me!

Ignoring the Archive, she scrambled up and then slid past the little bonfire, her glaives screeching against the stone as she reached the other side of the cave. She hadn’t noticed before since he had his back turned to her, but now, facing him across the campfire, she could see he was utterly engrossed in trying to pick apart the mechanical lock keeping her mama’s book sealed—the way he was poking the lock with his hands and pincer, nobody would doubt him if he said he’d never seen a mechanical contraption before. All he had to do was pull the little lever on the spine and the cover would pop open.

She didn’t think he could pop it open, but she didn’t want him to get frustrated and decide to smash the entire thing apart.

“Um… can I have my book back?” she asked, coughing into her fist when he didn’t even seem to realise she’d woken up and slid in front of him; he finally looked up and stared at her, his hands freezing for a second. "It kinda went through a lot already, sticking with me the entire time while I killed the fairy shrimp and then skated through a storm and then ran away from the Marauders… I’d prefer it if you didn’t break the lock now. May I please have it back?”

“...”

In response, the boy simply kept staring at her over the crackling bonfire. His crab eye stalks were so silly-looking that she couldn’t help but feel a rising urge to laugh, but she managed to keep it under wraps, deciding to send him a gentle, small smile instead.

“Please?” she asked again, clapping her hands together.

“...”

When there was no response yet again, she darted forward and tried to snatch her book off the ground, but he was faster. He clamped her book with his pincer and skittered a few steps into the deeper end of the cave, tilting his head as though he genuinely didn’t understand what was going on.

She squatted so she could be on eye-level with him, and this time, her measured smile wasn’t so kind and friendly.

“Please give it back to me,” she said, trying not to let her irritation show on her face. “Mama gave it to me to read if I ever find myself bored out of my mind with nobody to talk to. I don’t even know how long she’d been writing it for, but I don’t intend to throw it away—would your mama be happy if she knew something she made for you was stolen by a complete stranger?”

“...”

[I do not think the boy speaks your tongue,] the Archive said, after the little boy managed to tilt his head even further sideways, the edge of his shell almost pressing into his shoulder. [Normally, I can automatically translate any language in the world, but since I am currently unregistered—you did not obtain me by passing the official Hasharana Entrance Exam—the automatic translation function only works on very old languages previously entered into the database of Altered Swarmsteel Systems. By 'old', I mean the last time languages were manually entered into the database was four years ago. Considering you are currently on an unidentified landmass, I doubt a Hasharana would have encountered the boy's tongue within the past four years—assuming the boy can even speak to begin with.]

She squinted at the Archive on her shoulders. You’re a gift with so many limitations.

[Blame the situation, not the system–]

Without a word of warning, the boy skittered into the deep end of the cave, and then it was like he just fell through a tunnel.

A crab tunnel.

… What?

Scrambling up again, she slid over to the deep end of the cave and peered down the gigantic hole in the ground she’d not seen before; peering over the edge, there was an entire world of bluish-pinkish bioluminescent corals and crystals underneath the surface of the island, and she saw the crab boy sliding down a cord of vines, sprinting far away with her mama’s book still in his pincer.

Whoa.

What is this place?

The Archive shrugged on her shoulders. [I have given up on identifying this landmass, but it would appear there is a subterranean coral forest in addition to the gargantuan forest above ground. Perhaps… this landmass is…]

…

[... Nevermind.] The Archive shook its head, pointing at the vines and giant roots sprawling across the underground coral forest. [The boy is fast, but you have already outrun the Marauders on the forest’s roots. You can do the same here. Would you like to give chase?]

Admittedly, she felt a little terrified staring down at the coral forest; it was a fifty-metre drop to the bottom, and though she could grab onto the thick vines and shimmy down like she was descending a particularly tall tree, there was no telling how far the crab boy could run away before she reached the bottom.

If the winds didn’t favour her, she’d never be able to catch up to his incredibly agile sideways skittering.

… Do you even have to ask? she thought, forcing a grin onto her face as she prepared to jump glaives-first into the vines. I’m getting mama’s book back, and then we’re gonna figure out how to get off this creepy island.

[Objective #5: Pursue the boy and reclaim your book]

[Time Limit: Undefined]

[Reward: The Vellamira Sand-Dancing Technique Book]

[Failure: Mother’s wrath]