Iria
The sea smoke surrounding the harbor seemed thicker today. It spiraled upwards in columns, making the sound of lapping water seem even more hushed. Through the mist, Iria could just make out the darker shapes of the basalt pillars that surrounded the island, where ocean waves crashed and broke before bumping up meekly against the shore.
Iria had once tried to reach them, swimming out past the jetty limits even though it was forbidden. But she could never get close. The farther she swam, the farther away they seemed, and eventually the swirling sea smoke would confuse her so thoroughly that she would find herself swimming back towards the island. If it weren't for the water, Iria could be convinced that the island floated among the clouds.
She turned away from the view and continued down the hill towards the docks on barefoot soles that had long since hardened against the splinters of the old boards and bits of broken shell tossed aside by gulls. Her gray shift rustled around her legs like parchment, stiff from too many washings. Judging by the position of the hazy sun on her right, she was late. Father Anto would be displeased.
She quickened her pace, the smell of fish and brine growing stronger as she rounded the bend in the trail that led out to the docks. The robed figure of Father Anto stood at the far end. His head was bowed, observing something in the water or praying; Iria couldn't be sure.
Though he was her primary teacher, Father Anto discouraged her questions about the sea smoke. All he would tell her is that it protected the island and its temple hidden deep in the forest center. It turned away travelers who did not have the goddess' favor.
Iria wasn't sure she believed Father Anto. Not entirely. There hadn't been a visitor to Palmyra for as long as she could remember. And those on the island she had asked had confirmed it had been a very long time indeed since a foreign ship had docked in the harbor. When she asked instead why no one left, she was met with blank stares. Why leave the safety of Palmyra when the rest of the world was said to be in disarray? Why seek out foreign lands when those foreign lands were plagued by the demon Ruina?
Their island was fertile and temperate; their people skilled and pious. They were fortunate to live here and blessed in their duty: to guard the temple of the goddess for which their island was named and to tend Her history. Iria, of all people, shouldn't be asking such questions. So she had stopped asking them.
"You're late," said Father Anto as she drew even with him.
"My apologies, Father," she replied, giving a half bow.
His wrinkled face wrinkled further as he frowned. "These lessons are not for my benefit, you understand?"
"Yes. It will not happen again."
The elderly priest turned to appraise her. Everything about him was gray, from his stormy eyes to his full, pointed beard and receding hairline to his long robes. "Very well," he said. "Today's lesson concerns drowning. A fisherman perished here yesterday after..."
"What was his name?" asked Iria.
Father Anto pursed his lips at the interruption, but knew as well as she did that the man's name would be helpful. "Skall," he answered. He cleared his throat and continued.
"As I was saying, he died after his mast splintered and knocked him overboard. His wife has told me he was a strong swimmer, so we must assume he was unconscious when he went into the water."
Iria nodded. "What time of day?"
"Near sunset."
She glanced at the sky. It was just past midday. They had approximately six hours to spare.
"Do you remember how to begin?" asked Father Anto, drawing her attention back.
"Yes," she said.
The priest stepped back. "You may begin."
Iria moved to the very edge of the dock, so her toes curled over the lip of wood. She closed her eyes and let her body find its center of balance, until she could pick up the vibrations of the waves against the dock and swayed in time with them. Opening her mouth, she inhaled slowly, pulling the salty air down into her abdomen and then exhaling so it mingled with the sea breeze. She let her ears fill with the sound of the ocean. And then she cast her consciousness out into the water.
Goosebumps rose along Iria's arms at the slight chill, though it was only her mind submerged while her body remained on the dock. The underwater world was murky and shadowed, and Iria could feel the rocks and bits of long sunken ships along the seabed like pebbles beneath her sleeping cot. Fish darted away as her presence swept the harbor, seeking out the man who had drowned. She wasn't far out into the harbor when she felt it, the hard edges of bone covered by cold, bloated flesh. She shuddered at the contact, but forced herself to keep focused. When she could mark the outline of the whole body, she said aloud, "I found him."
"Very good," said Father Anto. "Now, see if you can separate the soul from the body."
"You wouldn't have me surface the body for a burial?" she asked, frowning.
"No," said the priest. "It would be a waste of your energy. It was an accidental death, so there is no reason to animate him. His wife also said he would have wanted to be laid to rest in the water. The most we can do for him is to make sure he can cross to the eternal plane."
Iria nodded, refocusing on the shadowy corpse beneath the water. With her mind, she sought the faint pinprick of warmth that emanated from his soul, wrapping her thoughts around it carefully, cradling it like a fledgling, shielding it like a candle in the wind.
Slowly, she began to draw the soul out, until it shimmered faintly in the water above the poor man's body. Skall, she thought, and felt a brief pulse from the soul at the recognition. Iria paused for a moment, reaching out to close the dead man's eyes, and as her attention drifted, she saw something dark approaching from the corner of her mind's eye.
She lurched backwards instinctively, nearly letting go of the soul as a hellion crashed into the drowned man's body. Iria gasped as salty water filled her mouth and she coughed, retching. Her throat and nose burned.
"What's wrong?" said Father Anto.
"Hell-hellion," she coughed.
"Focus," he said, his voice filling her ears as her sight remained below water. "You must get the soul above the surface before the hellion can take it."
Iria steadied herself, trying to override her body's reaction. You're not in danger, she reminded herself. Well, not from drowning. The hellion was a different sort of threat. In her distraction, the soul had begun to sink back towards the body, but it would not be safe there. It would only combine two things the hellion really wanted: a meal of human flesh and the power a soul could bring.
Iria gripped the edges of the soul with her mind and tried to coax it through the heavy ocean water. It began to rise, slowly. Too slowly. From the gloom ahead, the hellion reappeared. This time swimming straight at her. A quick glance revealed it was a dobhar; a devilish, brown-furred creature that could survive both in and out of water. Its round head was mostly taken up by an open maw full of sharp yellow teeth, huge webbed paws and ropy tail working furiously to propel it towards the soul.
Sweat dripped down Iria's face on the docks, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. "It's approaching too fast," she said, panic straining her words.
"Focus," Father Anto repeated. "Use what you have at your disposal."
Iria's thoughts whirled. She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. She only had minimal water elemental training, certainly not enough to battle a hellion and protect the soul simultaneously. But bone magic...
She split her mind, one half holding onto the soul and the other reaching for the corpse. There was no time for anything elegant, she simply grabbed Skall's skeleton and heaved upward, providing a physical shield between his soul and the dobhar. The ugly little creature hit the body head on and shrieked, bubbles hissing from its mouth.
Sorry, Skall, she thought as his body, now even more ruined, sank back to the sandy seabed. The soul cleared the surface of the water and Iria opened her eyes. A sucked-in breath escaped her in a gush of air. Out of the darkness of the water, the iridescent soul was hard to make out, but she could feel it.
"Well done, Iria," said Father Anto. He put a gnarled hand on her shoulder. "Now, why don't you send our poor fisherman on his way."
Iria brought her palms together in front of her chest. "Varese evan aska tu," she murmured. As she said the last word, she pushed her palms outward, keeping her forefingers and thumb connected, and felt the soul fade from the physical world.
She took another deep breath, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders, and turned towards the priest. But before she could say anything, a strange noise rang out across the harbor. One that Iria had heard only in stories. It was the bells in the crumbling tower at the top of the hill she had descended. They pealed across the water, echoing back from the distant hills. The sound made the hair at the nape of Iria's neck stand on end.
The bells were supposed to ring for only one thing: an approaching ship.
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Ah, so there you have it! Welcome to the Island of Palmyra! What do you think of Iria and her island life? I'd love to hear your thoughts, so don't hesitate to drop a comment :)
For any Carnival Souls readers: Though souls will be a big component in this story as well, the concept of souls and the afterlife is completely different in this tale than in CS (nor are the two stories connected in any way). So you don't have any special insider knowledge ;)
Thank you for beginning this new journey with me! I'm excited to see where it takes us!