Page 12 of Vasmora

Dolion gasped and heaved, kicking his arms and legs as furiously as his aching muscles would allow, trying to stay above water. The thrashing of waves and stomach-dropping swells sent him tumbling and flailing, yet through it all, he managed to clasp his hands together.

Breathing hard through his nose, he drew a warm, glowing light, the heat pulled from the lava trenches below the sea. Warmth moved through him, smoldering deep in his bones, and the light sent a radiant shine across the ocean’s surface that reached toward the bottom, where he could just make out the other five sarcophagi scattered on the ocean floor.

He lowered his hand beneath the water, wishing he could summon all six of the dead mages’ magic at once, just as the boy on the ship had done. What power he could wield to help his friends! Instead, he manipulated it one box at a time.

The heat allowed him to remain focused while he drove his Nexumis downward, taunting the trapped energy to escape its bones. From above, he watched as the first lid blew upward and a bubble of air floated toward the surface. He shifted his focus to the next. Then the next. Not knowing which his friends had been placed in, he finished off the last two and dove beneath the surface, where Rykaia seemed to struggle against the cold depths.

Allura climbed out of her stony prison and shot upward, hooking her arm in Rykaia’s on the way up. Once close enough, Dolion reached out for Allura’s hand dragging the two of them toward the surface. The three breached the water on a coughing fit, the ocean rollicking around them and throwing their bodies to and fro.

“Tor … Torryn!” Rykaia screamed and gagged as an ocean swell sent her upward. “He c-c-can’t swim!”

Dolion clenched his hand to a tight fist, and as steadily as he could in the rough waters, he opened it around a golden orb, which he passed onto Allura. “Stay together. Stay warm.”

She nodded as she took the warm, spherical heat in her palm, and Dolion released her, once again diving below.

From the light above, he spotted Torryn lying slung over the edge of his sarcophagus, crumpled by the weight of the ocean. His arm floated outstretched, useless despite powerful shoulders, broad as a ship’s bow, that might’ve propelled him, had he known how.

Dolion pushed out his palm, but as he summoned Erigorisz, to raise Torryn’s bulky body up from the depths, something pierced the back of his leg.

The mage whipped his head in time to see a shadowy figure dart off.

Syrenian.

An upward glance showed Allura and Rykaia still bobbing at the surface, legs entangled in their dresses.

He didn’t have time to think about them yet. He had to get Torryn to the surface and resuscitate him. Again, he called on his Nexumis, the magic weakening with his cold, rigid muscles, and he pushed the energy through the depths of the water.

Torryn’s body rose from the sarcophagus, as slack and lifeless as a marionette’s, slowly drifting upward as if pulled by invisible strings.

Another burn streaked across the back of Dolion’s calf, and he grunted, looking down to see ribbons of blood dance around his leg.

They were toying with him. A common hunting tactic for the flesh-eating creatures of the deep. Still, he forced himself to ignore it, determined to get Torryn above water. Once close enough, he grasped Torryn’s arm, grateful the water had hauled the bulk of his weight toward the surface. When he and Torryn breached, Dolion gasped with his first breath.

He hooked his arm around Torryn’s neck, gulping lungfuls of frigid air before he attempted to revive him.

Rykaia and Allura, somehow still together, cut through the water toward them.

“Syrenians!” Dolion managed to call out, and both women paused swimming, treading water as they glanced around.

Allura held the orb of light high, the enormous swells throwing the two of them up ten meters into the air before coming back down.

Dolion tightened his hold on Torryn, those same furious swells trying to jostle them apart.

The women kept on, swimming against the current that forced them away, until all four of them were reunited, huddled together, bobbing in the waves.

“Is he … dead?” Rykaia clutched Torryn’s cloak as a high, pulsing wave threw her backward and pulled herself back toward the group.

Not bothering to answer, Dolion placed his hand against Torryn’s chest, his fingers thick and insensate from the cold.

Another burn streaked across his calf. “Godsteeth!” he hissed but forced himself to focus on Torryn.

Beneath his palm glowed a violet light, and he could feel a peristalsis below the rib bones, as the water moved up out of Torryn’s lungs. The agony of his injuries pulled at his attention, in spite of the numbing water, but Dolion ignored it, determined to revive his friend.

Water sputtered from Torryn’s mouth. He coughed and wheezed, his body shuddering out the water in his lungs. When his eyes shot open, he flailed his arms, striking Dolion in the chest with a powerful blow that knocked a cough loose.

“Calm down!” Dolion chided. “We’re surrounded by Syrenians!”

Though his movements weren’t as pronounced, Torryn still flapped his arms, clearly struggling in the rough water that crashed against their bodies. “I can’t swim! I can’t swim!” he bellowed.