Story #8 - Riverman

Riverman

“I'm telling you Lem – he doesn’t exist,” that was Cril Bailey talking; a sore-footed, sour-mouthed lout if there ever was one. I'd known him for years, and he had been eager enough to search out the Riverman when I'd mentioned him. It was only now with an empty belly that Cril had started running off at the mouth.

Pril kept his silence close; though the brothers were nearly identical, they differed a great deal in temperament. With fire-red hair, round bellies and gangly legs, you'd think they were both boorish louts but fortunately for all who knew them, Cril seemed to have gotten the worst in the family, making an outing with both of them bearable. Pril was the eldest, and he'd settle down his brother if necessary.

Glancing in Pril's direction, I saw that this wasn't one of the times he was going to exert his authority, so I sighed, turned, and stopped Cril in his tracks.

“He does, Cril. Vol's brother saw him the year before last, and his description matched the one I got from Addur's oldest son. They're both solid men, members of the Watch and all,” My tone brooked no argument; I was sure enough in myself and what I'd heard, but Cril needed to believe it was the word of the Lords themselves before he'd shut his mouth.

Fortunately my directness seemed to work and I turned and pushed on through the forest, glancing at the stars. Three days in, they'd said, and the river came wide. Three days was pushing us now, as the sun dropped below the horizon. Where was he?

“Even if we find him, what good is it gonna do?” Good old Cril; once he'd lost an argument, he'd come up with another to crack your teeth over.

I sighed. Cril had heard it all before, but he wasn't about to let me walk in silence. “You know exactly what, Cril. How many men do you think walk the river to Heartsmouth every year? Hundreds? Thousands? The road follows it for miles. Think about what's been lost in that river over time, lost and never reclaimed, ready for someone to find and take away!”

I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice. My recent ventures had gone up in smoke and only a faded passage in a book I'd hoped to sell as a collectible had led me down this path.

“The Riverman watches and the Riverman knows. The Riverman's treasure lies in the flows.”

It had seemed like nonsense until I remembered some strange gossip from ten years back, and a few quick conversations set it firmly in my mind. The Riverman was out here, and I was going to find him.

“There,” Pril's voice was soft, but it cut through my memories like a hot poker. He wouldn't speak unless it was important.

Sure enough, it was. The river had come wide, laid out before us in a sparkling blue ribbon, its gentle waters sighing over the low rocks that dotted it. I'd have sworn it wasn't here a moment ago, that the forest floor went on for miles.

But there he was.

Across the bank some fifty paces distant – the Riverman.

The description matched down to the last detail. Rough workman’s clothes, silvered hair and a smile on his face that seemed too bright for the hour.

Cril was mercifully silent behind me as I stepped to the edge. Like any creature of magik, the Riverman was undoubtedly more powerful in darkness. With the sunlight quickly fading, speed was of the essence; there was no guarantee the Riverman would be here when daylight came again.

“Riverman!” I called, and he nodded slowly. “I come seeking your treasure!” There had been no instructions on how to address him or how to couch my request, so I opted for a statement of fact.

“Young ones,” he leaned forward off of the stump he was resting on, “always seeking, never finding. Come, if you desire.”

Cril moved before I could stop him, splashing into the shallows and up onto a smooth black stone. Two appeared in front of him and he stepped to the left, only to be met by four more slick stones. A moment's hesitation and he chose one but as soon as his feet made contact it slipped from under him, sinking into the crystal depths more quickly than it had any right. In silence, Cril was gone.

His brother ran forward and I cried out but he waved me off. He had seen the same as I – one stone in each group had no water froth around it – a safe route across to the Riverman.

He made the middle quickly but the rocks abruptly ended, leaving him stranded on a single stone in the river's heart. There was a rumbling sound from upstream and a torrent of water came rushing at Pril's perch, carrying him along as it passed.

Hope said the brothers had been carried to safety by the current, fear said they would share a watery grave, but time allowed for no contemplation. Scrambling into the water I bounded across the rocks and drove forward as soon as my feet touched the middle stone, crashing into the bank next to where the Riverman sat.

“Well done!” He exclaimed as I struggled to my feet. “You are one of only few to join me.”

“Your treasure!” I cried as the Riverman came toward me, arms extended.

“Is yours now,” I took a step back - too much magik flared in those eyes - and a clouded river met my feet.

“Ours,” his voice was everywhere.

***

Every season they come.

A few make it 'cross the river, seeking treasure in the flows. Now they know each bend and turn, each lost coin and misplaced valuable the river has ever held.

They are the Riverman.

-D