Wednesday has come around again, and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction. I am also delighted that this is the conclusion from last week’s tale.
Water wrapped around Riz, flowing and sending him tumbling. His arms failed until one hand broke the surface. A hand which swiftly dropped again to strike the sea with the glove he still wore.
Light flared and sent Riz tumbling faster than falling in the ship’s wake. The water did not calm about him as the bolt of magic passed. It roiled. It yanked him down only to cast him rapidly up.
Up. Up out of the depths into the air. He gasped in a breath, seeing for a moment that the battle still raged.
The water cut up with him, wrapping Riz in dense green seafoam. Green should have smelled more tranquil, but this green carried the ocean’ scent mingles with battle.
Smoke. Metal. Blood.
Riz stretched his hands before him, and the foam responded twisting between his hands. Responded to the Magiker gloves. For a moment he pondered bringing his hands together, clashing the water.
But they didn’t need conflict. They needed space.
Riz swept his hands apart, and the water fled before him. The foam split followed by the waves upon which both vessels bobbed. The ocean split shoving the ships with greater force than the stoutest winds.
Exhaustion swamped Riz, and he dropped back to the calmed water. Bobbing to the surface he saw no battle. Both ships were far from each other and him.
That left him a different problem. How could he reach his ship?
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