Greenwater - Lost in the Dim

"Why do you serve?" - The Question of Faith

The small lake stood, clear, unbroken, pristine.  It reflected the night into a glittering obsidian mirror almost darker than the night about it.  The spring that fed the pool rested too deep for its continual presence to affect the surface.  Only at the mouth of the pool did the eternal motion of the water become visible.
There the waters were channeled into a gently laughing brook that eventually fell off the relatively small cliff to join the vast depths hundreds of feet below.  There were few signs of civilization in the area.  A small collection of weapons, only what one warrior might carry with them, and wax-sealed camping supplies leaning against a rock were the only things visible.  
It was not until a wet, red-maned head rose out of the water, almost seamlessly, that it was made clear who owned those tools.   The breaking of the surface seemed hardly to be noticed beyond a finger's length from the bather.  It was almost as if she were being formed out of the water rather than displacing it.
The traveler shook back her shoulder length hair and flicked it once as a further encouragement to dry.  Even in the shrouding darkness of the mountainous trees that towered over all in the Greenwater her hair seemed to be a bright flame that caught, focused and reflected all light in its vicinity.  In comparison, her athletic body, hidden from the waist down by the black water, seemed a pale light that gleamed a gold that was almost white.
She bent down reverently, arms cupped together, as she collected a large handful of water whispering a soft stream of words before washing her face in an apparent ritual.  The bather's hands spread out to their span, her face remaining quiet and peaceful.  Then they circled out again as she arched her back before reaching down to cup another handful of water.
It was the end of another ten days. She had spent the day seeking out this lake, or something similar that would serve the same purpose.  And now she intended to spend the night in the Cleansing.  Cleaning her body, calming her mind, centering her spirit, and focusing her being on the path of her duty.
She had been so long on her own that she began to fear that her Cleansing was more about an extra-long bath and time-keeping than actual prayer.  It was said that everyone had their faith tested eventually.  She had begun to think that, perhaps, this long exile was hers.
For all she knew, she had already failed in her duty.    More than four hundred days ago, the clerics of her village had deemed that some threat was facing the Greenwater.   An ancient threat that had to be stopped lest the ancient ages of tyranny and empire return.
She had been the first to volunteer.  Swearing an oath before Duinluhg to defend the Ffolk, the malana and all the free peoples.  She had not left alone; one brother and two sisters had traveled with her.  Besides her family there had been a weaver and a blood witch.  Two males of her race, ramatan, and four females, lygiel.  
It had been almost funny at first.  Unless war was about, lygiel usually stayed at home to defend the village.  The ramatan were usually the explorers, the emissaries.  The fact that this band had more lygiel than ramatan while it was meant to travel so far was bizarre.  And the only information they had were the description of a few dreams and one of the old proverbs: "the threat of the future lay in the history of the present."
She hadn't considered, when she volunteered, the fact that she had never been more than a day beyond the village before in her life.  And now, here she was, lost in the trackless depths of the Greenwater.  Her comrades lost to misfortune and the waters.  No more than a month out and they had encountered one of the Greenwater snakes, spawn of that one great Serpent that had roamed the water since the age of dragons.  If even Valacir had lived, he would have found a path...
She harshly returned her thoughts back to the Cleansing.  Now was not the time to think of the past, but how to forge into the future.  She would mourn another day; there was a ritual for that as well.
"Man," a voice hissed disdainfully.  The lygiel paused as she heard the word.  It was a corruption of what the malana, the race that dominated the settled portions of the Greenwater, called the Ffolk.  Or rather, it was the word a race with a related tongue used to name the same race.
"Ranida," she smiled quietly as she turned about toward the speaker.  
Civilization, hopefully friendly civilization.  Ranida lizard-people were sprinkled in clans about the Greenwater, the greatest number were settled in the southern realm of Ratadoni, though she hoped that she had not encountered them.  
"Have I reached Malanador?" she paused to correct herself from using her people's name of the realm. "The realms of the malana?"  
The malana had no name for their kingdom, claimed they had no kingdom in fact.  Each house was a government of their own.  Still the alliances and good will between houses were widespread, and they were mostly unified.  Especially in the last forty years, since the most respected house acquired a new head.
She looked over the group that had found her.  There were twelve of the ranida, each appearing like a two-legged lizard.  They were large, broad shouldered, and strong.  Many would be stronger than her despite her training.  They were also, however, young and untrained.  They probably hadn't been in more than a couple of skirmishes.  Not like her fallen comrades, who had sortied out from their village to battle the invading sea demons with honor.  And not like her, who had been trained since her earliest age and spent the past seasons in a state of near constant alertness.
They stood at least two heads taller than most Ffolk, with glittering, green and black scales meshing together into a reflective coat of hard armor.
The majority of the weapons were ranida craft, she could tell from where she was.  They were heavy war machetes, equally useful in cutting a path or an enemy.  Other than that each of the creatures bore a short bow.  Only the ranida in the center bore different gear  His gear was cleaner, better, the blade was slimmer, brighter in the darkness than that of the others.
She frowned at that, uncertain as to why a ranida would be using a weapon so concerned with finesse over their own favored machetes.  The malana used such swords, though theirs were shorter and better suited to close fighting than the blade this ranida carried.
Over their scales they wore some sort of leather armor, shark or crocodile probably.  There were few other creatures in the Greenwater with tougher skin that were still relatively easy to kill.  A slim tabard was worn over the armor of the ranida. A green dragon rearing back with wings outstretched to strike.  The crest of the ruling clan of Ratadoni.  She frowned deeper.  
Of all the civilized regions of the Greenwater she could have wondered into, Ratadoni. If anything was a leftover of the old times, the rulers of this realm were.  Arrogant, intolerant, tyrannical in the extreme.  They were a threat, maybe not the threat, but still a threat.  It was her duty to ensure none of them passed her alive.  At least she knew she was near one of the great mesas now.  
"Man, die!" one of the warriors shouted in the Ffolk tongue.  He was obviously the leader and making an effort to inform the "man" just what was about to happen.  
"Come on then," she called out, saving her confusion for later.  She frowned at allowing herself to be distracted before battle like that.
The lygiel glided backwards in the pool, moving far more smoothly than her attacker was.  On the shore, the lizard like ranida were putting bows to use and taking shots at her.  She dodged around the arrows, twisting and weaving in manners that her closest attacker deemed should have been impossible.  Especially as he found himself having to swim as he approached her.  Then he got close enough for his own night vision to pierce the nearly impenetrable water.
The ranida leader had only a brief mental flash of what he had attacked when his target glided forward with blinding speed to meet him.  Then he was pulled under the water.  
The archers on the shore ceased fire as their leader closed, fearful of hitting him.  One of them moved forward to squint in the darkness.  Something was wrong.  Then their officer and the female vanished under the water in a blink.  They watched the pristine surface of the lake waiting for sign of their captain coming back with the ugly man female.  They were thus looking much too far out into the lake.
The "man" broke the surface of the water no more than a lazy toss away and quickly slid up the shore and into the midst of her attackers.  What was hidden under the water before was now clearly apparent to the shocked ranida.  The bather appeared almost as a Ffolk or moranu, the scaleless cousins to the malana, down to her waist.  Below that, was the lithe, slender body of a ruby-scaled serpent.
"I am Runya Sulemar," she said, speaking in a cool, calm tone.  As much a ritual as her prayers in the water, but with a definite trace of hostility.  "Come with me to the razor's edge.  We'll choose our fates with another dance, striding the river red."  
She had no particular wish to kill a small collection of obvious conscripts that probably had little more choice in the matter of their employment than their officer had chances against her in the water.  Still they were the enemy, and she had her duty.  
It was a long moment before either side reacted.  Before the ranida realized that she was still just one naked female with merely one sword stolen from their obviously drowned leader. The majority dropped their bows to reach for melee weapons.
The warrior burst into action, torso twisting in ways impossible when a creature had hips to consider.  They outnumbered her, they out equipped her, having interrupted her prayer.  It wasn't enough.
She was trained well, almost flawlessly.  Deflecting attackers into each other's way, shifting about her torso as if she were merely floating and not connected to the ground at all.  After a few minutes she was covered in a number of bruises, scratches and flesh wounds, and tiring, but her opponents had been reduced to three.  Down to this easily manageable number she moved to end this before one of the amateurs got lucky.
She picked out what seemed to be the weakest of the three and whipped forward quickly to wrap the draconic creature in her coils.  She was focusing her stolen sword, along with a dagger she had picked off an opponent earlier, to block the attacks of the other two as she crushed their comrade to death.  
The two remaining ranida seemed half dazed by the act.  So far she had only used that lithe and agile body to smash or trip them and move herself from place to place.  They had not considered this application of the snake woman's anatomy.  They were not trained to consider that doing such earlier would have left her dangerously vulnerable against so many opponents.  
At the sound of a sickening crack, the woman's coils slackened, causing the dead ranida to buckle and collapse to the ground.  She began to flow forward in that eerily smooth way that legged creatures, no matter how well trained, just couldn't attain.
One of the two warriors broke and ran as she freed herself up to further battle.  The last ranida blinked in confusion and glanced at his companion, and so he missed seeing the strike that separated his head from his shoulders.  
The fleeing warrior did not look back to see the lygiel finish off his companion and frown at him.  Legs were superior to snakes in a straight run, he knew this but still refused to slow and allow himself a glance backwad.  He thus did not see Runya calmly pick up one of the few unbroken bows and an arrow.
She was a lygiel, a warrior, a trained servant of the goddess Duinlhug.  Her duty was her life.     
She was Runya Sulemar.  
She never failed in her duty.

The arrow flew.