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# Waverider Expedition - Yelthari

The blessing of Kalombé

The jungle swallowed sound. Even the cries of birds seemed smothered by the green.

Solonex Virellus pushed a branch aside, the wet leaves brushing his coat. Behind him came Ulfar, axe over shoulder, Velan silent as smoke, and Eira with her bow half-drawn, eyes flicking to every shadow. The trail led downward toward the river, where the ground grew soft and steaming.

The Yelthari village lay ahead, half-hidden among palms and broadleaf trees. Huts of woven reed and bark stood in neat rows, but no smoke rose from the fires, no laughter carried on the wind.

Ulfar grunted. “Empty. Either they fled, or something made them flee.”

Solonex crouched, brushing a footprint in the mud. “No blood. No sign of struggle. They left in order.”

Velan’s white hair gleamed in the dim light. “Then they’ll be watching us now.”

Eira scanned the canopy. “If they are, they’re better ghosts than I.”

They moved carefully through the clearing, the silence pressing on them. A bowl of offerings sat before a carved idol, fish bones, painted stones, a single feather. Solonex touched the feather gently. “Still soft. They weren’t gone long.”

Then Ulfar’s head snapped up. “Boats.”

They followed his gaze. Out on the broad river, shapes moved, long, narrow craft, gliding between the roots. At first, Solonex thought it might be the Yelthari returning, but then the sails caught the light: woven kelp, marked with shark teeth.

“Lakers,” Velan said.

Slavers.

“Positions!” Ulfar barked. The four pulled back into the huts, taking cover behind walls of woven grass. The first boat scraped the bank. Men leapt ashore, pale and scarred, nets coiled at their belts, curved knives in hand.

Eira’s arrow took the first through the throat. He fell without a sound.

Then chaos broke.

The slavers spread fast, shouting to one another, nets flying through the air. Ulfar met the first with a roar, splitting skull and spine. Velan’s sword flashed, cutting through rope and bone alike. Solonex fought in silence, methodical and cold.

But there were too many. For every one that fell, three more climbed from the boats. Nets tangled their feet, spears pressed in.

Then the jungle screamed.

From the trees burst the Yelthari. Painted white with ash, faces masked by feathers, they came like the forest itself, silent until the moment of death. Arrows hissed from the canopy. Spears thrust from the undergrowth. The slavers broke, caught between the gods and their prey.

Eira tore free of her net and joined them with her axe, fighting beside a woman with eyes like green fire. Ulfar laughed like thunder. “Told you they were watching!”

Minutes later it was over. The river ran red, and the rafts drifted empty downstream.

The Yelthari gathered the dead in silence. One of them, a tall woman draped in shells and painted white, stepped forward. Her eyes were far older than her face.

“I am Zina Maroa,” she said. “We thought you were hunters of chains.”

Solonex bowed his head. “And we thought you were gone.”

She smiled faintly. “The jungle hides, Captain. It never flees.”

She took a calabash bowl, filled it with water, and whispered over it. Then she marked each of them on the forehead with her thumb, murmuring a blessing to Kalombé, Keeper of the Gates. The water felt warm, alive.

“You walk under his eye now,” she said. “The paths will open for you.”

Solonex inclined his head. “Then hear our counsel in return. The lakefolk will come again. Move your people inland.”

Maroa’s smile faded. “The Itzalcoa hunt inland. Their altars burn for blood. The lake hungers, but the jungle remembers.”

She looked toward the treeline. “We choose the smaller hunger.”

That night, as the Waverider’s longboat cut back downriver, the four sat in silence. Fireflies drifted over the water like spirits.

“They’re trapped between monsters,” Eira said.

Ulfar spat over the side. “Always are, folk like that. World’s made by men who never row.”

Velan stared at the dark trees. “They fought well. Maybe that’s enough.”

Solonex said nothing for a long time. The sound of the oars filled the silence.

Finally, he spoke. “For now. It won't last.”

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