by C. E. Murphy
Shrieks of laughter—and of pure terror, when the Stonemasters made the drop—echoed out of the cold water as the Waifia 's crew headed for the bottom of the lake. Inga, nervously, said, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" as the whipping water began to draw them in.
Rasim grinned wildly at her. "It was your idea, Highness!"
"But I didn't know—!" Her protest came too late. The whirlpool seized them. They swung around at dizzying speeds, drawn deeper into the water. Rasim folded his arms around Inga, streamlining them both, and howled with delight as they lashed through foaming salt water. He had never in his life made it to the bottom of the Ilyaran harbor without losing control of his witchery and getting drenched. This time, though, the magic was his to command. He and the Northern princess spun faster and faster, until Inga gave up being afraid and began giggling breathlessly.
The whirlpool narrowed, but not as much as a natural one would.
Rasim felt witchery at work, the heaviness of seamastery holding the funnel wider than it wished to be, and indeed, slowing its mad rush in circles. It was still ridiculously, hysterically fast. Above the roar of water, other gleeful—and terrified—shouts could sometimes be heard. The water darkened around them, making the descent feel all the more dangerous, though they were in the
hands of a dozen or more sea witches. There was more real danger of drowning in a cup of sakka than in the Northern lake.
Then they were slowing, the whirlpool's strength spent into broader, heavier eddies that rippled through the lake's depths.
The last little distance was a drop, all the way to the stony lake bed. Rasim landed neatly, but Inga collapsed sideways, clutching her head. Rasim knelt and touched her ears, finding the madly sloshing water inside them and stabilizing it.
Inga's eyes stopped whirling and she clapped her hands over her ears, still swaying. "Oh my. Stopping my head spinning was almost as bad as the—I'm talking. We're underwater and I'm talking! And breathing!" She clutched Rasim's shoulder in astonishment.
"Rasim, look. "
Seamasters stood shoulder to shoulder, heads down and eyes closed in concentration. Water domed above them, drips forming and falling to the lake bed, but its crushing weight was held aloft.
The three Sunmasters were evenly spaced around the small dome, arms spread and wreathed with flame. Warmth wobbled the air, almost visible as the Skymasters kept it moving, kept it fresh, always exchanging it with the air from the surface.
To one side of the dome, the salt fountain rose from the lake floor. It glowed with a soft white light of its own, just as it had when Rasim had first seen it. It was as if the salt itself was illuminated somehow, its light only fading as it drifted farther into the lake waters. Now, without those waters to absorb it, the salt was piling rapidly onto the drying rock and slipped over the fountain's sides. With the light offered by the Sunmasters, Rasim saw that the fountain itself was beautiful, which he hadn't noticed on his first journey to the lake's bottom. It looked like a wine jug, with a delicate round belly and a thin, narrow spout. A giant's wine jug, to be sure: it stood at least twice Rasim's height, and salt spilled from its spout with a soft hiss. The Stonemasters, ankle-deep in salt, examined it.
"A salt bed lies beneath the lake's floor." Master Lusa's voice echoed strangely against the water, though she didn't sound afraid. Not even Milu looked disturbed at the weight of water above them. Maybe it was the focus of witchery, of doing their duty, that made it bearable. "The witchery done here is tremendous. This," she gestured at the fountain itself, with its swollen belly and slender spout, "this isn't really necessary.
There's a bewitched crack in the lake floor, beneath the bottom of this..." She reared back, protecting her eyes from falling salt as she examined the fountain. “This jug . The belly fills up and it’s forced out the top, but the only reason to have the jug is for the beauty of it.”
"But no one was ever meant to see it." Inga took a nervous step forward, making certain Rasim stayed beside her.
Lusa shrugged. "Any witch has a certain vanity about what she does, Highness. No matter if no one would see it. You want to leave something you're proud of behind. Maybe something someone else would recognize, if they did see it."
"And do you?" Inga's nerves fell away with the regal demand, but the Stonemaster gave her a sour look.
"Not yet. Stone holds the memory of who's shaped it, but I haven't begun my own work yet. I might be able to tell you more when we're done. What I don't understand," she said, turning back to the fountain, "is how the magic continues in perpetuity. It's not natural for the salt to fountain upward, not unless there's something beneath it pushing it upward."
"Or unless someone is still down here working the witchery."
Rasim regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. Everyone, even the intensely-concentrating seamasters, looked sickened at the idea.
Inga paled in the sunmasters' golden light. "Is that possible?"
Lusa snorted. "Of course not. No one would survive down here for as long as these waters have been being poisoned."
"Guildmaster...Isidri..." Kisia spoke from the far side of the fountain, startling Rasim. He had thought she was helping keep the whirlpool open, not down on the lake bed like he was. He stretched out his hand, finally thinking to add his own magic to the power keeping the water domed above them. Kisia relaxed just enough to speak more clearly. "Guildmaster Isidri remembers when other countries had witchery, or at least remembers old stories of it. Their magic wasn't all like ours."
"Like the Northern fleet turning the harbor to ice," Rasim said quietly. Inga glanced at him. He shrugged. "Ilyarans have a hard time turning water to ice. We work with pure elements. Once you change water to ice, it's kind of...something else. It's still water, but it's not water the way we sea witches know it. But whomever taught the Northerners magic—well, they could do ice really easily. Maybe some witches can shape...I don't know. Wood, maybe. Or..." He nodded at the lake floor. “Maybe somebody can shape… people. Make them so they can live like this, and keep using their witchery.”
Inga's eyes went dark, but she nodded. Lusa, though, made a dismissive sound. "Or maybe there's water or hot rock trying to get up from below that salt bed, and it's pushing the salt into the fountain. I can certainly feel layers of metal between the rock and the salt itself, so there's no reason to think that deeper down there might not be other things. It's nothing to close it up, Highness. Purifying the lake, though, that's going to take a while. I don't envy Nasira's crew the job."
"The sooner you get this done," Nasira muttered from near Kisia.
Lusa chuckled and clicked her fingers at Telun and Milu. "You two, move back."
"Master—"
"Hush, Milu. This is a master's work. I'm much more likely to recognize the witch's touch than you are, but it'll be easier if I don't have the two of you working witchery alongside me.
Besides, the day I can't close a crack in the stone is the day I take al Colutar from my name." She winked and waded through salt to kneel beside the fountain. "The bottom of this big jug is the crack itself. Captain Nasira, maybe you and your witches can bring it to the surface for us when we're done, to have a good look at and maybe put in her Highness's council chambers to be admired."
Nasira made a skeptical sound that echoed around the watery dome.
A low chuckle followed. Telun and Milu, both smiling ruefully, fell back a little distance, then joined the circle of sea witches after Kisia beckoned to them.
Lusa clucked appreciatively. "Good lads. A moment, and then..."
She laid her hands on the fountain, stonewitchery's usual weight seeming much less significant to Rasim, compared to the pressure of water from above.
The fountain rippled faintly with her touch, as if welcoming her, and something clicked at the back of Rasim's mind, a heaviness that felt wrong. He caught Inga's hand, holding it hard enough to make her grunt in surprise. "Rasim?"
"Something's not right. Something—"
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The lake floor beneath Lusa's feet swelled, rock rolling back to expose dull silver metal. Lusa took a few startled, dancing steps. "What the—get back." The Stonemaster's voice sharpened.
"Everyone get back."
Startled but obedient, the sea witches edged back. Their grip on the magic intensified. Milu and Telun started forward. Kisia grabbed them both, hauling them away. Telun began a protest, but Kisia tweaked the big boy's ear. "She meant you too!"
Water droplets, forgotten about until now, splashed against the dull metal and sizzled.
Lusa's voice was soft and swift with concentration. "Reshaping the stone to seal the crack triggered something. A cascade of other magic, though I've never heard of a master who could do that. And the metal is reacting to water. Nasira, the water drops, can you—"
Holes opened up in the stone under their feet. Water gushed upward and spilled across the lake floor. The uncovered metal's hissing got louder, half drowning the shouts that filled the little dome. Telun and Milu tried frantically to close the holes as sea witches slammed water spigots aside. Stonemaster Lusa's voice rose above all of them: "Get out of here, go, go, go !" Her witchery flowed at a terrible pace, stone walls rising around herself and the exposed metal lake bed.
An orange flash of fire seared Rasim's vision in the instant before a vast concussive blast shattered the sea-witched water dome of safety apart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Panicked, Rasim clung to all the air he could. It lost its heat almost instantly, no longer warmed by sunwitchery. Screams rang in his ears, high and thin compared to the ringing caused by the blast. His own throat didn't hurt: he wasn't the one screaming.
" Inga !" Rasim squeezed, hoping desperately he still held the princess's hand.
The screams stopped, and through the shrill noise in his ears he heard gasping sobs. "Rasim? Rasim, what happened? I can't see!"
"I don't know. Neither can I. Quiet." He crushed his eyes closed.
It was easier that way, because at least he didn't think he should be able to see. Breathing through his teeth, trying not to let fear get the best of him, he stretched his witchery beyond their little bubble of safety.
Fire burned in the water, huge rocking explosions slamming waves against him. They should have been tumbling tail over toes, but he'd stabilized them without realizing it. Siliaria's grace, saving him again. It had saved others as well: he could feel pockets of air like his own, bouncing across the cold lake bottom or fleeing for the surface. Siliaria's grace and Stonemaster Lusa's bravery. She had saved them from the worst of the blast, warned them in time to hold their air and save themselves. She could not have survived the explosion, and even if she had, the lake's depths would have crushed her already.
As it was crushing others. There were bodies in the water, thrashing against the huge rolling blasts. Rasim imagined the water itself as a battering tool, the way he'd used it in the mines. He smashed it through itself, focusing his witchery as strongly as he could and trying to snatch some of the dying sailors off the lake bottom.
Too late, even when he acted as quickly as he could. They went still before he reached them, their souls in Siliaria's hands.
"We have to go up. See who's survived." Rasim's voice cracked.
"Are you all right, Inga?"
"I am." Inga sounded completely in control. Grateful, Rasim told himself that if she was calm, he had no reason to be afraid either.
New explosions smashed the water, so loud he thought he would never hear properly again. Swells lifted them, tossing them around the lake, and huge belches of gas rose upward. Rasim followed them, fighting the urge to go too fast. Air got squeezed somehow, when it went deep in the water. It had to stretch back to its right shape everywhere, even inside their lungs, before they reached the surface, or it could wrack a body with terrible, killing pain. It didn't always happen, but if there was a choice, it was better to surface slowly, even for a sea witch.
The water and metal were still reacting when they finally came up. Steam billowed wildly above the lake, turning the early Northern sunset into fire that glowed across the sky. All over the lake, others surfaced too. Even at the distance, most looked as ragged as Rasim felt: battered and bruised, even if the water had muffled the explosions' effects. He couldn't make out many faces, though, and still had no idea who might have been left on the lake bottom.
Skymaster Arret had survived, at least. He was nearby, elevated out of the water on a spigot that Captain Nasira held in place.
Arret stood with his arms spread and head lowered. Grim concentration made deep lines in his face.
"What is he doing?" Inga asked. Rasim shook his head, but someone
—Desimi! Rasim had never been so glad to see the other boy in his life!—Desimi took a few hard strokes their direction and answered the question.
"Poison air came up with that explosion. We lost the whirlpool to the blast, before the bad air came up. I dove to see what happened. Arret was coming up fast with Nasira. Way too fast, but I guess a sky witch doesn't have to worry about the air squeezing. They stopped to tell me not to surface and to find anybody else I could and to stop them for at least five minutes, so Arret could clear the air. But I've already found three bodies." Desimi's eyes looked much older than his thirteen years.
"How many died down there? What happened?"
"We don't know yet." Inga spoke again, her calm as soothing as a blanket. "We'll find out. Rasim, bring me back to shore. I'll stay there, out of the way, until we know the worst of it."
"You shouldn't be alone, Highness."
"This wasn't a personal attack." Inga lifted her chin, determined. "No one could possibly know that I would be with the people who tried to fix our lake. This was intended to destroy you, Rasim. To destroy you and any witches who might discover
something at the bottom of this lake. We need to learn who's survived, and what they may have learned."
"Bring her to shore," Desimi said, the words clipped. "I'll let the captain know you're alive."
"Desimi." Rasim swallowed. "Have you seen Kisia yet?"
Desimi's face went blank and he shook his head no. He swam away without saying anything else. Rasim pressed his lips together, then nodded and took himself to shore with Inga, who gathered her robes, regal and unafraid. "Go back into the lake," she said gently. "Find your friends."
"I'm going to find a Skymaster," Rasim said through gritted teeth. "We have to make sure the air you breathe stays clean. It might not have been a personal attack, but if someone is trying to destabilize the Northlands like they're trying to ruin Ilyara, I think accidentally murdering the crown princess would count as a success in their minds."
Surprisingly, Inga smiled and offered a shallow bow. "That, I will not argue with. Thank you for your wisdom, Rasim al Ilialio."
Jaw clenched so hard it ached, Rasim struck back out into the water. If he'd been wise he would have expected some kind of trap at the bottom of the lake, although like Lusa, he had never heard of anyone setting one magic to trigger at the use of another.
That didn't mean it wasn't possible. He should have thought that anyone able and willing to work the salt fountain witchery would have also been prepared to protect it at all costs.
He wanted, suddenly and intensely, to return to the Sunmaster archives in Ilyara. Surely somewhere in them—or in the royal papers, or maybe even in Isidri's long memory— somewhere there must be notes, comments, proof of these kinds of magics being worked before. Histories of those who had left the guilds, who might have taught others the Ilyaran witcheries, or whose talents were remarkable in strength and might also be unusual in cleverness. There had to be answers somewhere. Rasim was determined to find them.
Even in the fading light it was easy to find the Skymaster and Captain Nasira. Rasim swam to the captain's side, reluctant to disturb her witchery but needing to know: "Did the other skymasters survive? Inga is on shore and I want to be sure—"
"Arret whispered it to t
hem already." Nasira nodded sharply at the shore, making Rasim squint against the dim light. Inga's tall, slender form was easy to pick out, her robes bright and her hair brighter. Someone with dark skin and hair had joined her.
Rasim was too tired to even try feeling for skywitchery at that distance, but he trusted that it was indeed one of Master Arret's
apprentices. Relieved, he glanced back at Nasira, really seeing her for the first time.
Blood dried around a gash on the captain's cheek, but even more shockingly, her whip-thin braid was gone, burned away all the way to her nape. What hair remained was very straight and slicked back from her face, though whether with blood or water, Rasim wasn't certain. Her jaw was as tight as his, her lips bloodless as she concentrated on holding the Skymaster aloft so he could do his own duties. The water trembled around her, almost seeping through her clothes. From the current whirling around them, Rasim knew she kept herself from sinking through witchery alone. Most of the time, sea witches would use a combination of magic and treading water. A cold chill went through Rasim's belly.
"Captain, how badly are you hurt?"
"I'm fine."
The short, chopped words were so obviously untrue that Rasim barked laughter. "You're not either. Are you bleeding?"
Nasira gave him a scathing look. Rasim curled his lip in return and, if she wouldn't answer, determined to see for himself. He sank into the cold water, closing air above his head so he could breathe, then gasped as he realized the black water here wasn't just reflecting the darkening skies. Blood flowed slowly and steadily from Nasira's torso, puncture wounds that were probably even worse than they looked.