The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  He will take it, Dank had said.

  “No.”

  “It is best way,” Draig said.

  Tom couldn’t argue that Draig was the best swordsman. And he didn’t want to listen to the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. But it was there nevertheless, prodding at his thoughts: Draig might have betrayed them.

  “No.” Tom reached back and touched Caledyr’s apple-shaped pommel. It made him feel better. “The sword stays with me.”

  Draig opened his mouth to argue but Sânuoi interrupted him. “The merrow are ready,” he said. Eight of them took up escort positions, pikes at the ready.

  Brega ignored their new guards. “We don’t want an audience or a meeting or a committee. We just want to go back to the surface.”

  “The merrow have decided,” Sânuoi said. “The Setta is needed.”

  “For what, Sânuoi?” Tom asked. “We don’t want to trouble your leaders. And we don’t think we deserve a trial.”

  The merrow shook his head. “The Setta is neither of those things, Thomas Rymour,” he said. “The Setta is for the merrow to decide what must be done. Now we decide what must be done with you.”

  “What must be done with us?” Brega snarled.

  “Yes. There are two proposals.”

  Tom looked up towards a sun he couldn’t see. “What are they?”

  “To release you, to go where you will,” Sânuoi said. “Or to keep you here.”

  “For how long?” Tom knew the answer even as he asked the question.

  “For always.”

  Their guards led them into the Setta and the roar of a thousand conversations settled into a hush. Tom stared up at rows and rows of seats, all filled with shining merrow, blues and greens and silvers and golds. The seats didn’t stop where they met the water, instead hosting stranger merrow, the ones with serpent tails and monstrous faces, prominent lower jaws with protruding needle teeth and no visible nose.

  Sânuoi saw him staring. “The deep merrow,” he told Tom. “They cannot breathe the air as you and I can.”

  “What happened to them?”

  He bared his teeth. “We do not know. So much of that time is lost to us.”

  The arena itself was a small clearing of sand encircled by a wall as tall as Draig. They were escorted to the centre where their guards abandoned them, climbing up into seats of their own. Only Sânuoi remained. Once the guards were seated, a merrow on the first level stood, raised his hands and spoke. He wore the same type of purple robe as Sânuoi.

  “That is Râçori,” Sânuoi told them. “He too is of the Peljaä. He is welcoming everyone to this meeting and reminding them of the matter at hand.”

  The moss-light was a steady cool blue, making the Setta seem cold and unfriendly.

  “What happens now?” Six asked.

  “The proposals have been made,” Sânuoi told them. “They will be discussed. You will be asked questions. Then there will be a vote.”

  “So this is a trial after all,” Tom said.

  Sânuoi said nothing. Tom looked around at the hundreds of eyes staring down at them. The gazes ranged from disdain through revulsion to hatred. There wasn’t a single friendly face.

  Merrow began to stand and talk. Sânuoi translated.

  “What is to stop them from bringing back more surface dwellers and sacking our city? They should be kept here for the protection of all merrow.”

  “They did not fulfill your part of the bargain. They cannot be trusted here, even as prisoners.”

  “They are trespassing on our lands and should be put to death.”

  So it went on, though each speech ended one of two ways: imprisonment or death. But the faces staring at them would soon grow tired of feeding six surface dwellers. That much Tom could see for himself. Today or tomorrow, these creatures would decide to kill them.

  The roar of foreign voices and glittering scales faded to green shade and Dank spoke with a voice too big and too old, even for him. “Time defeats all.”

  Sânuoi’s flapping fins drove the foresight away. “The proposals have been made and agreed on: freedom, imprisonment, or execution.”

  Tom held little hold for freedom.

  Then the merrow began to ask questions. Where did you find a Call? Why did you ask for our help? Why did you lie to us? None of the others volunteered answers. But if time defeated all, perhaps it could defeat the merrow. So Tom answered their questions, and tried to think of a way to escape while the merrow roared.

  “They say you lied,” Sânuoi told him. “Nimuë was not where you said she was.”

  “Perhaps she left,” Tom replied. “Perhaps she was hiding. I don’t know.”

  “You do not want me to say that for you,” he hissed. “Do not mock the merrow, not here.” His fins flapped. “All we found was an old man hiding under a rock.”

  “Didn’t he tell you where Nimuë was?”

  “There are very few of us that speak your tongue.”

  Tom bit back exasperation. This was an opportunity. “Send someone who does,” he said. The longer this was delayed, the better their chances. “I assure you we saw her. We spoke to her. She gave me this sword.”

  Now the merrow’s fins beat the air as if he were trying to fly. “You do mock us.”

  “I do not.”

  “How could you speak to Nimuë?” he demanded. “It has been a thousand years since her waters joined with Lannad’s.”

  Dead. That was what he meant. Nimuë was dead. Tom shook his head. How could that be? He’d seen her, spoken to her, touched her.

  But she held Ambrose captive, who had also lived a thousand years ago. And if he was still alive, she could be too.

  “Magic,” he said. Sânuoi stopped speaking and glared at him. “It has to be magic.”

  “If she were alive, would she not have returned to us?”

  “Perhaps she can’t. Perhaps she’s trapped.”

  But Sânuoi sneered at him and turned away while the Setta spoke to itself.

  “It’s over,” Brega said. She was still but her eyes prowled around the arena. “Lose the translator, you lose the audience.”

  Neirin, who so far had seemed uninterested in everything, peered at Brega as if he’d never seen her before.

  “What do we do?” Six asked.

  “Get him back on our side.” Brega’s tone made it clear she saw little hope of that. She saw it too. She saw their death sentence looming over them.

  “Sânuoi,” Six said. “Please, my apologies, but I must speak.”

  The merrow glared but nodded.

  “There are many strange things in this world and many of them are in the glade we sent you to. The man your people saw, under that rock? He is over a thousand years old and yet he lives and breathes. Nimuë is no different. We beg you to go again. Talk to that man. See what he has to say.”

  But Sânuoi’s eyes were cold. He didn’t believe them.

  “A trade,” Tom said. “I propose a trade.”

  “You broke the terms of your last trade,” Sânuoi said.

  Then a merrow stood and barked a demand and the Setta roared in response.

  “They have called the vote,” Sânuoi said.

  “No, wait, there is more that needs to be said,” Six pleaded. “Our world is in peril, we need to get back to the surface.”

  But it was no use. Râçori was speaking, clawed hands were being raised. The Setta was a roar of noise but the Peljaä were silent, counting votes. Sânuoi had folded his arms and moved to one side; his part was over, he waited for judgement to be handed down. Neirin stood, hunched and distant, the fight knocked out of him. Dank seemed fascinated but unconcerned. Draig was still, a rock. Six stood close to Katharine and neither of them spoke. Brega whirled, ready, fingers clawed and muscles tense. She did look silly in her shift and her yellow scarf.

  Tom felt nervous laughter bubbling inside him. He had betrayed a duke, faced a dragon, given up Faerie. Only to be stopped by these merrow, these fish-men who he had tho
ught a myth. Executed by mythical merrow. It was absurd. Ridiculous. To come all this way. To brave the Whispering Woods. To kill a man. To spend days trapped in a stinking, soaking rat pit.

  To watch Siomi open her neck on a Western blade. It had to mean something. Something more than this.

  A thought nudged him, like a dog ready to be let out.

  Fight.

  His fingers clenched and his jaw tightened. These fish-men would not make this all for nothing.

  Râçori spoke and the Setta roared into life. The vote had carried. The fish-men cheered and jeered, threw gestures down to their victims. Tom’s fingers twitched and he felt an itch to draw the sword. Sânuoi’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  “You are to die for your crimes.”

  The thought appeared fully formed in his mind; Tom knew what had to be done. Caledyr came free of the scabbard with a quiet hiss, lost in the noise of the rabble. Tom twisted his grip like he’d been handling a blade all his life, took one, two easy steps. Put one arm around Sânuoi’s neck and under the chin, pulling it up and exposing it to the copper blade that shone in the cool blue light.

  The Setta stopped. The only sound was the crashing of waves.

  “I have a new proposal.” Tom’s voice was loud and clear though he knew few would understand it. “You take us back to the surface. And, in exchange, Sânuoi of the Peljaä, I won’t kill you right here and now.”

  Chapter 3

  The echoes of Tom’s voice faded. No-one said anything. The others edged closer, placing their backs to his, creating a small circle with Tom at its head. Sânuoi trembled, his hands raised and shaking.

  “You may translate,” Tom murmured. The merrow smelt of fish, yes, and sweat and fear. But he also smelt perfumed, though it was no perfume Tom knew.

  Sânuoi spoke, voice quavering. And, when he was finished, Râçori replied.

  “He says the merrow will not have their voice silenced by a surface man,” Sânuoi said. “He asks if you plan to kill every merrow in this city.”

  “You can tell him we must be allowed to leave. We wish your people no harm.”

  Sânuoi laughed, his fins beating at Tom. “Sorry,” he said. “It is hard to believe that with a blade to my throat.”

  “This is madness,” Six said.

  “Tell them,” Tom said to Sânuoi. “Tell them we don’t want to come back. We don’t want to tell the surface about this place. We just want to leave.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” said Brega. Merrow were beginning to get out of their seats and climb down to the arena floor. “There are too many of them.”

  Sânuoi and Râçori were speaking. “What are you saying?” Tom demanded.

  “We are Peljaä.” Fear made Sânuoi’s voice squeak. “We listen. We have no voice here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Râçori cannot overturn the vote.”

  “Who can?”

  “Only the Setta.”

  The merrow were reaching the sand. Edging towards their little group. Some had short little knives. Others were retrieving pikes from the entrances.

  “How many, do you think?” Brega asked.

  “Enough.” Draig sounded resigned, but not sad or angry. Like he had found the destination he sought by an unexpected path.

  “We can’t fight them all,” said Six.

  “Kill this one,” said Brega.

  “Will that solve anything?”

  “It might be a start.”

  Râçori was staring down at Tom, his fists clenching and unclenching. Tom met his gaze. The merrow was the closest thing to an authority figure. But he was an authority figure without authority.

  “Tom, must you give to me the sword,” Draig said.

  “No.”

  “In Cairnalyr you did not. It must be different this time.”

  Tom saw the look in Siomi’s eyes just before she killed herself. Maybe Draig was right. He turned and met Dank’s eyes. The boy shook his head.

  “No, Draig,” Tom said.

  “Do as he says, Tom.” Neirin gave the approaching merrow a forlorn look. Like he couldn’t summon his indignation and was sad about it.

  “You got us into this mess,” Brega told Tom. “Don’t make it worse.”

  The merrow were goading each other to edge closer. So far no-one wanted to make the first move. But it was only a matter of time.

  “Will they let me kill you?” Tom murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you had better help me think of a way out of this.”

  “The people have spoken. It is done.”

  “Nothing is done until it’s done.”

  The merrow turned his face to Tom as best he could with a sword to his throat. He looked frightened. He looked uncertain. He looked like someone whose world was falling apart around him. Part of Tom felt sick for causing someone so much hurt, and he felt an urge to let the merrow go. But he daren’t. If he did, he would lose the sword. Again.

  Do not lose the sword.

  The air was humming with menace. The anger had deepened and darkened. Any moment the tension would break and they would be torn limb from limb. The others were talking, shouting over the clamour, making plans and recriminations. Tom couldn’t blame them. His gambit had failed. He had failed and he would die here. He would die underwater after all.

  “Let me go,” Sânuoi choked. The sword was too close to his throat, Tom’s arm tensing under the pressure. “There is no benefit should you kill me.”

  No. No benefit. It would not stop the mob around them. But doing nothing wouldn’t stop them either.

  “Tell them something,” he told Sânuoi. “Anything. If we die, you die.”

  “The Setta has spoken,” Sânuoi gasped. “The vote is done.”

  “Then we need a new vote.” The merrow were close, some making feints with their little knives, laughing to see Brega snatch at them or Katharine flinch. The air was a chaos of voices and beating fins. “What if we offer them something better?”

  “Such as?”

  Good question. He looked at the crowd around them. Animal in appearance. Civilised in principle. But savages inside. Like the West, with its words of peace and liberty, they were ready to drop them all in a pit and watch them drown.

  Dank caught his eye. “Looks like it’s a trial by combat after all,” the boy said. And, in a moment, the thought appeared in his mind.

  Fight.

  “A spectacle,” he said to Sânuoi. “A fight. We surface dwellers, we fight each other.” He knew he was talking too fast, fear making him stumble over his words. “We fight and we give you one of us, to do with what you will.”

  Sânuoi’s face changed. There was hope in his eyes.

  “Will it work?” Tom asked.

  “It might.”

  One merrow was stabbing a knife at Brega, who waited to catch and take it.

  “Tell them.”

  “I can’t,” he replied. “I am Peljaä. I have no voice here.”

  Six and Katharine were side by side, facing a merrow with a pike. Katharine said something to Six and his head bowed.

  “Tell them.”

  “You don’t know what you ask.”

  Draig was yelling at the merrow, stepping out of the circle, goading them. The merrow roared back at him.

  “If you don’t tell them we’ll all die.”

  And the hope in Sânuoi’s eyes died as he opened his mouth and cried out to the Setta. It was just a few short words. But the chaos and the bloodlust sputtered, spat and shrank. The merrow looked up at Râçori, whose face was pale and still. But he spread his arms and spoke. Sânuoi said something back, a longer speech, and Râçori replied.

  The merrow began to return to their seats.

  “What did you say?” Tom asked.

  “I gave up my position of Peljaä.” He sounded both relieved and devastated. “I demanded my voice and offered a proposal.”

  “Good.” Tom lowered Caledyr. Sânuoi stepped away, to
uched his neck; the blade had left a small cut and cold, blue blood wept from the wound.

  “What have you proposed?” asked Six.

  “What Tom suggested,” the merrow said. “A trade. Life for a life.”

  “What?” Brega asked.

  “Tom, what have you done?” Katharine asked.

  There was a hum in the air as the merrow took their seats. Excitement. Anticipation. Bloodlust. They sat here and cast votes and called themselves civilised. But, in truth, they wanted blood. Performance. Entertainment.

  “If the vote carries, you fight until one is offered or one remains standing. Make an offering and we will execute them. The rest can leave.” Sânuoi smiled a shark’s smile.

  “And you suggested this, Tom?” Neirin sounded tired and disgusted.

  “It was that or be torn to pieces.”

  “Maybe you should be our choice then?” said Brega. “Let them kill you?”

  “We would be angry, if you did.” Dank spoke with Mab’s voice, heavy with menace, deep with pleasure at the prospect of unleashing that menace. Even Brega blanched.

  Neirin turned to Sânuoi. “Tom does not speak for us,” he said. “We refuse.”

  “You have no voice here.” The merrow spat each word. “And I am no king to order my people. I am not even Peljaä now. I am nothing.”

  Tom felt a stab of sympathy. Whatever this Peljaä was, it was obviously a position of importance. Could Sânuoi get it back? From his demeanour, Tom guessed he couldn’t.

  Râçori was speaking. That was good. That meant there would be a vote. A chance to limit the deaths to one.

  “This is insane,” Brega said.

  “I will not let them execute even one of us.” Neirin’s voice was loud enough for the whole Setta to hear.

  “We’re not picking anyone,” said Brega. “We’ll fight our way out.”

  “One sword against thousands?” Six countered.

  Brega said nothing, and said volumes by doing so.

  Tom noticed Draig was looking at him, no-one else. His expression was blank but his eyes were calculating. Draig was sizing him up. Making his own plan.

  There was no proof Draig had betrayed them. But he had not been in a cell. He had not helped with the escape. And he was accused by Dank, and the fay knew much. The others stood apart from him, arm’s length at all times, even Brega. Draig was blanketed in distrust, even if no-one could quite say why.