Tom’s eyes flashed. “You’re saying that was Henry’s idea, then? Or yours, Dolan?”
“Mine,” Lenny answered honestly, the look in Tom’s gaze warning against even the thought of doing otherwise. “I did it to save my Pop. The lives of my crew and their loved ones too. Even then, I only made the call to take your son because we couldn’t find the target we was sent out to find, and I knew my owner would make good on his threats to kill all those he had kept behind to keep us loyal.”
“And Henry?” Tom asked.
“He did it for leverage,” said Lenny. “Greed, even. Told us he wouldn’t help to take Garrett down and bring him back unless my owner paid him double what we was sent out for in the first place.”
Tom snorted. “You think Henry’s greed makes what you did any better than him, Dolan?”
“Nah,” said Lenny. “No more than I’m faulting you for thinking that you, Vasili, and your pals believed you could make a run out of Røyrkval and leave all the rest in the barracks behind to suffer for it.”
Tom frowned. “You getting smart with me now, Dolan?”
“Nah, I’m not getting smart with ya,” said Lenny. “Just saying if you’re gonna come at me with all this guilt trip stuff about decisions I made to save my family and crew, then don’t pretend that what you and yours were planning in Røyrkval was any better.”
Tom chuckled. “You got some balls on you, kid. I’ll give you that. But if you wanna go toe to toe with me on this issue about my son and your bringing him here, then I can promise that you’re gonna come out on the wrong end.” He jerked his chin toward the closed door. “I might have thought to leave those other fools behind, sure, but most of them are thieves, murderers, you name it. The worst of our kind, kid.” He squinted. “You brought down an innocent, Dolan.”
“I did,” Lenny admitted. “And I been paying for it ever since, Tommy . . . but I tried to help Garrett escape too. Went back for him in Crayfish Cavern when I could’ve forgotten him by swimming away and not looking back. Tried to help him as best I could afterward too.”
“Easy thing to claim with no one else around to argue otherwise or back you up,” said Tom.
“Ask Garrett yourself,” said Lenny. “Once the two of you get back together.”
“I’ll do that, sure,” said Tom. “And when I do, I’d kinda like for you to be standing there along with me, Dolan.”
Lenny fidgeted. “What do you mean?”
Tom leaned forward, reaching his meaty paw of a hand toward Lenny and clamping down on his shoulder blade. “I mean that you and me got a long road ahead together, kid. Now, I’m grateful for what you and your father did for me and all the rest in these train cars with us.” Tom squeezed Lenny’s shoulder blade, hard enough to make him wince. “But don’t you think for a second that I’ll ever forget it was you and your crew to bring my son down into this hellish world, Dolan. The way I see it, you helping me to find Garrett again and then see him safely back to shore is about the only chance you got of earning my forgiveness too.”
6
GARRETT
From the outset of Garrett’s decision to embrace the Salt and abandon the shore, the Hammer chieftain, Atsidi Darksnout, had warned it would be hard swimming to catch up with the Nomadic horde led by Cursion White Shadow.
But we will move faster than they, Atsidi had said to his warriors and Garrett before leaving the shallower waters. The other tribes will be burdened with numbers, bickering of plans, and honor to come. Even the rule of White Shadow is not immune to such greed and desires from his allies. And the White Shadow will not drive his warriors to exhaustion before their arrival at the gates of New Pearlaya to war against the Blackfin and his Merrow king.
True to his word, Atsidi Darksnout had led Garrett and the others on a relentless pace to rejoin the other tribes. Garrett swore he could count on one hand the number of hours that Atsidi had allowed them to sleep since embarking on their return journey. Yet for every time Garrett began to nod off, or even awoke from such slumbers, always he found the dark Nomad from the Indianapolis Zoo swimming around him in protecting watch.
For all the miles swum, all the times his mind told him he should be exhausted for such efforts, Garrett marveled too at his shark form’s ability to meet the tireless demands of Atsidi Darksnout. More times than not, Garrett found himself keeping pace with the dark Nomad also, the pair of them leaving the other Hammers behind and then forced to pull up, or abandon them completely.
Your body is strong, Garrett Half-Orc, Atsidi acknowledged during such a break in their swim. It seems to me you are stronger in mind now also.
Garrett had only nodded in quiet reply rather than confess otherwise to the lean-muscled, older warrior. A week later, his muscles aching, Garrett found himself wishing he had chosen to stay with his Nomad father all along, rather than choose to go ashore with thoughts of returning to an empty home and loved ones already lost.
By morning of the eighth day, Garrett’s skin began to tingle, his Nomadic mind warning that others were near. The signal strengthened for each and every tail stroke. Adrenaline sped the Hammers and Garrett onward to close the distance for good and all.
By noon, the Nomad horde lay ahead of them like a dark and distant, underwater swarm that stretched for leagues on end. Hundreds of thousands of sharks and Nomads in half-human, all teeming together, all bound in an easterly direction, all united in their cause to war against the Merrows and Orcs in New Pearlaya.
At Atsidi’s bidding, the Hammers sounded horns to announce their arrival.
Garrett tensed when near a hundred shaded outlines turned back to meet him and the Hammer party. They came bearing spears and tridents, harpoons and swords, their faces tattooed with varied tribal designs and multi-shaded colors. Others came in human form, riding on the backs of giant stingrays and mantas too, each of them seeming to fly at varying depths. For each and every one that approached, Garrett squinted to better inspect their tail types and ascertain which tribe they belonged to. He found them a motley sort - a handful of grim Merrows with their faces and forms tattooed in likewise manner to the Nomads they swam with. Most of the group halted at an invisible boundary line to await Garrett and the Hammers. A few drove their rays down. Others turned toward the surface, then broke off from the main unit to guide their mounts to patrol at various depths along the boundary line. One alone chose to ride his manta onward, speeding ahead and leaving his brethren behind.
Garrett exhaled a sigh of relief at the leader come to treat with them.
Watawa raised his left hand in sweeping acknowledgement. With his right, he slowed his ray, bringing it to a halt. Hail, Atsidi Darksnout, he said with a grin and a nod to the Hammer chieftain. His smile broadened when finding Garrett next. Hail, Garrett Half-Orc. Your father sends me to deliver his greetings and his welcome of your safe return.
Garrett’s brow furrowed. You knew I would come back?
I hoped, said Watawa. The White Shadow knew.
How? Garrett asked.
Let you ask him yourself, my young friend, said Watawa, bidding the others to swim with them also. I am to bring you and Atsidi Darksnout both to meet with White Shadow and others also for a high council of utmost urgency.
The high council meets? Atsidi asked, swimming forward to keep pace with Watawa and Garrett. For what trouble, Open Shell?
Much and more, I’m afraid, said Watawa, acknowledging his fellows in the Unwanted tribe as he, Garrett, and the Hammers passed them by. It would seem that a gathered horde of Nomads swimming for the Merrow capital draws many an eye, my friend. Already there have been many Orc pods sent out to engage us along our journey.
Atsidi scoffed at that. The Merrow king sends his soldiers to slaughter, rather. What else could await a few pods sent to crash against us now with so many of our tribes in number to thwart them?
Aye, the same as White Shadow questioned, at first, said Watawa. But these Orcs do not come in waves to test their might like the Painted Guard.
No, these attacking our ranks now are seawolves, tried and true. They withdraw into the shadows, the same as our people fight, never lingering for longer than a heartbeat before spreading out to thin their number and then vanish into the Abyss.
Can’t you dive after them and chase them there? Garrett asked.
We can and have, said Watawa. But not all of our people ever return. It is said ‘An Orc without their pod is nothing’, no? Watawa cocked an eyebrow as he looked on Garrett. I gather these seawolves come alone, yet leave their pack to wait in the depths. All to taunt and lure weaker minds to the greater pod and trap below.
Atsidi grimaced. Aye, and our would-be warriors finding their own deaths instead.
Indeed, said Watawa. But such is the way for these tricksome seawolves. By my reports, all are transients bearing the garb of Violovar, loyal to Malik Blackfin.
Garrett shivered at the name and the memory of meeting the monster he would later learn was his estranged uncle. He recalled the Blackfin’s spies in the Painted Guard that overthrew Makeda and killed his mother and his podmate, Pieter, too. The same traitors who intended to rape and kill his friend, Vanya, also. And all so that they might reunite Garrett with his Orcinian uncle. But why would the Blackfin send his seawolves against us out here in the open? Garrett asked Watawa. Especially if they’re so far outnumbered?
To cause discord amongst us in how best to deal with their threat? A show of fearlessness, mayhap? Or to learn how our ranks will respond and prepare against further attacks? Watawa shrugged. Like his father before him, the Blackfin has all manner of tricks and guile, Garrett Half-Orc. If the council is to hear my words, however, the Blackfin and his seawolves can wait. I sense a greater storm soon to unleash upon us. Aye, and its shadows already closing in.
Or rising from below to grab us, said Garrett, glancing down at the darkened depths beneath him, remembering Watawa’s ominous words to him in the Devil’s Triangle. You really think the seawolves would be so foolish as to swim up in the middle of all these armies? It would be suicide.
Perhaps, Atsidi Darksnout answered. It would not be the first time I have witnessed such tactics from the Orcs. He looked to Watawa. You have said yourself in times past that not all of your visions are so easily deciphered, Open Shell. Do you fear these seawolves are the coming storm, or a mere sampling of it?
I cannot say for certain, Watawa replied. And it seems I am not the lone dreamer of late.
No?
Watawa shook his head. The council meets now to discuss the visions given to others also. One to White Shadow. The other to Red Water.
Garrett’s lip curled. Ishmael, you mean. You guys really believe he’s had a vision like yours, Watawa? He looked between the Nomad shaman and Atsidi Darksnout. Or do you think Ishmael is just pretending? More lies?
I know not for certain, said Watawa. But the council will hear him all the same. Must hear him, rather. As chieftain of the Bull nation, we would be fools not to hear him out, be it farce or otherwise. What say you, Darksnout?
Atsidi grimaced. Aye, the council must hear him. Much as I doubt we will take anything of note from it.
Then why let him speak at all? Garrett wondered, but did not say as they continued on swimming together through the tribal lines. More than once, and despite swimming with his Great White Shark tail, Garrett caught sight of Nomad warriors giving him a double-take, their hungry gazes lingering and working over the two-toned variations of his skin. They know. He shrunk under their whispered words and motions for others to look upon him also. They know what I am . . .
For all the haughty looks from the many, Garrett forced himself to remember his mother’s words and look for the goodness in others. Committing himself to such ideals, Garrett found other warriors who nodded in acknowledgment of his swimming alongside the Hammer chieftain and Watawa too. Still others took no notice of him at all.
But what would they do if I wasn’t with Atsidi and Watawa? Garrett wondered, doubt creeping in when he spotted a small grouping of Night-Stalkers and their leader, Short-Shore, among them. Would they let me swim among them?
As Watawa led them in a descent for colder water and away from prying eyes and ears, Garrett wrestled with a different thought. Why are we going down? He asked Watawa. Didn’t you say the seawolves are about?
They are, said Watawa. But your brethren Orcs are not blessed with your Nomad gifts, my young friend. The seawolves must still ascend for air sometime. If any have broken so deep into our ranks and then dared to dive as deep we shall go, the Orcs will find themselves hard-pressed to escape back into the above.
Atsidi scoffed. Unless such Orcs do not mean to make a return journey. Either up toward the surface for a breathe of air, or even back to their master in New Pearlaya . . .
What do you mean? Garrett asked. Why wouldn’t the seawolves want to live?
Ask rather, what would they be willing to die for? Atsidi replied. A true assassin need not live to see his task accomplished. His purpose served.
Garrett dwelt on the Hammer chieftain’s words as they continued in their descent. His ears popped with the depth and darkening water, the world turned dull in his mind as he followed his companions’ lead.
What would I be willing to die for? Garrett pondered Atsidi’s question. He shuddered at the thought of dying, even as his memory reminded that he had faced the prospect of meeting his death several times over already.
Garrett cheered somewhat at that, the knowledge that he had both fought and survived to save some of his friends at least. Lenny. He thought of rescuing his Selkie friends after the Blackfin’s attack on Crayfish Cavern. Edmund and Ellie too. He frowned at the memory and recollection of their seal faces. More at not knowing what fate held in store for them after the cavern attack had ended. What occurred after he had passed along Lenny Dolan’s warning of the Painted Guard recruits’ intent to defile Ellie. Garrett trembled then, realizing he had not seen his Selkie friends again after that night, despite his attempts to be reunited with them during their shared journey to New Pearlaya. Maybe Syd’s mom helped them get out, he told himself.
Or Makeda did . . . his conscience argued. She would have been the one to save them. Not Nattie.
Garrett pushed such thoughts aside, holding instead to the memory of Makeda rising in the sand of the Orc training grounds. He would never forget the hostage Pod Mother fending off all her attackers that she might reach Cristina Weaver and deliver a killing blow. Though Makeda had failed in the attempt, Garrett could not unsee the actions Makeda had taken against the one he named as his true mother.
But why? Garrett asked himself, gritting his teeth at the picture in his mind that remained as clear as the moment he witnessed it occur. Of Makeda wrestled back to the ground by the Painted Guard traitors, all while he howled as his adoptive, Silkie mother, Cristina, lay fallen and still upon the sand. Why did Makeda do it?
For all of Cursion White Shadow’s affectionate speech for Makeda in the Devil’s Triangle, Garrett could scarcely believe such stories. The Makeda he remembered had been harsh and biting at every turn. A true Pod Mother in every respect, but nothing like the loving, adopted Selkie mother he had known all his life.
Garrett grimaced, instinctually scouting the surrounding water as if he expected a pod of traitorous Painted Guard to spring from the shadowed depths and take him unawares as they had done in New Pearlaya.
Of Orcs, he saw none in the surrounding water. Of Nomads, he found several.
They swam together at the uttermost edge of a rocky shelf, devoid of any coral or life. All that existed beyond was further darkness and deep, the Salt plunging downward into the abyssal depths and the Nomads poised upon the brink of the shadowy beyond.
Garrett did not recognize most of the Nomad council – one a female with intricate and off-setting white and turquoise tattoos to give her body and face the impression of stripes and skeletal bones. Her tail was likewise striped, and Garrett gathered then that she hailed from among the Tiger Shark clans
. She kept a harpoon slung over her back and twin daggers hanging off either hip, her tail lazing about to hold her position in the water.
Another from Garrett’s party swam off to join her - the Night-Stalker leader, Short-Shore, with his Oceanic Whitetip tail.
Garrett had not recalled seeing the Night-Stalker leader joining them in descent, but he watched as Short-Shore touched his hand to his forehead in respectful show before joining near a dozen others among the council. Reaching the rocks, Short-Shore settled in beside the She-Tiger chieftain, the pair of them conversing in a whispered, foreign language that neither Garrett nor either of his primal Salt minds could recognize.
A Mako Shark like Watawa shot past the grouping also, speeding around the gathering circle as if he could not manage to wait idly by.
Garrett marveled at a shark-man with blue-tinted skin too. The warrior’s tail and markings nearly allowed him to blend entirely with the surrounding water, he being the chieftain of the Blue Shark tribes. In addition to the intricate, tribal adornments stained upon his skin, the Blue Shark chieftain wore a collection of shells around his neck, all of them rattling together as he swam toward the center of the rock shelf bearing a lantern. Within blazed a greenish, bioluminescent light that helped to cast all of their movements against the rock face like silhouetted shadow-puppets.
For all the strangers gathered there, Garrett focused on the two leaders he did recognize, the pair who swam on opposing sides of the council, their gazes ever wary and cautious of the other. When both took notice of Garrett’s group coming to join them, there was unabashed joy in the face of his blood father, Cursion White Shadow, the leader of the Great Whites and high chieftain of all Nomads.
Where Cursion White Shadow held no hesitation at allowing others to see his unbridled happiness, Garrett knew only mockery from the Nomad swimming opposite him.
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 9