What’s this, high chieftain? Ishmael called out when Cursion swam to meet with Garrett. Are we welcoming the enemy even into our councils now? Aye, trusting an Orc to hear all the secret plans whispered here?
Garrett flushed at the jeer, but he said nothing of the slight.
Cursion slid his arm around Garrett’s shoulders, pulling his son in a warm embrace despite the surrounding cold. This one is no more enemy than you are, Red Water, he said, turning back Ishmael’s taunts with one of his own. And the people have even less reason to doubt him.
It is not the greater people’s thoughts to concern me, said Ishmael. It is my own tribes’ worries that I voice to the council now.
Keep your voice, then, said Cursion. And I will speak on your behalf.
Ishmael chuckled at that. You see, Garrett Half-Orc? He waved in off-handed direction of Cursion. Did I not tell you in our time together that your father was among the greatest of our warriors? Who better to boldly speak so to Red Water and live to tell the tale?
Garrett endured the taunt, his conscience warning to not give his former traveling companion any response or words for Ishmael to play with and possibly use against him.
Cursion spoke for Garrett instead. Let us have peace between us, then, he said to Ishmael. And let us speak to the reason we have all gathered and swim together, for that too concerns my son’s return as well.
Truly? Ishmael asked. What concern is it of ours that your Orc-son has returned, White Shadow? To my mind, your son lost any respect among the people when he chose to leave our company. Aye, say rather, his abandoning us with the knowledge we meant to swim against his Orc kindred and the Merrow king.
Atsidi Darksnout swam forward. Tell me, boy, he cut in, silencing Ishmael with a look. Do the people think less of me and my warriors for having swam toward the shore?
Ishmael scowled in reply. You were sent on assignment to take the child to shore . . . and you are a trueborn Nomad. Your blood is not tainted with that of our enemies, Silent Hammer.
No, said Atsidi Darksnout. And I advise caution with where you would cast judgement, Red Water. However highly you might imagine yourself to be among our ranks, you are still a bastard born of a Merrow mother.
You think me weakened by it? Ishmael challenged, his hand drifting toward the pommel of his blade. Come, then. Let us match our blades against each other for once and all, Silent Hammer. Or place a Merrow before me, if you would test my allegiance. It makes no matter the test, nor question, you raise in regard to my loyalty. I will pass them all the same in favor of our people.
Atsidi scoffed. No one doubts your lust for killing, be it Merrow, Orc, or even Nomad to die by your hand. And I said nothing of your blood being a weakness, Red Water. It was your mind alone to suggest such things. Aye, as you have long held to many other grievances also if only to keep the hatred within you stoked for more battles to come.
Ishmael chuckled at that. Aye, there are such fires within me as your newly peaceful mind could not imagine, old one. He patted the pommel of his sword. Or would you care to stoke your own old hatreds again and test your heat against mine?
Atsidi shook his head. Lest you forget where you are, boy, I would also advise you to take in your current surroundings. For though you are among those who may both walk ashore and breathe below, you are among the Nomads now, Red Water. Our people have no need of fires here. And less of you. For it be as you said already – our people require warriors. I should hate to deprive them of one so renowned a fighter as you champion yourself to be.
Garrett grinned at that. It broadened further when hearing the other Nomad chieftains snicker too.
Cursion swam between them all. Peace, brothers. We have a common enemy. Let us focus our efforts against them, rather than quarrel amongst ourselves. For I am both troubled and keen to know that Red Water has been gifted a vision, as I have. I would cease our arguing and learn if the dream he is given matches my own. Aye, and more to understand what both might mean for our people and the Salt.
Speak on, then, high chieftain, said Ishmael, glaring at Atsidi Darksnout once more before descending to swim alongside Short-Short and the Tigress chieftain. Tell me your vision and I shall offer you mine in turn. You seem to me untroubled by your own dream. Deep as we are now, I would gather there be a little daylight left above for us to hear it. My story is better saved for darkness when the shadows hold their sway.
Garrett snorted at Ishmael’s boast and his theatrics. With a powerful stroke of his Great White Shark tail, he descended alongside his Nomad father and with Atsidi Darksnout and Watawa too.
My vision is already realized, somewhat, Cursion White Shadow began. For my son’s return was at the heart of it.
His return this night, Ishmael put in, or when I delivered him to you in the Devil’s Triangle? It seems to me your son has a history now of leaving and returning.
Peace, boy, Atsidi Darksnout growled. Or none will hear your vision.
Ishmael cocked an eyebrow. Hear me not, Silent Hammer, and it will be you and all our people to suffer for the loss of me and mine.
I am suffering now, said Atsidi. Doubtless, the people will thank me for ending theirs before it arrives to plague them also.
Ishmael grinned again, before touching his chest and bowing his head toward Cursion White Shadow in a mockful show of humility. Forgive my questioning curiosity, high chieftain. It seems the old fires within me are not the lone blazes to burn. Please, continue.
Cursion did, his focus turning on Garrett for each and every word uttered. In my dream, I saw my son swimming in his Orc form, struggling to bear a great and tiresome anchor through dark and bloody waters. The undercurrents of the Salt raged against him. Chains were wrapped round his body also, sinking him deeper for each and every tail stroke he took in trying to ascend. On and on, my son fought to rise and bear his burden. On and on, he failed.
Garrett frowned at the sadness in the high chieftain’s voice, even as he could make no sense of the dream.
If I may, high chieftain, Ishmael cut in. A word of advice to your Orc-son?
Cursion leered at him across the way, but nodded his head in answer.
Ishmael smiled at Garrett. If your father’s vision proves true and you find yourself caught with a burden you cannot bear, might I suggest you give up your anchor, boy. He chuckled. Aye, sacrifice it to the Salted depths. No treasure is worth your own death, let alone a burdensome anchor. After you are freed of your chains, then let you go and find your burden again with a better plan to raise it.
Red Water speaks with wisdom, said Cursion. And similar words I sought to offer my son too.
Why didn’t you? Garrett asked. Why didn’t you tell me in your dream?
The Salt would not allow me, said Cursion. Whether quieting my voice, or deafening your ears, my son, you could not hear me no matter how I raged against the Salted tides to come and aid you.
Watawa stirred beside Garrett. How then did it end, high chieftain? Did the Salt hold sway over Garrett Weaver too?
Garrett’s insides twisted in wait for his Nomad father’s answer. All his fears and doubts melted away when Cursion smiled upon him.
No, said the Nomad high chieftain, his voice lifting with pride, even as he lifted his chin also to look upon his son. Much as I fought to reach my son, much as it pained me to fight my own battle to do so, it was not I to aid him. Cursion turned from Garrett, looking instead to Atsidi Darksnout. It was the Silent Hammer who came to my son’s rescue. Aye, and the might of our people after him to help free my son of his chains and bear the anchor hence.
With gleaming eyes, Cursion reached out to clap his hand upon the shoulder of Atsidi Darksnout. Squeezing, and offering a nod of acknowledgment to the Hammer chieftain, Cursion then looked back to Ishmael across the way. That is how I knew my son should return to us, Red Water. Even before my son left for the shore, I knew that I could not journey with him there. I believe now that our reunion with he and Silent Hammer is a part of my d
ream made true. Cursion nodded. Aye, for my son needed to go ashore and relieve himself of the anchor that tied him there. Under the watchful eye and protection of Atsidi Darksnout and his proud warriors, my son has returned to swim with us to war upon the Merrow king. Aye . . . and the people will help him carry us to victory upon the day that we arrive outside the gates of the pearled city.
Ishmael chuckled. So, you believe it your son to lead us, then? he asked. Why not you, high chieftain?
A true leader must know what it is to follow, said Cursion. I care not who wins the glory for our people, Red Water. All that I know and concern myself with now is that once my son were relieved of his burden, the people cheered and wept wherever my Orc-son and Silent Hammer swam.
And you believe their weeping is a sign of our victory to come? Ishmael asked, the mockery in his voice returned. A victory you took no part in?
The people cheered and wept, said Cursion White Shadow. And my son was unburdened of the chains that bound him. That were victory enough for me when my dream came to end.
Would that it were enough for me. Ishmael clucked his tongue. I too saw victory for our people in my dream, high chieftain. But my circumstance were far different than yours, and held no such hopeful allegiance to your son, or of him to our people.
Spoken like a true traitor, Watawa put in.
Peace, Open Shell, said Cursion. I have told my dream to the council.
The high chieftain looked toward the surface then. Though Garrett doubted his Nomad father could see through the darkness above them any better than he, Cursion White Shadow nodded all the same.
Aye, Cursion continued. And the light above has already faded to end this day and my story. He searched the water around them for any trace of light before looking to Ishmael once more. What say you, Red Water? What did you see in your vision?
Shadows and ghosts, said Ishmael quietly. Aye, and they swimming the dark tides to come. For all I know, they may be the same shadows as Watawa the Open Shell has preached on and on about with hopes his fears might consume us all. He smirked. In my dream, I too swam alongside the people, but it was our warriors that were the dark tide to crash against the gates and walls of New Pearlaya. It were many a life we took there too, but, like waves upon the shore, always we were repelled back before surging to strike at them again. And for all the times our wave crashed against New Pearlaya, the gates and city never foundered for our efforts.
Cursion shifted beside Garrett. You think your dream a sign we are to fail in the coming war, then?
No, said Ishmael, his eyes widening with conviction. For my dream were not yet ended there. No, I took that beginning as a sign of our history repeated, brethren. His gaze searched the others in their company. For as the old ones say, ‘Those who forget their past are oft doomed to repeat it.’ Ishamel shook his head. How many times have our tribes attempted to unite against the Orcs and Merrows? And for each and every attempt, we fall to in-fighting amongst ourselves. Aye, whether through fear, he looked to Watawa, then Atsidi Darksnout next. Or cowardice too, our people have fallen short of history and glory. No, brethren, in my nightmare, I saw myself matched against the same trappings as my father before me, our people failing to heed my words. Nor would they follow my actions to end the reign of Orcs and Merrows for good and all.
Watawa scoffed. You speak as though we have already lost, Red Water, yet you claimed not moments ago our people were not to lose this fight to come. Which is it, then? Do you claim we are to fail or win?
Is it still called winning when you annihilate your opponent? Ishmael asked in continued self-reflective mockery. When none would answer, he continued on with his speech. Truly, I thought our history would be repeated with every failed attack. An endless cycle I should never hope to see broken. His smile returned. But my dream had not yet ended in our being repelled . . . for when we swam against the walls a final time, we were not the lone people to fall upon the city.
Who then to join us in war against the Orcs and Merrows? Atsidi jeered. Selkies? You think to enlist their aid in the coming war?
Aye, said Ishmael. I would have the Selkies also.
Watawa laughed. Also? Have you other allies already?
Ishmael nodded. In my dream, I saw the Selkies rise with us against the Orcs and Merrows too. Yet even as I watched them rage against their former owners, I understood our combined numbers were not enough to bring down the city, let alone the world thereafter.
Short-Shore snickered. Perhaps we ought to deal with the city first then, brother. Aye, and leave the world to another day.
No. Ishmael smiled as he swam toward the center of the council. For in my dream, I saw our conquest as one and the same. The Merrow city and the world swallowed in Salt, both lost in a tidal wave of darkness. Then, in recognition of our loyalty and service, each were gifted back to us in rightful ownership to swim and rule over the five oceans as was always meant to be.
Given us? Watawa raised an eyebrow. By whom? Who then to offer such a cursed gift of death and woe?
The same as he who gave the dream unto me, said Ishmael, his hands rising in offer as if he meant to make a summons. The same who whispered unto me a greater promise also.
Garrett shuddered then, the water feeling colder and darker all around him. At first, he believed it a trick of his own mind. He knew it for a reality when the others in the council made notice of it too. The lot of them turned to fear and doubt as the already twilit waters around them seemed to belch more darkness still. The blackness around them reached for those quickly joining Ishmael at the center and huddling around the council lanterns’ bioluminescent lights.
For all that Garrett had seen since coming into the Salt world, his voice was lost with all the others when the shadows gave birth to what he first imagined as a giant, slinking dragon’s tail bursting forth from the darkness around him. He flinched as the seeming tail slithered around one of the rock face and boulders. The hooks lining its fleshy interior found a purchasing hold among the rocks, the seeming tail turned taut as the appendage pulled their owner free of the black water in grand reveal of a mammoth and ancient monster from the deep.
Aye, Ishmael went on, his voice a reverent mixture of glee and horror, as if he too were surprised at his words made true. Who else to save us but the same as he who whispered unto me in my dreams and asked that I deliver you all here tonight?
Sancul . . . Watawa choked the word, his tone carrying with an icy fear that threatened to freeze Garrett too.
He had scarcely heard Ishmael’s words, his pulse racing at the sight of still more monsters revealing themselves from the shadows. The first were a wizened, Sancul elder. Alongside him, there came a pale-faced and young she-squid also, her hair as black as the surrounding darkness, her eyes like two deep wells without end.
An older, motherly she-squid appeared next, her white-blond hair streaming about her deathly face, beautiful and cruel. For a moment, Garrett swore he recognized the motherly she-squid, despite being unable to place a name to her, or where he would have ever seen such a creature before.
And then his blood well and truly turned to ice when the last of them slunk free of the darkened depths, the monster staring back at him being one that Garrett had no trouble at all remembering from his former life ashore. For all the excuses and argument his conscience made as to why and how their situation could not be, what little doubt Garrett Weaver held within him vanished when his former classmate, Kellen Winstel, appeared and looked back on him with likewise surprise.
* * *
Part II
The Salt Alliance
7
GARRETT
Garrett shuddered at the monstrous and hulking shadow creatures that surrounded him and the Nomad council of tribal leaders. He found it difficult to discern where one of the creatures began and the others ended. Their tentacle numbers and the length of each surrounded the Nomads trapped within their boundaries like ropes to define the fighters inside a boxing ring.
&
nbsp; Garrett winced when the fastest of all the Nomad chieftains, the Mako Shark leader, gave a flick of his tail and sprinted for the above.
For half a heartbeat, Garrett thought to follow with the hope of escaping the squid-creatures. The moment he looked up, he discovered another of the monsters lurking above them also.
Blocking their escape there too, a scarred demon of uncommon size loomed larger and brawnier than any of his Sancul fellows. In contrast to the other companions of Kellen Winstel, the demon above held no fairness, nor hint of handsome quality in face or body. The darkness in his pale and haunted gaze found Garrett for a moment, then moved on in search of greater threats. The monster’s tentacles fanned over the Nomads, the tips of each moving and curling like they were casting spells over an inferior, smaller race. One of his tentacles shot forward to grab at the escaping Mako Shark leader. Missing on his first attempt, another of the monster’s tentacles burst from the darker water to snatch the Mako by the tail, then tightened instantly like a noose yanked to close. Two more tentacles erupted from unseen places to slither around the wrists of the Mako leader also, each preventing him from reaching for his weapon to fight for freedom. In moments, the demon squid-man had turned the Mako leader over like a marionette awaiting its master to give the puppet life once more. All the while, his other tentacles maneuvered about in warning that the others should expect the same if chancing their own escape.
For all the hollowed looks Garrett witnessed from the other squid-creatures, he found himself drawn back to the lone familiar face he would have recognized anywhere. Kellen . . . he dared to privately whisper to his high school nemesis. Kellen, is that really you?
He knew it for true when Kellen’s head snapped in search for the direction of Garrett’s voice.
Kellen! Garrett cried out, even as his mind warned him not to draw attention to himself. For a moment, Garrett swore that his former classmate’s hardened features softened at the sight of him. That all the bullied looks and arrogance he had ever associated with Kellen Winstel was taken from him like a mask that had been ripped away. In its place, Garrett thought Kellen looked more like a frightened and injured child with questions aplenty. Then, just as quickly as the mask had dropped, Garrett found himself staring back at the same Kellen Winstel he remembered fighting against since the pair of them were in grade school.
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 10