Weaver? Kellen replied, his lip curling at the question.
Yeah, said Garrett, drifting forth that they might see each other better. For all the questions burning in him, Garrett could not find his voice to ask them in that moment. His gaze lingered across all the scars littering Kellen’s body, the squid-like form that was his lower body, and the tenseness emanating from Kellen even at a distance. How did you get here? Garrett asked of his former classmate, noting that Kellen’s eyes worked over him also. What happened to you?
Kellen sneered. Happened? No, I’ve always been this way, Weaver. Just like you, right? He pointed at Garrett’s shark tail. Except I remember that being black and shiny the last time I saw you . . . an Orcinian tail.
The old hates rose in Garrett then also, his face tightening at the coldness in Kellen’s voice. The same taunting measure he had used countless times when cornering Garrett for another bullied session. Black and shiny, right, Garrett replied. And I seem to remember you having legs.
Kellen smirked as he brought all of his tentacles together, the lot of them like a nest of rattling snakes beneath him. I prefer these . . . He slowly opened them all in a threatening show. Lucky for you, I didn’t have these when I took you twelving back at school, huh, Weaver? Kellen gave a sideways look to the she-squid pair lingering on either side of him before resettling on Garrett again. Not so lucky now though, are you?
One of Kellen’s tentacles began to reach across the distance between them.
Cursion White Shadow swam between them. With one of his hands raised in surrender, he used the other to make a fist and knock against his breast. Then, the Nomad high chieftain bowed his head in respectful show to the eldest of the monsters. Hail, Sancul, said Cursion, his voice quivering despite the calm with which he acted.
The eldest of the Sancul came forth to separate from Kellen and the others, his withered gaze searching the faces of the other Nomads before settling on Cursion. Greetings, Salt Child. Who are you that speaks for the others of your kind?
I am called the White Shadow, son of White Death. The high chieftain of our people. And you?
The Father of mine, said the elder Sancul. Kanaloa is my name.
Garrett tensed when Cursion looked up suddenly.
A smile crept across the face of the Sancul leader. By your actions, Salt Child, it would seem I am known to you.
Aye, said Cursion, dipping his head once more. Your name is remembered, Deep Dweller. It has been many years since I have heard stories of you whispered in the above.
No doubt, said Kanaloa. It has been lifetimes since my people allowed any Salt Child to see us and live to carry the tale.
The Salt favors us this day, then, said Cursion.
Perhaps, said Kanaloa, his brow wrinkling in question. Tell me, Salt Child, why have so many of your people gathered in the waters above our realm? Aye, what brings you and your kin down unto the boundary of our domain? Kanaloa pointed to the rocky shelf ledge and the darkness beyond from which the Sancul had ascended from.
A vision, Deep One, said Cursion, glancing back at Ishmael and Watawa before looking to the elder Sancul again. Or, say rather, several of them.
Several, you say? Kanaloa asked. And all of them the same in nature? All luring you here into our depth to witness our ascendency?
No, said Cursion. Only one of our kind asked that we other tribal leaders dive here in private gathering. He motioned toward Ishmael behind him. The one we call Red Water had such a dream of this depth . . . and of your people too, it would seem.
No sooner than the name had left Cursion’s lips, Garrett saw Kellen’s head snap in recognition. His former classmate sprang forth from his position so quickly that Garrett instinctively swam backward into the arms of Atsidi Darksnout in fear that Kellen came for him.
But his old classmate was no longer looking at Garrett. Like a flurry of thrown spears, Kellen’s tentacles shot among the Nomad ranks before most could react.
The only one who did was Ishmael. Snarling, the Bull chieftain had unsheathed one of his daggers and lopped off the hooked end of the first tentacle to reach for him.
Kellen howled at the blow, but the pain did not stop his other tentacles from preventing further loss. As the strongest of the Sancul had done for the Mako leader above, so too did Kellen quickly overwhelm and unarm Ishmael. Despite the Bull leader’s continued fight, his strength was no match against the number of tentacles and hooks that Kellen sent forth to claim him.
Garrett swallowed hard as Kellen pulled a wriggling Ishmael from the crowd of tribal leaders and dragged him through the water.
Fight! Ishmael screamed at the others Nomads. Fight them, you cowards! Free me!
Garrett looked to the others in his company when Short-Shore and the Tigress chieftain drew their blades. But, when the pair of she-squid maneuvered forward, their eyes gleaming in wait for a fight to come, then Garrett saw both Nomad leaders sheathe their blades once more. None dared to swim forth in a foolish attempt at rescue.
Hearing someone gag, Garrett wheeled around once more to find the Nomad’s face reddening.
Another of Kellen’s tentacles had slithered around Ishmael’s neck to strangle him. His former classmate used still another of his hooked appendages to wrap around the thinnest part of Ishmael’s Bull Shark tail. Garrett cowered when Kellen then began to stretch his prized hostage.
Ishmael grunting at the slow, taunting pull as if he were lain upon a medieval rack, his limbs stretched almost to their breaking points.
What are you, Kellen? Garrett wondered then. What happened to you down here in the Salt?
For all the memories he had to draw upon of their interactions and fights over the years, nothing compared to the hurt and hatred in Kellen’s eyes, his teeth grit not in joyful torture, but unbridled rage and pain.
Garrett’s gaze shifted to Ishmael when the Bull chieftain cried out at the popping of his shoulder socket. What did he do to you, Kellen? Garrett wondered then, remembering his own dealings with Ishmael on their journey toward the Devil’s Triangle. The savagery and butchery he had witnessed brought to both Orcs and Nomads at Ishmael’s hands and teeth. No small part of him warned then to not feel pity for the dealings Kellen wrought upon the tribal leader. And yet when Garrett found his voice and discovered himself calling out, it was not for Ishmael’s sake. Kellen . . . Garrett swam forward. Kellen, stop! Don’t do this . . .
Kellen’s eyes blazed as they turned on Garrett. Stop? No, Weaver. You don’t know the things that he’s done.
I do though, said Garrett quietly. I’ve traveled across the Salt with him and seen what he does . . . I’ve seen Ishmael do terrible things.
Kellen scoffed. You’ve seen, huh? Well, I’ve lived those terrible things he does, Weaver.
Garrett flinched when his former classmate’s voice cracked. His skin prickled when Kellen glanced away, returning his stony stare to look on his captive instead as if to reignite the fires burning in him.
Kellen sneered at Ishmael. Yeah, I know all too well what you’re capable of, don’t I, Master? He spat the word. You wanna know something though? Kellen asked, raising the tribal leader’s body closer to him. I’m pretty capable too now . . . and your buddy back in Orphan Knoll? Roland? He found out how capable I am already. Should I show you what I taught him? Kellen tested the limits of Ishmael’s body further, the tribal leader’s mouth opening and closing for a Salted breath, his face whitening at the continued, slow pull from both ends of his body. That little bit there I just did to you? That’s a taste of what I gave your friend. Kellen went on. But you though, Ishmael . . . I think I’ll keep you awhile to play with before I leave you to the same end you meant for me.
The white-blonde, motherly Sancul swam forward then. The same end he meant for you, my son? She asked Kellen.
Son? Garrett’s nose wrinkled at her naming of Kellen. But how could . . . The thought died in its infancy. Garrett remembered, then, the source of he and Kellen’s final bout at Tiber High
School and the earlier taunts in the parking lot that earned him Kellen’s scorn. His mom was a Sancul all along? Garrett looked between them, trying to remember where and when he had seen the she-squid’s face before in his youth.
The former stillness in the motherly Sancul’s gaze came alive as her tentacles too began to reach for Bull chieftain. This creature here, she said to Kellen in reference of Ishmael. He is another of those who hurt you in the above, my son?
Worse, said Kellen. This is the one who maimed me first, then left me to either bleed out and drown as I fell into the Abyss.
Drowned? Garrett thought to himself, his lip curling at the shared memory between he and Kellen. Like you did for me back home, Winstel?
The Sancul mother touched Kellen on the cheek with one of her own tentacles. A grisly blessing he gave you, then, she said to Kellen. Still, for whatever his purpose, that pitiful creature has given us all a great gift, my son.
He didn’t mean it as a gift, said Kellen.
Why, then? She asked of him. Why did he mean to murder you?
Kellen grimaced. It doesn’t matter. He did what he did . . . and now I’m going to teach him what I can do.
The other, younger she-squid with raven hair and piercing blue eyes crowed to Kellen then, startling Garrett in the process for her screeching call. Aye, my love. Teach this feral creature well. She glared at Garrett and all those behind him. Aye, let us teach all of these here the same as we did for those in Orphan Knoll.
Garrett remained as still as he could under her threat, the only movement from him being the slightest swish of his tail. His primal mind urged him to shift into his shark body, offering the crazed she-squid his shark teeth, at least, if he was to meet a similar end as Ishmael seemed destined to receive.
For all the lingering hate in Kellen’s gaze, all the glee Garrett witnessed in both of the she-squids also, it was the eldest of the Sancul to temper them all with a quiet word.
No, said Kanaloa, his tentacles latching into unseen places in the darkness and the rocky under to maneuver him closer to Kellen and Ishmael. No, favored one, he quietly commanded, using his own tentacles to pry at Kellen’s grip upon Ishmael. There will be no lessons this day in killing. Aye, especially not between allies . . .
Garrett’s brow wrinkled in the same curious question he saw spreading across Kellen’s face as well. Allies?
When Kellen refused to release Ishmael, the elder Sancul chuckled – a deep, unsettling mockery that needled deep within Garrett for each passing second.
Kanaloa’s tentacles twined around the grip Kellen held upon Ishmael’s throat, then gently worked against them to release his prize. Peace, favored one. The other Salt Child says this one you mean to slay was given a vision of our arrival. Kanaloa succeeded in freeing Ishmael to breathe of the Salt once more. How are we to learn of what else were seen and foretold if you sacrifice him now?
Kellen sneered at the captive stolen from him when Ishmael instantly swam back to rejoin the other Nomads. It doesn’t matter what Ishmael says, he told Kanaloa. It’ll be nothing but lies. He’ll do anything to save his own skin.
Garrett snorted at the argument. Sounds like someone else I know. He reconsidered the position the longer he looked on Kellen. While there was little to separate Kellen’s face from the one Garrett remembered since their youth, a haunted stillness had overtaken his classmates’ eyes, even when Kellen raged. The longer Garrett stared at him, the more he felt the weight upon his own chest lessened. What happened to you down here, Kellen? Garrett wondered again, both horrified and drawn to the strangulating grip Kellen held Ishmael captive with. Have you seen things like I have? Garrett swallowed the lump in his throat. Done the awful things like I did to survive?
For all of Garrett’s ponderings, however, Kellen took no notice of him. His tentacles moved like fingers tapping a desk, impatient in their want for Ishmael as their former prize swam away. Yet so long as the elder Sancul remained at his side, Kellen’s tentacles kept to their steady movement, each appearing like thick, coiled cobras awaiting to strike at a moment’s notice.
Kanaloa turned back to the council and Ishmael hidden among them. Speak on, Salt Child, he said. What dreams were you given of my people? What fool bravery led you to dive into the borders of our domain and to bring your fellows to the brink of dark and deep?
Ishmael rubbed at the red-chafed circle around his neck, his veins pulsing as he glared across the distance at Kellen in mixed question and vengeance.
Speak, Salt Child! Kanaloa thundered, his squid body drifting forth in front of Kellen to halt the stare-down between he and Ishmael. Or I shall give you back unto my favored one to do with as he wishes. Aye, leave you for him to toy with in the deepest places that even the bravest of your folk have never ventured.
Garrett swore there was a flicker of unsettled fear in Ishmael’s eyes then, a look he gathered the famed Nomad warrior was unaccustomed to.
Ishmael cocked his head to the side as he spoke of his dream. Far beneath me, I saw a pale lantern of greenish, glowing light that gleamed against the elsewise dark and deep, he began. It was my father’s ghost to bear the lantern, and he bidding me to swim down and join him in the Abyss.
Kellen sneered. He brought you to die, Red Water.
Kanaloa raised a hand to quiet him. Peace, favored one, he said quietly before looking to Ishmael again. Let you continue, Salt Child.
Ishmael did. My father’s face was broken, his body wounded as the last I had seen of him before his end. For all the wounds he bore, all that he suffered, my father could no longer speak. Still, I understood him all the same when he bid me to follow him into the darkened depths. On and on I swam after him, yet always he outraced me in his need to dive, the light of his lantern all that bid me to continue on. And when he entered the Abyss, his lantern was soon put out, pitching me in darkness eternal. Still, I searched for him, calling his name that I might rejoin him for good and all. Ishmael hesitated, his face paling as he glanced around at the other Sancul. And then . . . then, a voice in the darkness whispered unto me.
Garrett shuddered at the prevalent worry in Ishmael’s tone. His every word came like that of a frightened child waking from a nightmare, only to discover it a worser one than the other he fled from.
When Kanaloa looked to the motherly she-squid, Garrett swore the pair of them shared a silent conversation for the length with which it lasted. And when Kanaloa turned back to Ishmael, there was more than a little concern upon his face as well. What did the voice speak unto you, child?
That nothing were hidden from its sight, said Ishmael. Nothing above. Nothing below. Aye, and that it knew the deepest, secret wants in my heart also.
And what hidden secret wants be they? Kanaloa asked.
Ishmael did not hesitate in answer. To see my father’s vision for our people realized, he replied. For them to hold sway over the Salted plains and valleys once more as in the days of old. And to never be troubled by the Drybacks or Merrows, Orcs or otherwise, ever again.
The Drybacks too? Kanaloa asked. What true concern are they for those like us who live beneath the Salt?
Their fishermen prey upon my ancestors and the truest of our kind, Deep One, said Ishmael, his gaze shifting from Kanaloa to glaring at Kellen once more. In mine own journeys upon the Hard, I have witnessed the Drybacks’ defilement of my ancestors’ honor. They catch those of our race who have made the final change into the purest of forms. Then, the humans carry their bodies ashore and mount my ancestors’ corpses upon their walls in supposed triumph over my people and the Salt. I might forgive some of them for their thrill and lust of the hunt, had I not seen others of their kind do worse. Some of their fishermen carve off the fins of my ancestors for trophied prizes alone, then cast them living back into the Salt to bleed out and die a wretched death without honor.
Kellen would not be halted then, swimming around Kanaloa that he might meet Ishmael’s stare. The same fate you showed me . . .
Kanaloa cock
ed an eyebrow. Is this true? He asked of Ishmael. Are you the one who wounded him in the above?
I slew one with the likeness of him, said Ishmael. And would do again if that Selkie slave were here now, Deep One. Any who would show mercy to the monsters defiling my ancestors will receive no such kindness from me.
Kanaloa smiled. Spoken like a true warrior. He glanced at Kellen again. Are you certain it was he to maim you, my child?
Kellen nodded. It was him.
He wrongs me, Deep One, Ishmael pled to Kanaloa. It were a simpleton and a Selkie slave I slew. Not this one of your noble kind that swims before me.
But it was me, Ishmael, said Kellen, snarling. I was that Selkie slave you threw into the water and left for dead . . .
No, said Ishmael. None could have survived the wounds that Red Water gives them.
I did, said Kellen. And now I’ve come back. You talk about the fishermen, but you did the same to me when I was your slave . . .
No, said Ishmael. If that were true, you would be dead and not swimming before me now. How else would this be possible?
Kanaloa chuckled. Because my favored one is the lantern, Salt Child . . . aye, he is the light from your dream. He gave a lazy wave in Kellen’s direction. The Doom-Bringer has risen to see your vision realized. Your people restored as the ghost of your father guided you to come witness.
How then? Ishmael asked. How might we see my father’s hopes and dreams realized, Deep One? What must we do?
Join us, said Kanaloa, opening his hands to the council and then toward Cursion White Shadow too. Aye, align your armies with ours once again, White Shadow. As our two peoples swam together in the days of old, we should make a mighty, Salt alliance once more. Together, we shall renew this world to its proper form. Who better to rule and bring the whole of this world beneath the Salt, as was always meant to be? For so was it once, so shall it be again.
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 11