Garrett looked to his Nomad father, Cursion not speaking in consideration of the offer.
Others among the council were not so hesitant.
Aye, Deep One, Ishmael crowed. The Bull Nation will join you.
And the Night-Stalkers too, promised Short-Shore.
Garrett cringed when the others added their voices to the rest, the vast majority of leaders in the tribal council wasting no time in agreement. All save for the few that Garrett looked to for guidance most. Where the others grinned and cheered, Watawa the Open Shell had been cowed into silence, his one good eye awash with horror at those who surrounded them. Atsidi Darksnout too had kept to himself, his fingers clenched around the weapons on his belt, his face like a stone-carved statue in watch and wait of the ongoing proceedings.
Something’s wrong, Garrett read into their shared silence and his Nomad father’s too. They know this is wrong. He thought, glancing to Cursion White Shadow as the Nomad high chieftain considered the offer.
Kanaloa smirked. And you, Salt Child, he asked of Cursion. Does the shadow not speak?
The shadow listens, Deep One. Cursion bowed his head in respectful show.
And what does it hear? Kanaloa asked.
Agreement from some, but not from all, said Cursion. As the chosen leader of our collective tribes, I must ask you for time, Deep One. Time that I might seek to learn and understand the reasoning of all before I would commit the whole of our people to another shared cause.
Kanaloa’s face turned to stone. You are the chosen leader, he said. Can you not speak and decide for all in honor of the power granted you by the others?
One who decides and speaks for all without he listens first is no true leader, Deep One, said Cursion. Aye, and will find their power quickly vanquished also. Our tribes hold a loose alliance already, our hunger and common enemy the only ties to bind us all, for now. I would not sever our collective joining with my own impulse.
It may not fall to you to sever such ties, said Kanaloa, his tentacles opening and closing in the water around Cursion. In such trifling times as these, some do not look on patience as a virtue.
Cursion held his head high. Then, I count myself fortunate, Deep One, to speak now with those who have long kept their own councils hidden. Aye, the same as those who kept their might shrouded in the dark and deep to await the proper time to reveal themselves once more to this world and our common enemies also.
Garrett’s chin raised, his shoulders squaring at Cursion’s words and the reaction it drew from the Sancul leader.
Kanaloa’s tentacles dropped the threat of them away from Cursion. Descending beneath him, their movement ushered their owner forth to lay his hands instead upon the broad shoulders of the Nomad leader. The Nomads chose you wisely, White Shadow, said Kanaloa. Your forefathers would be proud. I trust your wisdom will carry unto your decision and your people also when our currents cross again.
Again? Cursion asked. You will not linger here for our decision?
No, said Kanaloa. We go now to rally further armies of my people also. Aye, to bring word of the Doom-Bringer’s return unto the legions who yet wait for a sign of his rebirth. He swam away from Cursion then to rejoin Kellen. See that you speak with your tribes also, White Shadow, and hasten them onward that we might meet again to swallow this world in Salt and shadow as in the days of old.
To where then, Deep One? Cursion asked as Kanaloa pulled at Kellen to retreat with him. When shall we meet again?
Wait for us outside the gates of the pearled city, Salt Child, said Kanaloa. I trust you will have your answer then.
A current from above set Garrett to shivering again. He glanced up in time to see the largest and the strongest of the Sancul swimming off, vanishing into the darker waters as quickly as he had arrived. By the time he looked back toward his father, the pair of she-squids had vanished also. Only two remained – the eldest of the Sancul whispering to Kellen like a parent threatening a child who refused to leave.
Garret could not recall Kellen’s stare of Ishmael breaking from the moment they saw one another. Despite Kanaloa’s urgings, Kellen’s glare left no question as to what he would do if not for the elder Sancul keeping from pursuit such wants. Whatever was said between them, Kellen’s shoulders laxed as Kanaloa used his tentacles to finally turn him away.
For a moment, Garrett was content to let his former classmate swim off into the darkness. Yet as he watched Kellen go, Garrett found himself drifting forward, his tail kicking at the last to spur him across the distance. Kellen! He cried to no response. Kellen, wait!
Garrett regretted calling out when his old nemesis turned back.
What? Kellen asked. What do you want, Weaver?
What do I want? Garrett questioned himself, not understanding why he felt compelled to swim out and speak with the former bully of Tiber High, only that he must. As Garrett searched for the reason why, the flickering question returned in Kellen’s eyes also. And for all the hatred and rage he witnessed there, Garrett recognized a bit of fright in them too, the same as had come to live within him also since being brought into the Salted depths by Lenny Dolan’s Selkie crew; what it was to mask and bury such concerns with anger.
Kellen snapped at him again. What, Weaver? He demanded of Garrett. What do you want?
I dunno, I just saw you swimming away and . . . I just—
Spit it out already . . .
His mind stumbling for the words, Garrett avoided Kellen’s gaze by looking down and seeing his body instead. Garrett’s thoughts turned then, back to Tiber High and all the interactions over the years. How for everyone in their school, or even the whole of Tiber County, Kellen Winstel would be the last person he had ever hoped to see again. And yet for all the collective memories, all the bullied moments, all the hateful words between them, in Kellen Winstel there was at least a shaded and recognizable memory of home and the life before.
When Garrett looked over the scars canvassed across Kellen’s torso, he thought of those weighing upon his heart and mind also. How he could not recall any scars adorning Kellen’s body in their shared life before, not for all the glorified portraits that Tiber High had proudly hung in the trophy case to recognize their All-State athlete.
Garrett looked up at Kellen again. I just . . . I really have seen some things down here, you know? He said quietly, continuing on, even in the face of Kellen’s ongoing, hateful stare. Seen things . . . and done things too. Garrett fought against the choke in his voice as the images of his mother swam in his mind. He thought of Pieter’s death outside New Pearlaya, and then of the slaughtered Orcs who had tried to hunt him afterward, and then of Ishmael killing them too. Some really awful things, man, and I just . . . He shrugged at the stupidity he felt in voicing the words, even as saw the truth of them landing in Kellen’s eyes also. I guess that I just wanted to ask if you’re okay, you know? said Garrett. I wanted to let you know that you’re not alone down here. Just to ask if you’re okay.
The former bully’s expression softened around the edges, the corners of Kellen’s eyes wrinkling, his bottom lip quivering. Then all trace of it was gone again, swept over and hardened again with the stern and arrogant face Garrett had always known.
Kellen Winstel turned away then, swimming off into the darkness, vanishing without giving Garrett an answer.
8
KELLEN
Trembling with the truth, Kellen hurtled himself through the black water as fast as his tentacles would allow. He saw. Kellen knew. And if Weaver recognized the weakness in me . . . his conscience toyed with him. Then what do the Sancul see when they look at me?
Kellen glanced to his right at Kanaloa swimming alongside him. His blood turned to ice when the elder Sancul gave him a nod, then outraced Kellen to rejoin the others in the darkened water ahead. Do they see it too? Do they all know that I’m a liar?
There was no doubting that Erebus did. The Sancul father had said as much from the start and tried to warn the others also, though they would n
ot hear him.
Rejoining the others, Kellen counted Hypnos as another to recognize the truth. From their first interaction, Hypnos never held any pretense that Kellen was Moros reborn, nor any true Sancul at all. He was merely Kellen Winstel – a frightened, lost boy who had not known of this other, watery world before being cast among its grim horrors. Then, as now, he remained that same boy who had only ever wanted to escape one life and trade it for another, better one.
I will escape though, he promised himself, his gaze ever glancing up to where he knew the surface must lay. I’ll get back up there. I’ll fight for air. He glanced to the mute Sancul, the memory of his dreams reminding that Hypnos would urge him onward in such pursuits also.
Aye, you must, he imagined Hypnos’s quiet voice from the dream-state they had once shared. For if you do not rise, Kellen Winstel . . . then all shall fall.
But how am I to rise? Kellen wondered to himself. He wished for a sign as to whether Hypnos could well and truly hear such thoughts. That, or else to have the mute Sancul once again pull him into a shared dream-state to give such answers.
Like all his silent prayers, his wishes went unanswered too.
Help me, Hypnos! Kellen screamed in his head. How am I to go anywhere on my own when the others won’t let me? When you wouldn’t allow me to go either, Hypnos?
For all his ranting and his questions, the mute Sancul would not answer.
Or do you not really want me to go anywhere? Kellen frowned, remembering how it had been the blazing in Hypnos’s eyes to thwart Kellen’s solo attempt at escaping the Sancul in Mnemosyne. How Black Keerie too had refused his want to head for the surface in Mnemosyne. And all of you playing me for a fool, the same as my owners did in Orphan Knoll.
Kellen looked for Kanaloa then, swapping his fear for anger as he swam over. You should have let me kill him, he insisted to the eldest Sancul, going on when Kanaloa glanced back at him like one confused. Ishmael, Kellen clarified. The Nomad who left me to bleed out and die as a Selkie.
Kanaloa smiled. All things in time, favored one. If I had allowed you to slay him then and there, no doubt the others of his kind would have taken offense and rallied against us.
They wouldn’t have stood a chance, said Kellen. I could’ve killed all their leaders by myself.
Could you? Kanaloa asked.
Kellen wilted at the skepticism in the elder’s words. Truly, he could not remember how many of the Nomads had been in attendance. His mind had blanked when he had spotted Garrett Weaver among the rest. So too had Kellen lost all sense of self after spotting Ishmael with the Nomads also. Well, maybe, I couldn’t have killed all of them, he admitted to Kanaloa. But I could’ve gotten to Ishmael before the others took me.
I do not doubt you there, favored one, said Kanaloa. And yet I say again that had you slain Ishmael, then no doubt we would have soon counted all the other Nomads as our enemies also. Aye, and sent their surviving armies swimming for the capital in search of further allies, rather than they align with us and certain victory.
You really think the Nomads would fight with us?
They should be fools not to ally with our cause, said Kanaloa. Both our peoples breathe the Salt, both the truest folk to ever swim for our shared rebuke of the Ancient call to be of two worlds. Who better to rule once we drown the Dryback shores in Salt as in the days of old?
What do you mean by that? Kellen asked without thinking. How can you drown the shore?
Kanaloa fixed him with a cold stare that made Kellen squirm. You tell me, favored one. For was this not your plan all those many years ago to succeed where first we failed? Or do you not yet recall that either? Kanaloa’s gaze narrowed upon him. Despite all we have done to help you recall thus far, you still have no memory yet of the first time our people flooded the world?
Kellen shrunk beneath his questioning. I-I don’t remember that, he said.
Kanaloa’s brow wrinkled. No memory of your plan. No memory of why . . . most peculiar.
He knows. Kellen thought, glancing to the direction where he knew the surface lay, wondering how fast and far he could ascend if need be to get away.
Kanaloa was no longer watching him though. The elder’s focus had turned to gaze upon the other Sancul. When the elder did look on Kellen again, Kanaloa smiled and shook his head as if to cleanse himself of needling doubt. Forgive my questions, favored one. After the events of Orphan Knoll, I had hoped your memory was finally returned in full. Now, I think it most wise indeed we venture to the Mother of Masks. It may be that between her drugs and the powers of the Oneiori Three, we all of us can help to heal your mind where my continued attempts have failed.
Kellen sensed an opportunity. You have helped me, Kanaloa, he said, reaching out to the old Sancul, finding the elder’s face warming at the simple gesture. You’ve helped me to understand and remember so much already.
Kanaloa patted Kellen’s hand. Not enough, I fear, for the blight upon your mind remains. But no matter. He cheered further. We have waited long enough already for your return. Why should we falter in faith now with you here among us?
Kellen nodded at that, uncertain of what to say for fear of lending further doubt to Kanaloa’s already inquisitive mind. You really do think the Nomads will join us, then? He asked glancing back from the direction they had already swum. That they weren’t just saying whatever they needed to in order to survive? He asked, thinking of his own needs. To get away, maybe?
I care not for their reasons, said Kanaloa. Either the Nomads will join and aid us in destroying the Merrows and the Orcs, or else we will add the Nomads among those soon to die with the rest. The end will amount to the same for our purposes.
Kellen nodded. So, you will let me kill Ishmael?
In time, aye, favored one, said Kanaloa. In truth, I had the thought to allow you take him in further evidence of our strength. All that the other Nomads might see, then carry the tale back to their people also. But, for all you claim against the one who maimed you, I estimate that one so bold as Ishmael would likely hold some commanding voice among his people.
If you believe what the other Nomad said about all those gathered together being tribal leaders, then they all have a voice among their people.
Ah, but some voices cry louder than others, said Kanaloa. Fewer still are the wiser sort heard and heeded.
Kellen snorted. I can tell you which of the two that Ishmael is.
Perhaps, said Kanaloa. But it is often the louder sort to drown out the others . . . and then the rest cannot hear what is lost among the clamor.
Kellen nodded, even as he wrestled with Kanaloa’s speech, wondering what Ishmael might say to convince the other Nomads to join an alliance with the Sancul.
Kanaloa swam in front of Kellen once more. Come, favored one. Do not be troubled with your past, or the Nomads either. They are both trifling matters in compare to that which lay before us in the Cavern of Somnus.
Kellen hesitated to follow. This cavern, he began as he indulged Kanaloa. What’s so special about it? Couldn’t we just go back to Mnemosyne to help me in remembering everything?
That Mnemosyne should do so now when it did not before? Kanaloa chuckled as they swam alongside one another. No, favored one. The power of Mnemosyne healed your body. The Cavern of Somnus will heal your mind and allow the others to see.
Others? Kellen asked. You mean Nyx and Erebus? Black Keerie?
Aye, all of them too, said Kanaloa. But I speak now of those who have followed us since we left Mnemosyne. Kanaloa motioned toward the dark and deep beneath him. Have you not felt the Others lurking beneath all the while, favored one? Not felt them watching you from afar? Waiting for a sign of your power returned?
Kellen’s stomach turned as he glanced into the shadows below. He saw nothing there, but his mind reminded that he had seen nothing of any other hidden Sancul in Mnemosyne either. Continuing his search of the deeper water for any hint of movement, his skin prickled with the notion there were things beyond his sight. Kel
len looked back to Kanaloa. Did they not see a sign when we destroyed Orphan Knoll?
Kanaloa’s laugh deepened. Orphan Knoll were but a flickering attempt to that truer power you yet hold within, he said, reaching out to touch Kellen’s head.
Kellen endured the frigid, bony finger pressing against his temple. For a moment, he feared that he should feel the pain of an electric charge, or else to receive some other mystical insight from the eldest of the Sancul.
But Kanaloa was not Hypnos, and his touch did nothing to Kellen except to make him shiver.
Aye, Kanaloa continued, his closed eyelids fluttering as if he searched Kellen’s mind for unspoken words between them. I sense the storm within you soon to unleash upon the world.
Kellen pulled away, breaking the connection and Kanaloa’s touch.
The elder Sancul reopened his eyes. Soon . . . he smiled at Kellen. Aye, soon enough, favored one, I foresee that you will rise once more to lead us as in the days of old.
Not knowing how to respond, Kellen put on a brave face and nodded. Kanaloa left him, then, leaving Kellen to his own tormented thoughts and worries. He glanced to the dark waters above, wondering after the surface world, questioning how far it must be that he should rise to see some glimmer of moonlight.
Signaling the arrival of another creature from the abyss as great in size as he, a sudden, self-made current rushed over Kellen. He wheeled about in descent to face the newcomer. Keerie, he said, forcing a grin to combat the foul look she gave him return. Something wrong?
Aye . . . said she, her face twisting with the word, her dark eyes boring into his. You lied to me.
What? Kellen asked.
You lied to me . . . Black Keerie insisted, her gaze narrowing. When we swam together in Mnemosyne in our most sacred place, you held me in your arms . . . and you lied to me about what happened to you as a Selkie in the above.
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 12