Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35

by Galvin, Aaron

  “Chidi?” Allambee called, interrupting her from her thoughts. “Did I say something wrong?”

  As Chidi attempted to formulate any sort of hopeful answer, Bryant spoke up for her instead in answer to Allambee’s initial question.

  “Kid, whenever and wherever you see your daddy for the first time, you don’t got to say nothing at all.”

  “But what if he does not know I am his son?” Allambee asked.

  “He’ll know,” Bryant assured him. “Whether he’d admit it or not, I can’t say for certain. But either way . . . he’ll know.”

  Chidi’s eyes glistened then, remembering all that Bryant had told her of the pain in his life caused by Henry Boucher. Of his wife and child stolen away, both murdered at the hands of the same monster who had taken her away from all those she knew and loved also. Chidi glanced away when Bryant looked in her direction, she not wanting him to see her moved by his words.

  She estimated he understood it all the same.

  Bryant clapped his hands upon his knees as he stood up. “Right, well, I think I’m gonna see to that coffee after all,” he moved to head inside, reaching for the cabin door. “Make sure Bourgeois is still with us too. Don’t think there’s any windows down there she could fit through, but I don’t reckon she got her reputation as a runner for just walking through the front door.”

  You might be surprised there, Silkstealer, Chidi thought to herself as he stalked into the captain’s cabin and disappeared inside. For a moment, she toyed with the notion of Marisa leaving her behind once more. Chidi doused such thoughts with the reality that Marisa had willingly placed herself in Orphan Knoll as if waiting for both Chidi and Bryant to come and meet her there.

  Not for the first time, Chidi wrestled with how Marisa had seen such things come to pass and always moved to be one step ahead. She wondered what such a gift of foretelling might be like, then cast that idea aside just as quickly for the glimpse of doom and destruction that Marisa had given her after the Sancul had brought down the Knoll.

  For all of Chidi’s inner debates, she nearly forgot that she was not alone upon Girard’s boat deck.

  “What would you say, Chidi?” Allambee asked, smiling at her in such a way as only he could, one to manage teasing a smile from her also. “If you could see your father and mother again . . . what would you say to them?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Chidi stuttered.

  “You have not thought about it?”

  Too many times. The response was on the tip of her tongue, yet Chidi could not brave herself to voice it for fear of tempering Allambee’s own hopes and dreams. Again, she looked in his dark eyes, wishing she could bathe in the youthful innocence that he had somehow managed to keep alive and well, despite all that he had witnessed of the merciless Salt world. Chidi swallowed the lump in her throat. “I think . . . I think that I would just hug them.” She brushed away the immediate wet stain upon her cheeks. “I would just hug them both and tell them how much I have missed them. How I’ve thought of them every day and done everything I know how to do just to get back to them again.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Allambee. “I like your answer very much, Chidi. If you do not mind, I think that I will say the same to my father when I finally meet him. For I too have thought of him every day of my life and wondered who he might be. Aye, and what he might think of me also.”

  “He’ll be proud to call you his son, Allambee.” Chidi beamed. “And sorry that he wasn’t around to see you grow up.”

  “Yes,” said Allambee. “My mother says the same, and yet I have always wondered.”

  “Wondered what?” Chidi asked. “If he’s proud of you?”

  Allambee nodded. “How can one be proud of a person they do not know, Chidi? Someone they have never met?”

  Chidi went to him then, placing her hands on both of his shoulders and squeezing. “He’ll see the goodness in you, just like we all do,” she said. “Just like I have from the very start when I met you on the beach. And if for whatever reason your father doesn’t see that in you, Allambee, then I will tell him and make sure he knows. Just like I’m telling you now.”

  Allambee chuckled at that. “Will you tell me how to help my father also, Chidi? For I do not know how I am supposed to do that either. Even though Marisa promised me I will know and do what is right when the time comes to show him the way forward.”

  “If Marisa told you that,” said Chidi. “Then you will.”

  Allambee beamed at her.

  “Come on, then,” she said, tugging at him to follow her back inside. “We better both get back down there and save Bryant from Marisa talking to him.”

  “Or save her from him,” Allambee replied, coaxing another chuckle from Chidi at the idea of Bryant and Marisa carrying on below in further argument over how five pieces could also be two.

  10

  SYDNEY

  Held in the same glass aquarium tank that the Blackfin had drowned her in to force the Nomad changes, Sydney had little room to swim. Then, as now, she kept her Nomad tail in spite of the king and his minions. Rather than cast her back into the oubliette, Darius had opted to leave her treading water vertically inside the tank with several feet both above her and below with which to ascend or sink to the bottom.

  Several Orc guards loyal to the Blackfin had stood watch over her throughout the night, all vigilant and silent until the moment others came to swap them out.

  When the door to her outer dungeon cell opened, Sydney had thought it for another changing of the guard. Her assessment proved wrong when she spotted the brutish commander leading the others inside – the same Orc who had led those that captured her and Yvla in the sewers before delivering them to the Blackfin. Solomon . . . Sydney thought his name as he lumbered toward her tank. This is it then, isn’t it? They’ve finally come to take me away for mom’s trial.

  Though smaller in stature and body size than his lord commander, Solomon towered over the contingent of other Orcs all dressed in Painted Guard armor. The other Orcs took up flanking sides of the glass aquarium cell that held Sydney captive. With a wave from Solomon, the others opened the latch at the bottom of Sydney’s tank.

  Sydney pawed at the glass for purchase as the water flooded out beneath her. For all her attempts, she could not hold her position inside the tank. Instead, she fell and collapsed onto the slick, wet stones below. She was already reverting her tail to human legs when a shadow stood over her.

  Solomon’s lip curled at the sight and smell of her, but he said nothing of his apparent disdain. Instead, he gave a nod to someone Sydney did not see behind her.

  A blindfold was swept over her eyes and pulled tight.

  Sydney cried out at the jerk of it being tied off behind her head. “Wait!” was all she could say before a wet rag that tasted of soiled seawater was forced into her mouth and tied off around the back of her head, gagging anything further she might attempt to say. The Orcs were at her arms too, binding her wrists together. Another brute lifted her off the ground, throwing Sydney over his armored shoulder as if she weighed no more than a child.

  Sydney grunted a muffled, angry response as they bore her away. She struggled to no avail, her fists clanking off the Orc’s armor, hurting her more than she imagined her flailing attempts bothered the guard who carried her. No matter what she did, her escort wordlessly continued on whilst the clanking armor and heavy footfalls upon cobbled stone echoed in her ears.

  Pitched in familiar darkness to which she had become accustomed when imprisoned inside the oubliette, Sydney surrendered her struggle. Instead, she focused all her strength on listening to better gauge her surroundings with the hope of learning whatever destination the Orcs were taking her. Throughout, she heard the sounds of more creaking doors. The Orc footfalls changed from continued, steady thumps to then climbing up spiraled staircases of stone, the echo of their heavy boots resounding off the tighter, enclosed walls.

  Where are we going? She wondered, trying to discern the echoes for any p
lace she might have been as the Orcs continued on. The air had changed too – once damp and clammy, she swore it was cleaner now, fairer in scent and warmer too. Sydney gathered the air might have tasted sweeter also, if not for the now drying out rag in her mouth.

  As the Orcs bore her onward, Sydney thought back on a memory of Quill’s teachings. You must learn to see, girl . . .

  Sydney tilted her head then, trying to readjust and better listen for any further clues as to where she might be, or where the Orcs were taking her. As she had failed with her training in the oubliette with the bone wand and raggedy, self-made whip, so too did Sydney fail now, her mind not registering anything of worthy note or memory of where she was or might possibly be headed toward.

  What felt to Sydney like an hour later, her Orc carrier slid her off his shoulder and settled her feet to frigid tiles, then ripped the blindfold away.

  Sydney blinked away the forced blindness, her eyes adjusting to new surroundings. Much like the dungeons below, the surrounding walls and floor looked much the same, all save for some few furnishments – a great wooden washtub and a royal gown of emerald green, draped over a high-backed wooden chair.

  Solomon stood beside the chair and gown, his rough fingers running over the smooth, royal fabric. When he caught sight of Sydney watching him, however, he nodded to a pair of Silkie handmaidens that Sydney had not yet seen.

  Solomon waved them forward. “Right, clean her up,” he said to the handmaidens. “Best as you can anyway. She ought to smell better anyway. The king wishes her to be presentable while at the traitor trials.”

  Trials? Sydney cringed. As in multiple? Not just Mom?

  Idiot girl, she read the look in Solomon’s gaze as the Silkies heeded his command. Are you so stupid to think you and your friends would escape being tried for treason too?

  Sydney’s eyes stung at the thought of having already witnessed the Blackfin tormenting Owens and Amelia too. Her vision blurred when the Silkie handmaidens ushered her toward the washtub and helped to guide her in.

  “Oh!” Sydney winced at the coldness of the water when she dipped her toe in.

  When the Orcs again mocked her, Sydney forced herself to embrace the icy water and climb inside. The cold prickled her in an instant, Sydney sucking a deep breath of air at the frigid temperature. Even as she shivered, she swore to not leave the water until the handmaidens had finished with her. So too did Sydney dare to look on each of the surrounding Orcs as the Silkies went to work on scrubbing her with thick, stiff bristles. Her brow furrowed at the pain reddening her skin with rashes for every brushing. She endured it all the same.

  Solomon was watching her throughout, his gaze as cold as the bathwater.

  Despite her brave showing, Sydney hurried out of the tub the moment the Silkies offered her an escape. She likewise rushed into the gown they offered her, if only to fend off the cold. Where she hoped for a warmer fabric like the fake Selkie suit she had once worn, the royal gown offered to her now was made of silk. It clung against her skin with a similar icy touch, locking in the cold as the water had done for her skin before it.

  Why are they doing this to me? Sydney wondered as the Silkie handmaidens next went to drying and brushing her hair, then dabbing at her face with blush to bring back some small bit of color into her pale skin. Why are they dressing me up like I’m still a princess if they mean to put me on trial with Mom?

  She looked to Solomon again as if the Orc might have read her mind. Even if Solomon had the ability, Sydney knew in an instant that he would never deign her worthy of an answer. He and his fellow Orcs stood silently by as the Silkies continued on with their work, all the way to the finishing touch – a tiara adorned with pearls, nestled lightly upon Sydney’s head.

  Solomon scoffed as the Silkies stepped away from Sydney. “Well, look at this then, lads. She seems to me a right lil’ spoiled, Merrow princess again, eh?” He scowled as he came forth, not stopping until he could look down upon Sydney. “But we know what you really are, don’t we, savage?” He turned his head and spat upon the stones beside her feet. “Aye, we Orcs know what you are.” Solomon cracked a grin when Sydney met his gaze once more. “And soon enough, the rest of the Salt will know it too. Once the king and our Lord Blackfin has finished with you and your ilk.”

  The other Orcs’ chuckled along with him, then.

  Yes. Sydney thought, recalling her mentor, Yvla, and her final words as Solomon took her roughly by the arm and led her toward a set of great oaken doors. They’ll know me for being my mother’s daughter. She stumbled upon the dress, but did not fall. Solomon held her steady as he led her through the doors and through a maze-like series of arched stone tunnels. And brave like Yvla too.

  At first, Sydney thought of the tunnels like the catacombs her mother had often spoken of witnessing in the hidden underbelly of Paris. There were no bones in these tunnels, however, only the constant drips of water coming from unseen sources and the shadowed torchlights dancing across the walls as the Orcs continued their escort of Sydney.

  Nearing the end of a long tunnel, Sydney swore she heard murmuring from somewhere in the distance. A moment later, she understood the noise came from overhead. Then, in front of her too. Behind also. And, finally, from all around. It reminded her of a time when she had waited in the tunnels of the Indianapolis football stadium before rushing the field for a halftime show with other cheerleaders from across the state.

  Only then did Sydney understand where she was.

  The Nautilus. Sydney’s throat ran dry, remembering when she had walked a similar tunnel with her seahorse riding trainer, the Merrow lord, Rupert Bowrider when they had come to witness the theatrical play the king had pretended to hold in Nattie’s honor. All before Darius had condemned his wife as a traitor and ordered his queen taken prisoner instead.

  Is that where we are now? Sydney wondered. Are we in the Nautilus?

  Solomon snorted beside her. “Hear them finally, do you?” he asked. “I wondered how long it might take.”

  “What are we doing here?” Sydney asked.

  “Where better to hold a queen’s trial than the Nautilus itself,” said Solomon. “Any street corner will do to serve justice to a petty criminal. Ah, but a queen and her loyal followers, that deserves a showing like none other.”

  A show. Sydney thought, the word bringing forth the memory of Yvla flying through the air as Lady Roselani, the titular character portrayed in the play she had witnessed. Sydney swapped her sadness for her anger then. The same night he had Mom taken . . . the same night he called her a whore in front of everyone.

  Sydney’s fists shook at her sides at the memory, even as the lessons of her mentor spoke from the recesses of her mind.

  Be brave, Sydney . . . Yvla’s voice lived within her always. Be brave . . .

  Sydney lifted her chin higher as they approached the last set of doors. The crowd was closer now, the jumbled chatter of well over one hundred thousand voices or more awaiting their show to begin beyond the threshold. As Solomon bid the other Orcs to open the doors, Sydney promised herself that she would not show the king or the crowd any hint of fear. That she would meet their scorn, jeers, and all else the same as her mother and Yvla too would both do in her stead.

  When the Orcs opened the doors to the greatest of Salt pantheons, another group had blocked the way ahead. Where Sydney’s Orcish escort was armored in black, the other group before them gleamed of silver plate. Leaner and smaller than their bulkier cousins, the Merrow soldiers outnumbered Sydney’s Orc captors three to one. For all their gathered troops, Sydney’s pulse raced at the armored Merrow who stood at the forefront of all, his helmet removed that she might see and know him among the rest.

  “Rupert!” she cried, attempting to run toward him.

  Solomon prevented her, pulling her closely back to his side with one hand, the other drifting to the hilt of his sheathed sword. “What are you doing here, horse-lord?”

  “I wish to see the princess,” said Rupert,
his voice flat and even.

  Solomon grunted. “Well, you’ve seen her. Now, clear out. I have orders from the Blackfin hisself to deliver this prisoner to the king.”

  “Prisoner, you say?” Rupert clucked his tongue before pointing at Sydney. “That is the princess of New Pearlaya and all the five oceans at your side, Orc. You would be wise to mind your tongue.”

  “Mind your own,” said Solomon. “I’ve no allegiance to you.”

  “Nor I with you,” said Rupert, standing his ground all the same. “Still, it’s called being polite, something I imagine you and your fellow vermin have either long forgotten, or were never taught at all, rather. My Merrows and I are inclined to give you all a lesson, if you like.” Rupert smiled easily, unsheathing his sword in a flash, its sheen glinting in the torchlight as he brought the naked blade to his side near faster than Sydney’s eyes could follow.

  Solomon did not reach for his sword, but neither did he retreat. “I have my orders.”

  “And you may keep to them,” said Rupert. “I merely wish to have a word in private with her. Our last meeting was . . . cut short, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t you agree, Princess?”

  Sydney nodded, recalling how Yvla had pretended to be a Silkie stable slave and knocked Rupert unconscious before they both fled together. “Yes,” she said quietly in answer to Rupert’s question. “I-I would like to talk with you too.”

  “There,” said Rupert to Solomon. “You see. Now, you all have an order from the princess and a Merrow lord.”

  Solomon huffed. “Might be you are a lord,” he acknowledged. “But she’s no princess.”

  Rupert’s blade flashed again. Rising before the Orcs could follow suit, he had the tip of his sword pointed at Solomon’s throat. “Say that again, Orc.” Rupert’s steely eyes suggested he would not hesitate to continue toward its end destination. “Insult our princess again . . . and it will be the end of you and your fellows.”

  Sydney’s breath caught in her throat as the Merrows drew their weapons too, all fanning out around her Orcinian escort.