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

by Galvin, Aaron

  The Orc grinned at their deadly dance. Aye, he taunted Allambee. ‘An Orc without his pod is nuthin’.’ That’s what the Blackfin said when first he took me in . . . and I’d been nuthin’ out here for far too long to doubt his claim. So, let’s have us a go then, eh, savage? The winner takes your pretty Silkie friend there. The Orc waved tip of his blade for Allambee to come on. Come and take ol’ Arsen, if you can. Only one of us swimming away from here today, and that I promise you.

  Both hunters swam at each other then, clashing in a melee of steel and spite. Where Chidi had seen Allambee’s surprise and skill work against the fallen two, in this last enemy she recognized a more experienced opponent. In close quarters, the Orc named Arsen used a collection of advantages – height, weight, and reach the most important of all.

  Without the use of his harpoon to deflect the longer blade of Arsen’s sword, Allambee’s movements signaled to Chidi that he too had quickly recognized the disparity between himself and the Orc. For every wide swipe that Arsen made with his sword, Allambee used the wider flat of his butcher’s knife to fend off the blow.

  Allambee! Swim away! She cried out, maneuvering away from him with the hopeful thought to draw Arsen’s attention from him and grant Allambee an escape to more open waters.

  The Orc cared nothing for Chidi, his gaze trained instead on the Nomad boy who had murdered his companions. Come on then, savage! Arsen crowed. That all you got, eh?

  Allambee met the Orc’s taunts with quiet, watchful patience. Prepared when Arsen struck out with another one-handed swipe of his sword, Allambee again moved in mirrored tandem to deflect the blow.

  The Orc was the faster learner though. With his free hand, Arsen grabbed hold of Allambee’s hair and yanked him forward, head-butting him at the last.

  Allambee! Chidi shouted when the blow sent her friend reeling, the young Kenyan blinking at the surprising, ferocious attack.

  Arsen’s eyes glinted in victory. With his opponent stunned, the Orc caught Allambee by the wrist, twisting it in a show of force that made the boy cry out and then release his hold over the butcher’s knife. Not so tough now, are you, savage? Arsen asked as Allambee’s weapon sank and disappeared into the Salted depths. And you called yourself a hunter . . .

  Seeing an opening, Chidi shot through the water as Arsen raised his blade once more. Before he could swing the sword to kill Allambee, Chidi careened toward the Orc’s face.

  The Orc sensed her oncoming attack; Arsen turned away at the last, backhanding her with a blow strong enough to send Chidi reeling. Her vision blurred as the force of it knocked her away. Allambee . . . she cried weakly. Swim . . . swim away . . .

  The strength of Arsen’s hit had Chidi’s vision swirling red and black. As the black began to fall away, the red remained to offset the surrounding water. The color expanded too, a watery cloud to engulf the two nearby combatants, one locked in the stabbing embrace of the other.

  Allambee! Chidi cried out when witnessing the Kenyan boy’s head rolling back, his body slumped in Arsen’s grip. Chidi’s face warmed, her body drawing upon reserves she did not know she had to cross the distance between them, biting and clawing anew, not caring what happened to her if only it meant that Allambee would be free of the Orc.

  Arsen swiped blindly at her, his fists connecting with her seal ribs several times. Oi! Leave off me, you bloody beast!

  Chidi fought against him anyway, her constant attack forcing Arsen to surrender his defeated foe and swim away.

  The Orc did not swim far.

  As Chidi swam beneath Allambee to prop up his wounded body, she too discovered what Arsen had already learned; they were no longer the only ones residing in the surrounding water.

  Like a horde of phantom mer, Chidi estimated at least two dozen other Salt Children had surrounded them on all sides and beneath them too. Multi-colored tattoos adorned their faces, their bodies bearing similar markings. Long-stretched scars revealed that most should have long since met their end many times over. For all of those to swim on their outskirts, Chidi counted not a one of them with an Orcish tail.

  Nomads . . . she thought, noting a similar fear dawning in Arsen’s eyes too when he turned back toward her, seeking and failing to find an escape in that direction also.

  Arsen’s eyes rounded when one of the Nomads let fly a war-cried scream and swam directly at him. The war-cry was taken up by most of the other warriors too, all of them overtaking the Orc and leaving him no way of escape. For all the malice they seemed to bear Arsen, however, Chidi did not see any of them raise a weapon against him. Instead, the Nomads seemed to prefer taking the Orc alive rather than slaying him outright. Chidi’s heart thundered against her chest as the Nomads dragged Arsen screaming into the depths.

  The remaining warriors came for Chidi next. They stopped short of reaching for her when a weak voice commanded them back.

  No . . . Allambee uttered, flailing to place his hands upon Chidi’s seal body and embrace her. Please . . . he begged of the other Nomads. L-Leave her be . . .

  Despite his call, the Nomads would not heed him.

  Nor would Chidi leave her wounded friend behind as the Nomads came for them both. Leave us alone! She shouted at them, sinking under the added weight of Allambee slumped upon her. With her seal voice, she barked and hissed in warning as the Nomads swam nearer. She relaxed her stance when noting they reached for Allambee without a weapon to bear.

  Despite their painted eyes, Chidi saw only concern and questions as they carefully teased Allambee from her. She studied the wounds given her friend by Arsen then too.

  Blood trailed forth in wispy streams from several deep stabbings in Allambee’s belly and chest. Still more scratches adorned his hands and wrists from where he had attempt to fend off the blade meant to end him.

  No . . . Chidi thought when she saw her own understanding of such wounds matched in the knowing eyes of the Nomad warriors too. Several of them shook their heads upon inspecting the wounds, the Salt already cleansing the watery cloud of blood, leaving only remnants of the crimson trails behind.

  Chidi’s heart shattered as she swam toward Allambee, not stopped by the warriors that held him, nor caring if they tried to halt her for drawing near. Allambee . . . She called to his mind. Talk to me. She nipped at his hand, attempting to draw some little stirring from him. Please!

  Allambee did not move, but the rise and fall of his chest signaled some little life remained within him.

  One of the Nomads nearest him muttered a foreign word of his tribe then, a word not known to Chidi’s mind. She understood its meaning all the same by the actions of the others.

  The other warriors drew their daggers, their postures stiffening like each prepared for a new threat to come against them. They relaxed when seeing what Chidi did also – a single seal, diving down to join them, unafraid and unrelenting in their pace.

  The Cape Fur Seal swept around the warriors, glancing down upon Allambee’s body, then looking to Chidi too before halting in mid-swim. This boy is dying, the voice of Marisa Bourgeois spoke to all in the vicinity with the Common tongue. And we have a boat with supplies to tend him. It may be that he will live a while longer if you will bring him there for us to mend and care for.

  One of the Nomads emerged from the grouping to speak for all the rest in the Common tongue. This boy is a brave one of our kind, Silkie, he replied to Marisa. If the Salt will claim him after his fight against the Orcs, we will sing his honor. He will not breathe your air.

  He will, said Marisa. For this boy is born of two worlds. A child of Salt and Sand. And he may prefer to live awhile longer, rather than strangers sing his praises without they know his name.

  The Nomad sneered at the claim. What is his name then, Silkie? And who are you to speak such commands to us? Be quick with your answers, else we take him anyway. Aye, and you two Silkies with him.

  His name is Allambee Omondi, said Marisa. Let one of you dive down to your chieftains now, both to carry this boy’s name
and deliver my arrival and message too. For my name is well known among one of your elders also. She looked to Chidi next. Aye, as my Silkie friend’s name is known and respected among Watawa the Open Shell and his brother, No Boundaries, too.

  Watawa? Chidi saw her own recognition matched in the awe-struck expressions from the Nomads at the naming of her former owners. He’s here? And Quill too?

  Come now. Marisa chirped to quiet the whispers among the Nomads. Bring the boy to our ship that we might try and save him. Aye, and let one of you go quickly now to find your elders and deliver my message of this boy’s name. Tell them that Marisa Bourgeois awaits them in the above . . . and that I have brought the ones I promised to deliver not so long ago.

  13

  GARRETT

  With the Sancul over an hour gone, the Nomad tribal leaders had resorted to in-fighting again over the offer made by the Sancul leader, Kanaloa.

  Time? Ishmael flung the word at Cursion White Shadow. The Deep Dwellers reveal themselves to us and extend an offer of alliance! Aye, to help us overcome our enemies and to shape the world, yet you request time from them to consider the offer?

  Aye, said Cursion. As I would have us all consider and discuss the offer of an alliance fully.

  Ishmael snorted. Make no mistake, high chieftain, it were not an offer made in earnest. The Sancul leader gave us a choice to live or die. That was all.

  A grim choice, then, Cursion agreed. If you consider it one at all.

  A better one than they mean to offer the Merrows and Orcs, said Ishmael. By my count, there were only five of the Sancul among us. And five were enough to end all of us in this council. How would you expect our people to swim against the legions of Deep Dwellers that Kanaloa spoke of?

  I saw no legions this night, said Cursion.

  Ishmael scoffed. That does not mean they are not lingering nearby, or even beneath. He opened his arms to the surrounding dark water, then made a show of sweeping his hand to both and below. Who is to say the Sancul do not listen to us argue even now?

  Watawa shook his head as he swam closer. If so, then no doubt they would hear the same fear in the voice of Red Water as I do.

  Ishmael glared across the water at the one-eyed Nomad. The Open Shell speaks bravely now, yet I did not hear a word from him when the Deep Dwellers swam among us. Tell me, coward, what lends you such bravery now in the presence of Red Water? Do you fear me less?

  I fear that which I have seen in my dreams, said Watawa, casting his gaze on Cursion White Shadow and then upon Garrett too. Aye, his voice shook in mixed resolve and fright. And I fear greatly that the worst of them were made true this night in front of me.

  Cursion nodded back. Speak on, Open Shell. The council would hear you.

  Ishmael snorted. Why should the council listen to this self-proclaimed shaman? The coward before you is no leader, not even among his own unwanted tribe of misfits. It his brother’s voice this council craves. Not the feckless, ramblings from Watawa the Drunken Shell.

  He is not drunk this night, said Cursion. And we shall hear Watawa all the same. For we are a council, no? Red Water does not speak for all the people here, nor all of the ones above that we here are meant to serve.

  No, said Ishmael, sneering. I do not speak for all. No more than the White Shadow should do.

  For a moment, Garrett thought his Nomad father meant to cross the distance between he and Ishmael, their debate moving on from words to war instead.

  Another spoke up to save them from it. The White Shadow listens, said Atsidi Darksnout. Did he not say as much unto the Deep Dwellers and were lauded by their leader for it? He further silenced Ishmael with an angered look. Keep your tongue, Red Water. We all of us here know what your vote would be when it comes to aligning or no with the Deep Dwellers. Not all of us are so certain as you.

  Aye, said Ishmael. I would ally with the monsters of old. He played to the other chieftains. Who among us would be so foolish to sacrifice our people by denying their invitation? Ishmael’s gaze flitted back to Atsidi. What say you to their offer, Silent Hammer?

  Atsidi shook his head. Be it for this council or another, my answer has not changed. It will not waver either, not even for the Deep Dwellers. The Hammer chieftain’s head raised in proud response. My tribes will take no part in the coming war. We swim only as a sign of unity among the Nomads.

  Unity? Ishmael snickered. I wonder, does that alliance extend even to the Sancul also?

  That would depend on the outcome of this council, said Atsidi. For my allegiance is to the people first. The Nomad people, he clarified when Ishmael cocked an eyebrow in response. We hold no allegiance to the Deep Dwellers who have long since vanished from this world and left us Salt Children to war against one another for all the long years since. He turned toward Cursion again. Still, I would hear what the White Shadow decides. It seems to me his voice is the last of us that I have yet to hear. What think you of a Sancul alliance, high chieftain?

  Garrett looked to his Nomad father with all the rest, the off-setting silver and white of Cursion’s Great White Shark tail gleaming in the glow of the pale and greenish bioluminescent lanterns to hold off the surrounding darkness. Among the others, Garrett noticed that all but Ishmael and Short-Shore appeared as curious as he and Atsidi Darksnout were also for the answer to come.

  Despite their waiting, Cursion White Shadow took his time in choosing his words before speaking to the question asked of him. I will answer and speak my mind to such things, said he. But I would hear more from the Open Shell first. He has long spoken of his own dreams and of the shadows rising within them. It seems to me now this offer from the Deep Dwellers may be a sign of such dreams proved true and the storm to come. Aye, or mayhap their arrival signals the storm is upon us already. He looked to Watawa. What say you, Open Shell?

  I say the Sancul’s coming this night is like the clap of thunder to announce the storm, Watawa’s voice shook. Aye, and that the end draws nigh for us to choose our fate. For of all our foes, who is the truest enemy? Those who swim beneath the Salt, or those who breathe the air and walk above? If my dreams prove true, we condemn ourselves and all other Salt Children and Selkies too with every lingered discussion here as to the intentions of the creatures from dark and deep who come among us cloaked in shadow.

  You would fear them, then? Cursion asked. That their offer is truly not one made in earnest?

  I would fear any offer from the Sancul, said Watawa. If it were left to me, high chieftain, I would send our fastest swimmers to the furthest reaches of the Salt. Aye, even unto the Merrow king and his Blackfin too in search of truer allies to swim against the Other.

  Garrett’s stomach twisted at the jeers and outcry from the other chieftains then, and it again being Ishmael to lead their outcry.

  Allies, you say? Ishmael laughed. The Sancul arise with the power of the Abyss behind them and offer us to share in their bounty to come, yet you would have us sacrifice our fastest warriors to the whims and tortures of a spoiled, Merrow king, and his wretched, pet seawolf. All with a warning of the tides to come? He scoffed. I wronged you before, Open Shell. Even a child might pity a coward, for they too know what it is to fear. What you speak of now is treason.

  Is it treason to speak one’s mind? Watawa asked.

  If the words betray their people, aye, said Ishmael. But then it seems our high chieftain would allow you to continue speaking for an unwanted tribe already. Perhaps the Merrow side in all of those like you cries out to save your blow-holed brethren in the pearl city, no?

  Watawa shook his head. I seek life for any and all that I might spare, Red Water, he replied, his lone eye gleaming. It may even be one day that I speak to save your life also.

  Ishmael laughed. Keep your pity and your words if that day should come, Open Shell. I should rather welcome my death than remain here knowing it were your merciful words to spare me. He looked down his nose at Watawa a final time, then turned back to Cursion White Shadow. Well, high chieftain? It seems you
have your answer from the traitor whelp that speaks for the Unwanted cowards. What do you say now? What wisdom has the shadow heard and now brings before us that he might illuminate for those of us too dull to understand and recognize truth from lies?

  Cursion shook his head. Like the voices in our council, I am of two minds. No small part of me cries out to accept the Sancul offer and to join our forces with theirs in sweeping victory. Aye, if only to lessen the losses that our people should sustain in fighting the Merrow king and his Orcs if we were to swim alone. He glanced at Garrett once more, his gaze lingering. And yet when I see my son before me, I am reminded this choice is not one made for this night alone. He hesitated the longer he stared on Garrett and his offsetting skin colors. Aye, nor even for our people alone, but for all those who swim beneath the Salt and live above it also.

  Ishmael gave a swish of his tail to swim before Cursion. You speak with wisdom, high chieftain, and yet your words carry the same treason as the Open Shell spoke also.

  Cursion snorted. Then you ought to hear such words for the truth they hold, Red Water, rather than add your own selfish wants to twist them.

  Selfish? Ishmael asked. Is it selfish to think on the needs of our people and their children?

  Red Water has no children, said Cursion, his voice rising in a seeming dare for Ishmael to challenge him. Or, say rather, none he means to claim and nurture in his own image.

  Ishmael sneered. Odd then that it should be my voice to speak reason unto this council. A partnering of ours with the Sancul legions seems to me a swifter end for the Orcs and Merrows. Aye, and less losses for all to manage with a victory assured for the combined strength and numbers of a Salt alliance.

  And yet what victory is ever truly assured? Cursion parsed his words. There are stories even among our people of witnessing Selkie slaves who toppled entire Orc pods. To believe a victory assured before the battle is to find oneself drowning in the same Red Waters you are so named for, young one.