“But why?” said Malik. “Why in this damp, cold tunnel of all places? No . . . I think not. I assure you, savage, if and when your death falls to me, it will not come in such a dark place as this with no one to witness your end. I’ll not have rumored tales of my victory thereafter, nor ruin this historic moment by dragging your body through the streets and naming you as the king’s assassin now. For whatever Darius may have thought of you, I know you for a savage well loved by your people and feared by all in this city. A would-be king in your own right, if savages held to such titles.” His smirk broadened. “And you don’t kill a true king without an audience to witness.”
Sydney swallowed the lump in her throat the resolve in his words, even as the Blackfin went on cleaning his blade.
“Besides, savage,” Malik went on. “This day will have stories enough to carry among the people for some time, I imagine. Soon enough, word will spread to every depth and furthest reach of the five oceans. A traitor queen and her subjects rescued and fled? The princess taken too, and with none to know where she might have gone? And now their weakling king and a handsome, noble lord murdered also? Aye . . . and all thanks to the monstrous plots and whispered success of the Unwanted leader, No Boundaries, who tried and failed at such attempts before.” Malik pretended to shudder. “Ooh, no doubt he was a savage slayer too! Sent to slip in among our ranks with his fellows of half-bred ilk to stir chaos among the good and trueborn people of New Pearlaya. Aye, a precursor of the greater storm to come, even as his fellow screamers in the heathen armies approach to attack our great city too.” Malik smiled. “No, Quill, you savage fool, I have no want of your life, or of your ingrate daughter’s today. I would much rather allow the threat of you and your kind to settle in and take hold of my city and people first. All before my loyal seawolves and I rescue them from their fears, that is. Aye, and return their beautiful princess too after rescuing her from your savage ways.” Malik glanced at his Orcs. “Gather up the king and the other bodies. Lord Bowrider and his Merrows too. It seems our city has a greater tragedy to mourn over than just the traitor queen and lost princess today, my brothers . . . aye, and the people will need to learn of it all, if they’re to rally to our cause and raise arms against our enemies to come.”
Solomon and the others in Painted Guard armor came slowly forward, their swords drawn and at the ready for any sign of attack from Quill.
Sydney’s eyes were drawn to Rupert’s body, even as she backed away with Quill’s guidance. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering as the Orcs collected the murdered, young lord. They came for the king’s body next, bearing them both and the slain Merrow soldiers away, all headed back up the Nautilus tunnel with the bodies upon their shoulders.
Quill remained, holding to his promise to not turn his back to the Orcs.
Malik too had yet to abandon his watch of a fellow enemy either.
For a moment, Sydney wondered if Quill and the Blackfin were to remain locked in a standoff until the other Orcs returned. When the last of his seawolves had gone, Malik glanced at Sydney and winked. “Farewell for now, my princess,” he said, already turning to leave their company. “I’ll come for you and your title again soon enough . . .”
30
GARRETT
Garrett ascended as fast as he was able, his Great White Shark tail powering him into the above. Frequently, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find both of Cursion’s killers following him toward the surface. For every time he looked back into the Salted depths for Ishmael and the Night-Stalker chieftain, Short-Shore, however, Garrett found darkness and no hint of anyone lingering there, or tracking him either.
What do I do? He gasped for a Salted breath as he swam. A part of him warned to heed Ishmael’s commands and to swim away while he was still able. To flee the gathered horde of Nomads and swim for the shore, or else move on toward New Pearlaya, alone. Yet for every time he considered such thoughts, his Nomad father’s face flashed in his mind also, the last moments of Cursion White Shadow being struck down by his assassins.
Garrett knew only red then, both of his primal minds, Nomad and Orc, united in shared anger and hatred for such betrayal. I have to tell someone, he thought as he approached the Nomad horde. If I don’t, then it will be left to Ishmael to spin whatever story he wants.
Each passing tail stroke drew him closer to the gathered tribes, yet Garrett slowed his speed before any might see him. Glancing over his shoulder, Garrett’s gaze drifted toward the east and more open waters. All promised empty miles ahead too, a journey that would ultimately end with his return to the Salt capital city.
Then what? Garrett wondered as he stared across the open water. The Blackfin takes me in? Or I end up facing another pod like Arsen’s? He looked back to the Nomads and the warriors who paid no mind to his swimming among their outskirts, his Great White Shark tail signaling Garrett belonged among them. And if the Orcs take me to the Blackfin, then what? What will he do to me?
Garrett swore he heard his Nomad father’s voice then, a reflection of Cursion White Shadow’s words to him about the difficulties of choice and what one must do when faced with hard decisions.
Angling away from the empty water, Garrett steered himself at the heart of the Horde, driving into their midst. His skin tingled with the notion that he should turn back and flee.
Atsidi, he distracted his mind from the detracting looks of other warriors as he swam through the mixed tribal lines in search of the Hammer chieftain. I have to find him. He’ll know what to do.
For all the Nomads in half-human form and their shark companions too, Garrett could find no trace of a Hammerhead Shark, or even a warrior with a Hammer tail among all the rest.
Garrett’s heart fluttered. Where is he? Where are all of his people? His gaze scoured the Nomad masses for any sight of a familiar face.
He found one in the navy-striped and tattooed form of the Tigress chieftain. Her body straightened when they locked eyes on one another. Even from afar, Garrett could see the furrow of her brow as she saw him swimming without Cursion.
The Tigress signaled to a pair of warriors nearby to follow her in a direct path toward Garrett.
She knows something is off! Garrett told himself. Again, he sped away, swimming a zig-zag through the other sharks, his gaze and mind both scattered in scouring all those he swam among. For each and every one, he recognized none of their faces or names.
In one direction, there were more of the Tiger clans with their stripe-adorned bodies and faces. The next, he witnessed a swarm of the Blue Shark tribes with their blue-tinted skin. Everywhere Garrett went, he felt their eyes looking toward him as he swam alone through their ranks. And for every time he looked over his shoulder, Garrett found the Tigress chieftain and her warriors still following him too.
They know . . . Garrett’s mind toyed with him. She was with Ishmael and Short-Shore in wanting to join the Sancul before. Maybe they had the Tigress waiting in the above for me in case I escaped when they came to kill Cursion.
The fearful thought sparked new adrenaline in him, Garrett pushing himself to exhaustion to escape the Tigress and her warriors. His skin prickled when the Tigress called out after him. Orc! She cried, alerting more than a few Garrett saw directly in his path ahead. Orc!
No . . . Garrett continued on, despite the added looks he saw in others around him, their hungry gazes lingering on the off-setting markings of his skin. No, no, no!
Stop him! The Tigress shouted.
Garrett dared to look back when she did, discovering that she had called more than a few warriors to her side. All of them swam after him.
Garrett whipped around to face forward once more. He nearly rammed into the Nomad in his path. Garrett veered away at last second, knocking shoulders with the one he meant to avoid. The blow spun them both sideways, slowing Garrett’s speed in an instant.
The Tigress and her warriors were upon him before he could regain his momentum.
Let me go! He shouted at them when
the warriors laid hands on him, pulling him to an upright position once more. The Nomads refused to release him as their chieftain drifted toward Garrett. Let me go, he glowered at her.
Where is your father, Orc? The Tigress demanded of him, her face beautiful and terrible at once. Where is White Shadow?
Gathering his thoughts for the next council, Garrett forced the lie. He’s trying to figure out what to do next.
The Tigress scoffed. Our high chieftain ought to have decided already. Her lip curled as she studied his body, lingering on the two-toned patches of his skin before she looked him in the eyes again. And I have yet to see you ever swim alone without his company, or a Nomad escort . . . so, I must ask you again, Orc – she spat the word—where is White Shadow?
Garrett shuddered under the grip of her warriors, recognizing he held no chance of escape. He was readying another lie to give her when a familiar voice spoke up from among the crowd.
Stop! Watawa called as he swam into their midst with warriors of his own, a motley collection of those whose tails held no singular allegiance to any given tribe or people like the Tiger warriors did. With his one good eye, Watawa seemed to take stock of the situation quickly. Why do your kindred hold this boy?
Boy? The Tigress snarled. No, Open Shell. This is no mere boy. The son of White Shadow he may well be, but does that not also make him the grandson of our greatest enemy too?
The enemy you speak of is long dead, said Watawa. Orcin Blacktide was slain long ago by the White Shadow.
I do not speak of the Blacktide now, said the Tigress. It is the Blacktide’s son that holds my concern. She pointed at Garrett’s chest. This boy is both nephew to the Blackfin and the Orc pod mother, Makeda.
He is kin to them and the son of White Shadow too, Watawa reminded her and the stirring others around her. Release him now, before his father learns you bore his son ill will.
The Tigress was unmoved. Where is our high chieftain, then? She asked of Watawa. Or can your one eye not find him in your cryptic dreams, Open Shell?
Watawa squinted back at her. My one eye sees more than your two, Tigress. And I would not spoil the end for you should your warriors and you pursue this further. He drifted forward in added confrontation. Now, let him go.
For half a heartbeat, Garrett did not believe she would. The Tigress maintained her steady stare against Watawa’s one eye for longer than Garrett cared to stand. Upon a cluck of her tongue, the warriors holding Garrett released him to swim free beside Watawa.
The Tigress was not done. I find it odd indeed this boy swims without his father, or a Nomad guardian, Open Shell. Let you both pray that my warriors and I do not find evidence to back my suspicion . . .
Let you go and seek your evidence, then, said Watawa. Suspicion and doubt are among the worst and weakest of foes. I should hate for White Shadow to learn you cast accusation upon his son without merit.
The Tigress sneered. You would do better to hope we do not find our merit, then. If I do, the Orc in your protection will not the be lone one to suffer, shaman.
Garrett struggled against the trembling within himself as the Tigress and her warriors left them to swim away. He shuddered further when she and her people dove into the depths, swallowed in the darkness not moments later.
Watawa’s hand pressed against Garrett’s back. Come, my friend, he said quietly, urging Garrett to swim away from the gathered masses. Aye, come with me now. And quickly!
Even as Garrett obeyed, he spoke quickly to Watawa’s mind. My father is dead, he held to Watawa’s arm for strength at the admission. Cursion White Shadow is dead. Ishmael and Short-Shore killed him below when we were swimming together alone. For all that Garrett had seen from Watawa, he recognized the surprise in the Nomad shaman’s one good eye. You didn’t see it? Garrett asked. You didn’t know?
No. Watawa’s voice was breathless in response. How did this happen?
For every detail as Garrett relayed the story of Cursion’s assassination, he noticed Watawa’s face turn more and more ashen. When Watawa finally spoke, his voice was as grave as the look in his eye. The Tigress will indeed find the merit to her suspicions, then . . . his gaze trailed off to the deeper water Garrett had mentioned in retelling of the high chieftain’s assassination. And she will find it sooner, rather than later, no doubt. He looked up again. As will the others also . . .
I know! Garrett cried. And when they do, then what happens?
Watawa’s gaze said all even before he gave his answer. If White Shadow is truly dead, then I fear you are no longer safe here, my friend.
But what about Cursion’s people? The White Deaths? Won’t they listen to you?
No, said Watawa. For all the loyal warriors among them, I fear your safety was only assured by your father’s grace. With White Shadow gone, the others will look to who might lead them next. Though they would all recognize you as his son when White Shadow lived, some will sense opportunity now with him gone and your mother an Orcish enemy. There will be in-fighting among the White Deaths in the short-term. No doubt their presumed leader to-be is already in league with Ishmael too. He would not have dared to raise his hand against your father at the risk of losing the White Deaths for the coming war against the Merrows and Orcs.
What do you mean? Garrett asked. How would the next leader already be chosen?
To kill a high chieftain is neither a simple act, nor a choice made without careful thought of what comes after, said Watawa. If Ishmael has already called some of the other tribes to his side, no doubt he will have still more in mind that we do not know. Indeed, already I have heard such traitorous stirrings among the people when their tribal leaders spread word of a Sancul alliance and your father requesting time to ponder such a joining. With White Shadow gone now, I see only two ways ahead; either all will soon be cleared for Ishmael’s ascendancy to lead our people in war . . . or else we shall again fall to in-fighting and civil war among our tribes. He looked on Garrett sadly. Either way is unsafe for you, my friend.
What about you? Garrett asked. You could speak out against Ishmael.
Watawa shook his head.
Why not? Garrett asked. The people listen to you! Your dreams, they—
No, said Watawa. My situation is not much unlike your own, Garrett Weaver. The people listen to me only so long as others in higher positions allow. Just as they feared and respected White Shadows’s protection of you, the true warriors here do not worry over me so much as they concern themselves with what would quickly become my brother’s wrath if anything were to happen to me. And, if it is Ishmael to assume leadership next . . . His one eye widened. Then, I fear none of those with us now will ever hear my continued warnings, Garrett Weaver. Not without my brother here to back my words.
Atsidi Darksnout will, said Garrett. He agreed with you and White Shadow about the Sancul. And you once told me that his tribe has the largest numbers too. If we can just get through to the Hammers, then I know Atsidi will listen to us.
Watawa sagged for every continued word spoken.
What? Garrett asked. What’s wrong?
I fear Atsidi Darksnout is lost to us now also, he said quietly. His son is dead. Killed at the hands of the Blackfin’s Orcs. Watawa looked upon Garrett with sorrow in his gaze. When I found you among the Tigers, it was your father I sought to find. Aye, to tell him of Atsidi’s mourning . . . and of his call-to-arms. Even now, the other tribes who have heard such news rejoice with the rallying cry of vengeance for the murdered boy, Allambee Omondi.
Garrett blinked. The boy died, then?
Aye, said Watawa. As so many others will suffer for it now. For when we reach the gates of New Pearlaya, I fear the Hammers will indeed rain vengeance upon the pearl city and against all those who murdered their chieftain’s son in honor of his memory.
Garrett shook his head. But, Atsidi swore that he was done with fighting. That the Hammers would only swim to New Pearlaya as a show of Nomad unity and strength!
Aye, he did, once, said Watawa.
But that were before his son were murdered by a similar ilk as those who slew many others of Atsidi Darksnout’s family in a time long past. I assure you, my friend, the Hammers now swim to war with all the rest . . . and I have it heard from Atsidi Darksnout himself that he will lead his warriors on the front lines.
Garrett paled, his skin prickling as he searched the surrounding water. What do we do now, then?
Would that I knew, child, said Watawa. What did Ishmael say to you after? How is it that he allowed you to live after witnessing your father’s murder?
He told me swim away, said Garrett. To deliver a message to the Blackfin.
Aye, a message. Watawa’s face twisted. And for you to carry the blame of White Shadow’s death with your absence here, no doubt.
What do you mean?
It would seem to me already Ishmael has planned his actions in full, said Watawa. With the Tigress to await you in the above, already she has cast doubt upon you. It will not be long till Ishmael or Short-Shore returns with news of your father’s death and you long gone from his side. He sighed. And with the people’s blood and anger already stirred with Silent Hammer’s son slain at the hands of Orcs, Ishmael will see his rallying cry further received. Watawa placed his hand upon Garrett’s shoulder. And then these waters will be no place for anyone with Orcish ties, especially for one that others will soon claim murdered our high chieftain.
I didn’t do it though, said Garrett. I’m part Nomad too. Why would I want to kill him?
I fear neither truth will matter to most, my friend, said Watawa. A person alone might hear and believe you, but the masses were crying out for vengeance with the loss of Silent Hammer’s son. To add the death of White Shadow this night too? Watawa shook his head. Soon, they shall all be raging to create victims of their own, rather than to stop and question such plots as have been made and carried out already.
What do I do, then? Garrett asked, seeing no way of exit when surrounded by all the other Nomads. Where do I go?
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 47