“I have two . . .” said Chidi.
Marisa nodded. “Let you ask them of me . . . unless you would rather not hear the answer?”
No, Chidi thought to herself, unable to hide her uneasy glance toward Bryant in the cabin, thinking back to all the lesson he had taught her as well. I’m not running from truth anymore. Not even the kind that I know will hurt me. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Chidi squared her shoulders and looked into the steady gaze of Marisa Bourgeois as the boat skipped across the water. “You say that you keep you hearing my voice in your dreams . . .”
“I do.”
“What do I say to you? What do I ask?”
Marisa smiled. “Nothing, my friend.”
Chidi’s brow furrowed. “Then, how do you hear my voice?”
“As with many things in this life – words, feelings?” Marisa shook her head. “The most important and dearest moments of all are not things heard, or voiced, Chidi. They are felt.” The elusive runner’s head cocked to the side, as if she saw her answer proved unsettling and unsatisfying to Chidi. “You dislike my answer?”
“I do,” said Chidi. “It’s just more riddles. The same as you’ve told me before when you knew that I didn’t understand then either.”
“Ask your second question, then,” said Marisa. “The one that plagues you most. The same one you have been avoiding asking of me. The same question you’ve wondered on since you first began to doubt my words and actions when they led to the passing of Allambee Omondi from this world and sent him on to Fiddler’s Green.”
Chidi took a deep breath before speaking, even as her mind warned again to cease her questions. “If you’ve seen all these things,” she began. “Of us and Garrett Weaver being here together, of the Nomads drowning Jun Gao to test him . . . of Allambee—” Chidi choked on his name, tears brimming anew in her eyes at the loss of him. Unlike before, Chidi refused to let the new ones fall. Clenching the sides of her Silkie suit that Henry Boucher had forced her into, Chidi reminded herself of all that Marisa Bourgeois had promised her still lay ahead as she asked her final question. “If you saw all of those things, all of that pain, all the sacrifices . . . how do I know you’re not leading me onward to more sacrifices too?”
Marisa blinked. “You don’t.”
Chidi recoiled at the flat answer, Marisa’s voice like a knife stabbing into her ribs for the cold manner of her speech and the delivery too.
Marisa Bourgeois was not done in her reply. “For such is the twin power and the curse of dreams, Chidi,” she said, reaching for the doorknob to allow herself to enter the cabin with Bryant and Garrett Weaver. “Again, I remind you that for all you think of me as all-seeing and all-knowing, in trifling times such as these, I am sometimes as truly lost as you feel now – both of us hurtling onward to make such plans and choices as we will. Aye, and with the doubtful thought that Fate mocks us all the while.”
Chidi blurted another question before Marisa could open the door. “If you cannot see all ends, then you don’t know what will happen to us. How it all ends?”
“No . . .” Marisa quietly admitted.
Chidi shuddered at the admission, even as Allambee’s face and his final moments flashed in the forefront of her mind. She banished the ghost of him away for the moment, forcing herself to ask a deeper question arising in her mind as she forced herself to look on Marisa Bourgeois. “And what will you do, Marisa . . .” Chidi hesitated to finish her question, pressing on all the same. “Wherever you see us going, whatever it is we’re supposed to do . . . what if when we reach the end of this journey together . . . what if we find out you were wrong?” Chidi licked her lips. “What if you were supposed to sacrifice me all along, rather than let all of the others die?”
Marisa grimaced. “Chidi . . .”
“Answer me,” Chidi demanded, her voice quavering.
Marisa folded her arms across her chest. “If I am wrong . . . if I have been wrong,” she shook her head as if wrestling with the idea. When she looked on Chidi again, the knowing certainty again blazed in her eyes. “No,” said Marisa. “I am not wrong, Chidi. And if I were, then all the deaths you and I have seen, all the losses endured, they would still pale in compare to which comes for those of us who yet live and fight. I should rather die trying to thwart the Other still, rather then live on knowing I might have stopped them and did not for fear of the losses left in the wake of my indecision.”
“And if your choices meant sacrificing me?” Chidi asked, unable to meet Marisa’s eyes, focusing instead on the faces of David Bryant and Garrett Weaver through the cabin window. Blinking back her tears, she refocused on Marisa once more. “Would you, Marisa?” her voice cracked with the question. “Would you sacrifice my life to thwart the Sancul and all that you see in your dreams?”
Marisa’s brow wrinkled. “Is that a true question you ask of me, Chidi? Or a favor?”
“Both,” Chidi broke, even as she craved the answer. “I’m so tired, Marisa.” She wept, the faces and guilt of all those she had left behind rising in her mind to offer her some small bit of comfort also. “Please . . . I’m so tired of seeing everyone I care about taken from me.” Her lower lip trembled as she spoke the words, looking to Marisa Bourgeois again for some semblance of her answer. “So, if it comes to a decision . . .” Chidi continued. “If you have to make the choice between me, or someone else to die for the all of these dark things you claim to see, Marisa . . . let it be me to go next. Please?”
Marisa sighed, studying Chidi before answering. “You ask of me now the same question I have long pondered over since the first time I heard your sweet voice in my dreams.”
“And?” Chidi asked.
Marisa soured. “And on that fateful day, Chidi Etienne, I fear that decision will come to be the hardest choice I will ever make.”
Then, without another word between them, Marisa opened the cabin door and entered within, leaving Chidi alone to ponder over her cryptic words.
32
GARRETT
Huddled in a woolen blanket in the co-captain’s chair, Garrett Weaver hugged his knees close to his chest as the boat sped onward beneath him. The broken front window before him was a collection of glassy, shattered shards and some of them blood-stained. Beyond, however, a hint of dawn lay upon the horizon, the darkness breaking before the hints of light at the furthest reaches that Garrett could see.
Beside him, captaining the boat, his hands firmly upon the wheel, Bryant snorted as he too looked out at their approaching daylight. “Well, look at that,” he said quietly. “Now, that’s something, isn’t it?”
Garrett could only stare, willing the light to come faster and help him to forget the darkness and all he left behind.
Bryant clucked his tongue. “Yeah, that’s something all right. ‘Course, I’ve always been partial to sunrises more than sunsets.”
The sincerity in his voice drew Garrett from his own thoughts. “Why?” he asked.
“Reckon it’s on account of not everyone takes the time to appreciate sunrises,” Bryant smiled. “Most everybody likes to watch the sunset ‘cause they’ve already been up and at it all day. Get to see the close of another day and hope for a better tomorrow. Sunrises though, well, you got to get up earlier than most to see them. Get a chance to understand all that’s waiting on you while the rest of the world’s still sleeping. Yeah, to my mind, there’s nothing like a good sunrise, ‘specially if you had a rough night.” He nodded at Garrett. “I reckon you’ve seen some of them rougher things since we last saw each other, huh?”
Is it so obvious? Garrett wondered, fighting against the stinging in his eyes. He glanced away from Bryant, rather than allow the cowboy marshal to suggest anything further.
Bryant spoke on anyway. “Whatever it is that’s happened to you since, son? I’m gonna go out there on a limb and say it weren’t your fault,” he said quietly. “And, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry for it. If my calling you in for questioning at the jail that night had anyt
hing to do with what’s happened to you since, that is.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t called me in,” Garrett said, more to himself than Bryant, thinking back on all that had occurred since the two of them had met in his hometown. “Lenny Dolan and his Selkies would’ve come for me either way.”
“Might be that’s true,” said Bryant. “Still don’t change what I said.”
Garrett looked at him again, the once hard-natured marshal he remembered questioning him ashore now nothing in compare to the one wearing a Selkie hood and speaking kindness to him. “What brought you out here, marshal? You come looking for me?”
Bryant barked a laugh. “Wish I could say I’m that dedicated,” he replied, not unkindly. “Truth is that same Selkie crew of Lenny Dolan’s took you and me both that night. Shot me with some kind of a tranquilizer, soon as I opened the door to them. Loaded me up and hauled me back with a few others from your town too.”
Kellen . . . Garrett thought then, not understanding how else his old nemesis could have arrived in the Salt and came to be a Sancul far beneath the Salt. How many others from my town did you take, Lenny? He wondered after the little Selkie who had both kidnapped him and then also came to his rescue after. And where are you now? Garrett squinted as the sunlight broke in brighter rays of yellow and orange to ward off the black of night. Did you ever make it to New Pearlaya with Ellie and Edmund? Garrett grimaced, tempering his hopeful want with all the other experiences he had come to learn beneath the Salt. Or are all of you dead like everyone I else know and ever cared about?
Bryant cued on his silence. “Yeah, them Selkies took us both down into Crayfish Cavern. My new partner, Chidi, back there?” He jerked his head back toward the cabin door. “She used to be part of Dolan’s crew too, before she got away.”
Garrett’s brow furrowed. “I remember seeing her in Crayfish Cavern,” he reflected back on the beautiful girl’s arrival during his dinner with Oscar Collins and his father, August. Moreso, the fascination that both of the Nomad brothers, Quill and Watawa, had held for Chidi the moment she entered the room. Garrett glanced over his shoulder, peering out the cabin door at Chidi and Marisa Bourgeois conversing at the furthest reaches of the boat. “I don’t remember her being in Lenny’s crew though. Not with those who came to take you and me from the jail anyway.”
“No, ‘cause she ran off before then,” said Bryant. “Or during, rather. To hear Chidi tell it, Dolan planned an escape for her and a bunch of others that him and rest of their crew didn’t sign on to kidnap. Chidi and most of them took off while Dolan and the rest of his crew came inside looking for you and Marisa.”
“Me and Marisa?” Garrett’s brow furrowed. “But didn’t the Selkies came for you too . . .”
Bryant chuckled. “Well, apparently I’m the red-headed stepchild in all this mess. Don’t think anybody came looking for me. Not specifically, anyway. Suppose I was just an added bonus.” He shrugged. “Then again, I reckon it’s better than knowing they could’ve just killed me outright and saved themselves the trouble. ‘Course then, I wouldn’t have had to go through all this watery hell to get here with you and share this beautiful sunrise now, would I?”
Garrett’s eyes welled at that, thoughts of all the others he had seen die in his company swarming in his mind. And of all the faces to haunt him there, he pictured both Cristina Weaver and his Nomad father, Cursion White Shadow too.
Bryant shifted his stance and grip upon the wheel, his tone lowering as if he had picked up on Garrett’s disquiet. “Anyway, I’m glad to see you made it through, son. Both to be here with us now and to whatever comes next for us all too.”
“Do you know what comes next?” Garrett asked, if only to distract himself and rid the faces and haunts in his mind.
“Can’t say for certain as I do,” said Bryant. “But, if you believe Bourgeois back there, she seems to have an idea.” He frowned. “Much as I don’t like to think of what that entails for the rest of us.”
“You don’t trust her?”
Bryant scoffed. “Can’t say as I ever did, no. Not that my thoughts on her seem to matter. For every time I think to doubt her, Miss Bourgeois ends up proving me wrong. A man can only take so much of that before he has to admit he’s the common denominator. Just lay over and go with the flow, if you take my meaning.”
“That’s what you’re doing now?”
“Aye,” said Bryant. “That’s what I’m doing now, Weaver. Keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told. Listen to these women awhile. Let them call the shots for a change.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or let them think that for a bit anyway.”
The insinuation and his easy manner made Garrett smile.
“Yeah,” Bryant drawled on. “I’ll just sit back and listen awhile, Weaver. Least until these lady friends of ours find out that calling the shots and bearing all that comes after ain’t nearly the dream job they might’ve imagined it was. Still . . .” Bryant went on, his grip tightening upon the wheel. “Much as I hate to admit it, if Bourgeois and them dreams of hers prove true by the end, I reckon following her on awhile longer will be worth it. In my case, anyway.”
“Why?” Garrett asked, the mention of dreams making him think back on Watawa and all he claimed to see in his visions too. The same as Cursion and Ishmael had cited before Kellen arrived with the other Sancul to prove a portion of Ishmael’s true. “What did Marisa see in her dreams?”
“Which one?” Bryant snorted. “By my count, she seems to have a lot of them. Most to do with Chidi too.”
“Not you?”
“Oh, I got a part to play,” said Bryant. “Least that what she’s telling me, anyway. That’s the bit that tends to worry me more, if I’m being up front with myself. I agreed to come along because of who she promised me is waiting at the end of the line.”
“Who’s that?”
“Henry Boucher,” said Bryant. “Chidi’s former owner. Same man that killed my wife and baby.”
Garrett’s eyes widened. “She’s taking you to meet him?”
“Taking me to end him, son,” said Bryant. “And that’s just what I mean to do too. Me and Chidi both. Though judging by my dealings with Bourgeois in the past, I’ll warrant there’s far more that Miss Marisa ain’t telling us.”
“Like what?”
“Like just how lucky we were to find you out here all in this mess, for one,” said Bryant. “Can’t say as I see much luck in that. Finding one person out in the middle of the ocean and plucking them up out of the water to whisk them off to God knows where, right in the middle of one helluva storm gathering? Yeaaaaah,” Bryant drawled. “Can’t say as I see like them odds, partner. Whatever it is Miss Bourgeois has planned for me and Chidi, I reckon she’s seen something in them dreams of hers for you too.”
Garrett’s skin prickled at the knowing in Bryant’s voice. “What do you think she saw?” he asked, not realizing they were no longer alone inside the cabin until Marisa spoke up behind him.
“A great reunion, Garrett Weaver . . .” she said, approaching him with Chidi in tow. “A chance to see your family and friends again.”
Garrett rose from his chair to face her, leaving his blanket to fall free of his shoulders. He trembled at the sudden cold swooping in to replace the warmth that he gave up. And when he looked into the eyes of Marisa Bourgeois, Garrett felt colder still. “All of my family and friends are dead, taken, or else forgot about me . . .”
Marisa smiled. “Are you so certain your family is dead?”
“Since I remember everything that happened? I’d say yeah, I’m pretty certain,” Garrett sneered. “And if you’re talking about Makeda, I don’t care if she is alive or no. Not after what she did to my real mom.”
“The daughter of Orcin is alive and well, Garrett Weaver. Makeda prays for your safety now, just as she has done since giving the charge of you over to your adopted Selkie parents,” said Marisa. “But I spoke not of Makeda just now . . . I spoke of the family that you have known for such
all your life.”
Garrett paled at the sincerity in her voice, the hopeful want to believe her rising within him as she spoke further.
“Aye, Garrett Weaver, son of Cursion White Shadow,” said Marisa Bourgeois, her dark eyes blazing. “Your blood father may have gone from this world now, but your other kin remain. For it is not only your blood mother, Makeda, lingering in the City of Pearls . . . it is Tom Weaver awaiting you too.”
33
LENNY
By the time Jemmy T woke him, Lenny Dolan could not say how much time had passed, only that his body warned no amount of sleep would be enough to rest him fully.
Jemmy T extended his hand in offer to help Lenny stand. “Come, little brudda. We be getting close, yeah? Tom Weaver and Brutus be wanting us on de front lines.”
Lenny accepted the offer, yanked to his feet and swaying with the combined upward movement and the rocking train car as he regained his footing. Yawning and wiping sleep from his eyes, Lenny followed Jemmy T through the shadowed masses in search of those who would fight against the Orcs when they reached the city.
They found Tom Weaver and Brutus three train cars up from theirs. Both of the giant men and others near as bulky as they had again adopted the stolen armor of Painted Guard soldiers that the Selkies had slain in Røyrkval. Despite their visors being up, Lenny shuddered at the dark gleam of their black-plated armor.
Lenny braced himself against Jemmy T when the train wheels began to screech, the car shuddering around him.
“That’s the signal,” Brutus muttered, clapping his visor down. “All right, lads,” he called to those sharing the car with him. “Same tricks as we ran before. There’ll be more Orcs waiting on us here, no doubt. Show them no mercy, for they’ll show us none. Better to die fighting them now, rather then let ‘em throw us back in chains again, eh?”
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 50