Also by Laurel McHargue
Hai CLASS ku: Classroom Warm-ups
Haikus Can Amuse: 366 Haiku Starters
Hunt for Red Meat (love stories)
“Miss?”
The Hare, Raising Truth
Waterwight Flux: Book II of the Waterwight Series
Waterwight: Book I of the Waterwight Series
Waterwight
Breathe
Book III of the Waterwight Series
Waterwight World Map
Waterwight Breathe
Book III of the Waterwight Series
Laurel McHargue
STRACK PRESS LLC Leadville, CO
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Waterwight Breathe
Book III of the Waterwight Series
Published by Strack Press LLC
Leadville, CO
Copyright © 2019 by Laurel McHargue. All rights reserved.
[email protected]
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from Laurel McHargue, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
All images, logos, quotes, and trademarks included in this book are subject to use according to trademark and copyright laws of the United States of America.
FIRST EDITION 2019
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018901900
McHargue, Laurel, Author
Waterwight Breathe
Laurel McHargue
ISBN: 978-0-9969711-3-3
Edited by Carol Bellhouse and Stephanie Spong
Cover Design by Trif Andrei and Trif Paul, TwinArtDesign
Printed in The United States of America
All Rights Reserved by Laurel McHargue and Strack Press LLC
For
Carol Bellhouse—
who heard the word Waterwight,
and whose chapter-by-chapter bubble bath editing
of this final book kept me on track
until the final page . . .
and
Stephanie Spong—
who read my “completed” manuscript
and provided ample evidence to support the fact that
I wasn’t even close to being finished yet!
It took we three Muses
to create these three books!
~ 1 ~
WHY AM I in a black velvet cocoon? It doesn’t matter. It’s safe in here. Warm and quiet and so, so soft. I’m going to stay here forever. Why would a butterfly ever want to leave such a place?
But I’m not a butterfly. I’m a dove. No! I’m a girl. Oh, who cares? I’m safe and warm and no one will find me here. If they can’t find me, they can’t kill me, right?
My friends. I think I remember friends. Did I have friends? I saved them when I cured the water, didn’t I? But I didn’t really cure it after all. Odin held me in his hand and opened the clouds beneath us and . . .
Wait a minute. That can’t be right.
No. Must’ve been a dream. I’m a big dreamer. Mom and Daddy love to hear my dreams when I come down for breakfast in the morning. Crisp bacon and sunshine eggs and toast the color of autumn wheat—Mom has a gift for breakfast—and I’ll share my dreams as soon as I wake up today. But not yet. I’m not ready yet.
My head feels fuzzy and light, like it might disappear from my body. Weird. The thought of disappearing makes me feel tingly. Is this how a little larva feels as it melts into goo before rearranging itself into a butterfly? Caterpillar soup. I feel like warm, caterpillar soup.
What kind of butterfly could I be when I emerge? A peacock butterfly comes to mind. Peacocks have the most awesome feathers of all. Monarchs are beautiful too, like stained glass windows.
Mom has lots of art books filled with photos of old churches with huge stained glass windows. Who washes all those colorful panes?
Then there’s the Ulysses butterfly with the most striking blue, outlined in black, and it looks like a teardrop falls from each lower wingtip.
Teardrops. When I cried and my tears hit the ocean below, they caused a tsunami around the world. Did that really happen?
The Queen Alexandra’s birdwing butterfly has all my favorite colors: green, blue, and yellow. And they’re really big, the biggest. Almost a foot wide. About as big as I was when I was a . . .
No. That can’t be right either.
The glasswing butterfly is astounding. Lots of butterflies have a stained glass pattern, but my butterfly book says you can see right through this one’s wings, like you’re looking through a window. So delicate and fragile. They remind me of Orville’s wings.
Wait. A flying frog named Orville? I heard him in my dreams. He rescued me when I was falling into the ocean. But I haven’t thought about my butterfly book in a long time. Why am I remembering it now?
Oh, right. I’m in a cocoon. And I want to stay here because . . . because . . .
Something’s calling me, but I don’t want to go. I’d have to open my eyes and rise. I’d have to figure out who, or what, is calling me, and why.
And I’d have to remember. I’d have to remember my friends aren’t safe, and Mom and Daddy are gone.
I don’t move a muscle, don’t open my eyes. It almost works. Something tingles on the back of my head, like I’m melting, but that makes no sense. There’s a water-drop mark somewhere back there, or so I’m told. So I remember being told. But that makes no sense either.
Just stay asleep. Sleep is good. Sleep is healing. Sleep is escape.
“Help me,” a voice once called me in a dream. “Help her,” it said.
A giggling girl lured me into a trap. The memory makes my heart race faster than the three hearts in Zoya’s battered body. I almost wake up.
But no. Zoya was just a dream. Had to be. A submarine with bad people lodged inside a gigantic octopus? One of my dark dreams. Harmony must’ve been a dream too.
There was a dog. A dog named Ranger. Ranger knew more about me than I knew about myself. He’d look at me with those honey-brown eyes and I believe he saw things in my future. He always looked so sad.
My face is wet. I feel a tickle on my cheek. Probably Ranger coming in to wake me for breakfast. His little puppy tongue makes me giggle.
The sound of my laughter startles me awake and I open my eyes to darkness. Something drips from above me, wetting my face and running down my cheek like tears. My head throbs and swirling colors flash through my brain. My cocoon has dissolved, but I’m no butterfly.
I’m a frightened girl curled up in the fetal position on a cold slab of stone.
~ 2~
I FREEZE when I hear his voice.
“Celeste? Say something, daughter! Tell us where you are! We’re here to take you home!”
“Daddy?” The sound of my voice reverberates in the cavernous enclosure, but I must’ve been dreaming again. I dreamt my father was calling my name, talking about home. I force myself to my feet. My head’s fuzzy. His voice sounded so real, but what can I trust anymore? Talking animals, a mountain spirit, a flying frog, battling deities, the octopus . . .
Was any of it even real?
“Nick? Are you there? Chimney? Where are you?” Where are we? I hear the echo of my beating heart and search for my friends. My friends were just with me, weren’t they?
“Oooo, ouch! Is anybody there? I’m ascared!”
It’s Chimney, crying in the darkness. He sounds real, so I answer. I remember losing my grip on his
hand in the violently churning water current. I lost Nick’s hand too.
“I’m here, Chim, don’t be afraid.” Finally I can see—the boulders surrounding us glow a cool green—and holding his stomach, Chimney sits against a slab of cold granite. Before I get to him, he vomits a gush of water.
“Eewww, yuck,” he says. His face searches in my direction. He can’t see me. “Celeste? Where are you? Where are we? Where’s Nick?”
Where’s Nick.
I work to reconnect the events leading to this moment. Sleeping, dreaming, everything so fuzzy. Talking. Floating. A kiss . . .
I hear moaning farther back in the cavern, but first I have to comfort a frightened boy. I take his hand, and before I speak, he jumps into my arms and clings to me like a little octopus.
I remember Zoya and the last message I relayed to Harmony. Was she successful in releasing the punished creature from the intruders? Not a dream, then.
“It’s me, Chim. Are you okay?” I look him over and determine he’s battered, but not too badly. The strength of his embrace tells me what I need to know.
“I dunno. What happened?”
The moaning grows louder.
“Here, hold my hand. Let’s find Nick,” I say. “A big water current pushed us into this place. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. I tried to hold on.” His hand grips mine as if it’s a lifeline.
We stumble and crawl over boulders until I see him.
“Nick! We’re here!” I call to him.
Blood drips down his face, but he pushes himself to a standing position before we reach him. No obvious broken bones.
He searches in the darkness for my voice, and I’m grateful for my ability to see in darkness.
“It’s me and Chimney. We’re in some kind of cave. The current must’ve carried us here. I thought I’d lost you in it! Here, let me take a look at your head.”
The gash over his eye is bad; it’ll need to be stitched closed, or Ryder will need to heal him back in the village. That is, if we can find our way out of this cave and home, and if the boy still has healing powers.
Home.
Nick doesn’t focus on me. He holds his hands out in front of him as if protecting himself from me. He looks angry.
“Stay away from me!” He stumbles backward and falls over one of many obstacles, and I rush to him.
“Nick, it’s me, Celeste! You’re hurt! Please let me help you.” I hold his shoulders down to keep him on his back. How am I going to stop his head from bleeding, and why is he acting like this? Didn’t he just kiss me a little while ago?
His eyes turn toward my voice and I see panic in them.
“Celeste?” he says.
“Yes! And Chimney’s here too.”
“Celeste? Chimney? Who are you? What did you do to me? Where am I?”
Nick tries to disengage from my grasp, but I’m stronger than he is—at least for now—and I catch my breath. He doesn’t know us.
“Whaddaya mean, who are we?” Chimney moves around to Nick’s other side and grabs his hand. “I’m your best buddy, aren’t I?” He sounds hurt.
I need to take charge, but I hear someone calling my name again from far away. It sounds like my father, but it can’t be him. Not in this place, wherever this place is. Not anyplace, really. He disappeared years ago.
The voice calls me. Nick doesn’t remember me. Maybe none of us is who we think we are.
“Nick, you’re hurt and I need to find something to bind that gash on your forehead.” I peer around the cavern as if there’d be bandages just lying around, and then I spot something hanging out of his pocket.
It’s my emerald green scarf, the zigzag blood stain from my own head wound still fused with its fibers.
“You kept my scarf,” I say, letting it drape in front of his face.
“Scarf?” he asks, reaching a hand out to feel it.
“Never mind. I’m going to wrap this around your head, and you’re just going to have to trust me. Do I look like someone who’d want to hurt you?” My heart squeezes. How could he think I’d ever want to hurt him?
“I don’t know. I can’t see you.”
“But you can hear her, Nick, and you can hear me, right? And we’re your friends, and you’re gonna be okay, isn’t he, Celeste?”
“Yes, Chim.” Just handle one crisis at a time. I’ve grown used to harsh predicaments since The Event shattered our world. What’s this but one more? I’ve gotten used to my life being an endless stream of insane trials.
No, I haven’t, really.
I take Chimney’s hand and guide his fingers to hold the gash closed. Nick allows me to secure my scarf over it and around his head, and I hope the salty water will help to keep it clean.
“Celeste. You . . . are safe,” a familiar voice booms.
“Old Man Massive! Is that you?” It couldn’t be anyone else. There’s no way I’d mistake his resonant voice. Despite his assurance of safety, I flinch in fear of falling debris as his words rumble the cave walls. Chimney jumps across Nick and clings to me again.
“Yes. It is I. Your father waits for you above.”
My head swims and I feel like I might throw up. I’ve been tricked too many times already. I’m done with being the naïve child I once was. That little girl is gone.
“My father’s dead, Old Man.” It’s the first time I’ve uttered the words. “I saw him fall.” He, my mother, my puppy, they all fell into a stinking, house-ripping fissure the day of The Event. They couldn’t have survived it.
“But you are wrong, child. Go to him.”
I want to trust the mountain spirit—
“You have a dad? Can he fly too?”
On the heels of Old Man Massive’s statement, Chimney’s question makes my heart skip a beat. Do I dare to hope?
“No, Chim—”
“Celeste? Are you in there?”
It sounds like the father I remember. My heart flutters again and I want to scream, “I’m here, Daddy! I’m here! Please help!” but I don’t. I know it’s just another trick. I want to see him so badly I’m afraid to believe. I can’t be tricked again. Last time, it nearly killed me.
“I need to get Nick home,” I speak to the stone above me. If we’re truly inside Old Man Massive, we’re a long way from the village and I have no idea what powers I still have, if I have any at all. If I ever even had any at all.
I turn my attention to Chimney.
“Here, Chim. You stay on Nick’s other side and we’ll find a way out, okay?” I place one of Nick’s hands on Chimney’s shoulder and take his other hand in mine. He feels cold.
“They will help you home,” the mountain whispers. He sounds sad.
“They?” I ask, but the answer won’t matter.
I’m not sure what matters anymore.
~ 3 ~
NICK AND CHIMNEY MATTER. They’re the closest people I have to family. They risked their lives to rescue me. Kumugwe told Harmony that “if their intentions are pure,” they’d survive underwater in this new world, but I didn’t need for them to suffer through such a distressing experience to convince me of their loyalty.
Nick’s kiss. So warm and tentative. It shook me from a waking sleep I couldn’t escape from while I was in Kumugwe’s castle. Will there ever be a time we’ll be together for whatever might remain of forever?
“Never forever,” Orville once told me. But that was a lifetime ago.
A lifetime ago I ran away. A lifetime ago I was tricked into believing I was home. A lifetime ago . . .
I was plunked into the ocean to help Harmony free Zoya from unspeakable anguish, and it’s slowly becoming clear why. Harmony was just a child. Was. But the voice I heard speaking to Kumugwe was the voice of a young woman. Something must have happened to her during the fluxes, but even though she might have changed physically, it doesn’t mean she matured mentally or emotionally.
Or can knowledge and maturity be loaded into your brain, given to you like a gift from the gods? Seems anythin
g’s possible in this unstable universe. But no. I would have thrown the spear and known where to throw it to stop the abominable metal heart keeping Zoya alive.
I felt Harmony’s hesitation as if it were my own and told her what to do. Pretty sure she heard me—felt me, like we were one—and was successful. A fleeting sense of calmness washed over me moments before the water heaved and—
“Whoa! Cool!” Chimney’s exclamation shakes me from the swirling turmoil in my brain. He’s pointing toward my feet, and when I look down, I see why his eyes are so wide.
With each step I take, a surge of glittering green illuminates the surface we’re walking on and spreads upward around us. I can feel them, but I can’t actually see my feet. It’s like they’ve dispersed into the stuff of the stones and gravel inside the cave and given life to the cold grit.
“Old Man?” I beckon the mountain spirit, though I question his reality.
“Yes, little Paloma?”
Little Paloma. Little dove. A name from a lifetime ago. It is him. He is real. “Thanks for the light,” I say.
“Light, child?”
“This green glow,” I say. “It’s helpful, the way you’re lighting this space for us.”
“This is not a thing I can do.” He sounds perplexed.
So, it’s me. I’m somehow creating light.
“Don’t worry!” I call to the mountain spirit. “I figured it out!”
Nick stumbles, and I catch him. “Let’s stop a bit. I want to check your head.” I encourage Nick to sit while Chimney scoops up and tosses handfuls of illuminated gravel into the air. Nick opens his eyes in an expression of awe as the particles twinkle overhead like stars in a constellation before bouncing back onto the convoluted pathway ahead.
Waterwight Breathe Page 1