A Way between Worlds

by Melanie Crowder

  Philip ruffled Griffin’s hair. “Good thinking.”

  Seiche made a flicking motion with her hand, and someone in the crowd behind them dropped three blankets over the Fenns’ shoulders.

  “That’s better.” Guyot pressed his lips together. “You said you came to ask something of us.”

  Philip cleared his throat. “The song of the sea. On Caligo, we read that it protects you from the priests’ magic. On other worlds, when a priest speaks, it takes hold of a person’s mind, wipes it clean of any will but what that priest wishes. Our world, Earth, is in danger—we have no song, or anything like it. What we do have is highly trained soldiers, and they are being stolen by the priests and taken to other worlds to fight Somni’s battles. We fear not only for our home, but for any world that might stand against the priests.”

  Seiche and Guyot exchanged a bewildered glance. “But the song is not ours to give.”

  Griffin’s heart sank. Sweat broke out on his upper lip. Had they come all this way for nothing?

  Guyot raised the steaming cup to his lips and the rest followed. Gasps and dark whispers filled the air as the cups for the Fenn family rose into the air without any visible hands to guide them, then tipped back, the liquid disappearing into thin air.

  Guyot frowned. “You would need to ask the Guardian.”

  “And he is?”

  “Not he. It lives far beneath the surface, where the song is safe from invaders.”

  “What do you mean? The song is here, above the water. I can hear it right now.”

  “Certainly. The song rises into the air just as it flows beneath the surface. It lives all around us. But all sound begins somewhere. Words start as breath moving past vocal cords. Thunder travels through the sky long before it ever reaches our ears. A mother’s call to her calf shifts and modulates as it passes through the depths. The song is no different. Each phrase begins as a single note departing the Guardian’s chamber. As it journeys, it modulates, picking up speed and resonance, building to its own sentient self.”

  Sentient? The song was alive?

  “Can you take us to this guardian?” Katherine asked.

  “Even if we agreed, it’s impossible.” Seiche shrugged, the shells draped around her neck tinkling as she moved. “You would not survive the journey.”

  “Impossible? Why?”

  “The Guardian’s chamber is far below the surface, much farther than people who are not of this world can dive.” She cocked her head to the side. “Though the boy could do it, possibly.”

  “That’s true.” Guyot ran a hand along his jaw. “Until our young build up the necessary strength in their lungs, we secure air-filled bulbs over their heads when they dive. The bulbs aren’t large enough for an adult head to fit inside. But the boy may be able to do it.”

  Beside him, Griffin could feel his mother begin to tremble. The air beneath the low roof shifted, her raw emotion speaking more profoundly than any of her words could. “No way is Griffin going down into some creature’s lair without us.”

  Philip’s voice sounded equally shaky. “Absolutely not. I’ll go. Give me time—I can build up the stamina. I’ll learn to hold my breath long enough.”

  “No.” Guyot was firm. “Your being here endangers all of us. You cannot remain on Maris the months or years it would take you to learn our way of diving.”

  “We don’t have months,” Katherine murmured. She draped a protective arm over Griffin’s shoulders. “But—you’re sure there’s no other way?”

  Seiche and Guyot nodded in unison. “You’ll need to hide during the day. We can’t risk raising the soldiers’ suspicions. After midnight tomorrow, either the boy travels below to the Guardian’s chamber or the three of you leave this world. The decision is yours.”

  23

  GRIFFIN

  GRIFFIN WOKE WITH a start. He clawed at the netting over his face, straining for a full breath. His parents jerked awake and began pulling him free of the tangles. They’d slept for a few hours beneath the nets in case a patrol came along in the middle of the night. They didn’t fully trust the crypsis juice to hide them—not while they were defenseless.

  Griffin had thrashed all night, dreaming that he was drowning. He knew his parents would do everything they could so he didn’t have to dive alone to get the song. But he also knew that if there wasn’t another way, he’d have to do it, no matter how much the thought terrified him.

  The air smelled like salt, and the song, cheerful as a morning greeting, rose above the waves slapping against the docks. Half the hammocks were empty, and a dozen Marisians crouched around the cookfire, gulping down a bright green porridge.

  Griffin sat up. “Pssttt!”

  A boy sitting with his back to them jumped, eyeing the lump of netting suspiciously.

  “Is it safe to come out?”

  The boy peered over his shoulder at the soldiers gathered around the launch, watching the boats ride the waves below. He beckoned, and the Fenns tiptoed after him. The Marisians around the cookfire watched the air where they passed with wary eyes. Griffin didn’t blame them. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to not being able to see his own arms and legs and everything else.

  Seiche stood. “Follow me. Step exactly in my footsteps. And do not make a sound.”

  She strode out from under the cover of the broad roof and the Fenns hurried to follow. It was a shock, in the bright light of day, to turn in a full circle and see nothing but water. Shafts of sunlight pierced low-lying clouds. In the distance, a net of bubbles rose from the deep, the creature who’d set the trap snapping his massive jaws as he broke the surface.

  The day had barely begun, but the docks already teemed with workers. They hefted thick ropes, hand over hand, lifting woven baskets out of the sea. Water spilled over the edges, sluicing off the glistening seaweed trapped within. The baskets were dumped into wide barrels where Marisian children stomped the seaweed into pulp like grapes in a vineyard. Green juice trickled out of a spout at the bottom. Griffin tiptoed past workers huddled over the drainpipes, siphoning the liquid into bladders, sealing them with a deft twist, and tossing them into a heap.

  They passed a guard station, and Griffin held his breath the whole way, stepping as silently as he could. The soldiers glared as Seiche passed, but their eyes skimmed over the space behind her, where the three Fenns walked. Griffin risked a glance over his shoulder, ready to run if the soldiers had somehow seen them.

  Maris was nothing like Somni. But the feeling of the place—the texture of fear that lay beneath everything, the hunched shoulders, the darting glances, the brooding reek of oppression—was exactly the same.

  Seiche stepped to the edge of the docks and paused, waiting for them to catch up. Griffin peered over the side. The waves rolled by, the crests as little as five feet below, and the troughs as much as twenty. Without a word, Seiche rolled off the edge and out of sight. Griffin scrambled to see where she’d gone. A ladder clung to the pillar, descending into the water below. Seiche dropped, hand over hand, until first her feet, then her hips, then all of her was swallowed by the ocean.

  Before he could chicken out, Griffin gripped the ladder and swung over the side. The waves rose to swat against his feet, and then they fell away, leaving a dizzying drop below. He hurried down before the thought of the next wave smashing against the ladder could stop him. Seiche had left the ladder for a horizontal rope and was quickly shimmying toward the aquaculture beds. The kelp stretched deep into the water, alternately floating weightless or hanging limp, dripping as the waves rolled by. The beaches back home were always littered with seaweed after a storm, feathery fronds and long whiplike ropes. But like everything on Maris, this kelp was so much bigger. The bulbs were lime green, and big as basketballs.

  Griffin braced himself against the ladder as a wave crested, the water flooding up to his neck and the spray slapping his cheeks. Rather than giving in to the panic, he used it, launching off the ladder and, hand over hand, moving as fast as he could. Seic
he watched the rope jangle as Griffin and his parents climbed across.

  “It’s safe to talk here,” she said in a low voice. “The soldiers never get in the water. The few who have—well, let’s just say it isn’t only the human occupants of this world who want them gone.”

  “Mom? Dad?” Griffin said, breathless, as he wrapped his arms and legs around thick ropes of kelp.

  “We’re right behind you.”

  “Good,” Seiche said. “Follow me.”

  She climbed up until she found a break in the kelp. She slid through, first one layer, then the next, and the one after that. When they passed through the last layer, they stepped into an open column leading down. The water below swished gently, the layers of kelp breaking the powerful waves. It would have been dark, except a second kind of seaweed grew between the thicker kelp, its delicate bulbs emitting a soft lavender light. The docks groaned above their heads, and here, so close to the water, the song softened, like a whisper from a friend.

  Seiche dropped into the water, her arms and legs shifting into rhythmic swirls that kept her torso upright. Griffin took a breath and jumped, landing beside her. When his head broke the surface, he shook the water from his hair and blinked the salt from his eyes. His parents splashed down on either side of him. Seiche lifted down three bulbs tethered to the interior frame of the aquaculture beds and held them out so Griffin and his parents could each take one.

  “These have been clipped from the ends of the kelp, then stretched and dried, just for this purpose.” She inserted both her hands into the base and splayed her fingers wide. “Place it over your head and gently stretch. If you go slowly, it will seal around your neck. If you try to stretch it too far, it will rip.”

  She quirked an eyebrow as first Katherine, then Philip tried to stretch the bulbs over their foreheads. Katherine’s split down the middle when she slid it past her nose. Philip couldn’t even fit his over his forehead before it tore in several places.

  Griffin’s mouth went dry. Seiche was right—it really was up to him. He climbed up the frame just far enough that he could breathe without treading water. He lifted the bulb over his head and worked it down, first to his forehead, then below his nose, and finally past his chin. The lip settled over his neck. It was tight, and he fought against it, his breath coming fast and hard.

  With the bulb over Griffin’s head, for the first time Seiche was able to look directly at him while she spoke. “Breathe slowly, and calmly as you can. There’s enough oxygen in there to get you to the Guardian’s chamber, where there is plenty of air. But if you panic, you’ll use it up too quickly. It’s a long dive down.”

  That only made it harder for Griffin to breathe. It took everything he had not to rip the thing off his head.

  “The air inside the bulb will fight you as you descend, so take some time now to practice grabbing the rungs and pulling yourself down as quickly as you can.”

  Griffin slid back into the water until his eyes were level with the surface. Just as Seiche had instructed, he grabbed the frame and tugged downward. The light under the water was different, softer, and the song shifted too. Before he knew it, the fear was forgotten. It didn’t feel dangerous underwater—it felt like sinking into a familiar dreamscape.

  That is, until he felt his parents’ hands grip him under the arms and drag him back up. When he broke the surface, the bulb was torn away from his face. But he wasn’t gasping for air. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

  “Seiche?”

  “Yes, Griffin?”

  “Can I bring the song back in one of these bulbs? Would that even work?”

  Seiche’s face was impassive, her voice flat. “It is highly unlikely that the Guardian will grant your request in the first place. If he does, you can be sure that he wouldn’t release the song into anything but the most secure receptacle.”

  “Oh.” Griffin’s newfound confidence began to ebb.

  “This is crazy,” Philip said. “There has to be another way.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll be all right.”

  “No, Griffin,” Katherine said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Mom, come on. You know we don’t have a choice.”

  There was no backup plan. All the worlds would fall under Somni control if someone didn’t stop the priests. Apparently, that someone was him.

  24

  GRIFFIN

  THE DAY PASSED while the Fenn family stayed hidden. As the sun set, sending ripples of pink and orange across the sky, Griffin’s nerves began to get the best of him. He’d lived by the ocean his whole life, but he’d never done anything like an open water dive, much less in the dark. Seiche insisted that they wait until midnight, when the last patrols had bedded down for the night.

  “I don’t like it,” Philip muttered. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.” Griffin clenched his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t rattle together. He wasn’t sure, not at all, but it wouldn’t help anything to let his parents know how scared he really was.

  When the time came to go, Guyot stepped forward, holding out a hand for Griffin. A half dozen Marisians peeled back the mats in front of the hearth and then lifted away a block of decking as big as a jeep. Below, the water sloshed, hemmed in on all sides by the rigid interior frame of the aquaculture beds. Guyot handed a bulb to Griffin, who stretched it down his face, stopping above his lips.

  Seiche shepherded them to the edge. “There is a ladder leading down. If you stay at the center of the aquaculture beds, you’ll be protected from the currents and any predators hunting tonight.”

  Griffin backed away from the edge, even his toes curling away from the water. He eyed the thrashing ocean below. He hadn’t thought about predators. Guyot jumped through the hole in the decking, disappearing below the surface with a practiced kick. Griffin’s parents fell to their knees and flung their arms around him. He hugged them back, as tight as he could.

  “I love you guys.” And because he was sure he’d lose his nerve if he waited another second, Griffin pulled away, sucked in one last deep breath, yanked the bulb below his chin, and dropped into the water.

  He hit the surface with a splash and sank slowly down. It wasn’t cold, but it was a shock all the same. The water closed over his head and the song changed. The melody wasn’t any different, but the texture was muted. It cradled him, coaxing away the fear that threatened to choke off his breath.

  He wished his parents could be with him. He wished Fi were there. She would have adored the underwater plants. She would have loved the job only they could do. He wouldn’t be scared at all if she were there.

  Griffin kicked over to the wall of seaweed, pulling himself down the stiff frame, his ears popping as the pressure increased. He followed Guyot, trying to match the Marisian’s confident strokes. By the time they were halfway down the structure, the bottom dropped out below, with nothing but the dark sea beneath them. Dread eclipsed everything else, and Griffin began to swim faster, flailing as panic seeped in.

  But as they swam nearer the bottom, Griffin realized it wasn’t just ocean down there. A murky something floated below the aquaculture beds. Spots wavered across his vision. Faster. He had to move faster. Guyot’s fluttering kicks swept and swirled the water behind him and Griffin focused on that, drawing himself toward the shadow.

  His lungs strained for air. The water seemed to grow thicker, fighting his every move. His fingers lost their grip. The edges of his vision blurred, shadows creeping in. But then Guyot was in front of him, shouting, pressing his face into the bulb over Griffin’s head. Griffin tried to move his arms, to do whatever it was the Marisian wanted him to, but his limbs were stone. They were useless.

  His eyes drifted closed. As water streamed past his fingers, a distant corner of Griffin’s mind decided he must be drifting, let loose on the current below the farthest reach of the aquaculture beds. But then, he’d have to be moving against the current to feel the water rushing through his fingertips.

  Guyot’s grip bit
into his skin as he dragged Griffin toward the shadow. And then, pop, he was falling. Not through the water, but into air. He landed on something squishy that gave and rebounded, spreading outward in a wet ripple. Guyot kneeled over him, a wicked-looking knife slicing at the bulb over Griffin’s head. One minute Griffin was sure he was dying, and the next he was gulping in great lungfuls of air.

  He rolled onto his back, panting for breath, his arms flung outward. His palms landed in something sticky. It seemed like all of him was draining—water seeping out of his clothes, out of his hair, out of his skin. Griffin’s breath slowed. His pulse calmed its racing. The ceiling above shimmered a midnight blue, undulating with the waves that skimmed over it.

  Oh. This chamber was the shadow. And he was inside that shadow.

  The song had changed again—it was thinner, and more… true here. Like the difference between a sky so full of stars they all blur into a web of light, and when the first star of the night stands alone against a blanket of dark, bright and crisp and so very clear.

  Guyot glanced up, then began backing away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It is not… comfortable to be in the Guardian’s presence.”

  “So you’re leaving?”

  “It’s coming.”

  “It?”

  Guyot didn’t answer. He didn’t look uncomfortable; he looked terrified.

  Slowly, Griffin lumbered to his feet. The chamber was shallow but long. It was like standing on a jellyfish the size of a runway. The ground jiggled where his feet touched down, a dark iridescence mimicking the water below.

  In the distance, so far away Griffin couldn’t make out where the chamber ended and it began, something wiggled closer. It was as big as a bus and blurry at the bottom, as if a hundred wiggling legs moved it forward. Griffin froze. What was that? He’d only just gotten his breath back and already it felt like his heart was going to bang right out of his chest.

  Guyot backed awkwardly toward the chamber wall, bending in half in a series of deep bows. He slid one hand between seams in the chamber wall, bracing his legs against the floor as first his arm, then his shoulder, then half of his torso sank into the wall. He gulped a breath, his ribs swelling like a balloon, then he thrust his face into the seam. With one last, powerful kick, Guyot’s hips and legs slid through the seam and he was gone.