by Ethan Proud
“There are plenty of tales, but D’rij protects us,” Morchella answered.
This time it was Mycorr’s turn to try to keep his composure and not spit up his drink. If only the zealots understood the indifference of their gods. If anything, it was Morchella’s own power that kept the Mare Helvella afloat, not D’rij’s generosity.
The godling’s reverie was interrupted when the call of ‘land ho!’ was heard from the crow’s nest.
“D’rij awaits,” Morchella said as he rose from the table and departed from the captain’s quarters.
Beatrice felt a lump form in her throat when she realized that she was about to watch the pirates torture Carnegie. The second mate of the sunken Porcer’s time was running short.
The sea birds overhead began squawking raucously as they too sensed the coming feast.
Chapter Twenty-four
Rough hands grabbed Carnegie as he was untied from the mast and dragged towards the prow of the ship. He kicked and screamed and even bit down on one of their hands. That earned him a boot to the face, and for a moment he was compliant as his thoughts swam and blood oozed from his nose and lip.
He shook his head clear and dug his ankles into the deck, but the hard wooden boards did not give and his ankles held no purchase. He heard Yaro yelling his name from where the captain was still tied, but Carnegie didn’t really register what was going on around him. His thoughts became a blur once he realized that his death was inevitable.
Carnegie cried out in pain as one of his arms was pulled out so roughly it popped from its socket as a knot was looped around his wrist. He resisted less when his other appendage was grabbed but nonetheless it hurt the same. He was held by just the ropes, his arms outstretched as he struggled to keep his feet.
Through blurry eyes, Carnegie spotted Morchella walking towards him holding some wriggly creature. The dark man was speaking a language that sounded like all consonants, and when he stood face to face with the merchant he grabbed his face and squeezed until Carnegie’s mouth popped open.
When the sea priest forced the creature into Carnegie’s mouth and it writhed down his throat, fighting the bile that was rising, he knew what it was. An eel. The sea serpent thrashed in his belly and he retched several times, but the creature was still lodged in his gut. Morchella didn’t move and was coated in bile from his sternum to his boots, but he placed his hand on Carnegie’s forehead and the only word the merchant could make out was D’rij. When the sea priest released him, he felt his body pulled backwards by the ropes and cast into the sea. The cold salt water enveloped his body and a sudden clarity returned to his brain after the kick he received. He was pulled through the water as his wrists screamed in agony. He came to a sudden stop when his body slammed into the barnacle laden ship. It was only a moment before he was moving again, the warty sea creatures digging trenches in his skin as his blood mingled with sea water. The sting alone was enough to make him scream in a flurry of bubbles.
***
From the poopdeck, Beatrice winced as she watched the pirates running along the taffrail opposite each other, holding the ropes tied to Carnegie. Every so often they would be jerked back as the merchant’s body became lodged on some unseen obstacle. It was only a matter of minutes before she spotted the dark fins moving amid the waves.
The sea creatures swam lazy circles around the ship, much like wolves in the timber waiting to take down a moose. They sinuously carved through the water and Beatrice could only imagine the long serpentine bodies that were just out of sight. She wondered how many beasts there were, was it one large creature made of many coils? Or many with just as numerous mouths?
As the minutes went by the billow of blood widened its range and the fins disappeared beneath the ship. The ropes held by the pirates went taut. The men strained to keep a hold. Captain Johan would not be pleased if any resources went overboard. Without warning the rope on the port side went slack and the men reeled it up. It still held one of Carnegie’s hands, though it was severed beneath the elbow. The sailors on the other side of the ship struggled as the monsters pulled at the rest of the merchant’s body before they fell on their backs, still clutching the rope. The fins thrashed amid the waters for a brief moment before being swallowed by the waves.
Mycorr drifted to Beatrice’s side. “Humans are just as savage as the gods they worship.”
“So it would seem,” she mused. “Where is the archipelago? I thought we were close.”
Pointing, Mycorr indicated to a group of dark slivers on the horizon. Over the course of a millennia the black volcanic basalt had been tempered by the waves and the islands were barely visible on the horizon.
“That is it? I do not see any temple dedicated to the Lord of the Tides,” Beatrice said doubtfully.
Mycorr made a show of sighing. He took in a deep breath until his chest swelled and then blew it out slowly. “He is the Sea God, not the God of Forests, Plains, or staggering Mountains. I can assure you, his temple is there.”
Beatrice thought to argue, but then she saw Morchella standing at the prow of the ship. His arms were outstretched and shaking with verified ecstasy. Beatrice felt her stomach turn. She had experienced Detrita, Nipor, and Mond—none had been cruel enough to have been appeased by human sacrifices. She could only imagine what kind of divine appetite belonged to D’rij.
Captain Johan made his way across the deck to the two interlopers. He easily ascended the stairs and stood to face the godling and secretary.
“I hope that you know what you are getting yourself into,” he warned them.
“We can handle ourselves,” Mycorr assured him.
“You have never seen real sea monsters. The finfolk who serve D’rij will just as likely lead you to his temple, or kidnap you and marry you on the sea floor,” Johan said as he pulled pensively at his beard.
“You sound like you have some experience,” Beatrice said.
“Before I was a pirate my daughter was kidnapped by the fishmen. It feels like it was a lifetime ago. I was just a blacksmith. I beat my wife to death because I thought she had sold our daughter off or murdered her. I fled to the seas rather than face the gallows. Eventually I found my daughter, but she was not the same…” the captain trailed off.
Mycorr and Beatrice didn’t have to ask whether or not his daughter was still alive. From the look in his empty eyes they knew the answer.
Johan shifted his focus and the dread was wiped from his face. “The tender is nearly ready. The Mare has dropped anchor. The two of you will be accompanied by Morchella to the isles. We will wait for his return.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The oars dipped into the ocean rhythmically but it did little to lull Beatrice’s frantic mind. She kept imagining dark shapes moving beneath the small boat and horrible creatures surfacing from the depths to pull her from the boat and into the cold water. Her stomach was in knots, but her companions seemed unaffected. Morchella looked thrilled while Mycorr appeared placid.
The dark plateaus of land began to jut taller and taller as the distance between the trio and the Kireans shrank. Beatrice noticed a water ravaged stairway cut into one of the islands. The briny ocean had impossibly dug pock marks into the rock, but the stairs remained. Morchella moored the ship expertly on a jut of basalt that looked too slick to hold anything, but the knot looked strong and Beatrice knew she could never imitate it even if the sea priest directed her over or under with each pass of the rope.
Beatrice felt her panic mounting as she took the first step from the boat. It wobbled beneath her but soon she was clinging to soaking wet rock, praying that she didn’t fall. She kept her body close to the stairs and couldn’t help but feel awkward. Her fear propelled her upwards and she tested each handhold multiple times before trusting it. Morchella and Mycorr easily climbed the stairs upright behind her. It was rather unfair, though. Mycorr was not mortal, and Morchella was accustomed to the sea. She was a secretary from a town miles from any roost a seabird dared to go.
Once she had cleared the stairs and reached flat land she stood up and was amazed by the sheer flatness of the rock. It was riddled with tunnels filled to the brim with sloshing water. Out of curiosity she wandered to the edge of one and saw that it was deeper than the tallest mountains were tall. The orifice was near twenty feet across and along its depth were crystalline huts carved into the stone walls. Many colored seaweeds grew in cultivated beds and starfish and mollusks clung to the architecture like grasshoppers and cicadas did in Northgate. She gasped in astonishment and Morchella ghosted up to her side. He muttered something in his native language in awe.
Beatrice didn’t bother asking what he said, for the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. The first plop behind her had been unsettling. The second, third, and fourth were equally terrifying. But the multitude of yellow eyes blinking back at her from the pool she stared in froze the blood in her veins.
***
From the pools, dozens of the finfolk poured. Their eyes were large and yellow and devoid of a pupil larger than a pinprick. Sagittal and occipital fins framed faces which were not far from human. Their mouths were wide and froglike. Flat webbed feet made movement on land awkward and they had a shuffling, bowlegged gait, but closed the gap to surround the priest and his cargo quickly. The finfolks’ skin was scaled and banded a dark murky color while their bellies were a sickly pale. Among their number were both male and female, neither more or less hideous than the next.
“The Children of D’rij, cast out by his then lover, Mond, for their ugliness,” Mycorr said and smiled confidently. A chorus of croaking rebuked his cruel words and Beatrice felt a stab of pity in her chest. Her own time among the gods had been less than pleasant.
“Seems that the gods and the Fates are less than stellar parents,” Beatrice drawled and a look of hurt flashed across Mycorr’s face. The finfolk began laughing harshly, and their strange eyes glowed with hatred. Perhaps Beatrice had been wrong to feel pity.
“What do we do?” Beatrice asked.
“I should let them eat you for your crude words, and then rot them from the insides out. But I promised I wouldn’t abandon you. We must treat with them,” Mycorr said. “I suggest we leave that to the priest.”
Before Morchella could speak, one of the frogmen lunged forward, snatched Beatrice by the hair and dragged her backwards. She jammed an elbow into her assailant who released her with a watery cough. Another dove in for Beatrice but Mycorr intervened, the sole of his boot smashing into the creature’s face.
“We seek an audience with the Lord of the Tides,” Morchella said, raising his hands into the air before the finfolk descended to tear them limb from limb.
The fishmen stopped and stared unblinkingly for many minutes. Slowly they began uttering strange gurgling sounds to one another in muted whispers. Beatrice was certain the creatures would devour them anyways, or murder them in an attempt to make them their spouses in the depths. With each passing second she felt her heart climbing higher into her throat.
At last, one of them stepped forward.
He motioned with one of his webbed hands and the ring around the humans moved to let them go. They followed their guide across a landscape riddled with pools. Yellow eyes peered back at them and Beatrice wondered how many of the fishfolk the island chains supported and whether or not Captain Johan had ventured out this far and found his daughter. Or if she was still here, unbeknownst to him.
The sun rose higher in the sky until it began its ultimate descent. The island couldn’t have been more than five miles across, but the finfolk had a slow, awkward gait. When they reached the center of the island five of the creatures stood around the largest pool, which gave off steam. The finfolk began a keening call as the water began to roil and froth. It began to spill over the black rock, and something enormous emerged. The creature had large oily hands banded with black and tipped with claws. The beast had huge green eyes, and a wide mouth full of knobby teeth. It heaved its massive weight onto dry land. For some reason Beatrice believed it had a feminine quality about it as its skin began to ripple. The transformation occurred much in the same way as Mycorr shed his weasel skin and became a man. In a matter of moments, a woman stood before them with dark hair, wreathed in a dress of kelp and shell necklaces. Her frame was full and her face was beautiful despite the leer it wore.
“Exidia,” Morchella breathed as he fell prostrate.
Beatrice looked at Mycorr who whispered, “The eldest daughter of D’rij.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Mycorr, it’s been so long,” Exidia croaked out. She stepped forward and helped Morchella back to his feet. “What brings you to the first realm?”
“We seek an audience with your father,” Mycorr answered.
Exidia made a show of sucking on her teeth and stepped backward into the pool. “You could have travelled across the seventh plane to find him much easier.”
“We didn’t want to attract the attention of the gods, especially not my mother. And we both know how neglected the first plane is,” Mycorr explained.
“Whatever your subterfuge, I want no part in it.” Exidia sank to her waist in the water.
“Our audience isn’t with you, it is with your father,” Beatrice fumed. A vision of her life as a gypsy flashed across her mind. The finfolk around her bristled.
The Daughter of the Waves paused and stepped back onto dry land. “With an attitude like that, I am sure he will take more than a liking to you.”
Exidia looked between Morchella, Mycorr, and Beatrice. She grinned broadly and greatly resembled the frog creature she had just been.
“Only she goes.”
Morchella’s disappointment was palpable. Mycorr may have been relieved, and Beatrice’s heart hammered loud enough to be heard by the crew aboard the Mare Helvella.
“What do you say?” Exidia asked.
Through the lump in her throat Beatrice managed to say, “I’ll go.”
Exidia took Beatrice by the hand and pulled her closer to the pool.
Mycorr caught her by the hand. “Be careful,” he whispered before letting go.
Beatrice nodded as she moved closer to the pool, whose surface began to shimmer. Exidia dipped beneath the water and Beatrice was yanked face first. She expected to sink, but found herself standing on a marble floor. She groaned. The divine had a very staid sense of decoration. Looking up, she saw that the ceiling was a myriad of sea creatures more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Their sinuous bodies moved among the waves as the smallest fish hid from larger fish, who in turn hid from octopi, sharks, and dolphins. Eels darted among the coral and Beatrice wondered whether the ocean was above her, or if she was standing upside down and what she saw was below her.
Exidia clucked her tongue and brought her attention back to the present. At the end of the hall D’rij sat on a throne, a three-headed sea lion barking viciously next to him. Its leash was wrapped around the god’s huge hand and the muscles in his forearm were slack despite the creature lunging against its restraints. D’rij’s eyes were as green-blue as the seas and his skin had been touched by the sun. He had a reddish beard that reached his naval and wore a crown of precious jewels.
“Father, you have a guest,” Exidia lilted.
“Few mortals have ever had direct contact with three of the divine,” D’rij boomed.
“And I am sure that even fewer have ever gained their favor,” Beatrice said.
D’rij laughed heartily. “You have spoken correctly,” he said. “What petition do you bring me?”
“I wish to return to my home, though the Fates have promised me otherwise,” Beatrice answered.
Exidia hissed in displeasure. “None can go against the Fates,” she warned her father.
“Yet here is this mortal defying the gods and the Fates, do you mean to say I am lesser?” D’rij asked and Exidia let her gaze fall to her feet. D’rij turned to Beatrice. “You expect me to challenge all three of the Fates?”
; “Only Nipor. Mycorr and I both have a bone to pick with him,” Beatrice answered.
“The difference between a human and a god is the same as the difference between a god and a Fate. I will need a bargaining chip if I am to be successful,” D’rij mused.
“And what would a Fate find valuable?” Beatrice asked warily. From her experience, the gods demanded much and gave little. She was certain that D’rij would be no different.
“The soul of his son.”
***
“You cannot be serious,” Beatrice argued.
“If you wish to return home to Northgate you will do as I ask,” D’rij said sternly. “You must decide or Exidia will escort you back to the first plane and you can die after a lifetime of bohemian tragedy.”
Beatrice stiffened. “Without his help you will stand no chance again Nipor.”
D’rij bolted to his feet. “If I am not powerful enough then why did you ask me?”
“If you are powerful enough then why demand a bargaining chip?” Beatrice said, straightening. She hoped that her legs were not shaking visibly.
“I need to see that you are worthy of my favor. If you cannot do one thing for me, why would I risk my existence for you? My devout ask for my blessings every day and each time I deny them. What makes you different? Do you want to return home or not?” D’rij asked and Beatrice felt her resolve crumble.
“How do I steal the soul of a godling?” Beatrice asked as her eyes began to water.
“Leave that to Exidia. All you need to do is kill him. After you do that, you must order Captain Johan to take the Mare Helvella back to its berth. From there, you must return to Northgate alone,” D’rij said. He pulled a dagger from his belt and handed it to Beatrice. “Slit his throat, and I will defeat Nipor.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Beatrice felt a flutter in her stomach as Exidia took her back to the first plane. She would be going home. Would Northgate even be the same? Would anyone remember her?