by S D Simper
“Solvira’s goddess will come for you,” Morathma said, and Tallora could not look away. “She will come as she did in the time before, but I can help you—”
“I do not fear Neoma.” In Yu’Khrall’s tentacle, the orb flashed. Ice spread around his tentacles, then dissipated into the water. “If she slays me, I will have peace.”
“Forgive me, but I did not mean Neoma.”
Tension rose. Tallora found it alarming how well the one-eyed beast could convey emotion without his words—she felt fear. “She is . . . free?”
“Ilune is free. She rules Solvira with the rest. And she will come.”
“If she does . . . I shall consume her,” Yu’Khrall bellowed, every word reverberating against the waves. “I will not hesitate.”
“Let me help you,” Morathma said, sincerity in his powerful voice. “Her death is reward enough for me.”
“How?”
Morathma’s gentle gaze was startling, if only for the stories Tallora had heard. He was a man of self-importance, yet believed every word he said, even if they were lies. “I shall return with a plan. Resume your slumber and know that I shall take care of everything.”
“I will not.” Below, Yu’Khrall’s tentacles began swirling slowly, causing disarray upon the surface. “It is as you said . . . I have slept for too long.”
Yu’Khrall sank below the water; Tallora, again, pressed herself against the hull, muttering silent prayers as he disappeared. The radiant light that was Morathma faded, but Tallora shut her eyes tight and prayed.
By Staella’s Grace, what had she just witnessed?
* * *
The Morathan ship did not linger above Stelune, but Tallora returned home near sunrise. Darkness still blanketed the sky, but the barest hints of light shone at the horizon. Tallora hardly directed her descent, so exhausted she was. But the time to sleep was not yet.
She swam to the shelter where Queen Fauln was staying. Guards approached. “State your business.”
“I was instructed by Queen Fauln to return and report. What I must say is of the highest importance.”
She was told to wait as one disappeared inside the shelter. A few minutes later, Queen Fauln emerged, still regal despite the lingering sleep in her eyes. “Forgive me, but I’m surprised you returned at all.”
“There was no danger. I managed to stay hidden. But listen.”
Tallora told her all—of Yu’Khrall’s reawakening, of Morathma’s bargain, all she could remember. “I don’t know what any of it means,” she said.
“Nor do I,” Queen Fauln muttered. “I know little of Solviran legends, but for Moratham to feed us from one hand and appease our oppressor with the other is an ill omen. But I also fear what Yu’Khrall will do, now that he’s awake again. We should consider finding a safer home—”
A strange chill wafted through the water. Tallora gasped as sweeping sheets of ice approached the town. Screams rose; merfolk left their homes and fled. Parents clutched children, guards cried out orders, directing the flow of the panic. Tallora matched eyes with Queen Fauln and saw fear, until a guard swam up and dragged her away.
Ice spread across the landscape like approaching waves upon the shore, except it did not recede—it merely expanded. It stopped near the walls but spread all about, a great sea of death surrounding them.
And far away, Tallora saw a great shadow approach.
It needn’t hurry.
The monster had come.
Tallora dared to glance back—a single tentacle descended upon the village. She darted for a wall, prepared to press against it should the leviathan strike. High above, Yu’Khrall’s shadow blocked the night sky. “I seek . . . your king.” The crowd continued screaming and flailing as they sought escape. A second tentacle landed outside the village. “Cease this recklessness. Bring out your king . . . lest I crush you.”
A third tentacle landed. High above, a great eye gazed down like a second sun.
To Tallora’s horror, the queen approached. She swam up from the safety of the crowd and came alone toward the behemoth. “Yu’Khrall, I am Queen Fauln. My husband is a captive of Solvira, so I shall speak in his stead.”
“You shall do.” Yu’Khrall’s voice boomed across the sky—some people still fled, but Tallora stared transfixed at the queen, close enough to be heard, yet high in the sea. “I have been . . . contemplative. I was freed to be a weapon, or so I was told. For what purpose?”
Below, the panic had yet to quell. Queen Fauln floated tall, regal even in the face of death. “My husband thought you might protect us from Solvira.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think he was mistaken.”
Yu’Khrall was silent for a time, long enough for Tallora’s blood to run cold. “We can . . . negotiate those terms.”
Fauln visibly hesitated. “If you can swear that no more blood shall be spilled, we may speak.”
“I shall consider it . . . if you accept my own terms.”
“And what are those?”
One of Yu’Khrall’s tentacles slowly came toward the queen, menacing for its sheer size. Within it, Tallora realized, was the dragon’s orb. “I must gather power . . . as much as possible. Pledge to me. I shall be your god. And when Solvira comes, I shall destroy them.”
Queen Fauln stared into that great eye, fear in her stance. “Let me discuss it with my populace. My advisors. I would grant you no unwilling worshippers, Yu’Khrall.”
Yu’Khrall’s voice rumbled against Tallora’s very soul. “I shall return upon the morrow at this time.”
Yu’Khrall withdrew his tentacles from the ground. He floated away like a stormcloud, his threat leaving a weight of dread upon the town.
Order was called for. Tallora remained by the wall, not calm but certainly not so frantic as the populace. By Staella’s Grace—when had her life become this hell? Trembling, she sat herself upon the ground, resorting to the only hope she had left—she clasped her hands in prayer.
Tallora had prayed a hundred times since losing her home, yet a whisper in her soul said to speak the words again. “Goddess Staella,” she whispered, recalling the goddess’ visage, the benevolence of her love, “we are truly in our darkest hour. I have nothing to offer save my devotion, but I and my people beg for a blessing. We beg for your aid.”
She paused, searching her soul for what words to say, when something soft whispered in her ear: “Open your eyes.”
Tallora gasped, recoiling when she saw Harbinger inches from her ear. “A warning next time, please?”
“Little time for anything anymore.” Bitterness stained every word from her tongue; Harbinger’s bloodshot, golden eye was nothing less than crazed. “I spoke to Onias.”
As one did. Tallora waited, gut churning.
“I meditated for a month. All I was told was one sentence: ‘My word is law, forever and always.’ I do not know what that means.”
Tallora’s heart sunk. “But why?”
“I do not know! We have been abandoned by the gods, but we do not need them. We can change our own fate.”
Harbinger trembled, and Tallora couldn’t say whether she was about to scream or sob. “What are you proposing?”
“There is only one force in the realm with the naval power to fight Yu’Khrall. Solvira’s arsenal of ships is the largest in the world.”
Harbinger’s words fell together in scattered pieces, forming a plan Tallora’s stomach sickened to contemplate. “You want me to go to Solvira?”
“I do. Consider it my final gift to you.”
Tallora shook her head; Harbinger’s glare could melt a glacier. “I can’t. Solvira won’t listen—”
“Fuck your empress. Yu’Khrall is a threat to the entire world. With the power of the orb, do you think the uplanders will be safe? He seeks to be a god, if that display showed us nothing else. I am happy to damn myself to stop it, but I need your help. Solvira will at least listen long enough to understand the threat, and they will stand from
their pompous asses to help.”
“What are you proposing?” Tallora said, but Harbinger shook her head.
Instead, she offered a hand. “I have one last spell in me. I will tell you on the way to my home.”
Lip trembling, Tallora limbs numbed. “I shouldn’t. I can’t. I ruined everything the last time I tried to—”
“I am not in the business of accepting no in the face of the apocalypse. I will kidnap you, so kindly come peacefully.”
Tallora saw nothing but steel in Harbinger’s one eye. When she accepted the Onian’s hand, they shifted into Sha’Demoni’s ambient chill.
* * *
“Where are we going?” Tallora asked, managing to match Harbinger’s hastened speed.
“My home.”
The journey would take no time at all; not at She’Demoni’s pace. “Will you explain yourself, please?” Tallora swam faster, catching the Onian’s eye. “What does ‘one last spell’ even mean?”
Harbinger continued her relentless pace. “It is a powerful spell. You’ll be able to change back and forth—when fully submerged or fully out of the water.”
“And what is the cost?” Tallora asked, fearing the answer.
“Nothing. Not for you.”
Hardly reassuring. “What are you going to do?”
“I am not going to die.”
And she said little else. Tallora had to rush to keep up.
Soon, the great cave appeared. Harbinger grabbed Tallora, color saturating the world. “Hurry,” she said, and as she moved the cave illuminated in her presence, no touch required, it seemed.
Tallora still marveled at the sight, this time prepared for the approaching shadow of the beast. A shark appeared, unnaturally large, and Harbinger approached with pouted lips. “Kra’Tir, my love,” she said, her hand caressing the nose of the gargantuan shark. “Will you help us?”
They each gripped the shark’s fin as it bolted through the cave.
The expansive passage opened into an enormous antechamber, the glowing sconces upon the wall casting surreal light upon the small home in the center. The second shark came to welcome its partner, and Tallora smiled at their interaction, but it quickly faded when Harbinger joined them, her eye swollen and teary as she placed her hands upon them. “Defend my home,” she whispered, placing kisses on their noses. “You will see me again.”
“Harbinger,” Tallora said, but the Onian ignored her, instead leaving her beloved guardians and bolting toward her home. Tallora followed. “Harbinger, what is going on?”
Tallora entered the home, finding it as disarrayed as before, the organized chaos hurting her mind. Drak’Thon, the little octopus, watched from the countertop, its one eye following its witch companion. Harbinger grabbed a small basket and began stuffing it with supplies—food, a few scarves, money—which she handed to Tallora. “Take these with you. The scarves will suffice well enough for clothing until you can find a tailor.” She reached out and stroked Tallora’s white hair, then plucked a single strand. “One more for the cauldron—”
“Harbinger!” Tallora cried, and the Onian finally stilled, her golden eye fixated upon her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“The price for your transformation is a life. And so I shall give up a lifetime.”
Silence settled between them. Tallora’s knuckles went stark white around the basket’s handle. “What?”
“I am immortal.” Harbinger’s word held a poignancy Tallora couldn’t yet fathom. “And so to lay down my life would be too much. But I can sleep for as long—the price is a hundred years. Onias shall shelter me.”
“You . . .” The word died in her throat. Tallora swallowed and forced the rest. “You can’t.”
“I cannot sacrifice a few years for the chance to save the sea? Do not look at me as a hero. I am a coward who does not want to touch this.”
“Don’t say that,” Tallora pled. Harbinger’s stare held a challenge, one Tallora knew she couldn’t fight. “You don’t have to do this. I can give you a memory, and I’ll—”
“I mean it. I do not want this.”
Harbinger tore her gaze away. She placed the strand of hair into the cauldron, then frantically gathered supplies from her shelves and threw them into the cauldron, no apparent method to her madness.
“You are the hero, Tallora,” Harbinger said, her focus clearly elsewhere. With care, she beckoned to Drak’Thon, the tiny octopus, and placed him on her shoulder. “Perhaps not foreordained, but certainly blessed with all the potential. I am simply a woman who has seen this fall apart before. I am not on the side of good; I am afraid.”
Tallora set the basket down and carefully approached, uncertain of the feeling welling in her chest. “You may not see it,” she said softly, unsure if the witch even heard, “but there is goodness inside you. This sacrifice isn’t cowardice—it’s the part you can play, for the greater good.”
Harbinger did slow, lingering as she held what appeared to be a blood red gemstone above the cauldron. “You hardly know me.”
“Perhaps not.” It was true, Tallora realized—Harbinger had lived for several millennia. Their friendship was but a drop in the bucket of her life. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t see your heart. You pretend to not care, but you care very deeply. Otherwise, you’d simply hide away, protected by Onias.”
Harbinger’s lip twitched, and Tallora couldn’t say if it were for a smile or for tears. “Stay back. Do not look down.”
Harbinger released the gem, letting it fall into the cauldron’s mass.
A great explosion rocked the cave. From the cauldron emitted what appeared as a florescent, yellow flame, though they were beneath the sea. Tallora pressed herself against the wall of Harbinger’s home as the Onian opened her mouth to sing.
Her lips formed guttural tones in the language Tallora had come to know as Demoni. Shadows rose, the world growing dark as the lines between worlds blurred. Brighter and brighter, the cauldron shone, the world’s gravity gently pulled inside.
Harbinger’s voice grew louder and louder, emanating not only from her but from the walls, then from the cave itself. A thunderous tone joined with her words, shaking Tallora to her core—something deep and dark and from below.
The walls of the home faded away, flickering in and out of sight. The world fell into a surreal, hazy mass, color desaturating as Harbinger suddenly screamed. Her chanting ended, but the thunderous voice did not.
Below, a great void opened. At the peripheral of her vision was a swirling, eldritch mass, undulating amidst a sea of black ichor. Light radiated from the center, but Tallora stared only at Harbinger, her voice having faded, her body falling limp.
She gently rocked back, eye closed as she slowly sunk down into the depths. Drak’Thon shut its eye, as limp as she. Tallora watched her descend, then caught a glimpse of hell.
Below, the void beckoned, welcoming her to join. The wailing of a thousand lost souls echoed eternal, a siren call to her senses. In the center was not a pupil, no, but a white and blinding light, radiating a wickedness that sickened her to her very soul. It seemed endless, boundless, this mass of horror.
To stare upon Onias was to descend into madness. Tallora cried out as she covered her eyes, even as a surreal touch brushed against her skin.
“You have lost so much,” it whispered, but Tallora merely whimpered. “I can protect you. Join me; forget your pain.”
He asked a question; she managed an answer. “No.”
The world became quiet.
Tallora opened her eyes. She floated in Harbinger’s home. All was calm.
It took six days to swim to Solvira.
She thought often of Harbinger and her one hundred years of sleep. She offered nightly prayers for the witch’s soul, wondering if it were appropriate at all, given Onias’ claim to it.
His vision haunted her dreams; she wondered if she had seen too much or was merely afraid.
A thousand times, she envisioned her confrontation with Dauriel, im
agined the monarch upon her throne of glass. She spoke to herself, screaming alone into the sea at her imaginary empress, preparing her speech, ending with a plea.
It was night when Tallora finally peeked her head above the lake. The water’s surface glittered in the moon’s light, her own skin luminous, manifesting like her distant, angelic progenitors. Freezing cold whipped across her face, and upon the ground was ice—but gentle, a lush flurry. It brought memories of Yaleris and his cruel demise; Tallora swallowed fresh tears.
Beyond, the Glass Palace stood as a beacon against the night sky, brilliant and bright. She had never seen it at night—not like this, with the moon and stars overhead, shining as a symbol of strength.
Solvira was strong. Tallora prayed it was strong enough to save them.
In the distance were the remains of the amphitheater, but the darkness obscured the details. She swam to the lake’s shore, lingering doubt manifesting as she pulled herself out of the water—
Familiar pain tore through her tailfin. Tallora shut her eyes, breathing through her distress, knowing it was temporary. Still, she cried, tears streaming down her face as a hot knife split her tail in two.
And when it faded, there were her legs. Uneasy, she tested them, finding her balance. From the basket, she withdrew Harbinger’s offered scarves, wrapping one around her waist and tying it like the nets in her mother’s shop. It clung to her legs, waterlogged and dripping, long enough to brush her toes. The other scarf soon covered her breasts, and though the patterns were strange, she would at least be allowed through the city’s gates.
She held no fear save the bitter cold as she walked through the field toward Neolan. Though she shivered, an odd, resigned peace settled within her as she navigated the castle town. She had accepted, a second time, that she would never see Dauriel again, yet here she walked tall toward the palace. Somewhere in her mind, she wondered how she would fare facing her, but the world held greater problems than her shattered heart. Her bare feet ached against the icy stone, yet perhaps her lineage offered protection—she froze and yet did not. She passed the clothier by.