Seaborn 03 - Sea Throne

by Chris Howard

  "Change is good." Nikasia looked away, kept her blank expression as she scouted through the field of mollusks.

  She set her basket down, used a chunk of rock to hold it in place, and kicked low along the field, tugging fat white clams from their homes, snapping anchor threads, and overhanding them into the basket.

  Then she felt it, something in the water, something massive, a shiver in the deep. She could hear it, bands of muscle pulled tight, a creak of hard plates flexing, rubbing over each other, and with her other tuned senses, felt a shadow that could block the light of Helios' Twin.

  She dropped the clams, let them fall, wobbling through the water. Her fingers were already dancing, a song in her mouth that would identify the monster.

  The big silver chain—triple coiled and locked around her forearm—popped and snapped tight, went rigid, pinching her skin between the links. Her spell flew from her fingertips, lost in the hot chemical abyss. A burn shot up the bones in her forearm just before they splintered apart, her hand flipping back, metal links ripping meat and blood from the pad of muscle next to the thumb.

  "Holy mother!" She twirled, the chain dragging her recklessly through the tubeworm forest. She spit blood from her mouth—a deep tongue-bite, numbed her left arm with a song, fingers of her right reaching for the free end of the chain.

  The back of her head hit hard animal armor, scales as big as her face, dark red scales lined with age, spiked tips catching her braids, tearing through her tunic, a hot flood of blood down her back into her leggings. She felt ten separate streams of her life running down her thighs, calves, through the webbing between her toes.

  Nikasia threw her good hand along the dragon's flank, hooked her fingers under a scale to keep her body stable. If she rolled over, the spikes would simply rip through her front, which contained some of her softer, prettier, necessary parts—parts she didn't want diced, cut, separated from the rest of her.

  "Not that my ass isn't something worth keeping your eyes on." She pushed the words through her teeth. It can always be tidied up after I get this thing under control.

  She closed her eyes, sang a song of healing, felt the wounds along her back go hard, scabs crusting around the scale teeth embedded in her skin.

  She caught the faint glow of the Nine-cities on the horizon when she opened them. Then it was gone.

  "Fast. Dragon's are damn fast."

  She clung to the side of the monster, just up from the base of its tail, riding through the deep ocean at an incredible speed. The chain pulled at her lifeless left arm, rattling and ringing over the scales, threatening to rip it—bones, tendons and all—from the rest of her body. She sang another song to turn down the pain, and then directed her thoughts to the new purpose she had given her justice chain, seek and enslave sea turtles, things with scales, reptiles...dragons.

  My dragon.

  She whispered, "Change is good," and inched up the dragon's back.

  Chapter 12 - Connections

  Kassandra felt the flash of a hundred memories shuddering through the path she'd stitched to Alex, a rush of waves, a dark room, a book resting on rocks in an aquarium. She kept her thoughts to herself. Thinking about the book? You are keeping a secret from me, Alex. She leaned against a pine tree at the edge of the property, looking toward North Hampton Beach. Mr. Telkhines lord.

  Nicole sat cross-legged on the grass, watching her. "What is it?"

  "Can't tell you."

  "You're own sister?"

  Kassandra unfolded her arms, locking eyes with Nicole. "You're more than that and you know it."

  "I am to you what Zypheria was to your mother—her sister, her body guard. It's what I want to be. Zypheria marries Mr. Henderson, leaving you without one." Before Kassandra could question her, Nicole asked, "Where does that leave Jill?"

  Kassandra looked away, broke their connection, her gaze roaming through the trees, over the roofs of houses, inland. Jill had taken the van in town, getting ready for another week on the Cape with Jordan.

  "Jill will remain up here when the time comes—but no less important in this world than you will be."

  "More that you can't tell me?"

  Kassandra looked down at her. "You're the smart one. You'll figure it out. And if you don't, well, you also like surprises."

  Both of them turned, hearing the back door slide open. Zypheria stepped out, waving. "Ladies, Michael has made lunch. Come join us."

  Nicole waved back, standing up, and started toward the house with Kassandra. "She's happier than I've ever seen her."

  "She deserves it. I don't think you know this. King Tharsaleos had her entire family put to death—right after he killed my mother. She's alone in this world without Michael Henderson."

  "Or you."

  "I have pushed her away as gently as I can. She has loyalty as deep as it comes."

  "And guilt nearly as deep."

  Kassandra looked over at Nicole, whispering, "Nearly. She was a slave, doing someone else's bidding. It's not her fault."

  Gregor, Zypheria, and Michael Henderson stood as Kassandra stepped into the kitchen with Nicole, bowing, pulling out a chair for her.

  "Stop it, will you?" Kassandra shoved Nicole into the offered chair, and pulled her own out. "It's lunch—not the damn Assembly of the Great Houses."

  "You are greater than all the Great Houses, milady," said Zypheria, her head down.

  "I am Ampharete's daughter, Kassandra—and this looks like broiled fish cooked by a man who was at one time my eighth grade science teacher—and who happens to be a very good cook." She picked up her fork, nodding to Henderson. "Thank you."

  Zypheria's expression went cold. "Milady, you are the Sea, ruler of all the oceans, Poseidônis, the Earth-encircler—it is you."

  "Something I never wished to be." Kassandra put her fork down. "I'm not eating first."

  Gregor stared at her, a look of pride on his face, thin over one of pain. When Kassandra turned her gaze to him, he looked down at his plate.

  "I never wanted this," she whispered and pulled her hands off the table into her lap.

  Henderson took the first bite, got a kick from Zypheria under the table, and grinned through the pain in his ankle.

  Kassandra ate quickly and went to her room, telling them that she needed to be alone for a while. A fishing boat had capsized in a storm a hundred kilometers off Sokcho in Korea, and nine men drowned, fighting the currents, the pull of the sea, sunset and then night sky sharp with stars and ink dark water curling at their throats. One by one they drifted down, their despair flooding her soul.

  She went to the bathroom to throw up, and then curled under every blanket on her bed, burying her head under her pillow. A stab of panic, shivering, teeth clattering, she felt the individual drownings all the time. They just didn't affect her like group anguish.

  The house was quiet, empty, when she descended the stairs, one at a time, down to the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the warm wood as if she was trying not to disrupt a solemn mood. She circled the kitchen, glancing out at the ocean through the window over the sink, a sad smile up at the crossbow bolt in the ceiling, and headed into her father's study. She fell into the big brown leather armchair in the corner, pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and with her chin resting on them, fixed a forceful glare on the book in the aquarium.

  It was beautifully bound, a rich yellowy-brown cover with the Telkhines symbol, the downward crescent, in gold, like a mouth in a sad face.

  "As if they had to shoulder some burden." She whispered the words irritably, not expecting an answer from the book. It spoke to her father, but had never done anything but tighten into an angry knot when she was around.

  What would you know of burdens, Alkimides bitch? The book's voice rumbled from the aquarium, into her head. My masters were descendents of men who fought immortals, to whom the gods went for protection, who made gifts of devices beyond the skills of the immortals themselves. Do you know who made the trident for the Lord of the Sea
s, the Earthquaker, Poseidon? My masters made it and many other useful things for immortals.

  Kassandra dropped her legs off the chair, leaning forward, frowning. "The Telkhines made the trident?"

  You ask as if you have the remotest idea what that gift was, you stupid kusthos.

  She thought about calling up the trident—the trident, the very one the Lord of the Sea had left for her. The book wasn't up on the latest news, and she felt no need to enlighten him—especially since he already considered himself enlightened.

  I have one question for you, Alkimides bitch.

  "Will you not call me that or anything else rude?"

  It is fitting, and I believe it was you who used the term while in a foul mood, referring to that other Alkimides bitch, Zypheria. I have merely adopted the word.

  "Do you even know what it means?"

  A female surface quadruped, which is why the word fits so well. You crawl around on all fours like an animal, hatching your little plans, when you know so little about the ocean and its ways.

  Kassandra waved a hand, casually annoyed. "And I suppose you—a book—consider yourself wise?"

  The book swelled up, breathed in the water, and paused as if rooting around for that final scrap of patience it had saved in order to deal with the abysmally stupid. Permit me to use one of your surface colloquialisms...Duh? Has someone kicked out every last dribble of your brains and shit in your skull, Alkimides bitch? Tell me, mightiest of cogitators, of what would you consider the book symbolic?

  Her arm slipped off her knee. She looked defeated, but pulled herself together with a sharp fix of anger. "Book equals wisdom. Duly noted. What's your question?"

  You destroyed your own army, the Olethren, using the clever freezing water inside their bones attack.

  "It wasn't my army if it could be used against me. You think I'm clever?"

  Not particularly. Even an imbecile will occasionally shout something meaningful. Probability demands it. Stop interrupting.

  "Go ahead."

  Moments after the battle in which you destroyed the Olethren, the new king of the Daimones Thalassai—

  "Ochleros."

  —said something very interesting. He said he knew eight of the dead and would honor them properly. Then he said he did not know the names of the countless thousands that made up the rest of the army, but he would instruct his brothers and sisters to return their bones to the sea where they belonged.

  "What's your question?"

  Who were the eight known to the mighty demon, Ochleros?

  Kassandra stared at the aquarium, chewing her lip. Say something to make it angry. She heard the command in her head, and pulled as much doubt as she could stuff into her voice. "That's what you want to know? That's your question? You nearly had me convinced you were wise. "

  Don't play with me, Alkimides bitch!

  "I am simply assessing the level of your need...uh... What do I call you?"

  Nastaros. And I am simply curious.

  "Curious enough to trade a look at one of your pages?"

  I would not give you a single letter, Alkimides bitch.

  "The price just went to two pages. Let me know when you want to deal, Nastaros the book." She got up and headed into the kitchen without looking back. Halfway through a glass of orange juice. No more.

  She pulled the carton from the fridge, unscrewing the cap as she elbowed open the cupboard. She filled a glass, shoved the orange juice carton back in the fridge and leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping at a civilized pace. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number, tucking it between her ear and her shoulder.

  Jill's voice chirped. "Kass?"

  "I have a question for you."

  "I have one for you. Go first."

  "It's kind of crazy," she said, stalling. "Only you can answer." Kassandra glanced at her watch and then at her glass of orange juice. Three minutes. Three quarters full. "Let's say," said Kassandra in a very tentative tone. "I wanted to cut my hair short."

  "What's wrong?" Jill's voice went into a panic dive.

  "Nothing. I just want to know what I'd do. Speculating is all."

  "You can't cut off your braids! It's who you are. All seaborn have them."

  "You've been wanting me to cut them off for years."

  "Just me bitching, only because I know you'd never do it. It'd be like you dying your hair blue. Well, not dying—that's crude. Highlights, maybe."

  "Could I do that?"

  "No! I mean, you can, but you won't."

  "Let's say I totally went off the deep end—still speculating—and I came to you with a pair of scissors. Would you do the honors?"

  "Me? Cut off your braids?"

  Kassandra took another sip of orange juice. "And take me to get my hair dyed—uh...highlighted. Would you do it?"

  "If you promised I would live through it, I'd..." Jill started, nudging the question around in her head, wondering if she possessed anything valuable enough to bargain for it. "I'd give you Stormwind for a day and take you anywhere you want to go if you would let me cut them off and take you for a cut and blue highlights."

  Another sip. Kassandra glanced at her watch. "Would blue look good on me?"

  "Don't be stupid. You're the Sea. I'm thinking a bob, with some layering underneath, straight bangs or maybe uneven. Let's talk hair tonight. Quick question, then I have to go. This guy's asking about you. You know Alex Shoaler?"

  The new Mr. Popular. "Sure. I found his skateboard once, and returned it to him."

  "Saw him in line buying a box of batteries for some project. He was in a hurry, but stopped to say hello, then asked me what you dream about. You specifically."

  "Dream about?"

  "Yeah. Why's he after you?"

  "He's after me?"

  "That's the vibe I got. Talk tonight!"

  "Sure," said Kassandra, held up her glass. It looked right about half—

  Alkimides? The book burbled from the next room.

  "I'm no longer a bitch?" Kassandra wandered into Gregor's study with her phone to her ear, tilting it down. "What's up, Nastaros?"

  One page.

  "Two."

  What do you want to know?

  "Storm eating."

  I see. Jump right to the advanced section.

  "I know what I want."

  And you probably believe knowledge is power.

  She shrugged. "Beats not knowing. Just give me fifteen minutes to look, and I'll answer your question."

  Fifteen minutes? Suspicion crept into its voice, but after a moment's pause, it said, Done.

  Kassandra tilted her mouth into the phone, said, "Hang on, Jillie" and set the phone down on a shelf next to the aquarium. Jill had hung up before she'd left the kitchen.

  The book oozed seawater into the tray and it poured over the rim and back into the aquarium. Kassandra flipped through the pages, hundreds of them, some torn scraps, half pages with tiny scrawls swirling over their faces, others were like long scrolls rolled at the end to fit inside the book's covers. None of the words were legible. Some of the pages were blank. Others swarmed with patterns of black ink. Nastaros did the bibliographic equivalent of sauntering, curling pages languidly, stopping on blank pages and snorting indignantly as if to say that she was missing the amazing stuff behind page number two hundred and twelve.

  He stopped near the end and spread out flat in the tray so she could read for fifteen minutes. The two pages were covered in ink; someone's tiny hand filled the margins around four big blocks of text that curved around painted diagrams showing a man holding a ball of roiling grayish blue light. Kassandra scanned the tight rows of ancient Greek.

  One minute remains. The book bubbled. Read quickly.

  "Thank you for the warning."

  Eating storms is dangerous business, Alkimides bitch.

  "So is bargaining with the Sea." She grabbed her phone off the bookshelf, held it up, thumbing the button on the side, and had four hi-res pictures taken of the open pages before Nas
taros caught on and wiped them clean of ink. "Especially when she grew up like a surfacer with all this surface tech."

  Enraged, it had trouble speaking, and managed only one gargled word, Y—you!

  Kassandra raised an eyebrow, and then used a helpful tone to say, "Bitch?"

  She shoved her phone into her back pocket and dropped the book into the aquarium. Tipping and rolling in the water, it continued to call her names that made it clear that it had been nothing but polite up to this point.

  "Settle down. I'm simply holding you to your own words. You didn't ask me what I wanted to see or even read, but what I wanted to know. In order to know I'll need to spend more than fifteen minutes with the material, dear Nastaros the talking book." She rapped on the glass. "Do you want your answer about the eight known to Ochleros?" She backed up to the doorway, facing the tank. "Eight of my grandfather's royal guardsmen—oktoloi, wounded when they trapped my father—"

  I was there...up to a point, and know some of the story. Nastaros sounded too tired to call her another name. But Gregor's attack proved too strong for him to control and nearly destroyed me minutes after he had bound me back together. My memory is not clear until King Tharsaleos tried to force me to reveal more pages, but this was many days after your father was captured.

  "Why didn't you ask my father this question? He was there."

  To a point. He didn't know the answer. He remembered the name Epandros, but nothing more. He said you had the full story from Ochleros.

  Kassandra nodded. "The eight were the first round of the king's most trusted guards, Epandros, Saggarios, Amphitimos, Chairedamos, Euktemon, Theokrines, Kerykides, Thanogenes. The men my father wounded when he lost control of his spell. These were the eight who led brigades of the Olethren."

  And how did they find their way into the dead army if your father merely wounded them?

  "You. You're the reason. Because they knew about you, the king could not allow them to live. The king took them to the Dosianax fortress to hide them, and then poisoned them. Killed them, and bound their flesh and bone to his will. Epandros—the first of the trusted Eight—was the husband of the Kirkêlatides. He even had Theoxena—"