Seaborn 03 - Sea Throne

by Chris Howard

  Alex was staring at his mother, but quickly turned to face Kassandra.

  "Alex, I won't say much, just that we are enemies and we don't even know it. Let's show our world that old—even ancient—enemies can once again become friends." Kassandra set down her glass and bowed low to him.

  Then she moved on.

  "Kaffia, I'm not sure of you yet. I am sorry if you are not what I have concluded from my perception. I am aware of your special talents. You are a rare sort of person, rare as you are brilliant. I was afraid of you at school—everyone was, even the professors. I have looked back, and I can see what you are today. The ocean, the air, the reaction of the world, your long love for Alex, these tell me things, but not everything. I hope to Poseidon that you and I become friends without ever becoming enemies." Kassandra looked at the ceiling, moving thoughts into place in her mind. "Perhaps that is a lesson you have just taught me, that information can be misleading, that no amount of information will take the place of certainty, and yet we all must act and decide what is right and what is wrong, and make plans with the information we have." Kassandra bowed her head to Kaffia. "We have to act or die, and we have to act on what we think we know. There is no other way."

  She took in a long shuddery breath, and let it out, staring at the man at the opposite end of the table.

  "Bachoris, love, I have fallen for you, and I know in my soul that you will be my downfall. I feel your concern, but do not be afraid, my love. I already know that the end of my reign will come from you." She bent down, a weight on her shoulders. "There," she gasped. "I have said it for everyone to hear—but it is my own ears that have needed those words." She leaned forward, one hand flat on the table to hold her body up, trying to catch her breath. She looked to her right, eyes half closed, nodded agreement to Nicole who sat still as stone staring back at her sister, tears running from her eyes. A sob broke from both of them at the same time, but Kassandra pulled hers in, straightened her body, picked up her glass of wine, raised it to Bachoris, took a sip, and then bowed her head. "Because all reigns have an end. You have already taught me that gods and goddesses—mortal and immortal—must perish—and what it really means to perish."

  The dining room was silent for ten long seconds. Kassandra sat down, exhausted, up-ended her wine glass, swallowed it, and said, "Let's eat."

  There was a long pause, some nervous laughter, napkins being folded nervously. Then Agatha started passing around the platters.

  Everyone ate in silence. Fifteen minutes passed with no sound but the clinking of silverware, glasses, whispered "thank yous" when someone passed a dish. Kassandra smiled apologetically back at Agatha, who gave her a dark you-could-have-warned-me-about-the-length-of-your-monologue look, and then mouthed, "I'm surprised the food isn't ice cold."

  She caught Gregor's eyes. He looked at her as if he didn't recognize her—but as if he should have been able to. He whispered, "Why?"

  She stared back, waited for him to wipe away his tears, and said, "Why do you think I gave you mother?"

  They ate and conversations started slowly, most sparked by the first meetings with Kassandra, how enemies like Corina had come to be friends with the Sea. When Jill got up to get more water, Kassandra placed her hand over Nicole's, leaning in to whisper, "Find out what's going on with Jill and Jordan."

  Nicole gave her a wary look. "Why?"

  Kassandra shook her head, cutting off Nicole's protest. "Please? Do it for me? Be discreet."

  She spent another hour eyes-locked with Elizabeth Shoaler, asking her about her connection with the Telkhines, where Elizabeth had met a lord of that ancient House, and did she know her son had her husband's bleed—but not full, which meant that the Telkhinos was alive somewhere. "My aunt Phaidra Lady Rexenor is in a lithotomb, in the abyss. I expect to find your husband there, too."

  The dinner wrapped up late in the evening. Pushing back from the table, they poured more wine and took their glasses into the living room. Thennas fell asleep on the couch, leaning against Olivia, who startled everyone by being gentle and motherly.

  Bachoris was quiet most of the night, finally getting Kassandra alone around 11 o'clock to ask, "I don't understand? You practically fingered me as your murderer. I've been deflecting questions and nasty looks all night. Your father hates me, and Nicole...well, I already needed to watch my back around her. Now, I'm tasting everything for poison."

  Kassandra slid her hands around his neck, wouldn't let him pull away. She kissed him. "Prove me wrong. I beg you, Bachoris."

  Kaffia ducked out for fresh air around midnight. "Please, Alex. Everything's been a little heavy. I need some fresh air, need some time...alone." Kaffia gave his arm a squeeze, and grabbed her backpack. She headed for the front door, sliding past a strange conversation between two of the naiads, Limnoria and Helodes, on her way out.

  "Well, Nietzsche certainly knew about them."

  "Gods, you're wacky tonight. Lay off the wine. How is it that he knew of them?" Limnoria leaned closer to stare at her sister as if she were sick, then leaned over to press her fingers to her forehead. She added a clear that's-the-stupidest-thing-I've-ever-heard expression.

  "You know the lines about staring into the abyss and the abyss staring back? Who else would be in the abyss with the ability to stare?"

  "I don't think that's what the old fellow was talking about."

  "Seems plain to me."

  Kaffia couldn't keep the smile off her face as she slipped out the front door. She walked straight out from the house, stopped with her feet on Atlantic Avenue, looking up and down the street, turned right and headed for the bench that overlooked the ocean.

  She hopped over the back and sat down, tucking her pack between her legs, breathing deep, and letting out the breaths slowly.

  "Miss Kaffia Lang?"

  She turned on the bench, one hand ramming into her backpack for something. The man's voice was rough, but had an educated quality, and although she liked that combination, there was something in the voice that made her skin go cold. He was old, maybe sixty, and bony thin, wearing faded Levis and a windbreaker. His hands were in his pockets. He looked like an old cowboy without a hat, with creek-cold gray eyes pinned to her. Her eyes went immediately to his scar, a pink bevel of healed skin from his right eye to the corner of his mouth.

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Fenhals. I mean you no harm. I'd like to speak to you."

  "Do it from there." Kaffia moved off the bench, swinging her backpack in front of her, one arm up to the elbow inside. "Take another step in my direction and I'll kill you."

  "I accept those terms, Miss Lang." He bowed his head.

  "What do you want?"

  "Nothing now, nothing really. Just a wish that you would pass along my calling card. Perhaps something very small in the future." He nodded his head as if something had already been decided, then cleared his throat. "Miss Lang, you are a discoverer in your own way. You deal in information, you have the ability—far beyond most people—to find things that no one else can. You are an artist—with a valuable command of your art." He glanced up at Kassandra's house. "Even if they don't, I understand you. You don't like the locks, the restrictions, the misuse of that information. Above all, you have made yourself the enemy of those who keep it locked up, an enemy of information tyranny—or perhaps tyranny in any form? Raw ungoverned power in the hands of one person—but in a way, a single point of failure. Say, the ruler of all the seas? To bring down the entire structure all it takes is the removal of one piece, that one player, one holder of power. You see the dangers and the weaknesses in that kind of power. I know you do not approve of it, and—" He held up his open hands. "—if you ever tire of it, I would ask that you contact me." Mr. Fenhals bent and placed two white cards on the ground, setting a stone on top to pin them down in the ocean breeze. "Keep one for yourself, and please pass along the second to Kassandra. At your convenience."

  Kaffia watched him without any change in her expression, swallowed tig
htly, and nodded her head. She allowed her stance to relax, but kept her hand inside her backpack. "I have a question for you."

  Fenhals grinned with yellow teeth, hesitating over the decision to use some of the surfacer vernacular he'd picked up, and went with it. "Shoot?"

  "How did you get the scar?"

  He smiled and the scar stretched, a pink band across one side of his face. He pulled in a breath, and his shoulders dropped as if he was tired of lying about the cause. "I am from the sea. My benevolent employer once had an army—a vast army of the drowned dead, hundreds of thousands of them, the Olethren, they were called. They don't really see, you know, they're dead, and cannot differentiate between sides in a battle. They just kill everything that is alive." Fenhals ran his fingers over the thick knot of skin. "I was not quick enough to escape without harm when my king sent them to a school in Nebraska to kill one dangerous girl. Just one girl—with all the power in the sea. She destroyed the entire army." He glanced up at the house across the street. "Good night, Miss Lang."

  Chapter 20 - A Morning Visit

  The doorbell rang, and Kassandra turned, opened her mouth, tasted the air before pulling the door in. "Good morning, Kaffia." And looking up the walk to the street. "Where's Alex?"

  Kaffia waved toward her, indicating south, and gave Kassandra a hard stare. "He's down at the beach with his autonomous sub, trying to figure out how it made it halfway to England and back in a night."

  Kassandra let the start of a smile sharpen one side of her mouth. "So, what's up?"

  Kaffia flipped a white card in her hand, one of her fingers sliding curiously over an embossed seashell twist she hadn't noticed last night. She met Kassandra's eyes for a second and then looked down at the card, distracted by the change in its surface. "I met someone...he gave me a card, one for you. I tried to find you after dinner last night, but you'd taken Bachoris upstairs for some fun, and Agatha said you didn't want to be disturbed unless there was an army on the doorstep."

  "A card for me?" Her voice rough with suspicion. "A man? He said his name?"

  Kaffia nodded. "Fenhals. Just his last name, Mr. Fenhals."

  Kassandra made no sign that she knew who that was, just nodded thoughtfully, her focus moving beyond Kaffia, to the end of the walk, narrowing against the bright morning sky. She sniffed the air. "An army," whispered Kassandra. "On the doorstep. I did use those words."

  Kaffia held out the little white card, and Kassandra reached for it, stopping her fingers an inch from the edge. "Did Mr. Fenhals say anything else?"

  Kaffia's expression hardened. "Nothing I didn't already know."

  Kassandra took the card and flipped it over, a blank reverse side, the front with the embossed spiral horn of the crown of the seaborn. She smiled to herself, "Archibald Fenhals? His first name's Archie? Never knew that. Never would have guessed it."

  Kaffia took a step back, scrunching up her lips, shaking her head. "Didn't look like an Archie."

  Kassandra's gaze came up cold. "Not his real name anyway. You didn't promise to do anything for him, did you?"

  She shook her head, vigorously this time. "Just agreed to deliver his calling card."

  Kassandra let the card drift in the air above her open palm, floating and spinning, sang a curl of deep notes, her body twisting with them, fingers hooking. The card burst into flame, a puff of ash in the air. She took in a deep, tired breath and blew the cloud into the air over Kaffia's head.

  Then she slammed the door, leaving Kaffia on the doorstep.

  "We have a problem," she said to Nicole coming out of the kitchen.

  "Who's at the door?"

  "Kaffia Lang passing along a card from the king's terrier."

  "Fenhals?"

  Kassandra stared at her, distracted for a few seconds, and then nodded her head.

  "And Kaffia left? Invite her in."

  Kassandra didn't hear her, brushed by her, whispering absently, "Army on the doorstep."

  Nicole looked at the front door in alarm and followed Kassandra into the kitchen, grabbing her shoulder as the two of them reached the table. Zypheria was on her feet in a second, pushing back her plate. Gregor was next, "What's wrong?"

  Kassandra stared at them as if trying to remember who they were. She managed to shrug off Nicole's grip with a glare over her shoulder, and then lightning speed reached up and caught a tumbling golf-ball sized glob of seawater flying through the air from the basement stairs.

  She cupped her hand, bent forward and stuck her tongue into it, tasting miles of messages, every roll of the sea for the last twelve hours, tidal pressure, a sharp metallic tang, a slick starchy chitinous flavor, and acid sourness like yesterday's urine.

  Her head jerked up, a spasm of pain, and a long silvery line of a tear rolled along the lashes of her right eye. She let her hands fall away as the teardrop headed for the floor. Everyone, including Jill and Mr. Henderson, was standing by then, watching her, a frozen mix of curiosity and horror on their faces, the response to the look on her face.

  Kassandra danced out of the way, reached over the table, took the other side in one hand and yanked it toward her—and then over her head. Three hundred pounds of heavy oak and plates, cutlery, mugs, flew across the room, shattered against the far wall, triangle chunks of broken plaster, smears of food and dark splattery blossoms of coffee, streams of it running to the floor.

  She turned to the giant watery humanoid mass that had come out of her teardrop, floating by the sliding back door. "Ochleros." She caught his eyes, black shiny eternity, took in the story of Nikasia's dragon riding journey in them, the Kirkelatides had taken Barenis south and then came back up the American east coast, stopping to rest along the sand and slow warm waves at Hatteras.

  She nodded. "Very good." and both of them returned to the present trouble.

  "The gate is locked, milady. They have tried to break it, but do not have the skill. They will come out of the ocean. There is one with a strong pure bleed commanding them. How did they get this close to you without you knowing about them?"

  "Something Fenhals embedded in that card. Maybe. I don't know. It jacked my proximity net, whatever it was."

  "Who?" Jill grabbed Zypheria's arm for support.

  Nicole demanded, "What the fuck's going on, Kass?"

  Kassandra turned to face her, more the Sea now, teeth sharp, serrated like a shark, her shoulders rising with a deep breath. Slippery silver armor oozed over her body, forming jointed blue seams at her elbows, knees, ankles, spirals of electric blue along her fingers. Yellow stripes moved like glowing sun ribbons just under the hard metallic facings up her forearms, across her chest, the armor alive, feeling the body underneath, bending to its needs. The Sea's trident stood on its end on her right, perfectly vertical, points brushing the ten foot ceiling, waiting while she pulled her braids into a thick bundle down the middle of her back. She reached out with her left as if expecting to find something in empty air and grabbed her helmet by the flat sickle blade neck guard. The cheek plates rattled against the crest of the helmet, flexible pointed ears with fine silver tie-downs.

  Kassandra tossed her helmet to Nicole and locked her sword into rings in the armor along her back.

  Nicole jutted her chin toward the living room. "Kaffia's out there."

  Kassandra grabbed her helmet, let her right hand slide along the cold metal of the trident. "They can have her."

  Nicole's fist came around and caught Kassandra high on her face, cheek bone, eye ridge, temple, knocking her back a step. It wasn't a power blow, Nicole not wanting to damage her own hand, but breathing hard, she growled, "Take that back. If you're my sister, you will."

  Kassandra rubbed her eye, a smear of blood coming away on her palm. Then she turned to Ochleros as if nothing had happened. "Take them all to Rexenor. Now. Do not come back for me."

  And the ocean that made up the body of the giant demon swallowed Nicole and Jill, Zypheria, Henderson and Gregor in flat cold watery sheets. A boiling rush of seafoam and blue
lifted them off the floor, taking them into its arms. Nodding at her demon, Kassandra turned and raised a hand. The sliding door at the back of the house dissolved into needle sharp glass fragments, floating fiery waves of them opening in the morning sun to let Ochleros out of the house.

  "Go! Do not come back."

  "Kassandra!" It was Nicole, her voice commanding through the roar of Ochleros and ocean. But there were tears streaming down her face. "Protect her. They cannot have her! The Sea forgives. Sometimes. Or we would never in our history taken to ships, never have fallen in love the sea. You are not always cruel. You have a heart. Use it!"

  Ochleros drifted away through the opening in the back of the house, into the mist coming off the Atlantic, taking her sisters, her father, her mother's bodyguard, her former science teacher who happened to be a really good cook.

  Kassandra swallowed hard, trying to keep her feet planted on the floor. She bowed her head to the space where Nicole had stood, and ran for the front door. "Kaffia!" She screamed the name, waving impatiently. "Hurry. We don't have time. Follow me." She grabbed her by the hand, dragging her inside, slammed the door behind them, but didn't bother with the deadbolt. "Out the back. That's where we'll face them."

  "Face who?"

  Kassandra stopped abruptly and when Kaffia ran into her, reached around her waist, slid her fingers into the back pocket of Kaffia's jeans. She flipped Fenhals' other little white card in the air, and it hung there a moment, stung Kaffia like a slap across the face. Then it burst into flames. "The small army my grandfather has sent against the holder of the card, a marker, a beacon for them the follow."