For much of the night, the feasting and escaping went on, like a lavish ball at a great undersea castle.
* * *
It was strange, crouched on the floor of the sea, watching as the men-of-war tried to escape the leatherback turtles. The colors of jellyfish were beautiful against the moonshine, pink and green and orange and white, like blown glass and ribbon candy. The way they swim is so pretty, like a flower opening and closing, so the giant feast looked like a grand dance of sorts from below.
Of course, not from the jellyfishes’ point of view, I’m sure.
The leatherbacks spun in the sea with tremendous grace for creatures of their size and heft. When I caught a glimpse of one their faces, it looked to me like it was carved from rock, heavy, with a pointed beak that seemed like it could snap a clamshell in half.
They reminded me a little of Scarnag the dragon, who literally is made from Living Stone.
We remained huddled together until the feasting was over and the remainder of the men-of-war had escaped, billowing their way deeper into the sea.
All that was left behind were many glowing strands floating in the drift, filling it with soft colors in the blue sunwater.
Which was coming to light with the morning.
* * *
“Wait here.”
Amariel pushed the pack Ven was holding over her head aside and began swimming up toward the squadron of sea turtles, who were now circling above them, full and happy.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Ven called nervously.
“Be right back.” The merrow approached a large leatherback and hovered in the drift near it for a moment. Then she swam quickly back to the others on the ocean floor.
“We’re in luck!” she said, grinning so widely that her porpoise-like teeth showed, something she rarely did. “The leatherbacks are on their way to the Summer Festival. They say it’s not too much farther, though it is in its last days. We can follow them if we like. They don’t mind the company.”
“That would be great,” Ven agreed. He turned to see Coreon nodding and Char staring at him as if he were insane.
“Are ya daft?” his best friend asked. “What if they get hungry on the way?”
“Turtles don’t eat merrows,” Amariel said. “Or humans. Come on. It will be great to have a guide that actually knows where it’s going.” She looked at Coreon, then smiled. “No offense.”
Coreon nodded in agreement. “None taken.”
The merrow dove to the bottom and returned a few moments later with some stringy seaweed and a length of algae-encrusted rope. She handed one end of each to Char and Ven.
“Hold tight,” she said.
The boys looked at each other. They watched as Amariel swam up to the leatherback squad, which was swimming more seriously now, preparing to depart, and tossed the other ends of the seaweed and rope to two of the giant reptiles. The turtles seized the ends in their beaks.
Then, like a bolt from a crossbow, they shot off toward the west.
Dragging Ven and Char behind them.
Amariel and Coreon swam in their wake.
“Don’t let go,” the merrow advised. “We’ll never catch up with them again.”
Ven’s stomach had flipped when the turtle on the other end of his seaweed tether launched off, but after a moment it settled back into place and he began to enjoy the ride. He turned his body to the side to see Char was clinging to his slimy green length of rope, his face pale as the leatherback he was attached to swam erratically, dashing up toward the surface, then diving suddenly, then zigzagging.
“You all right, Char?”
“I’m gonna throw up.” Char’s thrum was as wobbly as his voice would have been. “I think I’m gettin’ seasick.”
“He’s just playing with you, Chum,” said Amariel. “Try to be a good sport for once. He’ll get tired of it after a while, mostly likely.”
Char’s reply was lost in a trail of bubbles that swerved through the drift.
Ven closed his eyes. The sickening feeling left his stomach once he could no longer see the ocean floor racing past underneath him. An excitement took its place as he sped along behind the turtle.
The sensation reminded him of standing on the deck of the Angelia, the first and only time he went out on an Inspection for his father. The man who would have been the doomed ship’s captain had let him hold the wheel, and had laughed at the excitement the speeding ship had brought to him.
Don’t drink too much of the wind, young master Polypheme, Captain Faeley had said. It’s intoxicating; it will get you drunk more easily than you can imagine. And then you will be lost to it, as we are, and have no choice but to chase it over the sea for all your life.
The speed of the turtle swimming was a similar sensation—heady, thrilling, making him dizzy. He was enjoying it until he remembered that just after Captain Faeley had warned him not to get carried away, the ship had exploded.
Almost taking his whole life to the bottom of the sea with it.
Ven pushed the thought out of his mind and concentrated on the ride instead.
After what seemed like a very long time to Ven, and even longer to Char, the leatherbacks began to slow down.
Ven opened his eyes.
The surface was now too far above them to see. They were deeper than they had ever been before, the ocean floor at least ten fathoms below them still.
And heading for what looked like a steep drop-off.
The sun was higher in the sky above, he knew, because the bright blue water gleamed around them as they sped along.
“Hold on,” the merrow called to them. “We’re coming to a rise, and I can’t see what’s beyond it. It looks to get suddenly deeper.”
Ven gripped the seaweed strand a little more tightly, hoping it wouldn’t snap.
The leatherbacks swam up the rise, much as if it were a sand dune on the beach, then over it. When they got beyond the ridge of sand, the turtles slowed suddenly, floating in the drift.
“Oh my,” said the merrow.
The sea basin had deepened to about fifty fathoms. The bottom of the ocean stretched out in glorious blue water and golden light below them, as far as they could see.
And in the middle of it all was an enormous gathering of sea creatures of every kind, with towering plants of many colors waving merrily like flags in the drift. They looked as if they were marking the entrance to a fairgrounds.
In the very center they could see a large shaft of sunshadow. It was so wide and bright that it almost looked as if the ocean was raining light.
“Whoa,” Char whispered, pointing. He seemed to have recovered from his seasickness. “Look over there.”
Ven followed his finger. In the sunlight below the water were millions of fish, forming a ring around an area of ocean floor wider than the streets of the city of Kingston. They were swimming slowly in wavy lines, as if marking off a circus ground or racing track.
“This is it,” Coreon whispered. “The Summer Festival.” Ven’s eardrums felt the awe in the sea-Lirin boy’s thrum. “It’s just as my father described it—only, well—”
“Grander,” Amariel said. “For me, too.”
In the center of the ring stood two enormous chairs on a tall platform of hard coral.
* * *
At first I thought they had been carved with many swirls and details like the finest carvings in King Vandemere’s palace of Elysian. Then as I looked more carefully I could see that they were actually made of coral and fine shells, in colors that reminded me of the sky at sea in the morning. The sunshadow seemed brightest there, and so the chairs glowed in hues of soft yellow and pink, pale blue and gold.
Sitting in the chairs were two beings that looked at first glance like merrows, a man and a woman. The man was as tall as a human male but with a long, powerful tail. I had always thought that Amariel’s tail was amazing, with beautiful colored scales of blue and green and pearl. This man’s tail was far more commanding in its appearance, muscular
and strong, the fluke almost as big as that of a small whale. It seemed that the scales that covered it were in every color of the rainbow. I knew at once that he could break my back with one slap of it.
* * *
Beside him was a woman with long hair so white that it almost looked clear. Like the man, she wore a crown of mother-of-pearl on her head, but while her body from the arms and shoulders up looked human, her chest was covered with ridges that swirled down into a long, curled tail like that of a hippocampus.
“Crikey!” Char murmured. “What would ya call her?”
Amariel rose up a little in the drift for a better look.
“I’d suggest ‘Your Majesty’ if you get the chance to call her anything.”
“No—I mean what kind of creature is she?”
“I think she’s an Epona,” Amariel said. “They’re very rare—and somewhat wild, sometimes even silly. They tell good riddles, or so I hear. They are said to love the human world, and are fascinated with it even more than merrow are—well, silly merrow girls, that is. They live fairly deep in the sea. I’m not surprised she was chosen as queen this storm season.”
“And the king?” Ven asked. “Is he a merrow?”
Amariel’s brow furrowed. “Obviously. I would think you would be able to recognize one by now.”
“Well, if I remember correctly, when you first described merrows to me, you told me that while females were beautiful, males tended to be, er, less so.” Ven cut off his thrum, remembering the words she had used.
Now, merrow females are the most beautiful creatures in the world. Everyone knows that. But merrow men, well, that’s a different story. It’s probably fair to say that, as creatures of the sea go, merrow men are a little bit lazy. All right, a lot lazy. Very, very lazy. They bask for more than just heat collection—they lie around in the sun on rocks whenever they can to get out of helping with the children or the other work that has to be done. As a result, they are fat around the middle—even fatter than you, Ven. And on top of that, they are ugly. Not my dad, of course, but most merrow men. They have noses that are flat and round, with big nostrils that sometimes sprout hair. Their teeth are frequently green, and they tend to burp a lot. Bubbles come out the other end as well, which makes them unpleasant to be around.
“Well, there are some exceptions, of course,” Amariel said. “My dad is not a typical male merrow—obviously the king is not, either.”
“He looks like he’s part whale,” Char whispered.
Just then, an undersea horn blasted. It filled the drift with vibrations that swept over Ven, making his skin tingle wildly.
“Oh no,” said Coreon nervously. “Oh no! It’s starting!”
26
The Wild Hippocampus Roundup
“What? What’s starting?” Char looked down at the Festival grounds.
“Listen!” Amariel said.
The horn blast had come from the largest conch shell Ven had ever seen. It was mounted like a giant telescope at the base of the coral throne platform.
“Does that shell remind you of the Floatin’ Island?” Char whispered.
Ven nodded, smiling. He had been thinking the same thing. The Floating Island was a hollow mountain on a piece of earth born at the beginning of Time. It sailed the sea like a ship, taken around the world at the whim of the wind. When he and Char had been inside that mountain with Captain Snodgrass and the sailors from the Serelinda, they had heard voices from all around the world, messages that had been spoken, whispered, and shouted into the wind and were caught in the curls of the shell-shaped mountain. It was a place that sailors and others who came upon it could send messages home, as well.
Now it made sense to him why the large conch was being used to send thrum messages to the Festival attendees.
The shell-horn crackled, as if it were being cleared of water. Then a thrum-voice spoke.
“Your Majesties, distinguished court, honored guests, and general riffraff, may I have your attention, please. The hippocampus reeve has an announcement.”
“What’s a hippocampus reeve?” Char asked.
Coreon and Amariel shrugged.
“Well, a reeve is someone who’s in charge of something, so maybe it’s like the master of the sea horses,” Ven suggested.
“That seems reasonable,” Char said.
Just as he finished speaking, a large male merrow with a dark red-scaled tail swam elegantly to the shell-horn and put the tip against his forehead. His thrum came out in a sophisticated, somewhat high voice.
“Your Majesties, the Grand Derby is almost ready to begin. The Grand Derby is the final event before the closing ceremonies of the Summer Festival. The winning hippocampus rider will be presented with the greatest honor awarded at the Festival, the Grand Trophy.”
A smattering of polite applause-thrum rumbled through the depths of the sea.
“We have a very big problem,” Coreon said. “If they’re running the Derby, then today must be Threshold. We came much later to the Festival than I had hoped. Once the Grand Derby starts, the Sea King will only be in power for a short time longer. I won’t get a chance to talk to him and deliver the message the Cormorant sent with me. We’ll have come all this way for nothing, and all the people in the Gated City will die.”
“We’ll just have to find a way to talk to him before his reign ends,” said Ven.
The shell-horn crackled again.
“All riders are asked report to the kelp pens to prepare for the race,” the hippocampus reeve continued. “At this time, while we are awaiting the running of the Grand Derby, the second-to-last event, the Wild Hippocampus Roundup, will be held. Any prospective rider wishing to take part in the Roundup, kindly come to the center of the racetrack.”
Ven felt the merrow tense beside him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” said Amariel. “In the Grand Derby, all the racing hippocampi are tamed and all have riders who train them. But the sea is full of wild hippocampi. It would make for a pretty dangerous race, I would think.”
“The riders themselves look pretty wild,” said Char as a group of male merrows swam into the racing arena from different places in the crowd. They were more like the merrow men that Amariel had described in her stories to Ven, with wild hair, fat stomachs, flat noses and bubbles occasionally trailing behind them. One had an enormous orange mustache that matched the hair on his head, which stood on end like the petals of a sunflower. Another was wearing a large, silly hat and had a nose that looked like a pig’s snout.
“All right, gentlemen, begin your calling,” said the hippocampus reeve.
Immediately the merrow men put their hands up to their mouths and began making strange, melodic thrum that caused Ven’s eyelids to itch.
“Oh, I know what they’re doin’!” Char exclaimed. “I once saw somethin’ like this in a town when the sailors and I were on shore leave. There was this hog-calling contest, and a whole bunch o’ grown men made right fools of themselves, gruntin’ an’ hollerin’ an’ squealin’ as loud as they could, tryin’ to get a pig to pay attention to ’em. It was embarrassing, to tell you the truth.”
“Do you think any wild hippocampi will answer?” Coreon asked.
Char shrugged. “Dunno. All the pigs ignored ’em.”
Amariel shook her head, then pointed into the drift.
“They must know what they’re doing. Look!”
From the shadows beyond the great Festival grounds, large shapes with horses’ heads and tails that curled into spirals began appearing. They were swimming quickly toward the racetrack, bucking and rearing as if they were trying to fight the merrows’ calls, but were losing the battle. One large dark blue hippocampus with black spots was fighting so hard that he had turned himself upside down, and his curled tail kept unrolling and rolling back up again.
A wide vibration of what Ven recognized as laughter rose from the creatures that surrounded the racetrack.
Poor sea horses, he thought. It’s clear that they don’t want to be here, but the merrow song is impossible for them to resist.
“I’m gonna do it,” Amariel whispered.
“Do what?”
“I’m going to enter the Roundup.”
“What are you talking about?” Char demanded. “I know you want to be a Grand Derby rider, Amariel, but you don’t have a hippocampus to ride. An’ even if you did, I don’t like the way this wild hippocampus roundup is takin’ shape. It has stupid and dangerous written all over it.”
“Char’s right.” Ven was watching a long orange hippocampus with hair as wild as the sunflower-haired merrows drag him around the racetrack by his mustache. Another pair of dappled giant sea horses were wrestling with each other, their long, curved necks clumsily entwined. The laughing thrum of the crowd got louder.
“Yeah, it’s humiliating to have lobsters laughing at you,” Coreon said.
“And you’re sure to get hurt,” added Ven. “Those hippocampi must weigh ten times what you do at least.”
“Nonsense,” retorted Amariel. “By the time they get to the racetrack, they’re enchanted.”
“Enchanted? Really? Is that what that’s called?” Char pointed to a potential rider who was exchanging tail blows with his mount, slapping each other in the face. Another merrow chased down a pink hippocampus and spat in its eye. The giant sea horse spat back.
“I guess I took that spitting too personally,” Char murmured. “It looks much more common down here than it is in the upworld.”
The merrow pushed past him. “Move out of the way, Chum. I need to get down there before the race starts.”
Ven grabbed her arm. “Don’t do it, Amariel,” he pleaded. “You’re going to get hurt, possibly badly.”
“Thanks for your confidence in me,” Amariel said bitterly. “This is my dream, Ven. I’ve told you that from the very beginning. I may never have a hippocampus of my own to groom and train. This may be my only chance. So if I call for one, and one comes, who are you to tell me I can’t ride it? Let me go, and get out of my way.”
The Tree of Water Page 18