Carousel Tides

by Sharon Lee

  He smiled, and I gagged on a scream. “You will very soon come to care, Princess Kaederon.” His smile faded. “Hear me. If I am not reunited with that which is mine, I will remove my restrained and temperate hand from over those who wish to pillage and lay waste to this town and all who reside in it.”

  “If I don’t know what you’re looking for, how can I return it?” I asked, reasonably. Not that reason had been a particularly strong suit of the Ramendysis I’d known.

  He lifted an elegant eyebrow.

  I shook my head. “To be perfectly frank, I can’t imagine Gran keeping something that belonged in the Land of the Flowers here any longer than it took her to call on The Wise and have them remove it.” Deep breath, Kate. “Are you sure you lost it here?”

  Ramendysis took his hand out of his pocket, which panicked me just as much as he doubtless intended it to.

  “I did not lose it,” he said tightly, “it was stolen from me. It must be here. It was here that the thief was apprehended and imprisoned. He had ceded his essence to the old earth spirit. What else might he not have given into her keeping?”

  “What else, indeed,” I answered politely, though if he called Gran an earth spirit in that tone of amused distaste one more time, I was going to commit mayhem.

  Ramendysis fixed me in his eye, as if he were actually trying to weigh the truth of what I’d said.

  “You neither know the name of that which I seek, nor where it is kept?”

  I sighed in honest exasperation. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it? You’re the one who took leave to doubt it.”

  Ramendysis pressed his lips together.

  “Very well,” he said after a moment. “If what you say is so, then we have only one path open to us.”

  I eyed him. “Call the Wise?”

  “Stupid child. What would that gain me? No, what remains is to ask the thief where he has hidden it. Open the Rock and let him stand forward to answer my question.”

  I gaped at him. “You want me to open Googin Rock and let the Fire Ozali out?” I bit my lip so as not to blurt out the follow-up question: Are you crazy?

  “Precisely. Release the Ozaliflame from the Rock,” Ramendysis said coldly. “He will be diminished by his time imprisoned, and by the leaching effects of this cursed land. I will put the question, he will answer, and he will be returned to his cell.”

  “Just like that?” I shook my head, an odd sensation with my hair still floating about my head.

  “You were at the binding. You know that it took the Lady of the Wood herself, Seal Woman, and a dozen other trenvay to lock the Ozaliflame into the Rock—and he went willingly! I’m not the Lady he swore to; he owes me nothing, though I’m guessing he owes you plenty. Also? He’s likely to be just a little peeved at a hundred years under water—” If not actively, and violently, insane. “—I think he’s going to come out of the Rock swinging. Assuming he can be unbound at all.”

  Ramendysis frowned down at me; I felt his jikinap oozing along my senses, its hunger at once repellent and seductive. I clung to the image of the children’s maze like a nun clings to her rosary; still I felt its dreadful caress—and worse, the desire to surrender, to merge my power with his, submerge my will and myself . . .

  From the pocket of my jacket, draped over the back of the operator’s stool, my cell phone trilled.

  I gasped, and jerked back, blinking. The cell gave tongue again, and a third time while the storm clouds swirling in Ramendysis’ eyes grew darker and more dangerous—and then the voice mail took it, or the caller hung up. I shrugged and managed what was probably the world’s rockiest grin.

  “I say we call on the Wise,” I said, and didn’t like the smile he produced on hearing it.

  “And I say that we do not. Shall I summon one of the blind peasants from without and demonstrate how strongly I feel on this matter?”

  My stomach churned and I swallowed bile. Just the thought of what something like Ramendysis could do to one of the childlike innocents who existed out there in the vanished world sickened me.

  Peacefully, peacefully, little Ozali, the sticky-sweet voice whispered between my ears. Allow him his whim. You will be the greater for gathering your allies to you. And, as you say, the Ozaliflame may not emerge from his cage as docile as this one imagines.

  Which was damned good advice. Not for the first time, I wondered what the batwing horse had been, in the Land from which it had been exiled.

  I inclined my head, taking the batwing’s advice; ceding the point, and the round, to Ramendysis.

  “All right. It’ll take me some time to gather the trenvay, and we don’t want to risk being seen by the tourists. Next low tide is four-thirteen tomorrow morning. Meet us at the Rock then.” I took a hard breath, the gray air like cobwebs in my lungs. “Now get the hell out of here.”

  “Of course, Princess,” Ramendysis purred. He swept a bow, courtly and graceful. Mist swirled—and dispersed.

  He is gone, the batwing told me.

  I dove for my jacket, dug the cell out and triggered voice mail.

  “Kate,” Borgan’s voice sounded in my ear, “where’s the merry-go-round?” Pause for the beat of three. “Kate?” Another pause. “I’m getting Nerazi.”

  I hit speed-dial, shaking so hard I could barely keep the phone at my ear, and looked around me. The air was beginning to move, unraveling the isolation spell or whatever he’d used, bringing me the scent of brine. The midway reappeared, as if seen through a dirty window, shadows moving here and there.

  “Kate.” Borgan didn’t sound pleased.

  “We’ve got trouble,” I said, and burst into tears.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Wednesday, April 26

  Low Tide 4:13 a.m.

  Moonrise 3:54 a.m. EDT, Waning Crescent

  They came from the wetlands, they came from the dry, from the highlands and the low. Silent and solemn, the trenvay gathered and took their places in a loose ring around Googin Rock, fell-fire illuminating their features in the absence of the moon.

  Some of those present had stood in the circle when the Ozaliflame was bound into Googin Rock, lending their power and their agreement to the act. Nerazi had been there, and Gaby, and Bob. Others who had made up that band had faded—like Lillian. Still others of those gathering in this morning were too young to remember.

  “He’s not here! He’s not coming!” Gaby twittered. I shook my head, wishing I had so much optimism—but it was Borgan who answered.

  “Tide’s not out yet. We’ll have him at dead low.”

  “Unless he shows up a year or two from now and gets mad ’cause we’re not here waiting for him,” Bob put in. A match rasped and flared, throwing his face into a mosaic of bright and dark as he lit a cigarette. He drew, and sighed the smoke out. “This is a bad idea,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Perhaps,” Nerazi answered. “Perhaps not.”

  Bob snorted, smoke coming out of his nose like the memory of dragon-fire. “Business as usual.”

  “Right,” I said, rubbing my palms nervously down my thighs. The work gloves were in the pockets of my jacket. For this night’s business, I was going to need a personal touch. Still, I wanted them near—and Mam’selle the knife, too, nestled in her accustomed place against my backbone.

  “Right!” I said again, and the land took my words and delivered them to each and every one of those waiting. “We’re here to hold our land against harm. If it looks like there’s going to be trouble between the two Ozali, stand back. Our first and only concern is to preserve the land, the people, the town. Am I heard?”

  “Aye, Guardian.” “Yes.” “I hear you, Kate.” The words drifted back to me and I sighed, feeling Borgan stir next to me. I looked up, and followed his gaze to the left, where a thin, scarecrow figure had slipped into place at Nerazi’s right hand, pale hair blowing like dandelion fluff beneath the broad-brimmed hat, coattails belling in the breeze.

  “Well, that answers that,” I thought, and didn’t rea
lize I’d spoken aloud until Borgan’s voice reached me, under the sound of the wind and the surf.

  “Answers what?” he asked.

  Before I could answer there came a flash, a boom, and a slap of rain against my cheek. I blinked my eyes clear, and turned to my right, where Ramendysis stood in all the pomp and finery of a Lord of the Land of the Flowers. His stormy curls were crowned with tempests; rings of power flashed upon his hands. His robes were pleated with lightning; scented with ozone.

  “Princess Kaederon.” He bowed, courtly and sweet, his jikinap oozing over me like syrup. I went back a step, stomach roiling, and bumped into Borgan.

  “Steady, Kate,” he murmured.

  Steady, I thought. Right. I took a hard breath, savoring the tang of salt, and looked up at Ramendysis.

  “As Guardian and keepers of this land,” I said, hearing my voice being served out to the entire circle, “we require a guarantee from you before we loose what’s bound into the Rock.”

  Ramendysis laughed, genuinely amused, as far as I could tell.

  “Have you forgotten that power has precedence? Allow me to remind you.”

  The wind died; the air grew heavy and dull, as if the very mother of storms was a-building at the door into Saco Bay. I took a breath, gagging on the reek of dead fish, and felt Borgan’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Nooooo!”

  The scream beat against the heavy air. I spun in time to see Gaby move out of her place in the circle in a purposeful and entirely un-Gaby-like stride, heading for the foot of Heath Hill, where the sea roses tossed in the dark.

  “Nononono!” she whimpered. “Guardian, make him stop!”

  I swallowed and spun back. Ramendysis lifted an urbane eyebrow.

  “Let her go,” I said, my voice rattling like dice in a cup.

  “In due time, Princess,” he said calmly, and turned to observe Gaby’s progress across the sand.

  She had reached the roses, and I watched as she extended a hand. Fingers shook as she fought his will—and I knew, yes, I knew exactly what that felt like. The boil of loathing in your stomach; disbelief that your will is not enough to command your body. Despair.

  Gaby staggered one more step into the knot of roses, held tall and unyielding by a will not her own. Her hand darted out to seize a vine, fingers crushing it into her palms.

  I bit my lip, feeling the thorns as if they pierced my own flesh. Gaby howled, her hand fisted around the vine. There was a slight shiver in the dead air, and the stench of rotted vegetation.

  “The guarantee that I will give you,” Ramendysis said, his voice waking thunder in the cloudless sky, “is precisely this: If that rock is not opened, and speedily, or if I am in any way impeded in recovering that which is mine, I shall make it very easy for those of your own Land who wish to destroy you to do exactly that. They will drain marshes, cut trees, poison streams, and sow the soil with salt. You motley collection of earth spirits and low fae—all of you!—will fade; the land will gibber and scream, and there will be none to succor it. This is your guarantee.”

  I’d wondered, back when I was newcome to my mother’s Land, and hearing Gran tell the story of how the Ozaliflame came to be ’prisoned in Googin Rock, why a bunch of powerful, savvy adults hadn’t Just Said No to Ramendysis.

  Sure, he’d been able to eat my lunch, but I’d just been a kid. It had seemed to me that the trenvay—especially Gran and Nerazi—standing secure on their own land, and at the height of their powers—not to mention those Ozali present who had disagreed with the whole procedure—it had seemed to me that they simply hadn’t tried very hard to put Ramendysis in his place.

  Now I knew why they’d folded. Nothing was going to stop Ramendysis—not good sense, not the threat of retaliation, or even the Wise. He would have his way, he would not be gainsaid, nor would he spare a moment to remorse, should he kill an entire town.

  Around the circle, the trenvay stood silent and horrified. Her will returned to her, Gaby had fallen to her knees by the roses, bent over her mangled hand, keening.

  Then, as quickly as it had died, the breeze freshened and the sense of doom lifted. I gratefully filled lungs aching with several minutes of shallow breathing with untainted air. Ramendysis smiled, and bowed, robes rustling.

  “Princess Kaederon, shall we proceed?”

  It was a phrase out of nightmare—it had been what he had used to say right before, before . . .

  The land thrust itself into my attention. I centered myself, and considered those standing in circle, grim and horrified, most, and none of them a match for Ramendysis, any more than I was . . .

  A forest, Gran observed from memory, is stronger than any single tree, no matter how old, no matter how wise.

  I took a breath.

  “Your assistance will not be necessary,” I said, as cool as I could manage it. Ramendysis arched an eyebrow.

  “I recall that two were required to open the rock anon,” he said. “The Lady of the Wood, as she styled herself, and a certain . . . sea spirit.”

  “Seal Woman,” Nerazi murmured, from beyond Borgan, “Your Lordship. It will not have escaped your attention that both the Lady and myself were firmly rooted in this Land. While you are, of course, more powerful than any other who stands in circle, your origin lies elsewhere, and the things of this Land may therefore defy you.”

  “Certainly Princess Kaederon must bid the rock to open, for it is she who may command the land. However, a child can see that the work in question is intricate in the extreme, and requires the hand of a master upon it.

  “I am, as you say, the most powerful of those gathered here, and as such I willingly offer my skill in service of this task. All that is needful is for Princess Kaederon to submit her will to mine, and we shall speedily—”

  A black pit was opening in the sand about an inch ahead of the toes of my sneakers. No, no, no. Not again. I won’t. Not for anything. Not for life it—

  “Prince Borgan,” I gasped, and felt the land leap and go intensely still.

  I paused, to give Borgan a chance to back out. He didn’t speak, though, and neither did Nerazi.

  I took a breath and made it official. “Prince Borgan will assist me.”

  “Oh,” Ramendysis said, and ran a slow and faintly disbelieving gaze over Borgan. In the Land of the Flowers, that kind of look is fightin’ words. “Will he.” He returned his attention to me, and inclined slightly.

  “Forgive me, Princess Kaederon, but what I see here is a—worthy, no doubt!—low fae. What is needed for this project is a marriage of jikinap and such power as may be resident in this . . . place. I fail to see any way in which Prince Borgan will be able to assist you.”

  “Well, then,” Borgan said, coming up beside me, “I guess it’s a good thing that’s our problem.” He gave me a nod. “Ready when you are, Kate.”

  I took a deep breath. “No time like the present. Stay a step behind, all right? The Rock’s looking ugly tonight.”

  In point of fact, Googin Rock was looking every bit as crazy as Ramendysis, as if the Fire Ozali imprisoned there knew that his ancient enemy was within reach. And, for all I knew, he did. Gran had never been clear on whether the Ozaliflame was aware or asleep in his binding. If Ramendysis had the choosing of it, he’d have bound him awake and aware. The Ozaliflame’s soul, though—such as he might have had—that, he had freely given into Gran’s keeping. Surely she would have granted him what mercy she could.

  I left my place in the circle and walked down to the Rock, Borgan one step behind.

  The wonder of it was that Ramendysis stood where he was and let us go. Maybe he figured we’d fail and he’d get an added tickle from me coming back to beg for his help.

  If it came to that, I’d rather Googin Rock blasted me out of time and space.

  The shield curtain parted before me, and fell closed behind Borgan. I paused, feeling safer with a little bit of spellcraft between me and Ramendysis, and considered the task before us. Imprisoned fires blew and dance
d in a silent ballet of malice, by turns illuminating and obscuring the treacherous surface. Above it all, the working shone like moonlight, impenetrable, cool, and hopelessly complex.

  “I don’t have the faintest idea where to begin,” I breathed, and heard Borgan laugh beside me.

  “Not as bad as it looks,” he said. I turned to look up at him.

  “I’m sorry to drag you into this,” I said. “I—don’t think very well around Ramendysis. Nerazi was the one who helped Gran with the binding. If I’d had my wits with me, I’d’ve—”

  “You did exactly right,” he interrupted. “Taste that armor and tell me what you think.”

  “Taste it? The other morning, I slid right off it.”

  “Must’ve tried to budge it, then. What you want to do is just open up and let it come to you.”

  It wasn’t like I had a better idea. I took a breath and hauled the old lesson up from the depths of my memory. Right. I remembered this.

  Once again, I pictured myself in the schoolroom at my grandfather’s house. But this time, instead of looking down at the garden and the maze at its heart, I just leaned forward—and opened the window.

  Sensation flowed through me—a hint of green growing things, damp soil, and humus, which I knew for Gran’s magical signature; and an effervescent tang, salty, rich. Pleasing. And completely unfamiliar.

  “That’s not Nerazi,” I said.

  “Sharp as a needle, our Kate,” Borgan said fondly. I resisted the impulse to kick him.

  “Who, then?” I asked instead.

  “Me.”

  I thought about that while I overlooked the Rock and the binding. “I’m going to want to hear the story that explains why Ramendysis thinks it was Nerazi who sealed the Rock with Gran.”

  “I’ll be glad to tell it to you,” he said, “but first we’d better settle this business before Mr. Wonderful back there has a conniption and does himself a hurt.”

  “It’s not him doing himself a hurt that worries me,” I muttered, and moved gingerly forward, Borgan at my back.

  I took my time crossing the bladed surface, placing my feet carefully, avoiding knife-sharp ridges slicked with seaweed, and numerous tidal pools. A starfish waved at me from a puddle almost too small to hold it; fingerling fish swam in another; a tiny crab sheltered beneath some weeds in a third, everything perfectly clear in the blare of the balefire. I kept my eyes on my route, feeling Borgan behind me, moving light and sure.