Lunging for Kelo’s knife, she grabbed it as the spirit latched onto Kelo’s leg. Screaming, he fell forward, catching himself on his hands. She heard a snap that sounded like bone breaking.
“No!” she cried. Screaming, she stabbed at the turtlelike spirit’s neck.
The spirit released him, and Kelo clutched at his leg—it was coated in blood, and she saw his calf had been savaged. She struck at the spirit again, but it evaded her.
The spirit lunged for him again, this time landing hard on his chest.
“Kelo!”
She couldn’t let it kill him. She’d promised . . . but there was no choice.
“Mayara, don’t!” Kelo shouted.
Go! she commanded the spirit. Leave us alone!
The spirit scuttled back. It retreated over the sand, snapping its jaws at the air, and then into the water, where it submerged. Then she released her focus and ran to Kelo.
“You shouldn’t have—” he began.
“I’m not losing you,” she said fiercely. “I told you: I’d do anything for you.”
“It will tell the others. A Silent One will read its memories. You shouldn’t have— Ow!” He contorted in pain. Blood speckled the rocky shore.
Please, she prayed. Don’t die. Please, please . . . Mayara dug into the nearest pack for a healing kit—he’d packed bandages and salves, plenty of them. Oh, my clever boy. Cracking open a jar of salve, she dipped her fingers into it.
He caught her wrist. “Wash the wound first.”
“It’ll sting,” she warned. “We only have saltwater.”
“It’ll cleanse. Do it.”
She scooped seawater into the abalone shell he’d been carving and poured it over his leg. He hissed as it stung. She noticed he was cradling his wrist against his chest. Broken? His palms were scraped raw. She poured more water over his hands.
“How bad?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Mayara?”
“I’ll stitch it up.”
“You can’t sew worth a damn. Give me the needle—it’s a sterile one, this is what it’s for. There’s sinew thread in the kit too.”
“You aren’t going to sew your own leg,” Mayara argued. “Do you know how much that will hurt?” But he was the one who always fixed her. He knew how to do this. Her hands were shaking as she handed him the kit.
“Just help me sit up, please.”
She braced his back as he leaned forward and saw his leg. Oh, Great Mother. It had been torn open. She watched him try to thread the needle, his hands trembling. He dropped his arm down. “Let me,” she said, and taking it from him, threaded it.
He then took it back from her, ignoring her protests, and plunged the needle into his skin. He let out a howl that made her heart feel as though it were being squeezed. “Driftwood,” he panted. “For me to bite.”
She hurried to the shore and returned with a chunk of wood, which she placed in his mouth. He bit into it hard as he sewed his own flesh closed. He spat it out when he finished, gasping, and she eased him backward.
His eyes fluttered closed.
“Kelo?” Her heart pounded so hard that she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She pressed her fingers to his neck. Still a pulse. He just fainted. Anyone would have fainted.
She fetched more seawater and began rinsing off more of his wounds. He’ll be okay. He has to be.
A few moments later, he opened his eyes. “Mayara?”
“I’m here.” I’ll always be here. “Can you move? Swim? Climb?”
She knew the answers:
If he hadn’t broken his wrist, he could have climbed. Maybe.
If he hadn’t injured his leg, he could have swum. Maybe.
But both?
“You’ll have to leave me here,” he said. “I’ll catch up when I can. Go to Kao, secure a boat—there are enough coins in the blue pouch at the bottom of my pack. Sail with them to Renata. I’ll find you.”
She looked at him as if he were speaking nonsense. He was the reason she was here. Finding a way to be together was her only purpose. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Mayara . . . More spirits will come. You know that. And the Silent Ones will be right behind them. I can’t move, and you can’t stay.”
He was right that more would come. Calming her breathing, she tried to open her mind. She spread her awareness over the ocean beyond them and the cliffs above them.
“Please, Mayara. I don’t want our last moments together to be spent arguing.”
Mayara pressed a finger against his lips. She shook her head and tried to smile. She failed. “I won’t leave you. And I can’t leave you. It’s too late.”
“It’s not—”
“It is.” She kissed him gently. His lips tasted like blood. Tightening her grip on his knife, she turned to face the sea. “They’re already here.”
Chapter Six
Mayara sensed the spirits—the ocean was clogged with them and the air full of them. The nearness of so many made her feel as if ants were crawling on her skin. Scooting closer to Kelo, she watched them approach.
First to appear was a trio of water spirits beyond the breakers, their heads popping out of the waves. From the shoulders up, they looked human, with pale-blue faces and flowing green hair, bobbing in the water, cackling to one another. By the opening to the cove, she saw yet another water spirit, this one orcalike with a smooth iridescent back that rose out of the waves. Above, she saw a spark in the air darting over the rocks—it was a fire spirit that looked like a winged lizard covered in flames. It peeked down at them and then disappeared above the overhang.
I should have stayed and faced my fate. If she had, at least Kelo would have been safe and home. Watching the water spirits swim closer, Mayara took Kelo’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I’m not. Better we’re together than for you to die alone.”
She snorted. “Better if neither of us dies.”
“Well, yes, that would be better,” he said mildly. She appreciated how unruffled he sounded. She knew he was faking it, but it was easier for her to stay outwardly calm if he was.
The first of the spirits clawed its way onto the beach: it was shaped like a brilliant blue crab, twice the size of any ordinary crab and with six pincher claws. Then a half dozen tiny water spirits that looked like seafoam tumbled out of a wave as it broke onto the sand. They scurried toward Mayara and Kelo.
She could use these last moments to tell Kelo how much she loved him. Or she could use them fighting like hell to keep him alive. He knows I love him.
Beside her, Kelo was breathing heavily. He’d pulled himself up to a sitting position, his back against a boulder. His face was prickled with sweat.
“Take this.” She pressed the blood-slick knife into his hands.
He tried to give it back to her. “You need—”
“I have another way to fight.” Or at least I think I do.
Reaching out with her mind, Mayara felt for the strongest spirit—she planned to seize control of it and force it to defend them, like she’d done with the sea dragon when the wild spirits attacked their wedding. But when she touched the mind of the orcalike water spirit, it felt oddly distant. Even distracted.
Protect us! she ordered.
It felt as if she were trying to shout into a heap of burlap—her mental voice felt muffled, and she had no sense that the spirit heard her. She tried communicating with another, the crablike water spirit.
Same result.
She tried the tiny foam spirits. . . . Same.
“Why aren’t they attacking? Is it you?” Kelo asked. “Are you holding them back? All of them at once? I didn’t know you were that strong.”
“It’s not me,” Mayara said.
She felt the spirits seething with hate, straining as if on leashes, oblivious to her commands. Three birdlike air spirits circled above the cove. She couldn’t see them through the overhang, but she could hear them cawing to one another in voices that were b
oth almost human and almost bird. The humanlike water spirits bobbed just beyond the breaking waves, watching Mayara and Kelo with their unnerving inhuman eyes. The orcalike water spirit swam back and forth at the mouth of the cove. The crab spirit watched them without moving, and the tiny foam spirits continued to skitter from side to side each time a wave slapped the sand. Above, the one fire spirit, the winged lizard with flames, darted over the rocks, eyeing them but never coming closer.
A horrible realization came over her. “They’re all waiting. Just waiting.” Even the wind seemed to be waiting to blow, and the waves seemed hesitant to touch the rocky shore.
He nodded. He didn’t ask whom they were waiting for. He didn’t need to. “What will you choose?” His voice was even, almost conversational, as if asking what she wanted for breakfast.
She shook her head, unable to answer the question. Answering would make it real.
“If you choose to become a Silent One, you’ll live.” He cradled her cheek in his hand, and she tore her gaze away from the spirits to look into his eyes. He had endless eyes, the kind that swirled with color. She loved his eyes.
“But we won’t see each other again. It will be as if I’m dead.”
He shook his head. “But I’ll know that somewhere on the islands, you still exist. Mayara . . . I need you to exist. If you go to the Island of Testing and you die . . . it would break me.”
But what about me? Life as a Silent One was no kind of life. He wanted her to live a kind of living death so he wouldn’t have to mourn her? At least with the island there was a chance she’d survive, wasn’t there?
Maybe not.
Her sister had chosen the island. And died. Most of the girls and women sent to Akena Island died. It was supposed to winnow out the weak and unsuitable—every heir had to be ready and able to assume the crown.
If Elorna couldn’t do it, how can I think I’d stand a chance?
“Mayara, promise me you’ll choose to live!”
Looking into his eyes, she couldn’t deny him. If I’m doomed anyway, why not pick the fate that gives Kelo the most peace? “I’ll choose to be a Silent One.” Kneeling, she faced him and kissed him. She was crying, but she didn’t care. This was their last kiss. Whether she lost herself and became a Silent One or lost her life on Akena Island . . . this was the end.
“We’ll find a way to communicate,” Kelo promised, when they broke apart. “I’ll leave messages for you in my charms, and I’ll find a way to get them to you. It may take time, and for that, I need you to not die.”
“Kelo . . . it’s over—us, our future,” Mayara said. “You need to go on with your life.” That hurt to say too. She tried to mean it—she didn’t want him to be unhappy, and if that meant he had to forget about her and build a new life with someone else . . . then she wanted to give him permission to do so, even if she hated the idea of it.
“My life is you.”
Right answer, she thought. She smiled through her tears. Kelo always seemed to be able to say exactly the right thing, whereas Mayara felt she still had a million more things she wanted to say and would most likely mangle them if she tried.
“Mayara . . .”
“I’ll try not to die,” she promised. It was the best she could do. She’d make the sensible choice: become a Silent One. It was the only choice that assured her survival.
And she’d have to make that choice soon. She sensed a shift in the spirits—a readiness. The wait was over.
“Stay here and stay hidden,” Mayara told him. “I need you to not die too.”
She kissed him one more time, as sweetly as the sunrise kissed the morning sky, and then before he could stop her, she climbed up the rocks onto the overhang. The bird spirits screamed louder when they saw her. She stood straight and tall and very, very visible on top of the rocks. And then she turned and ran.
She didn’t think she could escape. For one, the overhang stretched only a few yards before it ended in a cliff that towered above her. For another, the spirits had already spotted her. It was only a matter of time before the Silent Ones caught her. But if I can lead them away from Kelo, it will be worth it. . . .
She felt the spirits chasing her.
Feeling for handholds in the cliff wall, she climbed fast. Fear fueled her. Fear for Kelo, not for herself. He couldn’t defend himself against another attack. And if he survived the spirits, he was still alone and defenseless in a cove. How would he hunt? How would he get back home?
But she couldn’t think about that. All she could do was try to ensure he survived today. Tomorrow was beyond her imagination.
She reached the top of the cliff.
The Silent Ones were waiting for her.
Three women in pale-gray robes, their faces covered in white featureless masks with holes for eyes and slits for mouths. Their hair was tied back beneath gray scarves, rendering them featureless. None of them spoke, of course. They stood calmly side by side, with three air spirits circling over their heads.
Mayara ran past them and dived off the cliff on the opposite side.
She knew the shape of the shore, and while she was not certain of the water depth this time of day, she knew how far out to leap to be beyond the rocks. Stretching her arms out by her ears, she tried to think of nothing but the howl of the wind as she sliced through the air and then the shuddering cold of the sea as she plunged in between the waves.
She curved upward as quickly as she could, and she swam. The sea spirits were after her in an instant. Stretching her mind out like fingers, she counted them: the turtlelike spirit, the crablike spirit, the human-shaped ones, the tiny seafoam spirits—all of them followed her away from the cove where Kelo lay injured.
She made it farther than she expected before the orca rose beneath her, lifting her out of the water, where the air spirits seized her shoulders and carried her back to the Silent Ones on the cliff above the cove.
The three women stood side by side, exactly as she’d left them. They faced her with their unreadable masks, their arms motionless by their sides, their robes hiding their bodies.
Lowering her head, Mayara said, “I will come and make the choice.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.
She didn’t expect a spoken answer. But she expected some reaction. Peeking up, she saw the woman in the center give a slight nod.
And from far below, in the cove below the overhang, she heard Kelo scream.
“No! Don’t hurt him! It was my idea! Mine! Blame me, punish me, but don’t kill him!” She launched herself at the Silent Ones, but the fire lizard leaped onto her hand, scalding it. She screamed and clutched her burned hand.
Reaching out with her mind, she tried to stop the spirits—
And then she smelled sweet flowers on a cloth held to her face. The world tilted, and she fell as she lost control of her body—Kelo’s screams softened into hazy silence, and then everything was quiet and dark.
MAYARA WOKE IN A DIMLY LIT ROOM TO THE SKRITCH OF A PEN across paper. She heard the tap of the pen against glass, probably the ink jar. Squid ink, she thought. And then her thoughts settled into place, memory flooded through her, and she sat upright.
“Where’s Kelo? Is he alive?” The words came out jumbled, as if her mouth were full of mud. She swallowed. She repeated, “Kelo—is he alive?”
The sound of the pen stopped, and a male voice said, “Drink water. You’ll feel better. The cartena flower is effective but does leave one a bit woolly-headed.” His voice was warm, as if he were a kindly uncle, but Mayara knew this was a stranger. She tried to see across the room.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You know, I find it fascinating that none of your questions have been about yourself. Usually, in these situations, the first question is ‘Where am I?’ followed by ‘What’s going to happen to me?’”
She blinked—her eyes felt as woolly as her mouth—and she could make out the shape of a large, muscular man at a desk. She couldn’t see his features. A lamp was beside hi
m, stuffed with firemoss.
“I know what’s going to happen to me,” Mayara said. “So it doesn’t much matter where I am. Please, tell me if my fiancé—my husband—please tell me if my husband is alive.”
“If you’re resigned to your fate, as you say, does his fate make much difference?” The man sounded genuinely curious. Yet not sympathetic, as if her worry were of scientific interest only.
She could have cried or raged, yelled or pleaded, but she didn’t think that would impress this strange man. So she simply said, “Yes.”
Trying to sit up more, she winced as her head began to throb. Stubbornly, she didn’t lie back down. I’m not going to face my fate prone. She spotted a glass of water on a small table beside her and drank it. The water felt cold, stinging her teeth, and it tasted faintly of flowers, but she couldn’t be sure if that was the water itself or an aftereffect of the drug the Silent Ones had used on her.
Instead of answering, the man rose and straightened the papers on his desk. She was able to see him more clearly now: dark hair and a pale beard against skin that was striped in swathes of black, white, and bronze. She knew that coloring, at least from reputation.
“You’re from the Family Neran,” she guessed. “And I’m in your fortress.”
That would explain the desk of solid wood—clearly shipped from the mainland. No island tree gave wood like that, with knots the size of her fist. She noticed the room was paneled in similar wood. It must have cost a fortune. Possibly as much gold as my village makes in a year. Belatedly, she realized that meant she was most likely addressing someone of importance in the Family Neran.
She added: “My lord.”
He chuckled. “Power and intelligence do not always go hand in hand. I’m pleased to see you have both. You may work out fine.”
“My lord, can you please tell me if my husband lives?” She kept her voice polite.
“I am here to record your choice and offer you guidance, if you need it.” He still sounded kindly, even though she could see no reason for him not to tell her. “Let me present to you your options—”
“I know my choices.” She took a deep breath as if she were about to face the sea. “But I will not choose until I know if my husband lived or died. My lord.”
The Deepest Blue Page 6