Seaborn 02 - Seaborn

by Chris Howard

  He laughed again and it stirred up the sounds in the shadows. Kassandra spun at a man's screaming voice, “Use the key before he escapes!"

  She reached for her sword but it wasn't there. Her voice came out in a brittle shriek. “What was that?"

  "The shadows, they steal the prisoners’ last words—and then repeat them. They lurk in the corners. Those are my final words, a command to my greatest student."

  "And did he use the key?"

  "That is the wrong question."

  "Answer it."

  He dismissed her command with a wave. “Answer some of mine."

  She leaned her back against the door and nodded for him continue.

  "What is your name?"

  "Kassandra."

  He jerked away, as if the name burned him, grabbing the blanket closer. He stared at her, dazed and wild, fire on the edge of an open grassy plain, hurricane winds screaming through the trees, thunder waves grinding everything they touch to sand. He whispered her name, slow and reverent.

  "Kassandra."

  She pressed her back harder against the door, frowning with her teeth showing. He was starting to creep her out. “Why are you talking like that?"

  "You have answered your own question. Yes. The answer is yes. He did use the key."

  "You got that from my name?"

  The old man nodded. “His name was Kassander."

  "Rexenor? Lord Kassander is my namesake."

  The wildness blazed higher in his eyes. “He must have used the key in time because if he had not, then you would not be here.” He eyed the glow around her head again. “You are Alkimides."

  "My father is Gregor Lord Rexenor."

  "Of course.” He nodded, smiling delightedly, a man at the end of a long life that somehow all made sense minutes before he was to die. “I am Strates Unwinder. I have been waiting for you, Kassandra.” His eyes looked far away. “A long time."

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Old Strates Unwinder. I have heard your name many times over the last four years. Why have you been waiting for me?"

  "Another wrong question,” he said absently, but he didn't look upset about it. “I believe you are supposed to kill me. I need to die by your hands. I don't know much more than that."

  Kassandra dropped instinctively into a fighting stance, bringing her fists up.

  "Why?"

  Strates vanished in a cloud of blue that momentarily held his shape and then drifted away. The blankets on the bed sagged, empty woolen folds.

  Kassandra felt cold on her neck and turned, cupping her hands as if she was still underwater. Too slowly. Strates hadn't vanished. He moved faster than she could track with her eyes. He climbed the walls. He stood, feet planted to the ceiling of the jail cell, upside down, his slender brown fingers digging into her hair, unweaving.

  She pulled her braids out of his reach. His fingers weren't in her hair, but in the Wreath, fistfuls of seaweed tearing loose and a pain in her head like serrated metal cutting through bone.

  He screamed in anguish along with her, and yanking harder, grabbing desperately at the wound bands of her crown, green blades, shiny wet with seawater, popping and breaking, bloody in his fingers.

  The voices in her head screamed.

  Kassandra reached up and dug her fingers into his wrists, his wiry muscles throbbing. She couldn't get enough leverage to hit him. “Stop! You're hurting me."

  He twisted her neck, ripping more of the wreath loose. Salt water and blood streamed down his hands, trickling along her arms.

  "I said stop!” Kassandra kicked off the floor, using Strates’ arms for support, and clawed his face. She jumped again, jabbing her fingers into his throat, crushing his windpipe.

  Strates’ eyes closed, still holding the wreath, and he fell from the ceiling, crashing into Kassandra. She closed her eyes and both of them fell.

  Then she was fighting to keep her feet with thigh-deep raging black water rushing around her, and Strates was in front of her, triumphant, holding several long strands of green and brown and red seaweeds. They coiled up his arms and over his shoulders, sharp stripes trailing in the current.

  "What have you done!” she screamed angrily at him and brought a fist up to hit him. “I didn't will this. You have sent me inside!” Then she noticed that Strates was here with her, in the currents, inside the Wreath of Poseidon.

  He shifted to steady himself against the strong moving water. Looking around the room, he saw a circular ledge of dark stone surrounding a raging torrent that spilled into a pit in the center, black arched doorways leading into the room on all sides.

  "What is this place?” He whispered the words hoarsely, rubbing his throat.

  Kassandra turned away, walking against the current to the ledge and climbed out of the water. She sat down, dropping her feet back into the swirl of black. “This is the Wreath, inside it.” A horrible thought jumped to the front of her mind. “I have not killed you. You've just killed me."

  He climbed out, carefully wrapping the seaweed around his shoulders so that he wouldn't lose it, and then he sat down next to her.

  "Do you often go inside the Wreath?"

  "Only twice. Once, several years ago—just before we defeated the Olethren—and yesterday."

  "And you lived through it?"

  "Twice."

  "Why, then, would you assume that you will not live through this?"

  She let out an infuriated breath and moved away from him. “Because the last time I was in here, some sick old man didn't rip the Wreath off my head. That's why."

  He laughed and stood up. “Where are the past wearers? I have heard that they can be found inside your soul. I must see them."

  "Why?"

  He indicated the seaweed. “I need to use this to wake the first wearer, Polemachos."

  "That's not enough of an answer."

  "The first Alkimides king will tell you what he knows. All I know is that I had one final purpose in life, to remove the sea-wreath and use it to wake up the first wearer."

  Suspicion nearly blinded her and she brought her fist back to hit him. “What do you know about all of this?"

  "We do not have time, milady. She will come for you and you must be ready.” He saw the doubt in her eyes. “You are not dead. I am Strates, old Strates Unwinder. You know who I am. Trust me. The crown has been revealed. We must wake the first, and I need your help."

  "Through that doorway.” She pointed behind her, but her gaze didn't move from a door halfway across, and the dim glow spilling from it.

  He saw her hesitate. “We must hurry."

  Kassandra stood, pushing past him. “How did you do that moving very fast thing? And walking on the ceiling?"

  "An old trick. Run."

  "And how did you manage to follow me inside the wreath?"

  "I am the Unwinder, the accursed. I was born to follow you inside here. I just did not know the course would be so long and twisting."

  "Accursed?"

  "I gave my only son to the Earth-encircler. I was young and stupid, and could not deny an immortal. I gave him what he came for."

  Kassandra stopped at the entrance to one of the dark hallways leading into the room. “You've met the Lord of the Sea."

  "Please hurry, milady. I have met the Sea's ruler twice now.” He smiled sadly. “My son was Polemachos, the first Alkimides king. They call me old Strates, and I am old—really old. I was a minor Rexenor noble with a solid bleed from my mother, and I fell in love with the Alkimides Lord's eldest daughter, Philista. The rift between Rexenor and Alkimides began with me. Philista died soon after giving birth to Polemachos, and Lord Poseidon paid the price I set on my son—that I was to live and keep my bleed as long as Polemachos’ soul remained in this world. I have died, but not for long, and my bleed is intact ... because Polemachos has remained in your line, the Wreath-wearers."

  They marched deeper into the dark tunnel with rough slate-colored stone. Kassandra sped up. Somewhere outside, there was a war going on, an
d Nicole was there, and Ochleros—and Jill!

  "And you're here to return the Wreath to Polemachos?"

  He shook his head. “Just the wrapping, the seaweed that Lord Poseidon twined around his own crown to conceal it."

  Kassandra stopped, grabbing the wet stone wall to keep her balance.

  "Milady, we must hurry. Polemachos needs to tell us something when he wakes."

  She waved him on. Following, she suddenly remembered she could cry real tears while inside the wreath. They streamed down her cheeks and off her chin, and she gulped air, sobbing and cursing her life.

  She looked up from the floor when the walls became smooth gray stone under her fingers. They were nearing the mirror door, a sheet of water that allowed her inside the abyssal chamber where the past Wreath-wearers dwelled after they passed away.

  "What do we do now, milady?"

  She looked up and walked past him, straight through the shiny wall of liquid, into the dark seawater beyond. Strates followed her, clutching the coil of seaweed, looking back at the glowing rectangle with curiosity.

  The wakened Wreath-wearers met them a few kicks away, standing at the crest of a sandy hill, Kassandra's mother, Ampharete, King Praxinos, the grandson of Polemachos, Queen Andromache, and finally King Eupheron, hurrying up with a grave look on his face.

  "Hello, Mother.” Kassandra swam to Ampharete, hugging her, but she felt the stiffness in her embrace. “What's wrong?"

  When she pulled away, and let her gaze shift to each of them, she read every thought in their heads. A suffocating fear dominated the mix, bright threads of wonder, an overwhelming urge to not say the wrong thing. Then she noticed that they had not said a word ... in a long time.

  "Why aren't you speaking to me?"

  Praxinos was the first to move forward, drifting lightly over the sand. He bowed his head. “My lady,” was all he could say.

  Before any of the others could speak, Strates took her by the elbow. “Come, Lady Kassandra. We must find Polemachos asleep on his stone bed."

  Kassandra kicked away, stirring up a little vortex of sand. Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at the other wearers, unmoving on the hilltop.

  She waved them to her. “Come on. I want you all to see this."

  After exchanging looks of surprise, they kicked after her, following a long row of alcoves carved out of the cliff face, each one lit dimly by phosphorescent growth on the walls. One of the Wreath-wearers of the past lay on a stone platform in each one. Four alcoves out of a seemingly endless procession were empty—one for each of the awakened wearers.

  They stopped before the first alcove where a gray-bearded man in armor rested on the platform. Strates pushed himself into the shallow depression in the wall and leaned over the man, pulling off his helmet, and laying his head back on the stone.

  "Polemachos? My son? Wake."

  Kassandra moved into the alcove on the opposite side, annoyed that none of the other wearers—even her own mother—were bold enough to stand near her.

  Strates looked down at the bundle of seaweed as if he wasn't certain what to do with it. He placed it square on Polemachos’ chest, over the shiny breastplate with the face of Poseidon stamped into it.

  Polemachos’ fingers stirred and then reached up and curled around the coils of seaweed. He opened his eyes, cold iron-gray eyes, staring straight up at the glowing rock only for a moment. Then they shifted to Kassandra's face.

  "It is time?"

  She shook her head, mouthing the words, “I don't know.” And she was crying again, tears blurring around her face.

  Polemachos sat up, holding the seaweed tight in one hand. “So, the Lord of the Sea is truly gone out of the oceans?"

  "How do you know?” Kassandra sobbed.

  "Because you are here, wearing the crown of the seas’ ruler. They belong to you now."

  "But I don't—"

  "In the moment he placed the Wreath on my head, he commanded me to say these words to you. These were for my ears alone, for I was the first of the line, and I held the command in my soul, and let no others hear it. ‘Final Wreath-wearer, my throne is yours, my kingdom is yours, all of the things others have given to me I give to you. Do not tarry, for there are others who crave these things.’”

  Kassandra waited a moment longer. “That's it? I was just getting used to—"

  Eupheron kicked closer—but not too close, panicking and pointing back along the line of alcoves. “Return, milady. Someone on the outside is coming for you."

  She sprang into open water, and without looking back, swam away. The bright line of alcoves blurred into a streak of fire and she was through the water door, hunched over in the stone hallway, coughing up everything in her lungs.

  She ran, seawater running off her, pale stone walls darkening to the rough slate. She crossed the ledge in one bound and dove into the whirl of black water, slipping effortlessly through them, into the pit in the center.

  * * * *

  Kassandra opened her eyes at the rattling of keys, staring up at the prison cell's ceiling for a second before realizing where she was.

  She jumped to her feet, nearly tripping over Strates as she moved to get her back to the wall, opposite the door. It swung in on smooth hinges and a huge guard in scaly armor and helmet stood in the doorway, bared sword in one hand, keyring in the other.

  He looked up from Strates, dead on the floor, to Kassandra, blood streaming down her arms. He stared harder, leaning forward. He opened his mouth, a thread of saliva stretching between his top and bottom teeth. Then he turned and ran, leaving the door open, dropping his sword and keys halfway down a long corridor.

  "Yeah, you better run."

  She wiped her hands on her shirt and stepped over Strates to peer out the door. The long hallway was empty and dark, the guard's sword glinting on the stones between her cell's door and a wider open archway—glinting with the light her crown threw off.

  "And I thought I was lit like a damn Christmas tree before."

  Lady Kassandra?

  It was Strates’ voice, inside the Wreath, inside her head, a rough thrum that ran through her jaw. “What is it?"

  Take my body home to Rexenor. Please.

  Without thinking, Kassandra turned back, and crouched to pick up Strates’ body. He was as tall as she was, and weighed quite a bit more, but she lifted him into her arms without feeling the weight. His head sagged over her elbow, and she shifted him so that he leaned against her shoulder, eyes closed, peaceful, dead.

  "Can you help me get back to my battle?"

  You must find a way to re-open the outside door—the one through which you came.

  She followed the trail left by the prison guard, kicking the sword to the side as she passed, turned right, stepping over the keys on their ring. The rustle of clothing and harsh whispering helped her navigate a course through the halls until she came to a giant gilt door carved with shell spirals, tentacles, winged creatures of the sea, shark's jaws; and everywhere wove the curls of waves, the dominant feature of an ocean world, tribute to the most important substance in the universe.

  Water.

  Kassandra kicked the door and a dull boom echoed into some vast empty space beyond.

  She backed up quickly as the huge gold door swung open. Kassandra took another step when she noticed a gray-haired man in a modern white ship's officer's uniform pushing it open for her. He wore a round white hat like a captain with leafy brass decorations. There were black bars with more brass on his shoulders.

  "What is this,” she said under her breath, “the fucking Love Boat?"

  She scowled at him, and he returned a calm smile as if there was nothing out of the ordinary—a young woman carrying an old man with lines of fresh blood down her arms and a crown that blinded him.

  Kassandra gave him a nod. “Who are you?"

  The man in the uniform bowed low. “I am Captain Martim Teixeira. My mistress, the Sea, bids you welcome, Wreath-wearer."

  She gave him a curt we
'll-see-about-that nod and entered a hall as big as a football field with a ceiling she could not see—even with the light her crown gave off.

  "Where's the water?” She breathed the words to the past wearers. “Everything has a sea theme, but there isn't any water."

  It's as if it used to reverberate and move with the tides, said Eupheron with an awed tone she had never heard him use before. But someone has removed the sea.

  At the far end, sitting on a throne made of white polished shells was the woman with ocean eyes and hair that roiled and lapped around her shoulders. And her mouth was wide open, shocked at the young woman with the crown.

  She is one of the immortals, said Eupheron. After a stunned pause, he added, She is on your throne, milady.

  "Akast?.” She let the whispered words float out of her mouth and somehow made them coil back into her own ears so that no one else could hear them. “I've left Jill and Nicole alone against an army of the ostologos and what's left of my grandfather's forces. I do not have time for this."

  Tell her that.

  Kassandra placed Strates’ body gently on the tiles and stepped to one side of him.

  "I am the Sea,” shouted the woman petulantly, jumping to her feet. “Give me my crown!"

  "I don't...” Kassandra waved a hand around the room. “I don't see any water. I'm not sure I like what you've done with the place.” Anger rose in her throat, a burn in her veins. She watched the woman standing in front of the throne. “I am more of the Sea than you will ever be. You've just had more time to play with your hair."

  Kassandra's voice broke at the end when her fingers curled around something heavy and ice cold. She looked over at a thick shaft of smooth black metal in her hand, a spear much taller than she was, capped with three squared sharp tines. Startled, she let it slip through her hand.

  The shaft of the trident hit the tiles and the earth shook. Kassandra grabbed it tight, fearing that dropping it might break the world.

  Akast? jumped back, her fingernails clicking nervously.

  Kassandra didn't bother looking up at her. Her attention was on the crack the trident had made in the tiles and the ocean pooling around her feet, slipping up the sides of Strates’ body.