Rising Tide

by Mel Odom

  Lighted only by darkest evil,

  Fired by jealous rage.”

  The words resonated in his head, and he stopped himself short of giving voice to them. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the shaman. “Do you have a name for him?” he asked.

  Narros shook his head. His little girl reached out unexpectedly, floating free of her father’s arms. Her soft, webbed hand reached out and caught Pacys by the chin. Going with the child’s gentle but insistent push, Pacys twisted his head and bared his neck.

  “Alyyx has noticed you don’t have gills,” Narros said. Gently, he captured his daughter and pulled her back into his arms.

  Reaching into his pocket, the bard took out the small leather bag that contained the colorful marbles he used to exercise his fingers and keep them limber for the musical instruments he played. The merchild took them with obvious delight and began inspecting them.

  “We were given no name for him,” Narros said, “and we were bade never to speak of him except as the Taker or the Trickster. He was to be given no real identity. We’ve always believed that once his name was known, his power would grow again and he would be called forth from his deep slumber.”

  “What about the circlet?” Pacys asked. “What did it do?”

  “I don’t know, but he came for it fourteen years ago and wiped out over half our village taking it.” A somber look filled Narros’s face. “Our dead were scattered around us, torn limb from limb as if in the jaws of some great sea creature.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Only as a shadow,” the merman shaman answered, pain filling his gray eyes, “the greatest, largest shadow anyone had ever seen, and like nothing we’d ever seen before.”

  The hurt distraction in the merman’s eyes testified vividly to how well he remembered the night.

  “Were the sahuagin with him?” Pacys asked after a moment

  “No. The Taker came alone, in the dead of night when even the sea is dark. I lost two of my sons in that battle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pacys said.

  Narros gave his daughter a brief hug.

  “Eadro willing,” the small merboy stated in a serious, quiet voice, “one day I’ll be strong enough to avenge my brothers.”

  Pacys glanced at the boy, suddenly realizing he wasn’t old enough to have known his deceased brothers. The family’s loss and hurt had already spanned a generation in the merman’s own family.

  “The prophecy,” Narros went on, “told us that we might fail in protecting the circlet from the Taker, but it never mentioned at what cost. After it was over, we cared for our dead, then we swam for Waterdeep.”

  “Why Waterdeep?” Pacys asked.

  “Because the prophecy told us the Taker would arise again, soon after his first appearance, and the place he would first strike terror into the hearts of the surface dwellers would be in their greatest city.”

  “Waterdeep,” Pacys breathed. He was aware of the tune changing on the yarting.

  “There could be no other,” the shaman agreed. “Great detail was given in the prophecy of the city that would be attacked. Its towers and great heights, the fact that it was wrapped in magic and was home to champions.”

  “So you came here,” Pacys said, “seeking asylum from Lord Piergeiron and the others.”

  “Yes.”

  “You never mentioned that Waterdeep would be attacked.”

  Narros eyed the bard honestly. “Do you think any would have believed us? And that was fourteen years ago. There was no guarantee that it wouldn’t have been a hundred and fourteen years after we lost the circlet. It could have been the next day.” He paused. “We just wanted to be here, to give an accounting of ourselves and to get a chance to avenge our sunken. We’d hoped to make a difference during the battle.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Pacys had already heard stories of the mermen’s valor during the battle for Waterdeep, and of the extra effort even the wounded had gone to while trying to save the men in the harbor.

  “Even if we’d told the lords of Waterdeep about the attack, they wouldn’t have been prepared. They wouldn’t have given much credence to our fears.”

  “No,” Pacys agreed. “They might not have believed you, and even the ones who did wouldn’t have been any more prepared than they were after fourteen years. But why did he want to attack Waterdeep?” Unconsciously, he drifted over into the piece he’d written for Waterdeep, the music gentle to his ear.

  “The prophecy is vague about that,” Narros admitted. “Part of it is a warning to the surface dwellers and to bind the sahuagin further to his cause. A few lines suggest that he went into the city itself to reclaim one of his lost weapons to use in his conquest of the surface world.”

  “Was there any hint about what this weapon was supposed to do?”

  Narros patted his daughter on the head. “With it, he’s going to sunder a land, fill an ocean with fire and fury, and free a trapped people who live for evil as he does. Waterdeep was only the first of the cities that are going to learn to live in fear of the ocean. He is going to come to power in the outer sea, then in the inner one, and when it is revealed, all are going to fear his name.”

  Pacys absorbed the story, amazed by the depth and complexity that it offered. Prophecies were powerful things; not just for the people who believed in them, but the world itself was forced to deal with them.

  “How are we supposed to stop him?” the old bard asked.

  “I don’t know,” the shaman answered. “Our own prophecy hints that the prophecies of other undersea races are linked to the reappearance of this creature, and each will have other pieces to the story. One man will weave all of those stories together, spin them into a tale that will live forever in the history of this world.” He locked his gaze on Pacys. “That man is you.”

  Hope fired through Pacys’s heart, but he reached for it and held it down. “You can’t know that,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “ ‘A human tale spinner,’ ” Narros quoted, “ ‘old enough to be at the end of his life, yet still living on the edge, seeking to fill the emptiness that his own self-imposed quest has laid upon his soul, all his days given to the perfection of his craft. The music of his great song will replenish him till he is near bursting, like a deep water fish that streaks unwisely toward the shallows. Once he has gathered the song and given it to the worlds above and below, he’ll be forever remembered as Taleweaver, he who sang of sand and sea and united the history of all peoples who have the sea in their blood.’ ” He pointed at the yarting, the strings still ringing in the old bard’s hands. “I heard the song you played that night when my people arrived in this harbor. You couldn’t know it, it is a sacred song, given only to my people at the time Eadro gave us the circlet. He told my ancestors then that the song would be given to the Taleweaver, and that was how we’d know him.”

  “If you knew then,” Pacys protested, “why didn’t you say something?”

  Narros shook his head. “We were bound to silence. Remember? No one could speak of the Taker … not until after he reappeared.”

  “How can you be so sure I’m the one?”

  “Since we’ve been here, your hands have ever been busy, made slave to the music that now holds you in thrall. Truly, you are the one. I was guided to you this morning because you still have your part to play.”

  “What part?” Pacys’s heart hammered inside his chest. The song was one thing; he could commit to that, but what else remained before him?

  “There is a man—hardly more than a boy by your counting of years, one who has always lived with the sea in his heart despite being abandoned to land—who will find a way to confront the Taker,” Narros said. “He will find the weapon and he will find the way, but it will be only after he finds himself, discovers what he truly is. To do that, you’ll have to seek him out and touch his heart. He’s been shattered by his experiences, and others have worked to make him whole, given him much of what he needs, but he’ll never be able to become w
hat he needs to be without you. If you’re not there for him, it could be that our very world will fall.” The merman smiled comfortingly. “Take pride in the fact that he will be one of the very best of your kind.”

  “What do I need to do?” Pacys asked.

  “Find him,” Narros answered, “and help him find himself.”

  The sheer enormity of the situation put a righteous fear in Pacys. How to find one man in all of Faerûn when not even a name existed was beyond him.

  “But where do I start looking?”

  Narros shook his head. “Our prophesy says it will be in a city on a great river that stands as a door to the above and below worlds.”

  Pacys’s mind raced and only one city came to mind though he knew of dozens. “Baldur’s Gate,” he said.

  “I have thought so too.”

  “I’ll find him there?”

  “You’ll see him there,” the merman answered. “As to what takes place, I can’t say. You’ll have to find a way and trust the bond that exists between you.”

  Suddenly, Pacys noticed his wandering hands had moved on to a new piece, one that he’d never played before, one that he’d never heard played before. It was uplifting, a light in the darkness, a fragile mixture of bravery and fear, and he recognized it at once.

  Alyyx slapped her tail against her father’s torso happily. The smacking sounds somehow intermingled with the piece Pacys played, bringing hope.

  “That’s the hero’s song,” she cried out enthusiastically, turning to her brother. “Don’t you hear him coming, Shyl?”

  The merboy nodded, a small grin turning his lips.

  Despite his own doubts and fears about everything the merman shaman had told him, Pacys couldn’t help smiling. It was a hero’s song. His fingers moved across the strings with growing confidence, seeking out the melody.

  Narros reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll find him, Taleweaver,” he said. “Wherever he is, it’s your destiny to find him. Go first to Baldur’s Gate and seek him there.”

  XXIX

  17 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet

  Tynnel’s eyes narrowed as he walked toward Jherek. He gestured at Aysel and his fallen comrades. “Get them on their feet.”

  Crewmen split up and helped the fallen men to stand. Aysel remained hard to rouse. One of the serving wenches approached and spilled a tankard of ale into his face. Aysel woke, spluttering and cursing, instantly flailing around for his weapon. Three crewmen restrained him. When Aysel realized Tynnel was there, he quieted immediately.

  “Why did you fight them?” Tynnel asked.

  Jherek had no ready answer.

  “Because of that damned woman,” one of Aysel’s comrades called out. “Having women aboard a ship, Cap’n, that’s always been—”

  Tynnel quieted the man with a steely glance, then shifted his attention back to Jherek. “You fought them over Sabyna?”

  “Aye,” Jherek admitted, but he was reluctant to repeat the terrible things Aysel had said.

  “Was she here?”

  “No, sir. She’s been looking for you.”

  “I know that,” Tynnel said in a clipped voice. “I just came from her when I heard one of my crewmen had been involved in a brawl here. I don’t allow fighting in the ports we ship in, not if you’re a part of my crew. I could have lost three crewmen in this debacle that I can presently ill afford to lose.”

  “He started it, Cap’n,” Aysel shouted. “Raised his hand against me, and I had every right to defend myself. My mates were there to make sure he didn’t slit my gullet before I had a chance to defend myself.”

  Surprise lighted the captain’s eyes. “Is that true?” Tynnel demanded of Jherek. “Did you strike the first blow?”

  Before Jherek could answer, the old man spoke up. “It wasn’t the boy, Cap’n,” he said. “The big man there had a foul mouth on him, goaded the boy into the fight.”

  Tynnel’s eyes never left Jherek’s. “Thank you for your comments, sir, but I live in a world where fights are fought with words or with swords. If you find yourself outclassed in either, that’s fine, but they are to remain separate on my ship, and swords are not allowed.” His words carried an edge.

  “It was the big man,” the old warrior said, “who threw the first blow. I saw him, and so did most of those in the tavern.”

  Confirmation of the old man’s statement echoed in the tavern as the others took up the young sailor’s defense. Jherek looked around them, totally surprised.

  “Don’t you worry none, boy,” the old man whispered. “A scrapper like you with his heart in the right place, even rogues such as these will come around and stand up for him. Your cap’n’s a tough but fair man, but his rules are his own and he sticks by ’em.”

  “Is that what happened, Malorrie?” Tynnel demanded.

  The captain’s use of the alias Jherek had borrowed for the voyage underscored the liberties he’d taken with the truth already. He didn’t hesitate about his answer. “No, sir. It was I who made the argument physical.”

  Tynnel’s harsh gaze softened a bit then, and his voice as well. “That’s too bad. When I hired Sabyna on as ship’s mage, we were both aware of the complications a woman brought to a ship of men. There’s a rule about—”

  “I’m not a crewman,” Jherek interrupted, “nor was this fight over her.”

  “If nothing had been said about Sabyna, would you have fought these men?”

  Jherek took a deep breath in through his nose. Even with only one eye, he saw there was no arguing with Tynnel’s position. The fear that rode him clawed its way through his stomach, tightening his muscles so his ribs pained him even more. “No, sir.”

  “I say that the argument was over her,” Tynnel stated. He reached into his coin purse and took out coins. “I’m returning your ship’s passage, and I’m adding what I think is a fair price for the work you did aboard.”

  Jherek listened to the captain’s words, not believing he’d just been thrown off the ship. It wasn’t right, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him Tynnel wouldn’t entertain any arguments about the matter. Despite everything, his ill luck held true, the most constant companion he’d ever had.

  “Keep the coins,” Jherek said in defeat. What silver he had wouldn’t leave him much to buy another berth on a ship bound for Baldur’s Gate, but it was only fair.

  “I can’t keep it,” Tynnel said.

  “You didn’t have a hand in this fight,” Jherek said. “You earned your pay.”

  “I won’t keep the passage fare,” Tynnel stated, “and you earned the extra.”

  Jherek saw the determination in the captain’s eyes and respected it. “Then keep it for the boy we rescued from the shipwreck. Even the orphanage here in Athkatla can use a donation while they try to find his family.” It was as close as he could figure to balancing the score between them.

  Tynnel stared at him a moment longer, then put the coins away. “I’ll do as you ask.” Tynnel lowered his voice then, speaking so he could be heard only by Jherek. “I’m sorry this has to happen,” he said, “but I have rules for a reason.”

  “I know,” Jherek said. “I understand.”

  Rules were a big part of Jherek’s life as well. They’d offered security for him that his upbringing and early years hadn’t allowed. From time to time, they’d even held his bad luck away, and he knew no one rule could be broken without sacrificing all the others.

  “I’ll have your things sent here,” Tynnel said, “you can’t come back to the ship.”

  Jherek nodded, grimly accepting the judgment, and asked, “You know about the dangers along the Sword Coast? The sahuagin attack on Waterdeep?”

  “And the other ships as well,” Tynnel said. “We’ve sailed dangerous waters before.”

  An image from the dreams he’d had about the great shark surfaced in Jherek’s mind, sending a cold shiver down his spine when he thought of Sabyna out on the Sea of Swords. “Perhaps not as dang
erous as these,” he said. “Sail safely.”

  “And you.” Tilting his head, Tynnel nodded. “I’ll tell her you’re here, and I won’t stop her from coming to see you if she wishes.” He turned and walked away.

  Aysel brushed free of the crewmen herding him out the door. “This ain’t over, boy!” the big man roared, pointing at Jherek. “Me and you and her, this little jig ain’t heard the final tunes yet.”

  Jherek almost said something, but he refrained. Tynnel wouldn’t allow anything to happen to the ship’s mage. Still, he could warn her if she came to see him before she set sail. The possibility that she wouldn’t left him feeling empty. He also had no clue what he was supposed to do next.

  Live, that you may serve.

  The words haunted him, taunted him, and—by turn—tormented him. If some greater power had taken an interest in his life, why wasn’t it making its desire more clear? Why make every step increasingly difficult? Had whatever destiny that had been laid before him somehow gotten tangled up with the bastardized birthright that was his? The gods weren’t infallible. Perhaps he’d been chosen wrongly. Even a small mistake made by a god might stretch across mortal lifetimes before it was caught.

  “C’mon, boy,” the old warrior said, taking Jherek gently by the arm. “Best have that wound tended to. The longer it stays open, the greater chance for infection to settle in.”

  Reluctantly, Jherek went with the man. He had no answers to any of the questions or problems that plagued him. He drew the attention of the serving wench who’d taken part in Aysel’s scheme.

  “If a woman should come searching for me.…” he said.

  The serving wench bobbed her head. “I’ll tell her straight away where to find you.” Moisture glinted in her eyes. “I’m sorry for the way things turned out. I thought it would only be a joke. You deserved to be treated better than this.”

  “It’s not your fault, lady,” Jherek said softly. “The ill luck was mine. It always has been.” He touched her shoulder gently and managed a small smile, then he stepped out into the harsh Amnian sunlight, smelling the sea so near, yet so far away.