Winter Tide

by Ruthanna Emrys

“No—we only found signs of battle, and soldiers left to guard Innsmouth’s skeleton. They shot at us, and we killed as many as we could. We tracked them far inland, but lost the trail.”

  “They took us a long way away, into the desert, and kept us there for a long time. Most died, of illness or dehydration or not being able to go into the water when they changed.” I told him how Neko’s people had come at last to the camp, when it was only the two of us and one old man in the throes of metamorphosis—how they had kept Caleb and me sane, kept us working to survive. How we had gained our freedom at last, alongside the survivors from our newfound family. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other elders passing Caleb among them, taking in his scent and touching him to be sure of his existence.

  He pulled one of them over, speaking as he did so. “Look, it’s Acolyte Chulzh’th.” To her: “We found your journals at Miskatonic—we need to get them back.”

  At her heels came another: slender for an elder, and midnight blue save for a hint of green around the eyes. The webs between his fingers were pierced with emeralds, and he wore an ornately wrought gold necklet.

  I pulled away from my grandfather to go properly to one knee. “Archpriest.”

  He put his hand on my forehead, the backs of the piercings tiny droplets of ice against his cool skin. I closed my eyes as he prayed. His hand fell away at last and I looked up.

  “Aphra Yukhl,” he said. “Have you truly taken dry men as apprentices to learn our ways? What have they done to earn this thing?”

  I tried not to bristle; it was a fair question. “Shared their own knowledge, and in Mr. Day’s case books that allowed me to continue my own studies. And done their part to help me preserve wisdom and stories that would otherwise be lost to the land.”

  “They’re afraid.”

  “You came rushing up with tridents drawn—you wanted them so.”

  “True. We did not know who added your blood to a summoning diagram, but we could only assume that they meant to lure us.” He clicked his tongue. “Bring me your students, and your battle-sister.”

  I gathered them and they came, hesitantly.

  “This is Archpriest Ngalthr. One kneels.” I demonstrated, then added belatedly, “I apologize. Mr. Day has a bad knee.”

  “Fragile creatures,” he said in English. “You may sit more carefully, then; we are all mortal.”

  He touched our foreheads one at a time, tracing a sigil on each. Neko had calmed since her initial fright, but I could still smell Charlie’s hidden fear. Audrey, by contrast, looked almost drunk on the sight of the archpriest. She tilted her head to take him in, and the tip of his claw drew a pinprick of blood. He lifted it to his lips and licked it clean.

  He spoke to Neko first: “You have seen our children through many trials. You understand their nature, and it does not frighten you.”

  “No, Ngalthr-sama.” She stumbled over his water name but otherwise spoke clearly. “She and Caleb helped us in the camp, as we helped them. She’s a good sister and daughter to us, and we knew she had other family. It won’t stop us from taking care of each other.”

  “And you,” he said to Charlie. “You fear us still.”

  He shrugged—bravado, I thought, not indifference. “You’re frightening. And you were scared too, or you wouldn’t have come charging up full force.”

  The archpriest looked at him a long moment, nostrils flared, then gestured to Audrey. “Were you afraid, child?”

  “No,” she said. “You’re strange and beautiful, and I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

  “Charlie,” he told me, “has sense. Even if he is insolent.”

  Chulzh’th, who had been standing quietly to the side, spoke up. “Aphra Yukhl would hardly be the only teacher here to prefer students who speak their minds.”

  Ignoring this, he continued. “The other one will become lost in some outer realm, if she does not learn fear.”

  Before I could craft a response, he turned to Caleb. “Now you will tell me of your work at Miskatonic. Come,” and he drew him away.

  Charlie pulled himself awkwardly to his feet. “Is he always so polite? And long-winded?”

  I laughed shakily. “One doesn’t look for either of those things from someone of his age and rank. Wisdom, however abrupt, and judgment, however nerve-wracking, are the realm of an archpriest.”

  “He didn’t pass any of his instant judgments on you.”

  “I brought him my students,” I pointed out. “Everything he said was aimed at me as well as you.” More at me, in fact. Upton had reminded me, uncomfortably, that the elders thought of outsiders in terms of their value to us. To judge my air-born protégés was to judge how I’d used my freedom. At least the archpriest approved provisionally, even of Audrey—else he would have said more.

  Audrey interrupted my rumination. “How old is he?”

  “I haven’t asked. But I know that he came to the Massachusetts Bay Colony under the boat, not on it.”

  Several of the other elders clustered around Trumbull. From their deference and the expression of annoyance on her face, I suspected a request for oracles. Now, having embraced my grandfather and paid my respects to the archpriest, I could pick out faces and forms dimly recognized: some I knew by name, others I merely recalled from ceremonies and meetings and chance encounters. It eased my heart to see, as Caleb put it, how much we had not lost.

  Archpriest Ngalthr and Chulzh’th made their way back to us, along with Caleb and our grandfather. The archpriest spoke for them: “Aphra Yukhl, tell me more of this government man who seeks your aid.”

  I could have wished to bring the topic up before Caleb mentioned it—but then, Ngalthr was old enough that he wouldn’t simply accept whatever view of a situation he heard first. “Ron Spector serves the state, but he doesn’t share the ignorance that caused the raid. He’d have us as allies.” I paused, collecting my thoughts. “I wouldn’t argue for anything so close, yet, but what he’s doing now should matter to all of us. War is brewing again, and some of the enemy may have learned the arts of body theft at Miskatonic. And there are new weapons, worse than those from the last war we fought in, weapons that can destroy whole cities. The combination could be catastrophic.”

  If Innsmouth still stood, the elders would have seen the newsreels: miles of flattened buildings in Nagasaki, where Mama Rei told stories of visiting her cousins. Operation Crossroads, and the cloud rising like a massive alien fungus above splintered test ships. Self-satisfied announcers describing everything in calm tones. I hoped that my inadequate description gave some idea of the danger so viscerally carried by those images.

  “His cause seems worth aiding,” said Ngalthr. “Though I see little we can do here. I know of no likely enemy who could have learned such arts from us—but I’ll spread word and find out if anyone does. This Spector, though. You didn’t bring him to meet us. Does he know of our existence?”

  I thought of the file he’d shown me, the pictures of my mother’s body. “Yes. But I don’t trust him that far yet.”

  Ngalthr nodded slowly. “Caleb Ngadri says that he’s granted you some access to the old libraries, in exchange for your aid. But he fears that your access is temporary, and doled out on sufferance. He worries less about this oncoming war, and more about reclaiming that inheritance. Do you also wish our aid to retrieve these books?”

  “They’re ours,” I said, letting the darker topic pass with mingled worry and relief. “Miskatonic stole them from our deserted homes, and now they mete them out in trickles to those they deem worthy. Our histories, our canons, our spellbooks, our own diaries—don’t you want them back?”

  “Where I live, they cannot go. What do you intend to do with them?”

  I glanced at Caleb. “Take them with me. With us.”

  Chulzh’th chuckled, a bubbling sound. “Do you have what’s needed to protect thousands of books from wind and rain and fire? Miskatonic may show little respect, but they know how to keep paper and leather clean and
dry—for an age if not an aeon.”

  “I do run a bookstore, actually,” put in Charlie.

  Her nostrils flared. “Ah? How large is it? May our people enter freely to read what’s within?”

  “It’s in California,” I admitted. “On the other side of the continent. As am I, most of the time.”

  “You ought not be,” rumbled my grandfather. “You ought stay here, by us.”

  “I’ll come when it’s my time to change, I promise. But I’m learning now, with Charlie, and aiding the Kotos as well as I know how.” I ducked my head, tried not to look like an abashed child. “I’ll have a long time to learn in this ocean.”

  “It is not only the learning,” said the archpriest. “The two of you are all our remaining youth—either the last and the youngest of us, or ancestors to all further generations who might join us in the water. If you wish our aid to retrieve the library, do you also intend to rebuild the spawning ground that it served?”

  “That’s what the others are asking the Great One about,” said Chulzh’th.

  “They are asking it for advice. I am asking her for her plans. Even with these greater weapons, men of the air have a little time left: perhaps a hundred years, perhaps a hundred thousand. The Great Race were ever poor at sharing precise intervals. We must determine whether this is the time to cease breeding and retreat fully into the water.”

  “While there are still Aeonists on land of any race,” said my grandfather, “our spawning ground is worth rebuilding, even with half-breeds. I have always said that mistblooded children, when they change at all, cannot be distinguished beneath the waves. A generation or ten would give us greater strength, greater understanding, greater memory. In the face of death and diminishment, the gods would have us make life.”

  “They’d have us live,” said the archpriest. “What that means remains to be determined. Do not preach to me, Yringl’phtagn.”

  “Archpriest,” said my grandfather stiffly.

  In the pause that followed I felt the pull of duty—and shame at the fear it raised in me. “I’m sorry, Archpriest. I don’t have a mate, and I have no desire to take one from the men of the air. Or to bear a child who could easily age and die on land … I’ve lost too many people. I’m sorry.”

  I felt a stinging pain in my cheek. I put up my hand and realized that Grandfather had slapped me, fast as only an elder can. Charlie lurched at my side, then visibly held himself back. “Have you not just told me of my own daughter’s death?” Grandfather demanded. “It’s too painful for you to risk passing on her blood? I did not raise a family of dry-hearted cowards.”

  I winced and rubbed my cheek. “I survived to speak with you now by courage as well as luck. But if you want to persuade me to take on more mourning, bring me a woman who loved a man of the air and bore his child. Few enough have dared, even with their parents and cousins awaiting them in the water.” I’d never spoken to an elder so, let alone my grandfather. I did my best to hide the way it made me tremble.

  “Your sister-in-adversity will bear children, will she not? Don’t you expect to mourn your nieces and nephews? And what of this one?” He ran a finger along Charlie’s cheek, knuckle bent to avoid scratching him. Charlie pulled back and glared. Grandfather bared needle teeth in a predatory grin. “He nearly leapt on me when I slapped you, and yet he held back—courage and will. He’s lame, but it oughtn’t run in his blood. And you’ve bound that blood to your own; you can hardly mourn him more if you mate with him.”

  “I beg your pardon!” said Charlie while I blushed furiously.

  I looked to Archpriest Ngalthr in hopes of some reprieve. He shook his head. “Regardless of whether you rebuild a true spawning ground, the two of you ought not be the last of us. A few seeds, so that we are not fully lost on land … That would be wise. But if you are not rebuilding, the books are not needed.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Caleb abruptly. “It’s less difficult for me.”

  “Both would be better. One line may easily fail.”

  “Are there—” I started, then froze as all the elders went still as scenting hounds. Grandfather’s arm rose, pointing to the dune path.

  “Strangers!”

  In a rush they were up the beach, tridents raised. Audrey pelted after, calling, “Don’t kill them! They didn’t mean any harm!”

  “Don’t—” I shared a look with Caleb and we gave chase.

  CHAPTER 13

  Just past the peak of the dune, two people stood shivering, already penned in by the elders’ tridents. Leroy Price had an arm around Sally Ward, and he shifted defensively as he tried to get between her and whichever assailant drew nearest. Audrey danced around the outside of the cluster, alternately cajoling the archpriest and yelling at her two friends. I caught the latter as I came up behind her:

  “I told you two not to come today! Didn’t I tell you the cops were out? Why don’t you ever listen to sense?”

  “Those aren’t cops.” Leroy’s voice was almost too soft to hear. Then, clearing his throat: “You’re not cops. You’ve got no right—you get away from my girl!” That last distracted Sally long enough for a startled glance before her eyes were drawn back to the unfamiliar forms surrounding them.

  Archpriest Ngalthr spared Audrey a quelling gaze. “Are these your family? Aphra, if you are going to teach dry men, you must ensure that they give their relatives sufficient excuse for their absences. Otherwise one inevitably invites these inquiries.”

  Audrey rocked back on her heels. “They’re not my family, they’re just friends. Very stupid friends.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me they were coming today?” I demanded. “We could have tried another time.”

  “Because they shouldn’t have come today. I thought I talked them out of it.” She glared at Leroy and Sally. “I guess Jesse showed some sense and stayed home. What’s going to happen to them?”

  “I don’t know.” I thought again of Upton, whose fate I’d yet to ask about. To my grandfather, in R’lyehn: “What do you plan now that you’ve captured them? They’re students at Miskatonic and Hall. They’re well-known and deeply entangled socially.”

  Leroy’s knees bent a fraction. My grandfather—along with several others—hissed. Leroy bared his teeth, anger masking fear I could smell from the circle’s edge, but he did not leap.

  “Twenty years ago,” my grandfather told me, “we had one or two people at Miskatonic to handle those who saw more than they ought. To scoff at their reports and demand impossible evidence until they doubted their own memories. Sometimes we bound intruders’ tongues, but that’s easy enough to break for someone who knows even a little spellwork—or is in a position to learn it. Sometimes…” He hissed again, this time thoughtfully. “Perhaps a binding that they would not seek to break. They seem young and healthy—fine thralls, if you treat them well, and you might make use of the boy’s seed without becoming overly attached.”

  “Grandfather!”

  “You would hardly be the first magician, of any human kind, to take as servants those who stumbled across your secrets.”

  It would not do to sputter at my elders like some Victorian grandmother at a flapper. And it would miss the point. I took a deep breath, let the sea-touched air settle in my lungs. Then another, while I sought to assemble my words. For now I kept to R’lyehn, even though I saw Leroy and Sally grow more nervous as they failed to follow our conversation. “I am aware that it’s a tradition. It’s not one that I care for. I’ve spent too long as a prisoner to hold anyone captive, and I’ve seen too many forced to serve their captor’s pleasure. It nauseates me to think of doing likewise.”

  His head whipped around. “Did they try that with you?”

  “No—they thought we carried the metamorphosis like plague. Should it matter that it was only my beloved friends and never children of the water? Or that they starved and tortured and killed us, but never raped?”

  “I did not suggest that you do any such thing to them, merely—�
��

  I held up my hand. “Enough. I will consider breeding with a man of the air, if that is what we decide is truly best. But I won’t force them to it, and won’t hear any more suggestions that I do so.”

  Grandfather frowned. “You’ve grown insolent in your isolation, Aphra Yukhl.”

  Chulzh’th turned. “If she hasn’t had our voices to guide her, be glad she’s made her own worth listening to. But Aphra, if you will not have them killed or bound, what would you have us do? If they call attention to our presence, Innsmouth will be in grave danger. Especially now, when men of the air have weapons to reach the deeps.”

  Audrey hovered, gaze darting from person to person. I glanced at the dunes—Charlie and Neko and Trumbull had not yet arrived with whatever wisdom they might offer. And Leroy and Sally’s tension had grown. At any moment they might break into hysterics or try to force their way free, and drive the elders to something irreversible. For now, my people held their tridents steady, immobile except for tiny movements that showed they were tracking our conversation and each other. They stood ready to maintain their siege for aeons, and yet the whole fragile situation would likely shatter within moments. I pushed my way between two guards, Ph’tngul and another whose name I could not remember, into the circle of their weapons.

  “What do you intend to do?” I asked the prisoners in English.

  Leroy tightened his arm around Sally. She squirmed a little in his grip, and glared at me. “What do you mean, what do we intend to do?” she demanded. She loosed an arm to gesture at the elders. “What are they going to do? What are they? What are you doing here? What’s Audrey doing here?” She paused, gulping air.

  “This is our beach. This is our town. You came to see if it were haunted, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Did you expect the ghosts to hover tamely for your delectation? Perhaps hoot a few times to make a good story? Did you even believe in magic, or read those books in the Miskatonic library?”

  “I told you,” said Audrey from outside the circle. “They never let us in. Why do you think she followed him for a taste?”