Sea Dragon Heir

by Constantine, Storm

  AS THE FIRST GUESTS began to leave, Pharinet wandered out of the castle and down to the beach. She could not think; she was numb. The sea crashed as hungrily as ever at the shore, the cresting waves like the curled spines of dragons. She knew that Valraven would come to find her and he did. She wanted to tell him what she knew about the sisterhood: shock him. But when she sensed his soft footfall on the sand behind her, the urge to speak faded away. He did not know what he was but she did. “Pharry,” he said. “You are angry with me.” She did not trust herself to speak. “I would have told you, only I knew you wouldn’t like it.” He paused. “This is difficult; we both know how much.” She turned round then. “What are you saying, Val?” His gaze slid away from hers. “I don’t know really.” “Then let me tell you. I’m jealous of any other woman who shares your hearth, your life, your bed. I love you, Val, you are part of me, and if some aspect of that is impure, then let it be so. I will hate her for having you!” Even as she spoke, Pharinet knew Valraven harboured no such jealousy for Khaster. She turned away from him again, furious because her eyes were filling with tears. She shouldn’t cry; it was weak. “Pharry,” he said quietly, and put his hands on her shoulders. She raised an arm, but would not face him. “Go, Val. Go now. I pray Madragore will protect you in the army. My love will go with you.” He squeezed her shoulders briefly. “We shall speak when I return. Take care, Pharry.” Then he was gone. Pharinet stared out at the ocean, seeing nothing. The splinter of the waves upon the sand were just a roar in her head, part of her hectic blood. What had she said?

  4

  RITES

  PHARINET WAS NINETEEN YEARS old, alone and in love. Once Valraven had left her world, she realized this forbidden feeling had been within her for many years, disguised as something else. She was appalled: at herself and the strength of the emotion. This was the sea made manifest in her body, churning and heaving. Naturally, she could not speak of her feelings to anyone else. Everna would be disgusted and Ellony—well, Ellony was just out of the question. Pharinet knew the love would not fade with time, but would become deeper and harder, like a shard lodged in her breast. If Valraven had a dour legacy hanging over him, then perhaps so had she. Once Khaster and Valraven had left Caradore, a heavy atmosphere of melancholy slipped over the land like a shroud. These were holes hacked from the bedrock that could never be filled nor healed. Ellony wanted to spend more time with Pharinet, which to Pharinet was like being tortured with blades. Far from feeling sympathetic while Ellony moaned on about her loneliness, Pharinet wanted to slap her. Once, she would have taken her friend in her arms, made her laugh. Ellony believed Pharinet’s distance with her was caused by an unspeakable grief over Khaster’s leaving. Pharinet let her think that. In the autumn of that year, Everna married her Thomist. She expressed a desire to have her brother at the wedding, but Valraven?s first leave would not commence until the following spring, and it seemed Everna could no longer do without a husband. She had waited long enough, and now that Valraven had left Caradore, she clearly felt comfortable moving her lover into the upper apartments as a spouse. Thomist had no lands of his own, no house to which to take his bride. But this didn?t matter. He was a good, solid man, and Everna loved him. Pharinet tried to be cheerful for her sister?s sake, despite having spent the summer beneath a pall of glumness. “I feel almost guilty,” Everna said on one occasion, casting a wan glance at her sister. “I am marrying, while you must wait.” “You are older than me,” said Pharinet. “It’s only right you should wed first.” Everna was too misty-eyed to view things so practically. “Still, there is at least one compensation for you,” she said. “And what is that?” Everna touched Pharinet’s hand. “You are of an age to join the Sisterhood.” This subject had not been mentioned since the talk on the cliffs some five years before. Pharinet wrinkled up her nose. “Oh, I’m not sure, Evvie.” Everna laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t spend your life mooning around over a distant lover. Fill your hours with something else.” “With religion.” “With magic,” said Everna. Pharinet sighed grumpily. “If it pleases you,” she said. Everna hugged her. Pharinet soon discovered that Ellony would share her initiation rite. This did nothing to inspire any enthusiasm in her for the event. Ellony, on the other hand, seemed transformed and uplifted by the prospect. Pharinet had to suffer an afternoon in Ellony’s company, while she twittered on rapturously about the implications of her initiation, how it would bring her closer to Valraven and mean she could actively do something for him. “It is my duty as his wife,” she said, her hands clasped beneath her chin, while her eyes gazed off into some gilded fantasy. “You are not yet his wife,” said Pharinet. Ellony’s expression clouded. “Pharry,” she said. “I have to ask. It seems to me that you are not entirely happy with this arrangement. Why? What have I done? Don?t you think I?m suitable for your brother?? The tone of Ellony?s voice suggested she expected only favorable answers to her questions. “Val and I are twins,” Pharinet said. “You have to understand that it feels strange to me he should have someone else so close in his life.” Ellony nodded thoughtfully. “I think I see.” She brightened. “But Pharry, it will be me, not some stranger you neither know nor love. We shall have such fun together! I will live here! We will be sisters.” “We shall swap places,” said Pharinet, “for presumably Khaster will want me to live at Norgance.” “Oh, yes,” said Ellony, troubled again. “Isn’t it odd? I hadn’t thought of that.” Pharinet sighed and stood up. How would Valraven be satisfied by this woolly-headed creature? It would be a travesty. Now, she found it hard to imagine how she and Ellony could ever have been close friends. They had grown apart, perhaps, or it might be that Pharinet had always been this different, only too young to realize it. A date was set for the girls to undergo their rite of passage into the Sisterhood of the Dragon. It would take place on the eve of the autumnal equinox, known under Madragorian beliefs as the Feast of Corg, after one of Madragore’s sons, who was associated with harvest and death. Everna told Pharinet she should now look upon this day as Foymoriel. Under dragon lore, this was a female day, when the mute priestesses of Foy, the Dragon Queen, came to reap the land of ripe souls, and take to their Bone Lady a youth of fair aspect as a sacrificial husband. “Do we provide sacrificial husbands for the dragons?” Pharinet asked her sister. “No,” Everna answered shortly. “It could attract unwelcome attention to our activities.” Pharinet smiled. In her present mood, the prospect of sacrifice would have livened up what she otherwise anticipated would be a bleak event. “We make an effigy in sand,” said Everna. “You’ll see.” On the eve of Foymoriel, while the villagers around Caradore celebrated the Feast of Corg with family meals, ritual dances and midnight weddings, Pharinet followed her sister on horseback to the wild moor beyond the castle. Both women wore hooded cloaks to conceal themselves: a precaution which seemed pointless in Pharinet’s opinion, seeing as their horses would be well-known about the district. She had been ritually bathed by her sister, with a natural sponge soaked in a silver basin of sea water, where petals of frail sea-violets floated. She wanted to feel excited for Everna?s sake, because it was clearly so important to her, but Pharinet felt simply dull inside. A narrow track amid the wiry heather wound between stunted, wind-shrivelled trees, most of which were dead from salt, to a place that was generally shunned by the local populace: the rock village. Whether it had ever been a real village was debatable. The night was cool and breezy, the air filled with the smell of wood smoke from village bonfires, garnished with a perfume of brine from the sea below. After a couple of miles’ riding, the track spilled over a rocky lip and led precipitously to a great crater in the ground. Several legends surrounded the formation of this phenomenon. Some said it was the result of a second moon crashing onto the world, others that one of Madragore’s sons had killed a gargantuan demon in a heavenly battle, and the body had plummeted down to smash against the earth. Another, more ancient myth, spoke of a fire-drake who had breathed upon the ground to create a hiding place from the sea dragons for h
er kittens. Pharinet heard this particular story on the way there, amused at the way Everna wanted to invest this bit of fantasy with a gloss of truth. “The fire-drakes were long ago banished from this realm by the sea dragons,” Everna said. “If they still existed, they would be allied to Madragore.” At the bottom of the crater, thick thorny shrubs and a litter of boulders made progress difficult. Around the sides, the knobbly dark cliffs were pocked with caves: allegedly abandoned dwellings. Other women had already arrived, for Pharinet saw a huddle of horses tethered to an ancient thorn near one of the cave mouths. Flickers of orange light illuminated the rock; a fire must have been lit inside. “I would have thought you’d worship your dragons upon the shore,” Pharinet said, “seeing as they’re connected with the sea.” Everna dismounted from her horse. “You will learn soon enough what we do and do not do,” she replied. Pharinet huffed an exaggerated sigh and jumped to the ground. Her horse whinnied softly, perhaps excited by the proximity of animals he did not know. “Quiet, Kelpa, or you’ll upset the mares. Your days for courtship were over the day they took the hot irons to you.” Everna directed a stern glance at her sister, clearly wishing she could adopt a more sober mien. Pharinet put her hands to the sides of her hood. “Is it etiquette to enter the sacred cave with head covered or uncovered?” “Do as you please,” Everna answered. “Tether Kelpa. Be quick.” Pharinet threw back her hood and tied her horse’s reins to the branch of a thorn. “No trouble, mind,” she said to him, wagging a finger before his placid nose, “or the dames of the Order will be forced to skip out into the night and calm their mares, which would not be seemly under the circumstances.” Everna ignored this comment. The cave itself was unremarkable. There was enough room for twenty or so women to sit down in a circle, but the roof slanted so sharply, no more than five could stand up at one time. As Pharinet had anticipated, a fire had been lit and sea-moss was crackling upon it, releasing its essential oil in a briny steam. Ellony was already there, sitting by her mother, her face pink in the glow of the flames. She’s excited, Pharinet thought. She’s thinking of Val. Pharinet tasted sourness in the back of her throat. The High Priestess of the group stood up as Pharinet and Everna entered the circle. She was recognizable as a person of rank by the elaborate coral crown upon her head that was like a branch of bleached antlers, crusted with ancient weed. At first, Pharinet did not recognize her, but then, with some surprise she realized it was Saska’s sister, a woman named Dimara Corey. Dimara was often present at Norgance, but seemed a private person, who interacted little with others. She was a single woman, who lived alone in a crumbling old house on the outskirts of the Norgance estate. “Welcome,” the priestess said in a voice that boomed—appropriately, Pharinet thought—like the sea. “Do you come to us of your own desire, Pharinet Palindrake?” “I would not be here under duress,” Pharinet answered lightly and sat down among the women. Dimara did not look affronted as Pharinet expected. A smile played around the corners of her mouth. She was middle-aged, large-boned and imposing. Her long brown hair was streaked with grey. Previously, Pharinet had barely acknowledged the woman’s existence. “I am the Merante,” said Dimara, “lady of this order, the Voice of the Deep. You have been recommended as a candidate by your sister, Everna, who speaks for you.? Everna had not sat down. “I petition my sisters that Pharinet Palindrake may be initiated into our secrets, to continue the sacred task, to work in the name of those whom we serve.” “We hear your petition, sister,” said the Merante. Pharinet had been prepared to mock and scorn. However, as she sat before the hungry flicker of the fire, a sense of solemnity stole over her. She could neither control it nor banish it. The women around her, many of whom she knew, were not showing her their everyday faces. They did know something, she could sense it. They hid their secret faces behind a screen, but now it was drawn back. There was Saska, looking wild-eyed and potentially fierce, her soft hands clawed upon her knees. Urendel Mafferitch, a timid female, appeared sorceress-sly. She recognized women of the families of Doomes, Ignitante and Galingale, people she met only very rarely, but who were clearly intimates of her sister. They all seemed to burn with a secret fire. Everna was a pole of concentrated purpose, a force waiting to be unleashed. Only Ellony appeared similar to how Pharinet normally knew her. Could Ellony feel the potential humming around her? She still stared moonily into the flames, no doubt dreaming of the days she thought would come. The Merante raised her arms. “Sisters, let us welcome these neophytes among us. Let us share our secrets.” They all assented, “Aye!” “Brenka Galingale, our archivist, will instruct you in the lore,” said the Merante. A woman stood up. She was small and thin, and when she spoke, her voice was high and soft. But despite this apparent fragility, her words made Pharinet tingle. “There was a time when the Dragon Queen, Foy, ruled the ancient domain of Caradore. She was a creature of the sea, and a creature of the land, and was worshipped by all. When she spoke, the tides turned. When she roared, the waves devoured the cliffs. When she wept, the ocean poured up the mighty rivers and drowned villages and fields. Foy had three daughters, Jia, Misk and Thrope, who were dragon women, of neither the land nor the sea. Unto them, the people offered gifts and spoils, for they could be harsh in their nature. When the dragon women smiled upon you, you could be assured of good fortune, but their anger was swift and without remorse. People feared the daughters of Foy, yet loved them too, for they were the warriors of Caradore. “The Palindrakes were the family with whom Foy had the strongest connection. Theirs was an ancient and spiritual link. The eldest son of the house was known as the Dragon Heir, who through his priestess, the sea wife, could conjure and speak with the dragons. He could petition them for boons, and inform them of injustice they should avenge. The presence of the dragons in the land ensured the health of the fields and the people who lived upon their fruits. Caradore was indeed a blessed domain.” Brenka paused for a while, and gazed into the hungry flames before her. Had what she described ever been real? Pharinet wondered. It was like a fairy tale. She couldn’t imagine these creatures of myth physically present in the land. Brenka sighed and raised her gaze to the blackened roof of the cave. Now, her voice was deeper. “Fire came from the south. Fire led by its king, Casillin Malagash. With the might of his hordes, he conquered fair Caradore. He took the castle, its heart, and subjugated the Palindrakes. He took the Dragon Heir and marked him with the sigil of the fire god, Madragore. The first Valraven was forced to take an oath, so that his connection with the dragons was severed. Casillin wanted the power of the sea, but he feared it. Ilcretia, the lady of Caradore, made a secret of the ancient ways. She would not let them fall into the hands of fire. She initiated the Sisterhood of the Dragon, so that we, her descendants, should keep the old ways alive. Though the Dragon Heir leads the armies of Madragore, and has done so since that terrible day, we, the women of the land, work to restore all that was lost to us. A time will come when great Foy and her daughters will rise once more, and extinguish the fire that burns the spirit of Caradore. This is our legacy. To this, you must now pledge your oath.” Pharinet was conscious of Ellony breathing heavily nearby. She was ready to say anything that was asked of her. Pharinet thought of the strange sound she had heard from the sea on the night when Khaster had first spoken of marriage. Had that been the voice of Foy? Brenka sat down, and the Merante spoke once more, fixing first Pharinet, then Ellony with a steady gaze. “Do you pledge yourselves to the dragons, sisters?” Pharinet nodded, while Ellony breathed, “Yes!” “Then repeat these words after me. Pharinet, you shall speak first. ‘I, Pharinet Palindrake, do swear fealty to great Foy, the Dragon Queen, and her daughters, Jia, Misk and Thrope.’” Pharinet repeated the oath. She had to offer them her heart and her body, her intention and her will. As she spoke, she wondered what effect this night would have upon her life. Would it change in some way? A dull ache in her breast was the invading presence of her love for Valraven. She could not speak these words without thinking of him. He was the sea inside her. By the time it was Ellony’s turn to s
peak, tears had filled Pharinet’s eyes and her chest was full of the pain of repressed weeping. The moment was wonderful and terrible. In this agony was a sweet, pure feeling. Ellony would never experience it. After the oaths, the Merante said, “We welcome you among us, Pharinet Palindrake, Ellony Leckery. Keep close the secrets of the Sisterhood. Attend the rites with faith and courage.” A young woman sitting beside the Merante uncoiled to stand erect. She lifted a silver basin from the floor in the shadows. This she presented to the Merante with a respectful bow. The priestess dipped her fingers into the bowl. Water dripped from her pincered hands. “We all affirm our pledge,” she murmured and flicked droplets over the fire, which shouldered to the side a little and hissed in warning. “As this brine, which we have blessed with our spirit, has the power to douse these feeble flames, so we, the Sisterhood of the Dragon, call upon the powers of the ocean to douse the flames of Madragore.” The bowl was passed around the circle, while the Merante still stood among them. Each woman dipped her fingers in the bowl and flicked droplets onto the fire, murmuring, “to the great extinguishing.” Everna passed the bowl to Pharinet, nodding her head in encouragement. As Pharinet lifted it in her hands, an image of Val’s face came to her, as he’d been as a young boy, carefree and happy. This was why she was here. As she spoke the ritual words, she could feel her own voice vibrating with feeling. The bowl returned to the Merante via Ellony, who stumbled over the words. She appeared to be quite overcome by the significance of the occasion. Pharinet was glad Ellony had been unable to mimic her own determination. The Merante lifted the bowl on high, uttered a few more phrases, then tossed the remainder of the water onto the fire. Pharinet jumped. Blackness filled the cave in an instant, while the embers gasped their last upon the sandy floor. The smoke smelled acrid now. Pharinet felt as shocked as if she’d witnessed an execution. She could not explain the strength of her feelings. The splash, the ending of the fire, had been sudden and unexpected. Her face was wet and she had no doubt that it was stippled with moist black ashes. The air rustled around her and Pharinet realized the women were getting to their feet. She reached for Everna, un-nerved by the darkness. Everna’s dry hand groped out for her. Together, they ventured towards the blue-grey crack, which was the mouth of the cave. Outside, a sea-soaked wind moaned through the shrubs and trees. Pharinet heard the distant honk of a perigort, a native sea bird that was elusive and rare. She felt very cold now; the cloak was not enough to protect her from the wind. Something had happened to her. She had been marked. She felt different from how she had before. Her teeth were chattering as Everna took her arm once more. “To the beach now.” “More ceremonies,” said Pharinet. “Was that not it?” Everna shook her head, a strange smile upon her lips that was hardly a smile at all. The women walked in silence, leaving their horses in the valley. As they rose up onto the sea moor, the wind abraded their exposed faces with salt. It had come up hard, the wind, fierce and cruel. “Air is the nearest element to water,” said Everna close to Pharinet’s ear. “You might say the denizens of that element are allies of ours.” “And earth?” Pharinet asked. “Earth harbors fire, hides it deep within.” “But water too c” “Earth is a subtle element in this conflict.” A winding path led to the edge of the cliffs, where skeletal bushes of dune rosemary, looking more dead than alive, rattled in the wind, releasing a pungent scent that was at once antiseptic and redolent of cooking. Here, a perilous path was revealed leading down in great jagged leaps. The wind would be a harsh examiner upon that path, Pharinet thought. The Merante led the way, and as she descended, she began to sing. Other women joined in the harmony, creating a weird and haunting melody that was the essence of longing and resolve. Pharinet had ridden along the clifftop a thousand times, yet had never seen this path. The cove below was like all the other bays that bit into the coast; sheltered with a high fortress of cliffs, its rocks below sculpted thoughtfully by the tides. It could have been the same cove where her own sea-cave was hidden. The sea was dark, dreaming far away from the land, for the tide was out, though Pharinet sensed it was returning. It was almost as if it felt the presence of the women and was drawn to them. Pharinet heard again the forlorn honking cry of a perigort. They nested in deep holes in the cliffs, their big bodies stuffed into a bed of grass and feathers, only their eyes glinting in the darkness. At the bottom of the path, the sand was death-white. There was no moon, though the stars were hard and brilliant above. Everna, pointed overhead and said, “Look.” Pharinet saw a sliver of light scratch down the sky. “A shooting star,” she said, and in her heart, wished. She wished for what would happen to be something incredible and life-changing. She wished for it to be important. The Merante led the way onto the beach. Now, she carried a long staff of white wood, whose tip was carved into lifted wings that cupped a gem. They walked far out, where the sand was damp and sucking. We must be walking to the edge of the surf, Pharinet thought. A ritual will be conducted there. We will be doused in sea water. Ellony was some way behind her. Pharinet supposed that Ellony would be frightened, thinking of the ghosts of sailors and cruel mermaidens with necklaces of finger bones. Presently, Pharinet made out the shape of a tall thumb of rock that rose from the sand. As the group drew closer, she could see that it was a black island, crowned by a natural standing stone that grew up out of the rock. She sensed that her companions had become tense; it was not just excitement. Something would happen at that rock. It must be sacred. “What is it?” she asked Everna. “The place where the dragons may be summoned,” Everna answered. Her voice was tight. The women climbed onto the slick jagged stones of the island and arranged themselves in a circle about the stone. Wind plucked at their robes, and within it was concealed a faint stink of rot. Two priestesses unwrapped a sheet of red silk, which they threw over the top of the stone. Its edges were tattered, silk strands unravelling into the wind. The Merante raised her arms and spoke, starlight glinting in the depths of the gem that tipped her staff. “In the days of the Dragon, on this night of Foymoriel, the people brought to this rock the fairest of youths. Here his blood was spilled and cast over the stone. Our silken cloth represents this blood. As the youth lay swooning against the rock, so the women called to the great Foy. She smelled the boy’s blood and came up from the deep to accept the offering.” They said it was a husband, Pharinet thought. It was a sacrifice. At that moment, she realised that Valraven too was a sacrifice. Not one of blood, but of something else, perhaps spirit. He had been sacrificed to Madragore. The Merante fixed Pharinet with her gaze, her hair whipping around her head like crazed sea serpents. “Pharinet Palindrake, Ellony Leckery, this is the night of your initiation. To be absorbed into our sacred Sisterhood, you must first be accepted by those we serve. The dragons can no longer rise as they used to do, but their spirit is strong in this place. This night, you undergo a rite of passage, which is not without danger. Do you accept this with trust?” The sea was creeping closer now and Pharinet intuited some of what must come. She and Ellony would be left here for the waves to paw at. Ellony nodded. She looked afraid but exultant, prepared to do whatever was necessary to help the man she loved. Pharinet choked back her anger. “I accept,” she said in a clear voice. The Merante inclined her head, and at this signal the rest of the women began to grub around in the sand, to mold it into a shape. It was the figure of a man, a symbolic husband perhaps, for the hungry dragon bride. There was nothing beautiful or fair about this hastily-constructed golem. It was merely the rough symbol of a man, only its genitalia carefully formed, so that the Dragon Queen would be in no doubt as to its gender. As the priestesses put the finishing touches to their sand sculpture, the edge of the waves was only feet from where they stood. “We shall leave you here until the tide recedes,” said the Merante. “This is your trial, your rite of passage. If you survive, the dragons have acknowledged you.” Ellony expelled a short, high-pitched sound. She had not expected anything like this. Pharinet thought to herself, but I have braved the voracious swirl of the tide in my own sea-cave. This will be no diffe
rent. We will climb to stand against the standing stone and hang on. Once the waves have broken over us and surged to shore, it will not be too bad. “We could die,” said Ellony. Her mother reached out to embrace her. “You must have faith, daughter,” she said. “We have never lost a soul in this rite. Intention is enough to sustain you. The denizens of the deep respect our contract.” Pharinet could see that Ellony had little faith. She believed in pretty words and pretty rituals, poetry for the soul. She did not trust in experience, in fear, in courage. Pharinet could see why this rite must be as it was. What was the point of pledging yourself to something that meant little? You had to face the fear to be worthy of acceptance. Now, the Merante spoke a blessing over the two young women, and the rest of the group embraced and kissed them in turn. Everna held on to Pharinet for several moments, and whispered, “Are you afraid?” “I am, but then I am not,” said Pharinet. “This is more than I had hoped for.” “A sentinel will be left upon the cliff,” said the Merante, “to observe what takes place.” Pharinet felt there was a concealed threat in those words. She and Ellony could not run away and lie to the Sisterhood that they had undergone the trial. The women retreated up the beach in an undulating line, leaving Ellony and Pharinet alone. Wavelets were feeling their way closer to the island, while just a few yards away the waves threw themselves upon the land. The girls’ hair was already wet and sticky with spray carried on the wind. All they had was their cloaks to protect them, and these would presently be sodden, cold and heavy against their bodies. Ellony leaned against Pharinet’s side, clearly seeking comfort. “Will we die, Pharry?” she asked. “Are we safe?” “We may die,” said Pharinet soberly, with inner glee, “or we may not. We are certainly not safe. But isn’t that the point of what we’re doing?” Ellony huddled closer against her. “I don’t know. Hold me, Pharry. I’m afraid. Look at the sea. It knows we’re here. It’s coming forward like a cat on its belly, waiting to pounce.” Pharinet relented and put her arm around Ellony. She laughed. “We are part of the sea, aren’t we? How long have we lived here, breathed in its scent, eaten the produce soaked in its salt? Think how we used to play in it as children.? “That was your domain,” Ellony said, “remember we live further inland.” “That does not seem to bother your mother,” said Pharinet. “Oh, come now, Ellie. You want to help Val, don’t you? Aren’t you prepared to sacrifice anything for that? You must gamble for your own survival, for once you have survived, you will have become something more than what you were.” Ellony only whimpered and buried her face against Pharinet’s shoulder. How strange that the roles have reversed, Pharinet thought. In the cave, Ellony was the one with face aglow, eager for the ceremony. Now she was afraid, yet Pharinet was filled with excitement. One action with intent was worth a thousand beautiful words. The waves seemed to grow bigger as they approached. Pharinet realized that Ellony was right; there was something feline about them. They reared up and hung playfully in the air, dangling paws of surf, then leapt forward, sinuously hurling themselves onto the sand. “The sea is alive,” Pharinet said. “Haven’t you ever felt that, Ellie? When you stand in it, it tugs at you like living hands.” “I know,” said Ellony. Pharinet felt her swallow hard. “Give me some of your strength, Pharry. I want to be as strong.” The first wave crashed against their legs. Pharinet was concerned they might be plucked from the rock to be smashed to pieces in the roiling surf below. “We must hold onto the stone,” she said. “Put your arms around it, Ellie. Grip my arms.” Facing each other, they embraced the stone. Pharinet pressed her cheek against it and closed her eyes. She thought she could detect a faint heat and a low humming sound, as if echoes of a deep ocean song were reverberating through it. There was a moment’s respite, when all fell quiet. The sea was merely a cold murmur. Then what felt like tons of water fell over Pharinet’s body. The weight of it pushed the air from her lungs, bruised her skin. It tore at her clothes, slapped and pounded at her body, as if intent on breaking every bone. It wanted to pluck her from the stone. She could sense its playful yet wicked intent. Pharinet could not open her eyes. The waves punched her body, but she hung on. She could feel Ellony’s fingernails digging into her arms through her drenched sleeves. For this time, they were united. The sea must not have them. Ellony uttered a strange laugh, which Pharinet was impelled to mimic. This was wild, but it was also ridiculous. What must they look like, clinging there, with the waves thrashing over them? We are mad, Pharinet thought, a clear cool current in her mind. Why are we doing this? It seemed to take an eternity for the crest of the tide to pass them, but eventually Pharinet felt a stillness around her. The crash of the tide had receded. Water no longer pawed and pounded at her body. She opened her eyes, and found her sight was obscured by matted tassels of hair. Her arms were rigid. She could not let go of Ellony, whom she could barely see. Ellony’s hands were like ancient coral, white and hard. “Elly, are you all right?” After a few moments, Ellony raised her head and peered round the stone. She looked like a drowned mermaid. Pharinet laughed, but it came out of her in a sob. “We’re alive,” she said. They both looked towards the shore. The tide seethed towards the beach, punctuated by crashing breakers. The sand was shining. Night birds arced over it, casting no shadow. “How long will it take before it recedes?” Ellony asked. “A few hours, probably,” Pharinet said. “We’re not that far from the sea line.” Ellony pulled her arms away and tottered on her feet. “Is that it?” “Until it returns,” said Pharinet. She tried to pull her hair from her face with stiff, numb fingers. “It seems worse than it is. Look, the water doesn’t even come to our feet.” Ellony enfolded herself with stiff arms. “I’m so cold.” “We were lucky, the waves weren’t that high.” Ellony sat down upon the rock, her back against the standing stone. “Come here,” she said. “We can warm each other.” Pharinet sat down beside her and accepted Ellony’s embrace. Not far from their feet the black water rolled and muttered at the rock. “There is something I want you to tell me,” Ellony said. “What?” Pharinet said, thinking, please don’t. “I want to know why you’re so angry about Val and I. Don’t deny it, Pharry, because I know you are. You can’t hide it. Don’t you think I’m good enough for him?” This is part of it, Pharinet thought, part of our rite. “Of course I don’t think that,? she said. ?I did try to explain the last time you mentioned it. There?s nothing I can add to that.? “I think there is,” Ellony said. “You must tell me, Pharry. I will marry Val, nothing can prevent that, but if there’s something I should know, you must tell me. I have to understand, and I have to be aware of the truth.” Pharinet realized she had underestimated Ellony. The words hung unspoken between them. There was no other time when they could be voiced. Out here, isolated from the life they knew, it was possible to speak the truth. “Tell me what you think the reason is,” Pharinet said. Ellony drew in her breath, pulled her saturated cloak closer round her shoulders. “That you and Val have experienced things together that Khaster and I have not.” Pharinet expelled a nervous laugh. “Such as?” Ellony uttered a sound of annoyance. “Oh, Pharry, don’t dance around this. Tell me I’m not mad, then. Tell me I’m imagining things when I think that you and Val are, or have been, lovers.” Pharinet was silent. All that could be heard was the hiss and thunder of the sea. After a while, she said, “You’re not imagining things.” Ellony released a sad sigh; her head drooped. “I knew,” she said. “I suppose I’ve always known. Your relationship with Val is special, because you are twins. I suppose it seems only natural to you to love him in that way. How close you must have been in the womb. I think you need to recapture that intimacy in some way.” “You have been thinking about this a lot,” said Pharinet. Ellony slumped against her. “Of course I have. I don’t hate you for it, Pharry. How can I? But I don’t want it to be a barrier between us. Tell me, is it still going on?” “No,” said Pharinet, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “It was just something that happened once.” The lightness that came into Ellony’s voice was almost unendurable. “When did it happen?” “I’d rathe
r not talk about it.” “I understand,” said Ellony gently. “But you must know how much I love Val. I don’t think I could bear it if he really wanted to be with you, his sister. Can you promise me it won’t happen again?” “What did happen will never happen again,” said Pharinet. “Of this you can be sure.” Ellony hugged her. “Thank you. In some ways, I feel I have no right to ask this of you, but I will be his wife, Pharry. I hope you understand.” “Completely,” said Pharinet. A silence fell between them. Pharinet was now numb both on the outside and the inside. Had she lied? She wasn’t sure. She knew her feelings for Val, but could not tell if they were returned. If Ellony wanted to think they’d already consummated their relationship, let her do so. “There is a promise I want from you,” said Pharinet. “You must never mention this subject to Val. Never.” “I promise,” said Ellony. “We have a contract between us now.” I have promised you nothing, Pharinet thought, and a fierce, cruel joy filled her heart. It cast out the numbness. Ellony sighed, her head resting on Pharinet’s shoulder. “Look out there,” she said softly. “The ocean seems to glow.” “It is the light of the stars.” Ellony sat up a little. “No, I don’t think it is. Look, Pharry, the sea is glowing. Just out there. Do you see it?” Pharinet peered into the darkness. Ellony was right. A greeny-white radiance shifted beneath the surface. “It must be a mat of luminous weed,” she said. “I’ve seen something like that before. It absorbs sunlight during the day and expels it at night.” “Perhaps,” said Ellony doubtfully, but she did not lean back against the rock. “It’s coming closer.” Pharinet realized she was not looking at anything of vegetable origin. The light was approaching quickly now, more like a fish than floating plants. “Pharry,” Ellony breathed, reaching out to grip her friend’s cloak. “By Madragore,” Pharinet murmured. It was coming towards them, unbelievably fast, then suddenly the sea spumed up before them in a violent spire, as if some immense aquatic creature had exhaled it. Could it be a whale of some kind? It was as if a thousand frenzied fish were threshing in the sea around them, surrounding the island. The water churned and heaved. Pharinet was afterwards unsure of what she saw in the waves. It could have been a strange, equine reptile head, or a mass of tangled weeds and broken spars from drowned ships. It could have been her imagination. But she remembered the eye?the pupil vertical like a serpent?s or a cat?s. The eye saw her, knew her. An immense formless shape hung over her, dripping ocean bed detritus. The head swooped towards her, enveloping her in an odor of brine and rot. She winced against the rock, against Ellony, her mind struggling both to deny and accept what was before her. Ellony was stiff like a corpse at her side. Pharinet could not close her eyes and seconds seemed to bleed into eternity. Then she was staring at the calm ocean, and there was nothing there, nothing there at all. “Elly,” she murmured, and her friend expelled a whimper. “I hurt,” she said. They were completely soaked in cold water, but when Pharinet’s arm snaked around Ellony to comfort her, the wetness against Ellony’s left side was warm.