A sharp crack from down the corridor broke their conversation, and both men whipped around, their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Rhaf didn’t relish having to fight off one of those hairy beasts with just two swords and one torch between them, but they’d been ordered to guard the hatch, and guard it they would. Quietly, keeping an eye on the veil of darkness where torchlight met oblivion, he drew his cutlass and bent to lay his crowbar aside, then motioned for Janley to do the same.
Janley’s crowbar clanged to the floor.
“Shhhh!” Rhaf hissed, sparing a quick glance to his mate.
Janley staggered, emitting a quiet, “Uhhh,” and looked down in shock. Four inches of bloodied steel protruded from his chest. Rhaf stared in shock as Janley toppled, the blade slipping free as quietly as it had entered.
Instinct kicked in and Rhaf whirled, slashing cross-body with the honed reflexes of a veteran privateer, but his blade met only air. His foe stood much shorter than he’d anticipated, and ducked under his stroke. He looked and saw a girl, and hesitated for an instant; enough for her to slash low across his abdomen. Rhaf clutched at the wound instinctively, and warm wetness filled his hand. He swung a desperate backstroke, but she parried it, then lunged. He felt a strange shock as the steel pierced his chest, and all his strength left him. His cutlass fell from nerveless fingers, and he collapsed in a heap as she jerked the blade free.
“Sorry, mates,” the girl said, her voice distant in his ears. She snatched up one of the crowbars and jammed it into the slowly rising hatch. “Can’t leave anyone behind me, and I need to come back this way.”
Rhaf tried to reach for his sword, even as he lay curled around his wounds, but his muscles would not answer. The dropped torch sputtered, and its flame flickered in warning a moment before he felt cool water on his cheek. The light dimmed, or maybe it was his vision, but he saw the girl squirm through the gap in the hatch into the dark, salty water below. He heard her take several deep breaths, then, with a splash, she was gone. The water gurgled, rising through the open hatch, and the torch went out. Rhaf sighed one last time, too weak to move. His senses dimmed before the water rose over him.
≈
Deep beneath Akrotia, the myxine received Eelback’s message with great excitement. The festering corpse of the leviathan that they had been using as both food and nest writhed, its thick hide undulating as their fervor mounted. Pungent pheromones, thick in the slime-choked water that they shared, called them to the hunt.
The side of the huge corpse ruptured, spilling forth the squirming school of myxine and a mass of thick, grey-white slime that sank slowly into the depths. The myxine numbered more than a thousand strong, so tightly packed that they resembled a single twisting, wriggling body. Swarming as one toward the light in search of their promised prey, the myxine surged forward to feast.
Chapter 21
Threats Revealed
Edan’s feet squelched miserably in his wet shoes. The water on the floor was three inches deep, and more dripped from the ceiling onto his head and shoulders. He had dared one glance back, holding the torch high, and immediately regretted it. The corridor was filling behind them, a glistening wedge of water so clear that the torchlight wavered and flickered along the submerged walls, giving the illusion of motion. As if that was not discomforting enough, the power that Cynthia exerted pressed on him like a nauseating, smothering weight, and the air felt heavy and hard to breathe. It made him want to retch, to turn and run, but there was no place to run. The sea flowed away before them and closed in behind. The only way out was with the seamage, and she was too crazy with the loss of her baby to be reasoned with. He was stuck in this to the end, so he just kept slogging forward.
Cynthia maintained a steady pace. At every branching corridor or door, Ghelfan directed them on. Soon they approached a dead end, closed by one of the curious doors of spiraled metal.
“This is it,” Ghelfan said, tracing the elvish inscriptions on the wall. “This is the Chamber of Life.”
“Open it.” Feldrin’s voice echoed harshly off the confines of the corridor and his huge hands flexed on the hafts of his boarding axes. For once, Edan didn’t resent the man’s strength or bluff ways; if he was going to go into battle, the Morrgrey captain was a formidable ally.
“Wait!” Cynthia stepped forward and placed a hand on the door, closing her eyes in concentration. “The chamber is flooded.” Her eyes snapped wide open, and she looked back at her husband. “There’s a mer inside. Just one.”
“Eelback,” Feldrin said through gritted teeth. “It’s gotta be.” He turned to Edan. “Time to put Flicker in her hiding place.”
“Right.” Knowing the firesprite would give Edan away as a pyromage, they had planned for her to hide in the only place she could. “Okay Flick. Like I said, remember?” Flicker nodded and hunkered along the burning torch so only her head peeked over the top. From more than a few feet away, it was impossible to see her.
“You too, Mouse. We don’t want anything to distract the mer,” Feldrin said. Mouse nodded and slipped down the back collar of Cynthia’s blouse. Feldrin turned back to face the door. “Open it, Ghelfan.”
“Yes, open it,” Cynthia agreed, stepping back. “I’ll hold back the sea. When the door is open, I’ll drain the chamber before we move in. With any luck, Eelback will be incapacitated.” To Edan’s ear, she didn’t sound too sure about their luck playing out according to plan.
“Very well.”
The shipwright turned the wheel to the left of the door, and the portal slowly opened. Beyond stood a shimmering wall of water. Edan stumbled back; the force of the seamage’s power, holding all that water in place, pressed down on him like a lead weight. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
“Are you all right, Edan?” Cynthia asked.
He swallowed his gorge and gasped for breath, but Ghelfan crooked an arm under his and steadied him. He forced himself upright and met her eyes.
“Just do what you have to do, Cynthia.” He forced himself to concentrate on the gentle flutter of the torch’s light. Flicker turned her head and smiled tentatively at him, her eyes glowing orange-white, her hair melding with the torch’s flame. Edan considered raising his own fire a bit, just enough to overcome the nausea of the sea magic, but was afraid it might make Cynthia lose her own concentration. And right now, her concentration was all that was keeping them alive. He focused instead on the torch: heat…flame…fire. His discomfort eased, and he made himself watch as Cynthia stepped forward and placed one hand into the wall of water.
Edan saw the muscles in the seamage’s jaw bunch with effort. The water rippled with her magic, then he felt it pulse against him. He staggered, but Ghelfan’s grasp on his arm kept him on his feet. Edan slid his hand up the torch until his fingers were bathed in the flames, and Flicker caressed the back of his knuckles. He felt his mind steady; he could resist the feeling of being smothered, drowned in the cold sea.
Water receded from the seamage’s touch.
“Big room,” Cynthia said through clenched teeth. The water retreated before her, flowing down the strangely bright walls and away as the Chamber of Life emptied. She stepped through the doorway and they followed. Edan leaned heavily on Ghelfan’s arm, hoping that when the time came, he would have the strength to do what needed to be done.
≈
Tailwalker and Kelpie peered out from the small grotto at the ceaseless, undulating procession of myxine that flowed up from the depths of the city’s underside. Finally their numbers lessened, and the tail of the school disappeared in the light of the day above. Kelpie clutched Tailwalker’s arm, but he jerked free.
*Do not touch me!* he signed, sculling backward as she reached for him again. *I want nothing to do with you!*
Kelpie paled, her spots stark in the dim light for an instant before her color returned. *There is no time to ar
gue, Tailwalker. Think of me whatever you like, but we must go now, before the myxine come back and—*
*Let them come,* he signed, flexing his aching arms. His wrists and forearms were rubbed free of scales, and his fingers tingled as if stuck with sea urchin spines. *Perhaps they will give you what you deserve, traitor!*
*Call me what you will, son of the trident holder; hate me as much as your soul can muster, but do it later! If we stay here and argue, the myxine will come and devour us, and I will not let that happen! I have done too much to let you die now.*
Kelpie darted forward and grasped his arm. The silver crescent around her neck ignited with Odea’s light, and the sea goddess’ power surged through her and into Tailwalker, healing his raw wrists and throat, empowering his limbs and tail until he tingled all over. The returning strength felt good, but he regretted that he could not have used it to prevent all the harm that had been done: Eelback’s manipulation of The Voice, the death of Quickfin, the betrayal of the seamage. He jerked away from Kelpie and glared at her.
*We have a chance to survive, Tailwalker,* she signed, glaring right back. *If you wish to die here, stay until the myxine come and eat you alive, but if you want to live long enough to have vengeance, then follow me closely.*
Before he could reply, she flipped her tail and darted out of the grotto toward the open sea. He clapped his mouth in annoyance and followed, flipping hard to keep her tail in sight. When open water loomed near, she snapped to a stop, and he nearly barreled right into her. Before them another smaller school of myxine flowed past, the clear water clouded by their mucus.
She signed, *Stay close to me,* and darted off before he could reply. She was swimming directly at the school.
Tailwalker hesitated. He didn’t want to trust her, but he didn’t know what else to do. She had betrayed the entire school, and he would see her judged by the trident holder for her crimes, but for that to happen, they had to survive. He swam after her, flipping hard to catch up. As they neared the myxine, the school veered toward them, reacting as one to the presence of prey. Tailwalker trembled as the myxine converged on them, their mouth tentacles waving for something to grasp and hold until their teeth could pierce flesh. And still, Kelpie swam right at them, undaunted.
Tailwalker briefly thought, She has betrayed me! but he was wrong.
*STOP!*
Odea’s voice lashed out in an expanding wave of iridescent force, stunning every myxine in sight. Tailwalker felt the single divine word like a hammer inside his head, pounding to get out, but it had been directed forward, not at him. The myxine floated senseless, murky mucus drifting in clouds between their sinuous bodies, their small black eyes open and sightless. He felt Kelpie grasp his arm, and shook off the numbness in his mind.
*Come on!* she signed, and swam through the drifting school of vile creatures.
Tailwalker followed, nudging past the slimy bodies, clamping his mouth and gill slits tightly shut to avoid the drifting mucus that would suffocate him if it clogged his gills. They were through in an instant and flipping hard for open water, away from Akrotia, away from Eelback and his traitorous school.
And away from Seamage Flaxal, he thought forlornly. He recalled her efforts to forge a relationship with the mer, to learn their language and their ways, to even become his betrothed, thereby wounding her consort to the heart. He wondered if she had a chance of surviving Eelback’s treachery, and was disheartened. She was already deep in Akrotia, nearing the Chamber of Life. Since the school had shut them out of the city, Tailwalker couldn’t reach her with a warning, even if he knew where to look. He looked back at the myxine; they were already beginning to stir and move toward the surface, where they would surely devour all the landwalkers. Tailwalker had never felt so helpless.
≈
Feldrin followed close on Cynthia’s heels, squinting into the wavering depths of the receding water, his boarding axes held at the ready. He glanced at his wife’s face, pale but determined, her lips moving slightly as she called on the sea to obey her pleas. Mouse hunkered behind her neck, whispering into her ear. Behind them, Ghelfan supported Edan, whose sickly pallor made his orange hair stand out like the flames on his firesprite’s head.
As the water drained away and the room was revealed, Feldrin was surprised to find it much brighter than he had thought it would be. He glanced up at the towering dome of the ceiling, an amazing arched mosaic of crystal prisms arrayed in patterns of the sea and sky. He smelled the familiar odor of guano, and noted an arrangement of air vents that had opened up with the retreating water, allowing fresh air from outside to circulate. But it was the Chamber of Life itself that made him gasp. Beautiful beyond anything he’d ever seen, it was a teardrop-shaped crystalline structure with four open archways, like a gazebo of crystal and light atop a high dais.
Then a high-pitched cry pierced the chamber, grating on Feldrin’s ears like fingernails on slate and setting the hairs up on his neck. It was also the sweetest sound he had ever heard; it was a baby’s cry, his son, and he was screaming his lungs out.
The cries snapped him out of his reverie, and he realized that the water had stopped its retreat. It was still ankle deep, as they had planned; enough for Cynthia to maintain her link to the sea, not enough to hinder their movements. Cynthia stared at the dais, and he followed her gaze. On the bottom step perched a mer, balanced on its bent tail, using the steps for support. It was as ugly as he remembered, its toothy maw gaping to gulp air, its fins sagging without the support of water. His heart sank; he had hoped it would be incapacitated by the lack of water, but apparently not. Cynthia had guessed the mer priestess might cast some kind of magic to allow them to breathe air, and that appeared to be the case. Feldrin’s heart sank further when he saw the small bundle of wet cloth that wiggled and screamed, tucked tight into the crook of the mer’s arm.
“Eelback!” Cynthia said the name like a curse. Feldrin saw her breathe deep, shoulders stiffening as she gathered her power. He thought he almost felt it, as if a rogue wave towered overhead, waiting to crash down with all the force of the ocean behind it.
“Go on, Cyn,” he whispered too low for her to hear, “kill it! Crush it!” But then the mer moved, and he saw the knife.
Eelback held a long dagger, wickedly serrated, the edge tucked under the babe’s chin. The mer was not holding the infant in a gentle embrace, but had him bound tightly in the swaddling blanket and tucked under his arm, its dagger at a perfect angle to slit the child’s throat. The creature moved its free hand, making a series of gestures. Cynthia, staggered back, her shoulders sagged, and her head dropped.
“It’s as you thought, Ghelfan,” she said quietly.
“What?” Panic welled in Feldrin’s breast. “What did it say?”
“He said…” Cynthia paused for breath, then continued. “He said that I step into the chamber, or the baby dies.”
“No, Cyn.” Feldrin glared at the mer, gauging his odds of killing it without endangering his son. But the knife was too close; in the time it would take him to cock his arm and throw his axe, the mer would slit the baby’s throat.
“Yes.” Cynthia looked up into Feldrin’s eyes, her face pale, her expression flitting between determination and fear for their son. “He wants me to bring Akrotia back to life for him, and if I don’t, he’ll kill our son. We’ve got to do as we planned. He’s got to believe that he’s won.”
“Bloody hells,” Feldrin whispered. He rued the moment that he’d ever agreed to such a foolish plan. But looking into Cynthia’s eyes, he knew that she was willing to risk everything to save their child. “There’s got to be a better way!”
“There isn’t, Feldrin.”
The mer slapped its tail, drawing their attention, and signed something to Cynthia. There was a quick exchange, and then she turned to Feldrin and took his hand in hers, raised her free hand to his cheek. Her eyes
were on his, but her words were pitched for another. “Edan, I’m counting on you. Remember. Together.” Then, without waiting for a reply, she kissed Feldrin and turned away.
Feldrin wanted to throttle the mer with his bare hands, to hold his baby and keep it safe, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Their plan included trusting Edan, the coward who had burned an entire ship and killed more than a thousand men and then laughed about it. He didn’t like it, but he had no choice. He clenched his jaw and turned to the fledgling pyromage.
“Edan,” he said fiercely. “Do it!”
Feldrin watched the boy, saw his fear, but there was something else there, too. Edan swallowed hard, hesitated, glanced at Cynthia, at the mer, at the baby, and gave a barely perceptible nod.
Cynthia signed something to the mer and started toward the dais and the Chamber of Life, her feet dragging despondently though the ankle-deep water, disturbing the smooth surface.
Feldrin forced his attention on Cynthia, clenching his hands on his weapons until he could feel his own hammering heartbeat in his palms. Then he heard the faint pop of a cork and the trickle of liquid, and the sharp aroma of naphtha filled the air.
≈
The shaft of Chaser’s trident leapt and jerked in his grasp, pulling him into the writhing mass of myxine. His aim had been true, and the squirming shape he had impaled on the barbed tines was dying, but if he did not release his grasp, its death would be his also. He let the weapon go, retreated, and drew his dagger, taking a moment to assess their hopeless situation. Even at its narrowest point, the harbor entrance was too wide for the fifty mer to hold their position against such an onslaught. There were simply too many myxine to fight. The mer had known that myxine hid in Akrotia’s deeper reaches by the scent of the water, but there were threefold more of them than he had imagined. While the mer were faster, in the confined space of the harbor their speed was of no use. Their only hope was to flee. At least he could fulfill his promise to the landwalkers and warn them before the myxine struck.
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