Tylar watched it flee through the forest. Farther away, movement caught his eye. Something shifted as the gobdasher passed. It made their recent visitor look like a minnowette. Tylar caught a brief glimpse of flailing tentacles, falling upon the gobdasher; then the sight vanished away as their pod descended farther into the depths.
Tylar knew what he had seen.
A miiodon . . . very likely the same one that had attacked the Grim Wash.
Kreel stirred from his place by the fire lamp. “The Reef,” he announced.
Tylar turned. A starscape sprawled below. Glow globes, fire lanterns, and natural phosphorescence mapped out small homes, towering villas, terraces, and courts. Crowning it all, a vast castillion blazed, appearing on fire from the number of lamps lining its parapets and towers.
Their pod dropped toward the tallest tower, dragged by a winding stalk that disappeared down its open throat.
As they drew nearer, figures appeared, limned in the city’s glow. They swam or floated among the buildings, which seemed to be constructed of the same sturdy material as their pod. A lone girl, arms laden with an empty net, glided through the waters with small flicks of her ankles and twists of her torso. She swept up to the pod.
Kreel noted her approach and made a keening sound that set Tylar’s teeth to throbbing. In response, the girl spun in place and with a swift kick of her legs sped away.
The pod reached the tower’s top and continued down its throat. All sight vanished to the sides. Overhead, the glowing opening retreated as they dropped into the depths of the castillion.
Heading to the dungeons, Tylar thought sourly.
After another moment, a rough bump shook the pod and almost knocked him on his backside. They had stopped. He glanced to his companions but found only worry in their expressions.
Tylar searched upward. The tiny circle of light vanished as a hatch pinched closed just overhead. Once sealed, a gurgling vibrated through the pod.
“They’re draining the water,” Delia whispered.
Bubbles danced all around the pod. In only a few breaths, the waterline trembled down the sides and disappeared away. As the gurgling ceased, a light bloomed to the right, outlining an open doorway. One of the pod’s petals peeled toward the new glow.
An empty passage awaited them.
Two of the Hunters hurried ahead and flanked the entry.
Kreel pointed his spear. “She awaits in the grotto.”
Tylar stepped out of the pod, leading his companions. The low passage was tubular with curving walls, lit by a vein of phosphorescence that ran along the ceiling. The air was damp but surprisingly warm, smelling of salt crust and algae.
They proceeded down the passage. Kreel kept a step behind them. Tylar felt his eyes on him, a dagger tickling his neck. He studied the pair of Hunters ahead of him.
One Hunter scratched a finger along his gill flaps, fluttering them, clearly dry and irritated. Their escorts had been out of the water a fair amount of time.
Tylar could not fathom why someone would choose this life for a child. The denizens of the Reef drank a special elixir when heavy with child, an alchemy of Graces from Fyla herself. It touched the growing babe in the womb, blessed its development. And though there were other folk that chose similar paths by imbibing godly elixirs when with child—producing loam-giants, fire walkers, and wind wraiths—at least these offspring still lived in the world of land and air. Why abandon the world above for such an isolated life below?
The passage ended at a translucent door. Brighter light from beyond set it aglow, but details remained murky. As they neared, the door parted, splitting in a perfect star pattern and withdrawing away in five sections.
A sweet billow washed over them. Tylar recognized it immediately.
The aroma of the tangleweed flower.
The two Hunters stepped through the open portal first, dropping to their knees just past the threshold. Kreel nudged Tylar with the tip of his spear.
Tylar entered a grotto of breathtaking beauty.
The space opened under an arched dome, large enough to hold all of Summer Mount and festooned with hanging plants, vines, and bright flowers. Light blazed from a single colossal fire lantern as wide as a man’s outstretched arms. It floated in the center of the dome’s space, unsupported, rolling and drifting gently over the landscape below.
Lit beneath it, pools and waterfalls graced walkways lined with flowers unlike any seen under the sun. Rather than growing from soil, their beds were streams and sculpted puddles. Flowers of every hue grew riotous among trees and leafy bushes. Some he recognized: honeybloom, jasper’s heart, wyldpetal, sea-dandle, and ghost palm. Most were unknown. Strange fruit hung from one fronded tree, appearing like yellow vipers, twisting and hanging from branches. Another tree’s leaves twinkled with a soft violet radiance.
Every glance held a new wonder.
Delia spoke at his shoulder, a whisper of a whisper. “The Sacred Grotto. It is said Fyla collects her botanicals from all over Myrillia, some even from the hinterlands.”
Tylar simply stared. He had never imagined such beauty under the seas.
Kreel waved them forward, never taking his eyes from Tylar.
They were led down the central path that wound into the heart of the grotto. The guards maintained a ring around them, Kreel at their backs.
All about, the babble and tinkle of water echoed. Passing over one bridge, Tylar happened to glance down and saw another of the Reef’s Hunters glide along the channel below. The spear in his hand was plain to see.
Rogger noted the same. “I have read of this place.” He waved an arm over his head. “This is but half of the garden. The other half lies beneath our feet, a maze of waterways and flooded caves. She could hide an entire army down there and we’d never know it.”
Tylar’s sense of wonder dimmed as his anxiety rose again.
They mounted a long bridge, one that arched in a graceful curve over a wide pond. The waters below teemed with sea life: from tiny tick eels to the sweep of giant mantai. Schools of fish silvered the waters as they shimmered and danced.
In the center of the pond rose a tall island surrounded by a white sand beach. The fire lantern hovered directly over its peak, shining upon the rich flora flowing over the cliffs and slopes. From its very top, a frothing spring jetted high into the air, then raced down its sides in rivulets and cascades back to the pond. The most dramatic course was a wide waterfall in front: a flow of molten silver fell sheer from the peak’s top into a small rocky basin at its base.
As they reached the bridge’s end, the two lead Hunters crossed their spears, barring the way onto the island. The green phosphorescence of their blessed weapons flared brighter.
Kreel called out, “We have done your duty, Mistress of the Reef. He who has been named Godslayer stands before you for judgment.”
The island remained quiet, except for the chatter of falling water. After several breaths, a voice finally answered, “Let him come forward.”
Delia dropped to her knees. “Fyla . . .”
The guards uncrossed their weapons.
Tylar stepped from the bridge to the sandy beach. Rogger moved to follow.
The voice stopped them both. “Only the godslayer.”
Tylar glanced to the thief. He saw Rogger’s hesitation and waved him back. “I’ll be fine.” He even felt a bit of confidence in this statement. He didn’t feel like he was going to die.
Still, a finger of dread traced his spine. He had met only two gods face-to-face in his short life: Jessup of Oldenbrook, to whom he had bent a knee in service as a Shadowknight, and Meeryn, who had died in his arms. But he had heard stories of various gods. Shadowknights talked among themselves after a few cups, sharing tales and stories. The personalities of the Hundred were as varied as their number. Some were reclusive, others gregarious, most were benevolent, a few iron fisted. Yet one fact remained consistent: They were not to be crossed.
Tylar stepped onto the sandy strand. �
��I am here. Not as a godslayer as I’ve been falsely accused, but as a man.”
Behind the sheer screen of the silvery waterfall, movement met his words. A figure stepped forward through the fall. The cascade of waters fell about her: over her head, past her shoulders, along the swell of her breasts, through the flat hollow of her belly, and down her long legs.
She was naked, yet somehow carried a fold of the cascade along with her. Shimmers of water coursed over her body, forming a gown and cloak. She stepped into the pool at the peak’s base. She was hairless, smooth as her Hunters, her skin pale white with a single black spiral from neck to right ankle. Her eyes were limpid pools of ocean blue.
Tylar could not meet her gaze and bowed his head.
She crossed over to him, stepping free of the pond and onto the sand.
“Mistress . . .” Kreel whispered, warning in his strained voice.
“Silence, Kreel.” She continued toward Tylar.
He began to tremble, unable to stop. He could have been blind and still known she approached. Her Grace sang to his blood. Something stirred deep inside him, and he began to fall to his knees in the sand.
But a hand touched his cheek, freezing him in place. Fingers traced the three black stripes on his face.
“A Shadowknight . . . so it is true.”
A finger lifted his chin. He found eyes blazing with Grace. Her two hands slipped to either side of his face. He sensed her strength. She could easily crush his skull, yank his head from his neck.
Instead, she pulled him up to her and kissed him deeply.
For a moment, Tylar felt himself falling into darkness, but a strong tide drew him back. Lips pressed his; breaths were shared. Strange memories flooded through him, warming him. A moan arose between his lips and Fyla’s, a mix of sadness and loss. Then after an untold time, he was released.
He dropped to his knees, gasping, all strength gone.
Fyla lowered to him, cupping his cheek with a palm. “It is truly you, Meeryn, my love.”
Before another word could be spoken, a violent tremor shook through the grotto. Sand danced on the beach. The sheer waterfall trembled and sprayed. The wide pond sloshed far up its banks, while cries of surprise arose from Tylar’s companions.
Fyla straightened.
Tylar still knelt.
More Hunters swept up out of waterways, rising with spears at ready.
Kreel hurried over from his station by the bridge. “Mistress . . .”
“A naether-quake,” she said, her voice going cold. Her eyes, still ablaze with Grace, turned upon Tylar—not with accusation, but concern. “You must leave. As I had feared, it is not safe for you . . . even here.” She motioned him to stand.
“What’s happening?” Tylar asked.
Rogger and Delia were led to his side.
Fyla lifted her arms high, then brought them down in a sweeping gesture. Similar to the deepwater pod, the outer layer of the arched dome crinkled back, revealing the open ocean beyond.
Tangle Reef glowed on all sides, but now it appeared as a living organism. The entire city writhed in the quake, thrashing along with the weeds, as if a storm raged through the forest. Schools of fish darted in maddened patterns, flashing through the waters.
Yet more disturbing, throughout the Reef, strange clouds billowed up from below, blacker than the dark water. Lances of brilliance flashed among them like undersea lightning. Where they touched weed, green life charred into black death. Frightened fish entered clouds and tumbled back out as white bone.
“They sent a Gloom,” Fyla said hotly.
“A Gloom?” Tylar asked, sickened by the sight.
“A bloom of the naether into this world. Deadly to all in its path.” She crossed to Kreel. “I must protect the Reef.”
Kreel bowed on a knee, holding forth his spear. She gripped its bare blade. With a nod from his mistress, Kreel drew the spear from the sheath of her fingers. Blood followed, flowing from her sliced palm.
She turned to the basin at the foot of the waterfall and allowed her blood to run into the crystalline waters. The stain swirled down and away. “This should ward the Reef against the Gloom for now. But I cannot say for how long. As long as you are here, all are at risk.”
A sudden crash drew all their attention to the far side. A creature had latched on to the dome. Tentacles writhed against the surface.
“The jelly shark,” Rogger gasped.
“It’s gone mad again,” Fyla said. “I’d thought my blood brought it back under control.”
“Mad again?” Tylar asked.
Her gaze remained on the miiodon as its venoms attacked the dome’s clarity, trying to eat through. “It was never supposed to have boarded your ship, only driven you to me, so I could see you for myself. But something broke my control, allowing it to attack your ship.”
Delia grabbed Tylar’s arm and pointed at the jelly shark. It slid down the side of the dome, leaving behind a trail of acid-etched marks.
“That’s ancient Littick,” Delia said.
Rogger nodded. “She’s right.”
“What does it say?”
Delia glanced to Tylar, her eyes frightened. “It says give us the godslayer.”
“They know you’re here.” Fyla waved them all to follow. “Hurry.” She led them around the rocky basin and through the shaking waterfall to a cavern hidden behind it. At the back, a smaller pod awaited, tucked in an alcove. “We must get you down to the wetdocks.”
Tylar stood his ground beside the pod. “What is going on?”
Fyla stared hard at him, eyes aglow. “The naether is searching for you. I was foolish to bring you so deep. But . . .” Her bloody hand rose and touched his cheek, a loving gesture. A tingle ran along his skin. “I had to know the truth, to touch you myself, to feel her in your blood. All that is left of my Meeryn. The naether must sense it, too . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Tylar said, stepping back. “The naether? It hunts me?”
The naether was a place meant to scare children, an underworld of eternal darkness and damnation, plagued by daemons and monsters. It was no more real than the aether, a bright land of ethereal spirits, those unseen beings worshipped by the faithful throughout Myrillia.
Fyla waved them to the pod. “I’ll tell you what I know, but not here. We must go.”
Tylar allowed himself to be herded inside the pod, along with Rogger and Delia. Fyla joined them, accompanied by Kreel with a fire lantern. It was tight quarters as the pod closed.
Fyla touched the wall and the pod dropped, falling swiftly away through tunnels. The descent was rough, bobbled by the shaking.
Rogger held to the walls for balance. “What is this naether-quake?”
Fyla stared overhead. “In a few places in the world, where sunlight never reaches—deep underground, in the midnight depths of the sea, in tombs sealed for millennia—the walls between Myrillia and the naether grow thin. It can be breached, allowing the naether to influence our world for a short time. I felt such a rupture on the eve that Meeryn was slain. Nothing escapes my notice in the seas of Myrillia. I followed it to its source, off the coastlines of the Summering Isles. I am certain something came through.”
“The black beast,” Tylar said, remembering the lizard creature ripe with Dark Graces that had attacked Meeryn.
“A naethryn,” she said with a nod.
Delia gasped at this name. “Impossible. How . . . ?”
Fyla seemed to finally notice her. “I’m not sure. Such a thing has never happened.”
“A naethryn?” Rogger asked, parroting the question in Tylar’s own mind.
Fyla sighed. “What do you know of the great Sundering?”
“What all know,” Tylar said. “How the kingdom whence the gods came had been shattered, bringing you to Myrillia.”
She nodded. “But it was not just our kingdom that was shattered.” She glanced to Delia. “We were shattered ourselves. Into three parts. That which you see here, gods made flesh, b
ut also two others. A part of us was thrust into darkness, into the land you call the naether, and another into brightness.”
“The aether,” Delia whispered.
“Correct. What was once one became three, separate yet still weakly connected. I can sense my other selves, in the other planes. The dark and the light. But only here do we have substance. Or so we thought.” Her eyes flashed with fear, a sight that would chill the stoutest man.
What could scare a god?
Fyla answered his silent question. “The naethryn are the undergods, our counterparts in the naether realm, dark shadows of ourselves.”
Silence settled over the pod as it glided through the heart of Tangle Reef. The tremors of the quake continued.
“One of these naethryn came to slay Meeryn?” Tylar mumbled. “Why?”
“I had hoped you knew.” Her face creased with worry. “For the past decade, there have been stirrings in the deep, strange creatures found rotting on ocean beds. I shared knowledge of these disturbances with Meeryn when last we met. She promised to speak to others across the Nine Lands, to consult with the masters at Tashijan.”
“She must’ve learned something,” Rogger said. “Something she wasn’t supposed to know.”
Fyla shook her head, unsure. “The last message I received from her was cryptic. She had great trepidation about something and wanted to consult with the Court of Tashijan before speaking of it.”
“She had called for a blessed courier,” Tylar said, recalling Perryl’s summons to the Summering Isles. “She was slain before he reached her.”
“Which is cause for more worry,” Rogger said. “She was slain after she contacted Tashijan—it makes one wonder if someone betrayed her.”
“Someone at Tashijan?” Tylar could not hide his disbelief.
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