“This only happens during the worst of storms,” he mindspeaks. “On days like this, the wind beats at you above and the ocean tumbles you along below. Especially after yesterday, it will be a pleasure to rest inside.”
No matter the weather, I’ve little desire to spend the day lazing with Lorrel. I want to be alone, to have time enough to talk again with Chloe. I shake my head and mindspeak, “You Pelk like living in your caves. I need to go above, at least for a little while, just so I can breathe the air in the open and look at more than stone walls and a stone ceiling.”
“What is the difference between this and the stone house that Lorrel has told me you lived in?” Jessai mindspeaks.
I think about my coral stone house, how warm and comfortable it is when it storms outside like this, how much I miss it and I mindspeak only, “Windows.”
As I expected, Derek refuses to venture from his warm, dry nest when I wake him. He nods when I tell him about my conversation with Jessai, nods again when I ask him to back up my story and immediately falls back to sleep. I consider waking him again, just to see if he truly understood what I said, but shake my head. Better to hope he understood. My brother-in-law never takes kindly to having his sleep disturbed.
The grumble of thunder resonates through the cavern and I wonder whether to venture above. It will be too wet to bring Don Henri’s journal to ponder over and too blustery to sit anywhere in comfort. But I need to go somewhere where I can communicate with Chloe without any interruption, and—with the exception of the day before—I haven’t missed a day searching for the Thryll and leaving him food.
I vaguely remember seeing a flash of yellow at the bottom of the clothing pile the Pelk keep. Going to the pile, putting down the two chunks of dolphin meat I’ve brought from the carcass, I change to my human shape and dig through the clothes. I smile when I finally see the yellow material and touch the rubberized surface of a foul-weather jacket and grin even more when I find its matching pants.
Both give off the rank smell of mildew. Still, I put them on over my bare flesh and pull up the hood. If the weather above is as bad as it sounds, I’ll be glad to be protected from it no matter what the odor. My body immediately turns too hot, overprotected as it is from the calm air of the cavern. I pick up the dolphin meat and walk toward the stairs.
Rain lashes the ground. Lightning crackles through the sky, followed by loud claps of thunder. Gusts of wind bend the mangroves, their branches jerking and bowing with each sudden change. I stand in the middle of the clearing next to the entrance to the Pelks’ cavern—my body warm and dry inside the foul-weather gear, only my bare face, hands and feet wet and cold from the storm—and try to decide whether to talk to Chloe or search for Clieee first.
In the end, my reluctance to talk just yet with my angry wife makes it easy for me to choose looking for the Thryll. I take a bite from one of the cold, wet chunks of meat I’m carrying and climb up, into the mangroves.
By now I usually make my way to the end of this path within minutes, but in the storm’s gloom and rain it takes much longer. I have to study each branch and root to determine whether it’s part of the path. I have to place my hands and feet so I don’t slip—tasks made even more difficult by the wind, which makes walking through the trees like stepping from one writhing beast to the next.
I finally reach what I think is the end of the path. Balancing the dolphin meat on the Y of the bough of a tree near me, I use one hand to hold onto tree branches for balance and the other to push branches out of the way—to see if the Thryll hides anywhere nearby.
But I spot no sign of his reddish scales. I shake my head. “Clieee?” I mindspeak. “Where the hell are you?”
He doesn’t answer and I sigh, though after all the days he hasn’t shown, I’m not really surprised by his absence. Chances are, I think, he may have promised what he did only to leave my presence unharmed. I sigh again and pick up a chunk of dolphin meat and take a bite.
“No! Eat mine not!” Clieee mindspeaks from somewhere in the wet greenery.
I stare at the leaves in front of me, not sure just where to look for him, and mindspeak, “This meat is mine. I can eat what I want of it, you worthless creature. I have left food for you every day. . . .”
“Yesterday not. For Clieee no food. For Clieee empty stomach.”
“Why should I give you anything more? You promised me help,” I mindspeak. “And you’ve brought me nothing.” I take another, larger bite from the meat and make a show of chewing it.
The leaves rustle behind me and I turn just as Clieee comes close enough to be seen. “Promise not help. Only Zalman’s words promise I.”
I scowl at the creature. “Why haven’t you told me his words before?”
“Bring you meat for I day by day.” Clieee stares at the meat in my hand. “Not like answer my—no more meat bring you.”
“Tell me Zalman’s words now or I’ll eat every bit of this meat right now.” I mindspeak. “Let me be the judge of whether I like them or not.”
The Thryll comes closer, though he still makes sure to stay out of my reach. “Says Zalman, Pelk poison knows he. Says Zalman, poison antidote knows he. Says Zalman, around you look in the trees. In the trees, says Zalman, find answer you.”
I stare at the trees around us. “Look in the trees for what?”
“Know not I. Zalman knows and says Zalman, know will you.”
“Take me to him! Let him explain his answer to me,” I mindspeak, stepping toward the Thryll.
Clieee shakes his head and backs up. “Explain not Zalman. Never. Are true his words. Always. Meet you not he. Ever. Food want I. Now.”
In the trees. I shake my head. Tree snails, birds, lizards, crabs, spiders and myriad other insects, plus God knows what types of fungus and algae, all live on the mangroves above the water. I assume an equally diverse group of creatures live on or among its roots underwater. “I need more than word games,” I mindspeak.
“Told you all say Zalman to me,” Clieee mindspeaks. “Think his words you and well will be all. Now meat give please you.”
Anger flushes through me. Glaring at the Thryll, I take the dolphin meat in my hand, wind up and throw it at his chest as hard as I can. It strikes him and Clieee shrieks as it bounces from his chest, falling into the roots below. The Thryll drops from his branch, working his way to the roots to find it before some fish takes it away.
“Undrae wrong you. Go now I,” Clieee mindspeaks. “Says Zalman, owe us you much meat.”
“Not a chance,” I growl out loud, not caring whether the Thryll understands me.
29
Left alone with only the storm for company, I sit shaking my head. How foolish of me to set my hopes on another. How naive to think that a simple creature living in the trees could solve any problem of mine.
I welcome the rain pounding down on me. I pray that the wind buffets me even more. I smile at the wet cold numbing my bare feet and hands. Let it all overtake me. Let me drown in the storm’s misery. I deserve every bit of it as punishment for my stupidity.
A sudden gust of wind batters the mangrove where I’m perched and the bough I’ve been holding jerks out of my grip. I gasp, reach for another branch, but it breaks when I pull on it. My right foot slips and I fall, my upper body crashing through branches, my legs slipping between the tree’s roots.
I land in shallow water, my bare feet sinking into cold muck, cold water immediately soaking my legs inside my pants, up to my knees. I bark out a laugh, mutter, “So much for self pity,” and climb back up onto the slippery roots.
It takes a good half hour for me to work my way back to the clearing and from there to the large rock overlooking the lagoon where Derek and I often sit. I sit on the edge of the rock, dangle my legs and stare at the lagoon, watching as wind gusts rush over it, ruffling and swirling the water, shifting the ever changing pattern of pockmarks the raindrops leave on its surface.
Somehow moisture finds its way through my jacket’s collar. A t
hin, cold trickle of it starts making its way down my neck and then down my back. I sigh and ignore it. More important things need to be attended to than my comfort.
{Chloe,} I mindspeak, masked. {Chloe, will you talk with me?}
{Are you alone now?}
{I’m up on land, out of the cavern, away from all the Pelk.}
{Even her?}
{Especially her,} I mindspeak.
{Isn’t it storming there? It’s horrid here. Claudia and I haven’t even thought about leaving the hotel. On the TV they’re calling it a tropical disturbance.}
{I don’t doubt it,} I mindspeak. {But I found some foul-weather gear, so it’s not too bad. At least no one will venture above to bother me.}
{Peter, you know I’m still mad at you.}
I know Chloe too well to think anything else. {I do,} I mindspeak.
{But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you.}
{I didn’t think it did.}
{What are we going to do?}
I shake my head. There’s so much I’ve been thinking about—some of which I have no idea whether we can do or not. I mindspeak, {First of all, we can’t have everyone back home thinking that the killings of boaters have stopped just because I’m missing. . . .}
{I’ve been worrying about the same thing here, Peter,} Chloe mindspeaks. {I’m so tired of seeing all of Jordan Davidson’s stupid headlines. I don’t think it will be very hard for me to start making boaters disappear again. I’ve been watching the patrol boats around the island. If I swim out like we did the night we attacked the patrol boat, I’m sure I can come and go without being noticed.}
{You have to be very careful. It’s not worth doing if it puts you in too much risk.}
{Don’t be silly. You know I can handle it.}
I nod, even though she can’t see me.
{What else can I do to help?} Chloe mindspeaks.
{If you can, I’d like you and Claudia to get my boat and bring it back.} I look up at the gray, angry clouds scudding overhead and frown. {If the damn thing’s still floating.}
{Are you sure that’s a good idea? Won’t there be questions if I suddenly cruise up to the island on your Grady White?}
{LaMar Assosciates owns a marina in Key Largo. Just bring the boat back to Bimini. Claudia can arrange for someone to bring it over.} I describe the island where I left the boat and the small cove where she can find it anchored.
Chloe mindspeaks, {The storm’s supposed to pass later today. We can get the boat tomorrow, drop it off in Bimini and still be home by dark. But those are easy things. What can we do to get you home?}
I take a deep breath and tell her about my meeting with the Thryll and about Zalman’s words.
Chloe doesn’t reply for a few moments, finally mindspeaking, {In the trees?}
{Yes. Red mangroves—that’s what’s all around here.}
{We have them too, all over the island. What should I look for?}
{Did you read or study anything about red mangroves when your mother taught you how to make potions?}
{No, I don’t think so. When I get back I can see what I can find in my books.}
{Good,} I mindspeak, though I doubt she’ll find anything.
{What about your father? Shouldn’t we be trying to find out how he found the antidote?}
I laugh. If only it were that easy. {They gave me a journal he wrote when he was here. . . .}
{Didn’t it say anything you could use?}
{It’s in Spanish, like his log books at home. I keep going over it hoping I’ll find some words that I can figure out. But even if we could read it, we don’t know if he wrote anything about the antidote.}
{Claudia could translate it for us. You could read it to me and have me repeat it to her.}
Shaking my head, I mindspeak, {I thought about it, but it’s over a hundred pages. Can you imagine how cumbersome that would be? I’ve been trying to figure out where I could hide the journal up here so you could come and get it during the night.}
{Whenever you say,} Chloe mindspeaks. {What about his log books? Claudia could read through them when we get home. He may have mentioned the antidote in one of them.}
I think about all the old log books stored with Father’s ancient maps in the great room. {Chloe, there are dozens of them. It will take Claudia forever to read them all. . . .}
{She doesn’t have to read them all. They’re log books, so they’re dated. . . .}
Seeing where she’s going, nodding, I mindspeak, {His pirate fleet was disbanded around 1700. I think his first wife died in the early 1600s. He would have found his Pelk female after that. So if Claudia reads backwards from the most recent date she’ll have the best chance of finding something quickly.}
{Exactly. Then we can get you out of there, deal with your whole mess with Jordan Davidson and get back to living our lives.}
Getting back to living our lives. I can think of nothing I want more—if only we can. A new blast of wind rushes over the lagoon, almost knocking me over, blowing the hood off my head. Raindrops sting my skin, instantly soak my hair. I ignore it all. {Davidson is the least of our problems. I think I have a solution figured out. All we need to do is get me home. My concern is how you and I can get back to living our life like we used to. As soon as we can.}
{Not yet, Peter. I’m not ready to have that conversation with you now.}
30
Jessai meets me at the bottom of the stairs when I return to the cavern. “Mowdar wants you to come to him immediately,” he mindspeaks.
I cock an eyebrow. “About what?”
“He told me only to bring you, nothing else.”
After the cool of the storm, the foul-weather gear threatens to roast me in the cavern’s calm protection. I rip off the jacket, step out of the pants and walk toward the clothes pile.
Jessai follows me, mindspeaking, “Mowdar said immediately.”
After all the grief Mowdar has brought me, just after my wife refused to discuss how we can repair our relationship, the last thing I want to hear is any demand from the Pelk leader. I stop and whirl around, glaring at the Pelk. “Or what?”
He glares back. “Undrae, I offered you my friendship. Do not force me to take it back. I must do as I am bid.”
Shaking my head, I look at Jessai, at the cavern now lit by all of its glowpools, at the other Pelk all going about enjoying their holiday, lolling in their nests, gathering in groups to share food and drink and conversation. I want no part of any of it. I want to be gone. Still, I know can’t leave yet, and I know I would rather have Jessai as a friend than an enemy. I take a breath, calm myself and mindspeak, “We Undrae have no leaders. I’m not used to being ordered about.”
Jessai nods. “I am too used to it myself,” he mindspeaks, and we both laugh. To my relief, he offers no further resistance when I still insist on returning the foul-weather gear to the clothes pile and shifting into my natural form before we go to Mowdar.
We arrive to find the Pelk leader sitting alone on one of the seaweed seats outside his alcove, sharpening the points of his trident with a small stone. He waves me to a seat beside him and motions for Jessai to leave, busying himself with the trident until the Pelk lieutenant’s out of sight. Then he stops sharpening the trident and turns his gaze on me, saying nothing, shaking his head.
I stare back, hold my eyes on his until he turns his attention back to his trident, the stone rasping as he runs it up and down one prong and then the next.
“Undrae,” he finally mindspeaks. “What problem are you brewing up for me now?”
“None,” I mindspeak. “What problem could I pose? Your poison runs in my veins. You have dozens who would kill me on your command.”
Mowdar stops sharpening, tests the point of one prong with his claw and shakes his head. He changes the angle of the stone and runs it up and down the prong again. “I wish I felt as secure as you seem to think I am,” he mindspeaks. “Your actions trouble me.”
“I’ve done nothing to cause you con
cern.”
“Nothing?” Mowdar drops the stone and turns toward me, swinging the trident in an arc that ends with the newly sharpened tips of all three prongs pressed against my neck. “Why have you spent most of the morning above—in a storm? Why does my daughter come to me to complain that you have chosen to reject her?”
I pull back to stop the trident’s prongs from boring into my neck’s scales, but Mowdar follows my move, keeps them in place. “Don’t bother,” he mindspeaks. “I can skewer you with one motion and behead you with the next before you can do anything to stop me.” He pushes the trident against me just a little more. “Tell me why I should not, Undrae.”
Gnashing my fangs, clenching my claws, it takes all my will to resist grabbing the trident and turning it on the creature. I have been taught never to act from anger alone. But I have also been taught never to give in to intimidation.
Forcing a breath, relaxing my tense muscles, I lean into the trident’s prongs, ignore the pain as they break through my scales into the soft tissue below. I stop just before one pierces my main artery. The scent of my blood fills the air around us and I smile at Mowdar. He may have chosen this game, but I have chosen to raise its stakes. The slightest wrong move by me or him can bring my death. He has no choice now except to kill me or pull back.
“Pelk, do whatever you want,” I mindspeak. “I know I’m your prisoner, but does that mean I have to suffer the stink of this cavern every moment of the day? Unlike your kind, I am no cave dweller. Is it your rule that I can no longer go above to smell clean air?”
“And you want me to believe you went above to sit in the rain and just breathe?”
“I don’t care what you think.”
The Seadragon's Daughter Page 20