Sea of Secrets Anthology

by J E Feldman

  “So you brought me here under false pretenses?” She stood, brushing leaves and twigs from her jeans. “All that stuff about the Dragon Bridge and you waiting for me was...”

  True, said the dragon. I believe you and I are destined to rid Loch Raven of a necromancer who has taken up residence near the shoreline on the east side of the lake. But before we do that, we need to visit my colony's home. So, climb aboard.

  “But the undead,” began Amber as she crawled onto Chameleon's back and grabbed her neck, “will surely...”

  The dragon dashed into the reservoir and dove beneath the surface faster than Amber could finish her question.

  Once again, she held her breath until it felt her lungs would burst, then in desperation, Amber gulped whatever oxygen the dragon provided. As before, there was a bubble of breathable air surrounding her. Of the undead, Amber saw little more than a few flailing bones and fluttering bits of grave-clothes. Chameleon's notched-up speed was more than the animated corpses could keep up with. Faster than an arrow, the dragon and she shot through the water, through a deep tunnel, and into the lowest level of an underground complex.

  This is the nest of my colony, thought the dragon.

  I see, responded Amber.

  As she slid down from the dragon's back, Amber studied the abode of one of the colonies of the Dragons of Loch Raven. Though not directed at Chameleon, Amber assumed her thoughts screamed, Wow! to any dragon listening because that was what her brain was thinking. The ramp Chameleon had used to climb from the water was constructed of carefully fitted and polished rocks. The rock pavement continued into an enormous central gathering area and several hallways which branched off toward what Amber assumed were rooms for sleep, eating, and other dragonish activities.

  A glance at Chameleon's front feet convinced her that while the dragons might have aided in the excavation of their cave, someone else was responsible for the mosaic-like paving below her feet. As for the fabulous murals which decorated the walls, perhaps a dragon could hold a paintbrush and render the scenes of dragon lore that she beheld, but she suspected someone else had a hand in those too. Before she could ask Chameleon about the art, several dragons, which had apparently been discussing something at the far end of the gathering area, strode forward to greet them.

  Is this the human you have been waiting for? asked a deep voice.

  Yes, this is Amber, replied Chameleon.

  She is young. Perhaps too young for the task, suggested a high, nasally voice.

  Age is not an important part of the equation. Intelligence, a good heart, and pure soul are the deciding factors, the deep voice assured all who were listening.

  He must be the head dragon, Amber surmised.

  The largest of the dragons lowered his head slightly, studied Amber's face, then said, I am, before asking in his deep voice, Were you told of the necromancer who calls forth the dead to attack your people?

  Yes. Though I'm not sure I can do much to help. I know no magic.

  None? inquired the largest dragon.

  Well, I do know some folklore. And I read lots of dark fantasy books. Plus, I guess I know a little about herbs, stated Amber as several of the dragons, including Chameleon and the head dragon chuckled.

  She will do, said the deep voice. The chief dragon lifted his head, looked at Chameleon, and ordered, Come up with a plan. Get the girl whatever she needs to eliminate the necromancer. We have endured this foulness for too long. With a final nod in her direction, the chief dragon, followed by his entourage, walked away.

  That went well, Chameleon declared as she smiled down at Amber.

  I'm not sure if you know it, she responded, but when you smile, it looks like you are ready to eat me.

  Chameleon chuckled. We do not usually eat humans. Instead, we try to protect your kind, which brings us back to the necromancer. Any idea how to eliminate him?

  Relaxing in Chameleon's room on a jewel-toned rug with the dragon's tail curled around her, Amber and the dragon came up with a plan. Not an elaborate, magic-filled assault, but rather a common-sense approach to a necromancer who was human.

  How long do you think we need to leave the mirror and knife in salt? asked Chameleon as she stirred the white mineral covering a lovely antique hand-held mirror and a fabulously-jeweled dagger—which until recently had rested on top of the dragon's personal hoard.

  At least an hour, replied Amber as she snuffed out the white candle she had circled over the salt pile while singing hymns. She had no idea whether the hymns she'd selected were the correct ones to sanctify an object—but she imagined any holy vibes she could attach to the mirror and blade would help. She knew necromancers were condemned in the Bible and other holy writings so it seemed natural to her that the man who was manipulating the long-dead of Warren and nearby towns would be weakened by adding the messages of hymns to any object used against him.

  At the mention of time, she suddenly remembered the companion she had left fishing on the banks of Loch Raven.

  Vernon! I need to let him know I'm okay. Then Amber frowned and solemnly thought, How long have I been with you? Minutes? Hours?

  Chameleon shook her head.

  Days?

  The dragon shook her head again. Dragon-time moves differently than human-time, explained Chameleon. You have been gone for months of your time. By now, your cousins have collected your things, and someone else has been hired to work at the store where you framed art.

  Rather than question Chameleon about how the dragon knew so much about her life, Amber said, You should have told me when we first met. I should have been able to make my own choice whether or not I wanted to give up so much of my life. Another thought came to her. Can I return to my old life when this business with the necromancer is finished?

  Chameleon shook her head. You are part of our world now, but rather than stay here, you and I will set out to find a new place to reside. Once there, you can resume a human life, if you desire.

  Must you leave too? Don't you want to remain with the dragons of Loch Raven?

  The dragon reached over, grabbed a golden arm cuff, and turned it around and around with her claws. When I appeared to you, I made my choice. I must go where you go until one of us is no more.

  No more?

  Lowering her scaly muzzle, Chameleon stared into Amber's eyes with an intensity that seemed to burn a hole in her retinas. We are bonded until one of us dies. With any luck, that will not happen later today when we take on the necromancer.

  I hope you're right, replied Amber.

  As do we all, said the deep voice of the leader of the colony.

  A reminder that Chameleon and Amber were not alone in their conversation or the mission to kill a necromancer since death seemed to be the only solution to the problem.

  While we wait, began Amber, would you tell me who built this dragon lair, who painted the murals, and who wove this stunning rug on which we rest?

  Chameleon scratched an eye ridge, sighed, then started to explain how the colony's home was created.

  First, I need to explain about the dwarves who live under the earth...

  More relaxed as she rode Chameleon, Amber mentally went over their plan and checked off the items they had brought with them. The outcome would be more certain if she were a magic-wielder, but even a sales clerk from an arts and crafts store could hold a mirror. As for the necromancer's undead minions, the dragon promised to hold them off until Amber had thwarted their master.

  The undead have joined us, warned Chameleon. I expect even more will gather and try to stop us, but a change in speed will give you more time to confront the necromancer.

  Amber pressed against the dragon's back and held more firmly onto her neck spikes.

  There, thought the dragon, near the entrance to that old building is the necromancer.

  Lifting her head, Amber saw a balding, middle-aged man dressed in black clothing standing before a rundown house. Both of his hands were raised slightly while he was chanting loudly.
Had the situation not been so serious, she would have laughed because the necromancer looked less like a threat and more like a bad actor in an amateur video. That is until the undead started to crawl onto the shore and surround their master.

  Can you get me safely to him? Amber asked as the animated skeletons, facing outward, encircled the necromancer. She noted some of their number held weapons in their fleshless hands.

  I will handle the undead. You be ready to deal with the necromancer, replied Chameleon. Remember, by the laws of my colony, I cannot kill or harm a human so the man must be stopped by you. But do not fear, if you fail, I am allowed to rescue you.

  Let's hope it doesn't come to that, replied Amber as she drew the salt-purified, hymn-blessed mirror from the bag slung across her shoulder. Next she pulled the jewel-encrusted dagger and placed it between her teeth. The moment they burst from the water, she grabbed a handful of salt mixed with sage, rosemary, and other smudging herbs and tossed it into the eyes of the necromancer.

  The man unleashed an unearthly howl, which chilled Amber to the bone and sent his minions into a frenzied attack of the dragon. The man was truly evil. The grain of pity she'd had for the necromancer vanished when she saw the soulless being who stared out of his eyes. The creature before demanded the death of the dragon, Amber, and anyone else who dared to cross him.

  Satisfied the undead would deal with the dragon, he raised his hands and turned his full attention to Amber. Heart beating louder than a woodpecker tapping on a tree, she held up the mirror. In fairy tales and fantasy stories alike, a mirror reflected the curses and spells of a sorceress or wizard back upon the spell-caster. Chameleon and she hoped it worked on necromancers too.

  Behind her, Amber heard the crunch of bones as the dragon did her best to hold off the throngs of undead. But she also heard the scrape of blades against scales.

  Are you okay? she asked.

  For now, but you must hurry, came the reply. The undead are many. As soon as I tear them apart, they reassemble and attack again. They will overcome me eventually.

  Frightened for Chameleon, Amber dared a quick peek at the necromancer. Face distorted with rage, the man continued to screech the darkest, most foul curses imaginable. But the mirror sent them back at him as his skin and lips had cracked. His eyes wept blood. His tongue had blackened. Knowing he was weakened by his own curses, she grabbed another handful of the herb-laced salt and tossed it into the necromancer's eyes.

  Wailing like a madman, he grabbed his face.

  With his eyes momentarily covered and his curses silent for a split-second, Amber took the dagger from between her teeth and plunged it into the necromancer's chest about where she thought his heart might be.

  He dropped his hands. Mouth gaping, the man tilted his head to look at her. Whatever he meant to say next stayed muffled in his throat. Amber watched as the gleam behind his eyes dimmed, darkened, and the necromancer crumbled to the ground. She dumped the last of the blessed salt onto the body of the dead necromancer, then from his chest, she withdrew the dragon's dagger.

  From behind her, she heard the bones of the undead clattering to the rock-strewn shore.

  “Chameleon!” she exclaimed when she saw the dragon was barely able to stand.

  Her scales were marred with blood and her muzzle had a gaping wound. Without being told, she knew she couldn't swim back to her kind for help.

  We have rid Loch Raven of the necromancer, thought Amber. But we need help. Chameleon...wait, that's not her real name. Your dragon, my friend, cannot make it back to the colony without...

  Hush, young one, a deep voice spoke in her mind. We will be there soon.

  As they waited for rescue, Amber wrapped her arms around Chameleon's neck and cried, her tears falling on the scales of the dragon. By the time she realized much of the colony stood beside them on the shore of Loch Raven, the dragons had witnessed the bond between them.

  Carry the bones of the humans back to the graveyard beneath the lake where they came from, ordered the head dragon. As for the necromancer, his remains must be burned and scattered below the second dam.

  I will see to it, said a high, nasally voice.

  Child, climb onto my back, said the chief dragon to Amber in his lovely deep voice. I will take both you back to our cave. And weep no more because she will heal in time. After, you both will sail to a new home and new adventures.

  Wait, said Chameleon as she pressed her cheek to Amber's, let me tell you my true name.

  There on the bone-littered shore of Loch Raven, she whispered the most precious gift she could give to a human into Amber's ear.

  Archit Joshi

  Biography

  Archit R. Joshi is a 21 year old writer from Pune, India. He writes explorative fiction, and loves writing stories that force his characters into revealing more of the mind. He graduated a valedictorian from his college, majoring in Computer Science. He also has experience in social work and is a certificate holder of a prestigious Non Profit organization of his University. Archit has worked at his own startup, before giving his passion for writing a professional platform. He draws from the multitude of experiences he has gained from his varied interests, and strives to attain versatility in his writing.

  Lost at Sea

  Archit Joshi

  The bottle caught a glint of sunlight and gave off a curious sparkle.

  “We shouldn’t be here, Nikki!” Ronit whispered, but Nikita wouldn’t listen. She continued walking toward the sea even as giant waves crashed before them.

  They were exploring a desolate part of the beach, two twins on an adventure. There was not a soul in sight. All around them, sharp rocks jutted at awkward angles. An inexperienced wanderer was bound to get hurt. But Nikita was not one to shy away from an adventure.

  “We’ll just be a moment, Ronnie. Stop whining!”

  Nikita wanted to feel the thrill of breaking rules and exploring unknown lands. They were on a vacation, after all! Just a few weeks more and life would become a series of classes and exams and studies.

  Carefully, she made her way to the bottle. It bobbed on the water, an incongruous green in an otherwise magnificent blue. Ronit trailed behind cautiously. She had almost caught hold of it, but a receding wave snatched it away. She darted toward the bottle and lost her footing.

  “Careful!” Ronit sprang toward her and caught her mid-fall. “Let’s go back!”

  Nikita ignored him. As she regained her balance, another wave thrust the bottle back at them. She dropped down on all fours, bruising her knees. Stretching herself to the limit, she snatched it before another wave could carry it away. It looked like a beer bottle, but the water had torn off the label. A small rubber cork had been forced into the opening, to keep water from getting inside.

  Protecting what, exactly?

  Nikita tilted the bottle and a roll of paper slid toward the cork. Ronit looked around uneasily. They were far from all humanity, with no one to help them should danger befall. Unscrewing the cork, Nikita pulled out the note.

  “Meet me at our usual spot near Arvalem Caves,” Ronit read over Nikita’s shoulders. “Four p.m.”

  The note was scrawled in a shabby writing and it was unsigned. Whoever had written it must have been in a hurry.

  “Four p.m. is just an hour away! If we hurry, we can make it!” Nikita pocketed the note, threw the bottle back at the sea.

  “Whoa! We aren’t going anywhere! Mom n’ Dad will be expecting us at the resort by evening.”

  “We’ll be back in plenty of time, Ronnie!” Nikita groaned. “What a wuss!”

  “I’m not!” Ronit replied fiercely. “Besides, the Arvalem caves are miles away. However can we get there?”

  “We’ll think of something. Now, let’s move!”

  They were at Bicholim, a good nine kilometers from the Arvalem caves. Ronit ran behind Nikita unwillingly. A short run later, they emerged near a more open area of the beach. Ronit felt relieved on seeing the general humdrum of people.

&n
bsp; “What’s your plan now, sisso?”

  Nikita scanned the surroundings, biting her lower lip. She started walking back toward the city area, away from the beach. Ronit hurried to catch up with her. Around them, people were enjoying their holidays, drinking lazily, and basking in the pleasant Goan sun.

  They’re the saner ones, Ronit thought bitterly. That’s how you enjoy the vacations: booze and snooze. But here he was, dripping wet, running away from the beach to check out something that was most likely a hoax.

  As they reached a busy intersection, Nikita came to a halt.

  “How much money do we have?”

  Ronit pulled out his wallet, which had been wrapped heavily in two layers of plastic. Using the plastic as gloves, he took out a wad of notes and counted.

  “A couple hundred bucks,” he said. “We have money. But how do we get to the Arvalem caves?”

  Just then, a tourism bus came to a halt at a stop nearby. It was bright pink with the typical words, ‘Go…Goa…Gone!’ painted in block letters.

  “That’s how.”

  Arun Desai was a disgruntled young man.

  He hadn’t slept properly for a week and had ingested shamefully copious amounts of caffeine. But he was sure something was off. Poring over the balance sheets day and night, he’d gone to excruciating lengths to find out where the missing money went. Yet, he couldn’t find any significant discrepancy. Whoever was siphoning money had hidden his trail cleverly. There were large dividends under Discretional Funds, a section he couldn’t challenge at his access level. Under that section were myriad subheadings that all seemed valid avenues for investing money.

  Frustrated, he had gone to his superior, Mr. Saxena. He confided his suspicions that someone within the government was siphoning huge amounts of money.