Lifting into flight, Kieel darted across the shimmering moat surrounding the Spire and zipped from bush to flower to bush in the gardens bordering it. In a tree not far from the drawbridge Majeska would use to cross to the drop car on the outside of the building, he landed and scanned the area for his guide. A twig snapped. A hand snatched him from the branch and held him in the light.
“Well, well, well. What have we here? If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was the Nyti Thorlu told us about.”
Kieel stared at a face that triggered a recent memory. His captor had been with the Mocendi, one of the ones who had fought in the hall. He tried to wiggle free. The man laughed. “Spunky, aren’t you. Don’t think I’m gonna let you go. You’re my meal ticket, little man. I bring you back, and I get a leg up to the next apprentice level.”
Kieel forced a calm he did not feel and let curiosity creep into his question. “Are you a Mocendi?”
The man lifted him to eye level. “So you talk, too. Hey, they said you knew stuff we should know.” Cunning lit his eyes. “How about you answer my questions? I might even consider letting you go. What do you say?”
An arrow of gray launched from the bushes and slammed into the man’s chest. Arms flung wide, he stumbled backward, loosed his grip on Kieel, and let out a howl of frustration as his ‘meal ticket’ zipped over his head.
The man’s pounding footsteps and heavy breathing pursued Kieel as he whizzed after Majeska into the open door of the drop car. The man thrust his arm between the door and the jam. A buzzer blared. Majeska gave a sharp meow. Kieel drew his small sword, gathered his full strength, and stabbed the hand.
With a startled cry, the man yanked it back. The door closed; the car shot upward. Kieel found the three numbers Jordett had drawn for him and pressed one after the other. The car came to a stop. The doors opened on a long, white corridor.
Majeska sprinted and leapt into the roiling mist covering the far end. The car lurched. Kieel dodged through closing doors, shot down the hall, and dove after her. The next instant, he found himself hovering beside a street lamp. From across the way, Majeska gave a clipped meow and sprinted down a dimly lit lane.
A thud behind him warned Kieel to move. He glanced back. Adrenaline pounded through him. The exclamation “By The MasTer’s Reach” chased him as he bolted after Majeska. Midway down the lane, a door opened. Majeska shot in. Kieel followed. The door closed. Running feet pounded by.
A tall man with longish dark hair and an eye that never blinked emerged from the darkness and held out his hand. “Fadin’s the name.”
Majeska purred.
Kieel touched down on the extended palm. “Kieel, Matrés of the Terces Wood Nyti, at your service.”
Fadin winked at Majeska. “Formal, isn’t he?” His good eye, the one that blinked, looked back at Kieel. “Once we get that wanna-be Mocendi under lock and key, you’ll be safe t’ go. Won’t be long. Mirror’s still in the shoppe. Jeska here knows the way.”
A soft tap on the door stopped his chatter. He cracked it open.
“All clear.”
Fadin opened the door and held up his hand. “Kieel, meet Saaul.”
Kieel bowed. “Hello, Saaul.”
“Howdy.” Saaul grinned. “Haven’t seen a Nyti since I was a youngster. Sure wish my kids, Tima and Tansy, could meet you, Kieel. When things are calmer, come visit us.”
Majeska meowed and trotted down the lane.
Fadin grinned. “The lady’s gettin’ impatient. Best get underway.”
“Thank you.” Kieel chased after her, afraid to let her out of his sight.
Dom met them at the door to Antiques by Q. “Hey, Jeska. Kieel. Best keep movin’. Mirror’s waitin’. Take care. Four Mocendi used it a short time ago. Only three came back.”
When at last they arrived in the sunflower patch, Kieel wanted to shout for joy. Instead, he landed by Majeska where she crouched beneath a tall sunflower and peeked between broad green leaves. The RewFaaran camp looked to be deserted and every bit as eerie as Idronatti’s empty streets. Absent were the sounds of the Terces Wood: the chirp of birds, the buzz of insects, the chatter of small animals. Not even the trees whispered in the autumn breeze. Kieel longed for his walking stick and the small sword he had left in the man’s hand in the drop car.
Majeska skulked away from the camp and into the trees beyond the sunflower field. Kieel followed, zipping from one shaded spot to the next. When he reached the trees, he paused. Ashor darted into view and beckoned. On the far side of the camp, the young Nyti fluttered to a branch and pointed. Kieel’s heart convulsed in his chest. Reana, his only granddaughter, hovered inside a small cage in front of a tent. Not far away, a man wearing the cape of a Mocendi DiMensioner stood with his back to her. Pivoting on a heel, he marched to the cage, put his face close to the bars, and narrowed his eyes.
“You will tell me what I want to know.”
She folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips tight.
The Mocendi scowled and stalked into the tent.
Kieel glanced at Ashor. “I recognize him from Idronatti. If we’re going to rescue Reana, we’ll need help. Take me to Tinpaca Mondago.”
He took one last look at his granddaughter. Don’t lose your temper, girl. Holding his fear for her safety in check, he followed Ashor into the Terces Wood.
Almiralyn and Sparrow stood side by side, their attention fixed on the image forming in Elcaro’s Eye.
Sparrow leaned closer. “There’s something there but I can’t make it out.”
Almiralyn waved her hand above the water and smiled. “A spell of invisibility. Brie is growing by leaps and bounds.”
On the fountain’s surface a dim outline appeared. Sparrow gasped and gazed at a two-masted sailing vessel gliding through the mists of early morning. “My dear Brielle…”
The image pulled out to show calm water reflecting the muted shoreline like a looking glass. An occasional bird soared overhead. Too close for comfort, a smaller boat gave chase.
The fountain zoomed in on a stocky, white-haired man at the wheel of the larger craft. The hatch opened. Red curls flared in the early morning light.
Almiralyn squeezed Sparrow’s hand. “And here’s our girl.”
Climbing on deck with Shyllee close behind, Brie let her gaze wander from the boat’s captain to the watch perch where Elf sat and finally to the dog settling at her favorite spot in the stern. The information gleaned from Ostradio surged through her thoughts. None of it seems that intimidating. Why are Gregos and Tamosh so afraid of it?
Gregos beckoned her forward. “Ya learned everything about the Narrows already?”
“Yes, but I still don’t know the reason it’s so frightening to experienced sailors.”
He favored her with a wry smile. “Let’s hope ya don’t ever discover the reason. No use me tellin’ ya and callin’ forth a problem.” He licked his lower lip and glanced over his shoulder.
Brie’s gaze followed his. “How soon before we reach the mouth?”
“All too soon, my dear.” He stepped aside. “Take the helm. Let’s see what ya’ve learned.”
By the time they were closing in on the Narrows, Gregos had put her through her paces and drilled her on every conceivable emergency. “Wolloh was correct. Ya sure are one smart girl.”
Tamosh joined them and trained his glass on Possession . “Something strange going on back there, Gregos. Brubger is heading for the shore at that bit of a cove where we sometimes anchor.”
Gregos took the glass, studied the smaller boat, and passed it to Esán. “What do you make of that, boy?”
“Don’t know, sir, but I can find out.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Go!”
Esán handed the glass to Brie and shifted to his kestrel form.
Brie tracked him as he flew shoreward and then cut south, staying close to the shoreline but well-camouflaged by the trees. As Possession edged into the small, semi-enclosed anchorage, she lost sight of him.
The next thing she knew, he materialized beside her.
“Brubger tossed a bag connected to a long line over a branch hanging just short of the water. When I tried to see into it, I met with a block. My guess—the Astican is on land.”
Gregos muttered a few choice words under his breath. “Everyone to their stations. If I yell for ya to clear the deck, I mean it. Don’t stop to look or listen. Get yourselves below and cover your ears! Elf, at the bow. Warn me of trouble.” He glanced at Brie, who had taken up her position at his side. “We have a slack tide in less than a quarter circle. The beginning of the Narrows should be smooth sailin’. Then it’ll pick up speed. I’ll be here as long as I can. Torgin, keep the compass handy. Tamosh, ya’ve got the watch.”
Melback made a graceful, easy turn into a narrow passage. Midway through, it opened into Soruch, the widest part of the Narrows, and then became even narrower. Brie gazed into the distance. Tides on DerTah could be complex, depending on the interaction of its three moons. Melback had a finite amount of time to make it to the far end before the unbridled power of the tide flushed her back to Eschems Strait.
Agitation radiating from Gregos washed over her. Behind them, Tamosh scanned one shoreline and then the other. At the bow, Elf trained his attention on the water. In the distance, she sensed the Mindeco struggling with Brubger’s resistance to entering the Narrows and prayed the man would win the battle. She could not feel the Astican.
Melback crept forward with the shore so close on either side that Brie could almost reach out and touch it. With unerring skill, Gregos navigated the tight corner into Soruch, where he had told her DiMensionery did not work. Inch by inch, she watched the spell of invisibility peel away until Melback became fully visible again. The morning breeze, which had supported their journey since first light, ceased. The sea lay slick and still, not one ripple in any direction. Melback stopped, becalmed—unmoving. Anticipation engulfed the Narrows.
Brie flinched as the Star of Truth sent a stabbing pain up her neck. Her gaze bounced from one shore to the other and back to the open expanse of water. A single high note shredded the thick silence and scattered it over the sailboat like tiny ice crystals.
“Clear the deck!”
Gregos’ command sent everyone but Brie, Torgin, and Tamosh racing for the hatch. The clatter of scrambling feet as they descended into the cabin mingled with a second operatic note. Gregos gripped the wheel. Determination etched every line of his body.
Torgin clung to Brie’s arm, his eyes huge and his breath coming in quick, short gasps. He gulped and pointed. “Look!”
Circling Melback , reflected on the water’s surface, open-mouthed female faces spewed musical notes into the air. Half notes, whole notes, quarter notes formed and burst, vibrating the morning with their high-pitched verve. Time and again, notes soared upward. Time and again their sound pelted Melback and her crew. More and more demanding in its tone, the song began to take on form.
“Desirol, Tamosh, Esán…Ira, Gregos, Torgin…” The names rose, trembled in the air, and crashed into the water.
An outer ring of male figures began to emerge. Mounted on spumming stallions of the sea, they carried glistening bows fitted with silver arrows that glimmered in the light of the sun. Gregos swore and motioned Torgin to the deck. Flashes of silver arced over the boat and evaporated as they hit the shore.
At the stern, Tamosh collapsed, unconscious. The spy glass rolled from limp fingers. Water soaked his shirt and pooled around his shoulders.
Gregos motioned Brie to the wheel. Grabbing his brother under the arms, he dragged him to the hatch. Esán and Desirol wrestled him below. Gregos staggered back to her side. The twang of bow strings merged with the explosion of notes. The boat rocked in time to the mesmerizing rhythm.
An arrow rushed past Brie’s cheek. Gregos toppled to the deck, water drenching his clothing and showering her with gleaming droplets.
She caught her breath and clutched the wheel. The fluid coolness of the Water ConDria flowed over her, infused her with wonder. Laughing for joy, she shook tendrils of silvery hair away from her face.
“Brielle, no!”
Something about the voice intrigued her. She shook her head—tried to remember.
“Brie, don’t shift.” Ira gripped her shoulders. His blue eyes turned to brown. Red hair tumbled around a feminine, freckled face. “Brie, it’s me…Ari.”
Brie stared at the familiar face, shook her head again. Ohhhh. Ari!
The silky, coolness receded, leaving her soaked in the warmth of her twin’s hug. Ari held her at arm’s length. “You can’t go. We have a boat to save.”
The seductive song transitioned to angry shrieks. Arrows pelted the boat. Fluid faces contorted as water-colored eyes closed to slits. Mouths rounded. Spouts of water plummeted the deck. The boat pitched. Liquid fists sent rhythmic quakes through wooden bulkheads.
Brie struggled to find a solution somewhere in what she had learned. Ari’s arms around her waist kept her on her feet. Her hands on the wheel steadied her.
All the lessons came rushing back. Brie looked at Torgin’s pale face. “Are you with me?”
He nodded.
“Help Ari take Gregos below, and then—”
The shrill cry of a beast of prey showered down on them. Torgin and Ari, rooted to the spot, stared at the far side of Soruch, where the Narrows tapered to its slimmest point. Abarax, Astican of TreBlaya, hovered above the trees.
Brie shoved fear to the back of her mind. “Get Gregos below.”
Amidst the clamor of soprano voices mixed with the Astican’s primitive cries, they half-dragged, half-carried Gregos to the hatch. Esán and Torgin pulled him to the safety of the cabin.
Ari hurried back to her side and clasped her hand. “Now what?”
In the sanctuary of Veersuni, the image in the fountain dispersed, leaving the water devoid of anything but the gentle drop, drip, drop from alabaster palms.
Sparrow cried out in dismay. Frantic brown eyes found Almiralyn’s. “Make it show us more. It can’t leave us like this. I can’t…” Tears for her daughters tumbled down her cheeks.
Almiralyn took her hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t make it do anything. It only tells what we need to know, not what we want to know.”
A tear dropped from Sparrow’s chin. Ripples rolled into stillness. The water grew calm, a mirror gleaming in the depth of the Caverns of Tennisca. From the very bottom of the bowl, a faint image floated upward. Bobbing and weaving as though caught in a tidal current, it arrived, steadied, and came into focus.
Below deck on Melback , Torgin looked at the prostrate figures of Gregos and Tamosh. Still as death, Desirol sprawled on a berth, his eyes open and staring. Elf sat with his back to the bulkhead, hands pressed over his ears.
Only Esán seemed unaffected by the chaos above. He sat at the chart table with One Man’s flute in his hands. “Torgin, you are the only one who can save us.”
“What can I do? What if the Mindeco is out there, ready to jump aboard. What if…” Torgin clamped his mouth shut, inhaled through his nose, and blew out through his mouth. “I haven’t been so afraid—” A wry laugh cut him short. “—since I got on the boat in Atkis.”
“You aren’t the same boy who came to Myrrh for the first time a few moon cycles ago.” Esán held out the flute. “My father gave this to you for a reason. He understood your power, Torgin. Go and work your magic.”
Something—the tilt of Esán’s head, his tone, the confidence in his eyes—compelled Torgin to reach for the flute. He held it in shaking hands and listened to the song of the Narrows, to water slapping the deck, to the cry of the Astican. His uncertainty melted away. Inspiration blossomed in his musician’s heart.
Esán pulled the hatch open. Torgin climbed on deck, walked to the helm, faced the bow, and played one high, sustained note. The frenzied shrieking ceased. Water stopped pounding the deck. Ocean eyes widened. Mouths closed. Archers lowered their bows and reined in their aqueous mounts.
>
At the far end of Soruch, the Astican hovered, his cries silenced and his gaze fixed on Melback .
Taking a deep breath, Torgin brought One Man’s gift to his lips. Solitary notes floated into the Trinugian sky, building gradually, creating ethereal musical images: oceans made of light, liquid mornings and fluid moons, phosphorescence dancing in the wake of a fast moving boat. So exquisite was the melody, so elegant the chorus, so heartfelt the song that the boat’s rocking settled into a gentle cadence. Each note brought a quivering response from the sopranos of the Narrows. Fingers of water drummed in hypnotic counterpoint against Melback’s wooden sides.
Abarax trumpeted an aggressive cry. Torgin hesitated. Singing sopranos urged him on, sang the melody, matching the flute’s iridescent tones. Voices and instrument merged in a song so beautiful tears fell from the cloudless sky. Water frothed and roiled around archers reforming their ranks to create protective shields at the sailboat’s bow and stern. Torgin picked up the tempo. Smooth as silk, Melback slipped through the sea. Closer and closer she came to the tapered beginning of the last stretch of inland waters.
The Astican soared upward, its cherubic features glowing with predatory delight, its winged shadow casting darkness over the shores. Arrows of water arcing toward it elicited a howl of alarm and sent it fleeing inland. At last, the breadth of the Sea of Trinuge could be seen, wide and glistening in the stark light of middle-turning. The archers at the bow formed lines along the shores. Archers at the stern surged forward, their power propelling Melback from the Narrows into the wide expanse of ocean.
Torgin lowered his flute and faced the Narrows. The sopranos sang a final note and melted into the sea. The army of archers raised their bows, shot one last arrow into the heavens, and vanished.
He turned to find his companions gathered on the deck. Ari and Brie threw their arms around him, their eyes gleaming with pride. Gregos and Tamosh, still dazed, patted him on the back, thanking him for saving their Melback . Elf gave him a shy nod. Esán stood in the open hatchway, a knowing smile on his face. Shyllee scrambled up from where she had crouched low against the stern and ran to sit at his feet. The only one not present was Desirol.
The UnFolding Collection Three Page 35