Kingdom of the Sea

by Isobel Robertson

  “I need to tell you the truth,” Gunnar said, swimming forward to hover close to Anja. “I need to tell you that I am your real father.”

  “What sort of madness is this?” Anja demanded, staring at them in confusion. “What are you trying to achieve with these lies? I should have known not to trust you with another human, Gunnar.”

  “This is the truth,” Gunnar said, his words steady and even, his gaze never leaving Anja’s. Cormac could almost feel the interest radiating it off the selkies that now surrounded them. They surrounded their queen like sharks ready for the kill, waiting to see which way this struggle would go.

  “You want to usurp the throne for yourself!” Anja screamed at Cormac. “You think that you can rule through your wife, and this magician is fool enough to help you! Every single one of you will pay for this!”

  Sparks were flying from her hands now, each one chipping away at the ice around her neck. It would not hold her for much longer. Her eyes were sparkling with magic, her lips tinged with blue. Her anger and vengeance would be terrible when she escaped.

  “You know what to do, Cormac,” Gunnar said, still calm. How could he be so calm? And what did he mean? Cormac stared at the magician, the words repeating over and over in his head.

  Then he realised.

  He shot out of the throne room, past the still-unconscious guards, and into the forest beyond. He paused for a moment, tasting the mixed magics on the water, feeling for what he knew must be there. And there it was, loosely tied to his own power; a faint trail of magic, pain, and memory. The way that Gunnar had swum many times, weighed down by all his loneliness and anger. Cormac began to follow it, his body straining with the effort of such a speed, praying that he could return in time.

  He found it at last, spiralled around with centuries of magical trails so faded as to be nearly lost. Almost entirely sunk into the seabed, the old ship lay between two rocky outcrops, ice hanging heavy above it. The last of its planks peered up from the muddy earth like the skeleton of a long-dead sea monster. It must once have been a mighty ship.

  Cormac stared down at it, not quite sure what to do next. The magic came pouring from the earth, more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. This must be what Gunnar had meant. But how to reach it? He stretched his hands out, feeling strands of magic twine around him, and he gasped at the strength of it. How had Gunnar captured so much power?

  Trying to emulate Gunnar’s subtle touch, Cormac pulled on each of the many strands, feeling a net of magic gently wrap around the ship. With each careful pull of his mind, the ship rose a little higher, earth flying to the sides. He tugged harder, feeling every second as it slipped by. No time to waste. The ship exploded through the earth, shooting into the water and settling down again a few feet above the seabed.

  It was like no ship Cormac had ever seen before. Small and shallow, it looked built to slip through rocky channels and glide right onto a beach. It had a single mast but dozens of oar-holes in what remained of its rotten timbers. Despite its size, there was a rudder, not a wheel. This ship must be ancient, a relic from Gunnar’s human past. Cormac clambered aboard, half-expecting the wood to disintegrate under his hands, but a powerful magic held this ship together. To his surprise, there was no hold, just the curved planks of the shallow hull. He frowned. Gunnar’s words had suggested that the ship carried a cargo of magical items, but it seemed the timbers themselves held the power.

  He touched the rudder gingerly, and felt the ship leap to life under his hands. No sail hung from the mast, but he somehow felt it catch the wind and begin to glide forwards - still underwater. Ghostly rowers appeared on the rowing benches - or were they just a trick of the light? Cormac shook his head, dazed. The ship moved forwards faster and faster, careening through the rocky waters, and out into the seaweed forest. The weeds whipped aside as if the ship was still solid, and Cormac found himself gaping in amazement as they flew at full speed towards the stone walls of the palace, speeding through the water faster than any ship should be able to travel, the magic unfurling and spiralling around Cormac’s hands on the wood.

  The city walls were approaching fast, barely a ship’s length away. Cormac wrestled with the rudder, but the ship seemed set on its course. They slammed hard into a smooth stretch of white wall. The ship kept straight on going, its timbers shuddering but holding firm as the white stones crumbled under the force of the magic and flew out to either side. Cormac ducked, wrapping his arms over his head, and the ship slammed through the next wall as well, bulldozing through the ancient stonework as if it was plaster. Cormac was catapulted forwards, staggering to his feet in the centre of the ship’s dock. He looked up to see Anja, the twisted ice shard grasped in her hands, as she stared down at him in horror, the ruins of her throne room crashing down around them.

  Everyone in the room froze - except Gunnar. He came running towards Anja, hands spread wide, and the magic in the ship ripped free. It whirled past Cormac, combined memories and magic spinning into a screaming vortex, whipping up rocks and fallen banners alike, sending everyone running to the edges of the room. The power centred on Gunnar, hardening down into a single twisted rope. Gunnar threw it straight at Anja, who stood straight and proud as the magic slammed into her.

  Cormac saw the moment she understood the truth.

  She knew all Gunnar’s deepest memories, his most painful thoughts. She screamed, power and pain ripping through her with more intensity than a normal human would have been able to hold. For a second, Cormac saw her seal shape flash around her, then she was human again, crumpled on the floor of her throne room, tears pouring down her face to mingle with the salt water all around her. The ice shards around her began to melt, splintering with great cracks like breaking wood.

  Gunnar stepped closer to her, crouching down and reaching out one hand to gently stroke her hair.

  “Your father never left you,” he said, his thoughts just loud enough for Cormac to hear. “Whatever you believed, your father always loved you, and you have never been alone.”

  She lifted her head to stare at him, strands of blonde hair plastered to her tear-stained face, and Cormac saw the ice in her eyes dissolve into water. The pearls on her necklace snapped and cracked, the tears vanishing into the ocean. Vivid blue magic swirled out from where they had been, blinding Cormac in a flash of light. When he blinked and looked up again, Lisbetta threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as her red hair swirled all around him. Her body shook as she sobbed into his shoulder, her voice suddenly loud in his mind, calling out wordless sobs of relief. Cormac clutched her hard, his muscles weak and trembling. Thank goodness for the water that held him up.

  The last of the ice splintered, more stones from the palace wall coming down along with it. Some of the overdressed selkies screamed and ran for cover. The ceiling crashed down behind them with a heavy metallic thud - something more than stone. Cormac edged forwards, one arm still around Lisbetta’s shoulders, and peered down at the floor. A cannonball.

  How had Gunnar overlooked this? With Anja’s ice magic weakened, the kingdom was vulnerable. Sigurd had found them at last, and he had begun to bombard the palace. Cormac could almost picture him, standing at the wheel of his ship as the wind whipped at his long beard and reddened his mad, angry eyes. Sigurd would want revenge for his defeat and humiliation. Without Anja’s power, how would they stop him?

  Cormac threw himself back into the ghost ship, ignoring the sparks of magic that cut into his palms. There was no time to waste. He had to act now, had to stop Sigurd before the selkie kingdom was beyond saving.

  “You can’t do this!” Gunnar shouted. “You may be a sailor, but you’re not yet enough of a magician! The ship will destroy you if you try to command it in battle!”

  “I have tae try!” Cormac shouted back. “Ye need tae stay here and hold the palace together before it collapses!”

  Gunnar shook his head, moving forward, but Cormac grabbed the rudder of the ghost ship and began to urge i
t into movement.

  “This is my fight, Gunnar! Sigurd is my enemy to defeat, and these are my borders tae defend.”

  Gunnar nodded, raising one hand to gently touch the ship’s timbers. Cormac felt the rush of magic, and the ship lurched forwards. Lisbetta swam up beside him, a look of pain on her face as she swung over the railing to hover beside him.

  “This is like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” she said, wonder in her voice.

  “Go.” Anja had clambered to her feet. She stood beside Gunnar in the rubble of her throne room, her magic already glowing around her. Her face was resolute and determined as she pushed her power outward in a great dome, covering her entire palace from harm. How long could she hold it?

  Seven years earlier, Cormac had risked his life to defend his town against pirate attacks. Not everyone there had been his responsibility, but how could he have let Sigurd take even one life? If he had felt that determination, that desperation, how must Anja feel now? This was her place to defend, her people to save. Whatever her mistakes, he admired how much she still cared about people who had treated her so poorly.

  Cormac turned the ship sharply about, forgetting almost all of his sailing skills as he let the magic flow through him. This wooden skeleton hardly behaved like a ship at all, reacting to his every thought faster than should have been possible. How was the skeleton deck even supporting him? Best not to think about it.

  The entire palace still lay ahead of him, a challenge even for a magical ship. Walls and doorways swirled up on either side like a white, whirling nightmare, selkies racing in all directions as cannon balls crashed through Anja’s protective dome. It looked as if her softer, warmer magic could only slow the missiles, not stop them. Did the kingdom need her magic? Had he made a terrible mistake? The cannon balls crashed down even faster, the palace crumbling a little more with each blow. Too many cannon balls for one ship. Had Sigurd brought allies? Cormac remembered the other ships, and his heart sank even further.

  The gates finally rose up ahead, still standing tall and mercifully undamaged. Cormac shot through, Lisbetta clinging to the railing beside him as they flew out of the gate and began rising towards the surface. Cannonballs whistled through the water beside them as the ship pitched upwards, but nothing quite hit them. Luck or magic? Cormac focused on the blue sky above him, and the ship followed his lead, cutting through the water at incredible speed.

  They emerged onto the surface of the water to find themselves surrounded.

  Lisbetta gasped, the raw, terrified sound cutting through Cormac’s magical haze.

  Their tiny skeleton of a ship, small and useless, sat between three huge warships. Cormac could just about see his defence ship, captained by Red and Jamie, but it was too far away to reach them, and certainly no match for Sigurd. He gazed up at the three ships, waiting for the first cannonball to strike. What had he got himself into?

  But all was not yet lost.

  “The ship, Cormac,” Lisbetta said, turning to him with wide eyes. She gripped his arm hard, her fingers icy-cold through the wet fabric.

  Cormac nodded, and let himself go. He reached deep into the memories embedded in every inch of the ship, hunting through its timbers and planking for anything he could use.

  And there it was, a memory so strong that it seemed to glow from the rotten timbers. Moving images of a raiding party: long-haired men grasping axes as they rushed ashore to face an entire army lined up on the beach. He chose that memory, grasping it hard as the magic flowed all around him, drawing on more and more connections embedded in the ship itself. No wonder Gunnar had called this a store of magic.

  From that one memory, the ocean around Cormac began to shift and change.

  Near-invisible ghost ships appeared on the water, riding waves that didn’t quite exist. Dragon prows glittered in bold colours, becoming richer and more real by the second, and striped sails fluttered in their own winds. And on board each ship, dozens of axe-wielding warriors leaned forwards, urging each other on. An army.

  Cormac edged his ship forward, letting the magic take over. Beside him, Lisbetta was chanting softly, and the sea began to pitch and roll. The ghost ships slid forwards smoothly, but the great warships up ahead tossed and turned in the waves. Cormac risked a glance backwards, watching in disbelief as the other ghost ships fell into formation behind him. Cormac King, at the head of a magical fleet, commanding long-dead warriors? He laughed aloud, letting the salt spray soak his face as his selkie wife whipped up a storm.

  Faster now, and faster, the ship raced through the water, its ancient planks reaching an impossible speed, until with a high-pitched scream of sparkling magic, it rammed straight into The Golden Lion. The pointed prow cut through the planks of the side like a knife through butter, then slipped out again to leave Sigurd’s ship wounded and listing.

  A cannon boomed, and Cormac stared up to see the cannonball heading towards them, painfully slow. He wrapped his arms around Lisbetta, pulling her to his chest, even as his mind told him he could not protect her. A rush of cold air. Then an almighty crash as the cannon ball slammed into the water below. It had passed right through the bones of the ship.

  The ghost fleet was beside him now, surrounding Sigurd’s ship. Grappling hooks flew up, suddenly very real and solid as they slammed onto the wooden railing, and Cormac watched with shocked horror as the axe-men began to climb. What had he unleashed?

  Sigurd’s men panicked, filling the ship with movement as it lurched on supernaturally-high waves. Some jumped, throwing themselves into the water, only to be met by swarming selkies. Some tried to fight, the faint clash of metal and shouts of anger drifting across the water. Cormac felt strangely sheltered, as if his ship drifted through the action inside a bubble of safety. The ghosts were on all three ships now, moving relentlessly across the decks. No weapon seemed to touch them, although Cormac could see the painful evidence of their axes in the blood slicked across the decks.

  “I have tae go up there,” he told Lisbetta, not quite able to explain the impulse.

  “Your men will deal with it,” she said, but she didn’t try to stop him when he moved his magical ship closer, calling out to the warriors up above. A rope appeared for him and he hauled himself up, scrambling onto the deck as the last few pirates made a desperate stand.

  “You made the wrong choice, Cormac!”

  Sigurd’s voice.

  The pirate captain himself stood at the helm of his ship, a few survivors clustered around him. Cormac began to run towards him, ignoring all the spirit warriors who stood in between. They melted aside as he passed, their shapes disappearing into nothingness.

  “Ye are the one who will regret yer decisions,” Cormac called, pulling the knife from his belt and raising it high as he ran.

  But Sigurd was too fast.

  Quick and slippery as an eel, he turned and threw himself overboard, the last handful of his men leaping with him. Cormac didn’t see them hit the water, but he heard the splash - and then the screams. The water was full of angry selkies.

  The Golden Lion stood empty. When Cormac spun around, he saw that the battle was over. No pirate remained on any of the three ships, and the ghostly warriors had vanished as well. In front of his eyes, the last traces of the mysterious ships faded as well, leaving only Gunnar’s skeleton ship and the selkie defence ship.

  Was Sigurd dead? It seemed unlikely that people so vengeful as the selkies would have left him alive. To his surprise, Cormac found a twinge of sadness mixed in with his exultation at the victory. He had known the pirate a long time. They had been friends once, or near enough. What would Red tell Norah about her father’s death? He could give her the ship, at least. It was the closest she had to a home before she married Red.

  Cormac climbed back down onto his little skeleton ship, feeling the magic rejuvenate his energy even as Lisbetta’s welcoming kiss brought him warmth. The pirates were defeated, his wife was saved, and the kingdom was safe. Perhaps now he could find his daughter and go h
ome. Something about the thought felt a little empty.

  Cormac stood in Gunnar’s room, breathing in the warm scent of the plants, the weight of his decision already hanging heavy on his shoulders. Who could have imagined he would ever ask for this? He had changed beyond recognition.

  “Cormac? What can I do for you?”

  He took a deep breath, and faced Gunnar.

  “I want yer help. Tae stay in the sea permanently.”

  Gunnar blinked at him in surprise.

  “I see. Not quite what I expected, but not as much of a surprise as you might think. Sit, explain. Whiskey?”

  They sipped whiskey from a little drinking bubble, and Cormac tried to explain himself, brushing plants out of his eyes as he spoke.

  “I dinnae plan tae stay here forever. But there are things I need tae do. I want ye tae teach me all the magic ye’ve learnt for easily moving and living underwater. Ye seem as natural as a selkie, and I want that too.”

  Gunnar shook his head.

  “There are no easy tricks I can teach you. If you choose to adapt to the sea, that’s a decision you make for life. No going back. Are you sure about that? A life on land is a lot to give up. Think of your children, your business, your house. What about all the friends you’ll never see again, the family who can never visit you? Don’t give that all up so lightly.”