“Remember your promise.” Miceral took a step forward, then stopped. “If your spells start to fail or things get too dangerous, you’re to open a Door and get someplace safe.”
“I promise, my love,” he whispered. The urge to kiss Miceral nearly overpowered him. “I should go.”
Nodding to Peter, he vaulted the railing and magically lowered himself into the water. Two dolphins broke from the surface and swam toward him.
“Chosen, hold on to both of us and we can begin.”
They assumed positions on either side of him, and as soon as he had a firm grip, their powerful tails propelled them forward. The Seafoam Rose looked small and distant when he turned his head for one last glance at Miceral.
“Prepare yourself, Chosen. We are about to go under the waves.”
A moment after the warning, the dolphins pulled Farrell beneath the surface. Despite the spells, he had a brief surge of panic as water covered his head. He forced himself to breathe and began to relax when his lungs filled normally.
Moving faster than he thought possible, Farrell watched the water slowly get darker the deeper they went. A scan of himself and the spells allayed any lingering fears. Both spells worked as expected. Beyond his shield, the sea bristled with unclaimed energy and tiny, almost invisible forms of life. Seeing all the free power, it reminded Farrell of his debates with Sanduval over the collection spell they’d devised.
Twice he tried to contact Miceral through their link but never made a connection. His attempts to reach Nerti’s mind also failed. “Do you know why I can’t contact my friends?”
“To answer that, we would need to know how you communicate with them.”
Feeling foolish, he realized they wouldn’t be able to answer. “Of course.”
With no way to answer the question, he turned his thoughts to his surroundings. The spell he’d used at Belsport threatened to turn the hunt for energy into a race to bind territory to a single wizard’s will. He and his former master had spent many hours discussing the ramifications of the spell. By effectively locking out all others from a specific territory, a new order would arise among the haves and the have-nots. New wizards would need to apprentice themselves to older ones to gain access to stores of power or seek out places not yet bound. Monarchs could order their territory bound to a central source, like he’d done in Belsport, then give access only to those who swore fealty to the crown.
Since only power created internally escaped the reach of the spell, a new discipline of magic would emerge. Clothing, bedding, tools, and books would all be subjected to spells designed to catch and redirect even the smallest specks of power. Wars would likely erupt for control of particularly fertile areas. Seeing the vast amounts of unclaimed power around him, however, Farrell wondered if these concerns were still valid.
It was all but impossible, even with the spells he’d learned from Kel, to reach, much less bind, the ocean floor. Any wizard in need of power could simply board a ship, sail far enough out to sea, and harvest all they could manage.
As it always did, this line of thought made his mind reel. Refocusing his attention on what was happening around him, he realized they’d stopped their descent. They still moved at a speed that would make the fastest sailing ship jealous, but he lost track of their direction. Nor could he effectively judge how much time had elapsed since they left the Seafoam Rose.
As the minutes passed, thoughts of unclaimed power gave way to a different concern. “Excuse my ignorance, but don’t you both need to breathe?”
“We who serve the Blessed Mother can go for many parts of a light cycle before we need to return to the surface.” Farrell couldn’t tell which of his guides spoke. “Others will take our place before that becomes necessary.”
Farrell noticed the other dolphins in the pod shadowed the trio, swimming in a protective semicircle around them. Their graceful motions belied the speed they maintained. “How far are we from our goal?”
“We near the point where we will turn you over to another.”
A few minutes later, the dolphins slowed their pace noticeably. In the dim light, Farrell didn’t see the small box-like structure until they came to a stop. It reminded him of a coffin floating upright. But the lack of magic in the area left him baffled as to how it remained in its place.
As they drifted closer, more details came into focus. Approximately seven feet tall and three feet wide, the “box” seemed to be a guard station. Farrell created a globe of green light and noticed a long cord attached to the bottom of the box that disappeared into the water below.
“Hail, Chosen of our great goddess, Arritisa.” This voice felt different from the dolphins. More human. And male. Searching, he grew frustrated when he couldn’t locate the speaker.
“Hail, servant of Arritisa.” His annoyance seeped into his greeting.
Suddenly he noticed the guardhouse spun slowly clockwise. The outline of an opening emerged, and he almost jumped when he saw someone standing in the box. The creature—he didn’t quite know what to call it—ducked to exit the structure. Stepping in the water, the sentry moved forward as if on a platform.
Dressed in a uniform made of something Farrell didn’t recognize, the guard held a long three-pronged spear in his right hand. Hairless, the soldier had small nubs where Farrell expected to see ears. In place of a nose, two slits flared in sync with what appeared to be breathing. The glow from the wizard’s light cast a sea-green tint to his host’s skin. Only when he changed the color of his light to white did Farrell realize the guard’s skin was greenish.
Knowing he stared, he made eye contact with his host. He smiled when he noticed the guard giving him the same once-over. Two rows of thin, pointy teeth smiled back at him.
“I trust you find my appearance as odd as I find yours.” His smile widened as he laughed mentally in Farrell’s mind. “I am Argus, Lord of the Western March of Rastoria.”
Argus brought both hands together in front of his face and spread his webbed fingers wide. Resting his lips on the tips of his first two fingers, he lowered his hands and bowed his head.
“The blessings of my master, Honorus, to you and your people.” Farrell tried to imitate Argus’s greeting. “I am Farrell, Lord of Haven, Servant of Honorus, and Chosen of Arritisa.
Argus nodded his smooth head slightly to the left and stared at Farrell for a long moment. The almost all-black eyes had a thin circle of white around the edges. The silent stare continued long enough that Farrell wondered if he’d insulted Argus.
“Allow me to release my friends before we continue.” Argus turned to the dolphins, who bobbed their heads and quickly swam off. “Now, it is left to me to bear you the rest of the way.”
If not for the amused lilt to Argus’s voice, Farrell might have worried when his new guide bared his pointy teeth again.
“I’m grateful for the help.” Help doing what exactly, he didn’t know. “Forgive my earlier staring. My people have no knowledge of your existence. This is an astounding discovery for me.”
“The blessed goddess has preserved the secret of our existence since the dawn of time. Had not our Lady commanded we reveal ourselves to you, we would be hidden still.”
“I am honored by the privilege you bestow upon me, and will do my utmost to preserve your secret.”
Argus made a sound that felt like laughter. “Your oath is noble but not warranted. Our Lady has decreed we are to aid Her Chosen in the coming war.”
The revelation froze Farrell’s thoughts as he considered the implications of what he’d just heard. Finally, he managed an absent nod to acknowledge Argus’s pledge.
“Come, this is not the place to talk of such matters.” Argus extended his left hand. The webbing between his long fingers extended halfway to the tips. “Take my hand and I’ll take you to our fair city, where the king and high priestess can explain in full.”
Mindful of the membrane he noticed between Argus’s fingers, Farrell tentatively accepted his guide’s hand.
“Fear not, Chosen, you cannot harm my hand.” He laughed again. “We Arlefors are a hardy race.”
Argus’s viselike grip reinforced his words. He effortlessly rotated his body until his head faced the ocean floor. With far less grace, Farrell did likewise, evoking an amused face from his guide. “If you are ready, we shall proceed.”
Farrell kicked his feet as Argus propelled them toward the bottom of the ocean.
“Your assistance is not necessary, Chosen. I can easily bear us to our destination.”
Slightly embarrassed, Farrell turned his attention to his surroundings. In the growing darkness, he realized he’d left his globe of light back at the guardhouse. “If I create more light so I can see, will that cause you problems?”
“No and yes.” Argus turned his head toward Farrell for a moment. “We can see in the bright light found on the surface, but we can see better down in our world.”
“Better for you to see well than for both of us to see poorly.” Farrell used a variation of his spell to increase how far he could see. He adjusted the magic twice before the world around him came into focus. Far below, he saw what looked like a cluster of light.
“Are those lights I see?”
“Indeed, Chosen. That is Rastoria, the home of my people and our destination.”
A city at the bottom of the ocean? He’d never come across even a whiff of a rumor of such a thing. Then again, nothing had mentioned Arlefors, either. The light increased as they neared their destination, allowing the outline of a large city to take shape.
“Amazing.” Bubbles escaped his mouth, drawing a look from his guide. Argus smiled but said nothing.
A quartet of swimmers materialized below them. Appearing small at first, the four slowly grew larger as the gap between them closed. A moment of panic hit Farrell when he noticed the spears the four newcomers carried. Alone, unarmed, and thousands of feet beneath the surface, he couldn’t be sure the spells that let him survive could withstand an attack. If things turned—
“My sons approach.” Argus slowed their descent. “Together we will escort you to King Clayden.”
“Thank you.” The moment of panic faded, but he kept his attention on the newcomers. Arritisa may have sent for him, but She didn’t say to let down his guard.
Argus’s sons stopped just before they reached their father. Without a word—at least nothing Farrell heard—they turned about and swam back the way they’d come.
As Argus matched the pace of his sons, Rastoria came into better focus. Delicate towers topped by wide multilevel structures rose up everywhere. Made of a stone Farrell had never seen, these buildings would have been impossible to create on land without enormous amounts of magic. His mind reeled at the spells and power necessary to sustain such structures. Below them low, wide buildings covered the ocean floor, surrounding and supporting the lofty fingers of stone.
Nearing the sea bottom, they followed a broad avenue that ended in front of a large, squat, yet ornate building. Guards appeared at regular intervals.
“Behold, the Holy Shrine to the great Lady of the Sea.” Argus pointed toward the building that dominated their view. “King Clayden and High Priestess Burcia wait to greet you.”
Straining his slowly improving sight, Farrell saw tiny figures arrayed on the steps of the massive building. The size of the temple had deceived him, making their destination seem much closer.
His guards slowed the pace of their approach as Arlefors crammed the boulevard leading to the temple. Most floated in front of what looked like storefronts or office buildings. A myriad of questions filled Farrell’s mind. What did Arlefors eat? What kind of stone did they use in their buildings? How did they work their metal? Did they even have smiths?
His daydreaming ended when he noticed the crowds had disappeared. His escorts had left the crowded city proper and were crossing a large empty plaza in front of the palace. This close, Farrell noticed what he’d originally thought were steps were really tiered stories.
Realizing his stupidity, a smirk curled his lips. Stairs, streets, roads, walls, moats, and a host of other things he took for granted in his world were unnecessary to a race that swam everywhere. Argus finally came to a halt twenty feet from the edge of the building.
Two unarmed Arlefors stood in front of a company of well-armed soldiers wearing two distinct sets of uniforms. The guards to Farrell’s left wore the colors of the king—at least he assumed the king stood to the left. The person to the right looked like a priestess.
In the Seven Kingdoms, protocol demanded that those seeking an audience with a king or high priestess waited to be addressed before they spoke. Since he and Argus had not discussed this, Farrell stuck to what he knew and hoped he didn’t offend anyone.
“Hail, Chosen of our great lady, Arritisa.” The one Farrell thought was the king stepped forward. “I am Clayden. Welcome to Rastoria.”
Argus moved them closer and came to a halt five feet from his sovereign. Farrell, worried he might float away, tentatively placed his feet on the stone landing. A soldier in the green robe of a cleric of Arritisa immediately swam forward and bowed briefly before she clipped a heavy belt around Farrell’s waist.
“To keep you grounded, Chosen,” a new, more feminine voice said. “We prefer to walk unless we are in a hurry.” The guard bowed her head and moved back.
“Hail, Clayden, King of Rastoria and servant of Arritisa.” He crossed both arms over his chest in the Yar-del tradition of greeting. “My thanks for personally welcoming me to your city.”
Clayden smiled, exposing his pointed teeth. “With your permission, now that the niceties of decorum have been met, let us dispense with the formalities. I know nothing of your protocols and I’m certain you know none of ours. This will make speaking much simpler.”
Bubbles floated from his mouth when Farrell laughed. “That would be appreciated, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent. The first order is to call me Clayden. It’s scandalous how little respect I receive from my own subjects.”
“You would receive a great deal more respect, brother, if you followed my advice and assumed a more formal approach.” The high priestess arched a hairless eyebrow at the king before turning to their guest.
“I am Burcia, high priestess of Arritisa. In Her name I bid you welcome to Rastoria.”
Again, Farrell crossed his arms and bowed deeply. “My thanks, Holy Mother. The blessing of my master, Honorus, to you and your people.”
Burcia stared at him for a moment before her eyes went wide. “I see the hand of more than just the holy mother has touched you, Chosen of Arritisa and Servant of Honorus.”
“Fine, fine.” Clayden clapped his hands quickly, creating a small rush of water to wash over Farrell. “Decorum has been met. Come, Chosen, I have much to ask. Burcia tells me you are covered in some kind of magic that allows you to survive. Is that true?”
“Please, call me Farrell. Chosen is so formal.” He winked at the king.
Clayden’s laugh produced no bubbles but drew a scowl from his sister. “Farrell it is.”
“To answer your question, Ki—Clayden, the high priestess is correct. I need magic to protect me or else I could not be here. My people cannot survive the pressure this far below the surface.”
“Fascinating.” Clayden put his oversized hand on Farrell’s shoulder and led him farther inside. “Do you think you could find a spell that would allow me to walk among your kind?”
Farrell almost missed the question, trying to take in every detail around him. Globes of wizard’s fire set on regularly spaced stone sconces danced in the gently moving water. The shimmering light reflecting off walls and the odd flecks of quartz gave Farrell a moment of vertigo. Blinking several times, he focused on answering the king.
“I believe nothing is impossible, but I’d need so much more information before I could attempt such a spell. How you breathe, what you eat, and your vulnerabilities are just a few of the issues I’d need to consider before I
could safely cast a spell on you or your people.”
Clayden’s mental sigh sounded more resigned than frustrated. “Nothing is ever as simple as I wish it to be. But no matter. You are not here to help me, but for us to help you”
Burcia gave Clayden a look that Farrell could only be described as a sneer. “Finally, you address that which Arritisa desires and not your own petty whims.”
“You must excuse my sister. Ever since we were children, she has tried to tell me what to do.” The king shrugged, never looking at Burcia.
Clayden led them to a large set of double doors. On this side, the soldiers wore the livery of the temple. Across the threshold, the king’s men stood guard.
“Does this building serve as both temple and palace?” Farrell nodded to both sets of guards as he passed.
“Arritisa’s house was built for both the hierarchy of the temple and for the royal family and its staff.” Clayden looked to his sister expectantly, but she remained silent. “Usually it is a good arrangement as we both serve the same interest—the will of the Blessed Mother.”
They entered a large, well-lit room. Farrell counted six doors as he scanned the art-covered walls. Stone benches lined the far wall, and chairs sat scattered about the bare floor. Noting the lack of carpet and tapestries, Farrell had to remind himself he stood at the bottom of the ocean, not in a palace in the Seven Kingdoms. When he looked closer at the artwork, he found the paint was actually little flecks of colored shells or tiles set close together.
“Tell me, Chosen.” Burcia’s tone put Farrell on alert. “What is the relationship between temple and crown on the surface?”
Farrell choose his words carefully. “Ours is a different world than yours, Holy Mother. In the Seven Kingdoms, the Six are all afforded the same deference, even in those kingdoms where one deity is especially significant. No one temple has such influence as Arritisa’s temple must have in Rastoria. Because of that, the temples have little authority over the crown. All receive a great measure of respect, but with the different temples each vying for power, there is little any one prelate can do to exert control.”
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 48