The cod poked his nose out of the water. “Can I have the rest of my squid now?” he asked.
“Not until we leave,” Becca said.
The fish dove. He swam around in circles under the surface, grumbling.
Becca stuck her face in the water. “Maybe you could help me?” she said. “I need to find a gold coin, very old, with an image of Neria on it.”
“Maybe,” the cod said. “Wouldn’t count on it, though.”
Becca sighed and regarded the nest again. She knew she had to get herself inside it, but how?
She put her hands on the ledge, ready to boost herself up, but her arms were shaking so badly, she couldn’t. Becca didn’t like leaving the water, and a tail was not much good when it came to climbing. She also didn’t like not having a plan.
This is impossible, she thought. I can’t do it.
She was going to submerge again and try to work up her courage when her eye fell on the scar on one of her palms. It was from the bloodbind. The cut she’d made had been painful and deep, but the scar tissue had closed it and made her skin stronger than before.
Just as the bloodbind had made her stronger.
Sera, Neela, Ling, and Ava—their blood surged through her. Her friends, her sisters, were with her. She might be scared, but she wasn’t alone.
Becca’s arms stopped shaking. She boosted herself up onto the ledge, then carefully worked her way up the side of the nest, using her hands to pull herself and her tail to push. She knew her next move. That was something. It wasn’t a plan, exactly, but maybe it was the start of one.
Half an hour later, she was at the top of the structure, her tail fins planted on a broken mast. She heaved herself over the edge of the nest, landing with a whump.
The fall knocked her glasses down her nose. She pushed them back up, then started to search, pulling up the boat cushions and tattered spinnakers that padded the nest. There were hollows underneath, but they contained nothing. Becca soon saw that every component of the nest served the purpose of strengthening it. Nothing was merely decorative.
Why would a coin even be in here? she wondered, losing hope.
As she continued to search, she noticed that one of her hands had started to shimmer. The transparensea pebble was wearing off.
She’d just picked up the edge of a sail when she felt it—a vibration. It was coming from the rock itself. The very walls of the cave were shaking.
Something was coming. Something big.
The cod poked its head out of the water. “I think we’ve got company,” he said. “It’s the Williwaw. It’ll kill you for sure when it finds you in its cave. So can I have my squid now?”
Becca didn’t answer him. She was leaning on the edge of the nest, looking out of the hole in the cave’s wall.
The vibrations increased. The water below her started to swirl and bubble. And then it came into view, a creature unlike any she’d seen before.
Becca blinked.
And bit back a scream.
THE WILLIWAW WAS a parched and tattered thing, death in a handful of dust.
It was a whale washed up on a beach and left to the merciless sun. A broken-winged gull hobbling across the hot sand. A deer collapsing at a dry riverbed.
The top half of its head was a bird skull, bleached white, with a sharp ebony beak, and the bottom half was human, with a wide jaw, and a gray bottom lip. Its feet and hands were tipped with talons. Bones showed through tears in the dry, leathery skin stretched over its manlike body. Trinkets dangled from golden chains around its neck. A pair of black wings sprouted from its back. Each flap brought the creature closer.
“I need to think. Come up with some ideas. I need a plan.” Becca was babbling with fear.
“Plan?” the cod scoffed. “You need a miracle!”
Becca knew she had to act. Fast. If she didn’t, the Williwaw would kill her. But she couldn’t move. She was frozen.
The Williwaw drew nearer. Becca squinted. Her glasses were strong and allowed her to make out the treasures around its neck. Gems. Teeth. Bones. And a locket—an ancient gold locket on an ancient gold chain.
It was hanging open and it held a coin.
That’s Pyrrha’s coin! It has to be! Becca thought. I bet Merrow put it in that locket, and then put the chain over the Williwaw’s head to make sure no one could ever get it.
Getting it from the spirit would be all but impossible. Calculations would have to be made. It would take time.
But Becca didn’t have time. Despair gripped her. She’d never be able to get the coin from the creature. She and the others would fail in their task and Abbadon would rise again.
The sound of rushing wind grew louder.
The cod glanced nervously at the opening. “Time to improvise, sister,” he said.
“I—I can’t improvise. I don’t know how. It’s not in my comfort zone.”
“What about death? Is death in your comfort zone?” the cod asked.
An image swam before her eyes, of the monster killing one of the Iele. Abbadon would kill her friends, and so many others. Unless she got the coin.
In that instant, Becca’s paralysis broke.
She looked at her hands. One was still shimmering, but not much. I’m still mostly invisible. The cod’s still here. And I’m crafty. In more ways than one. I can do this, she told herself.
She looked at the Williwaw again, only yards away now, and knew she had about sixty seconds.
“Fish!” she hissed. “Do you still want the squid?”
“What do you think?”
“Then do exactly what I say.”
THE WILLIWAW SPOKE as it flew into the cave. To Becca, its voice sounded like the vengeful howl of a gale one second, the mad shriek of a hurricane the next. It hovered over another ledge, where it tossed its latest gleanings—driftwood, a fishing pole, an oar—then flew up to its nest. Becca’s heart thumped with fear. She was sitting on the far edge of the nest, her back against the cave wall, her tail pulled up under her. She could see the spirit’s terrible talons, curved and sharp, as it raked through padding, plumping it up. After a moment, it turned away from her, faced the front of its nest, and settled. It folded its wings along its back and started to preen them.
Where’s that fish? Becca wondered anxiously, praying that the cod hadn’t changed its mind. Mer could breathe air for a little while but it was difficult, and Becca’s lungs were beginning to feel the strain.
As if on cue, the fish poked his head out of the water.
“Hail, great Williwaw!” he said.
The Williwaw leaned forward menacingly. “What do you want, fish?”
“The ghosts sent me. There’s a bit of a fracas going on at the Achilles, and they told me to give you a heads-up.”
The wind spirit spoke to the fish in its own language, just as Becca had done. She was able to understand everything they said. So far, so good, she thought. The cod was saying exactly what she’d told it to.
“What do you mean there’s a fracas?” the Williwaw asked.
“Seems that Cassio, the sky god—”
“I know who Cassio is,” the Williwaw said.
“Right. Well, Cassio’s got a thing for Neféli, a cloud nymph. She saw your locket yesterday when you were flying around, and she wants it. So Cassio sent some heavies to get it. Trykel and Spume are down below, battling the ghosts. Looks like they’ll be coming in through that crack in the rock any second. And Zephyros is planning to attack from the air. I’m sure he’ll be popping through there”—the cod nodded at the opening the Williwaw had flown through—“pretty soon. So you might want to take the locket off and hide it. Just a suggestion.”
Good job! Becca said silently. Trykel and Spume, the gods of the tides, and Zephyros, Cassio’s son, were more powerful than the Williwaw. The wind spirit was sure to be alarmed.
But it wasn’t. Instead, it laughed.
“You want me to take off the locket so you can get it,” it said. “Do you think I’m stupid?�
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“Stupid? No. Paranoid? Maybe,” the cod said.
The Williwaw jumped onto the edge of its nest and snapped its fearsome beak in anger.
“Chill, Will. As I’m sure you can see, I’m a fish. I don’t have legs or wings or a hovercraft. So there’s no way I’m getting into your nest to steal the locket. I don’t even have a neck, so what good is it to me? Don’t hide the locket. I really don’t care. The ghosts told me to warn you, and I did. So I’m out of here.”
The cod flipped its tail and dove, but Becca knew it wasn’t finished yet. She’d told it to swim in circles just below the surface to stir up the water and make the Williwaw think Trykel and Spume were coming.
At first nothing happened. But then the water started to swirl, and bubbles rose. The Williwaw saw it and screeched. It tore the locket from its neck, dug up the padding in its nest, and hid the locket under it. Then it climbed back on the edge, its back to Becca once more, its sharp eyes darting between the churning water and the entrance high above it.
Slowly, taking care not to make any noise, Becca slid off her perch. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. Her heart was pounding. It hurt to put her weight on her tail fins. Both hands were shimmering now.
The Williwaw was muttering anxiously to itself, making enough noise to cover the creaks and pops that Becca was causing. Never taking her eyes off the creature, she pulled up the padding, thrust her hand into the hollow under it, and retrieved the locket.
It seemed to glow even brighter in her hand. She could feel its power. Excitement coursed through her. She had Pyrrha’s talisman at last! But fear quickly edged out her excitement. She was even more scared now that she possessed the coin. Because it was hers to lose.
She slipped it into her pocket, then picked up a piece of driftwood. All she had to do was throw the wood at the cave’s skyward entrance. She hoped the noise would trick the Williwaw into thinking that Zephyros was approaching and cause it to fly up to intercept him.
When it did, Becca would heave herself over the front of the nest. From there she’d be able to clear the rock ledge and make a clean dive into the water. By the time the Williwaw discovered its locket had been stolen, she would be streaking out of the Achilles and heading for deep water. The wind spirit could not touch her there.
Becca swallowed, shoring up her courage for this last move. The seat-of-the-tail actions she’d taken so far had worked.
And they might have continued to if the Williwaw had not, at that instant, turned around.
BECCA KNEW SHE had a split second in which to live or die.
The wind spirit’s bright raptor’s eyes traveled from the piece of driftwood she was holding down the length of her now-visible body.
Then it opened its murderous beak and lunged.
Without thinking, Becca dove straight off the side of the nest, not knowing where the rock ledge was. A jutting edge caught her as she plummeted into the water, tearing a gash across her right hip.
She ignored the red-hot pain and greedily sucked water into her parched lungs. The fall had knocked her glasses off. Frantically feeling around for them, she finally found them on the cave’s floor and put them back on. Even underwater, she could hear the Williwaw’s shrieking tempest that now filled the cave.
A gray face loomed out of the murk. “Pay up,” the cod said. Becca dug in her pocket and pulled out the last bag of squid. She tore it open, scattered its contents, and bolted off. She didn’t ask the cod to get her back through the wreck; he could no longer fool the ghosts now that she was visible.
“Thank you!” she called over her shoulder, but the cod’s mouth was too full to reply.
Becca raced through the narrow passageway that led back to the Achilles. The tunnel was as dark as before and she crashed into a wall twice, but she kept going. Behind her, the water whirled and surged, boiling with the force of the Williwaw’s rage.
After a few minutes the passage opened up, and Becca found herself inside the wreck. Speed and surprise would be her only defense now. Swimming with all her might, Becca shot through the wreck’s hold, out of the hole in its hull—and straight into a dozen ghosts playing a game of ninepin.
The ghost about to bowl—a Dutch captain—was so surprised, he sent his ball hurtling through the belly of his first mate.
“What have we here?” drawled a bearded sailor.
The ghosts’ smiles were sinister, their eyes ravenous. One rushed at her. She dodged him, but his fingers scraped her arm. She gasped, feeling like she’d fallen into an icy pool. More ghosts advanced. Becca wanted to make for deeper water, but the ghosts forced her to swim up.
Becca’s tail whipped through the water as she pushed herself toward the surface. The ghosts followed. Their human legs were not as powerful in the water as a mermaid’s tail, but that didn’t stop them. Becca tried to outpace them. If she could just get high enough, she could veer off and leave them in her wake.
But the ghosts weren’t letting her.
Becca stopped swimming for a few seconds and looked down. The ghosts were fanning out around her like a net. Dread filled her as she realized that they meant to drive her to the surface, where the Williwaw was undoubtedly waiting.
Becca swam higher still, but as she rose, the sea became choppy. Waves were swirling and rolling on the surface. The undertow caught her and dragged her along, thrusting her ever upward.
Her head broke the surface. A storm, more powerful and terrifying than any she’d ever seen, was raging. The skies were black. Lightning ripped through them, followed by deafening thunder. A pelting rain stung her face. The Williwaw was flying over the water, shrieking and pushing up monster waves.
When it saw Becca, it flew straight at her. Becca dove in time, but the waves grabbed her, turned her head over tail, and spit her back up.
Again the Williwaw attacked and again Becca dove. She didn’t know where the ghosts were anymore. Tossed and tumbled, she barely knew where she was.
She fought the storm-racked seas, struggling to stay submerged, but then a rogue wave, frothing and furious, lifted her up and hurtled her toward the treacherous coast.
Her eyes trained on the skies and the terrible creature soaring through them, Becca never saw the rocks, jagged and tall, until the second she slammed into them.
And then she saw nothing at all.
“WE’RE SUPPOSED TO find a pearl,” Desiderio said flatly. “One black pearl…in that?”
Astrid nodded, wordless and wide-eyed. She’d heard tales of the Qanikkaaq, but she’d never seen the maelstrom for herself.
It was staggeringly immense and whirling furiously. Looking up through the water, Astrid and Des could see that its funnel-like mouth, raised to the surface, was swallowing everything around it. Its eyes, two bright spots on the waves, shone with a gluttonous glee.
As Astrid watched it, wondering how she was going to even get near it, she saw objects of all shapes and sizes spin by: wooden rowboats, plastic bottles, buoys, kayaks, fishing nets, fishermen, orange life jackets, a couple of yachts.
She had an idea about how to approach the maelstrom, but would it work? Or would she find herself spinning around helplessly inside it, just another piece of debris?
Two days ago, before she and Des had left the shelter of the shipping container, Astrid had gone on a treasure hunt. She’d raided the container, opening boxes and crates, and taking anything interesting and shiny she came across. Stuffing it all in the large duffel bag she’d found, she had swum to Desiderio, who was busy cleaning Elskan’s tack.
“What do you think?” she’d asked, holding up a pair of neon-green sneakers.
Des had frowned, confused. “You’re not going all Hans Christian Andersen on me, are you?” he’d asked.
Astrid had laughed. That gogg fairy tale was well-known among the mer—as the most ridiculous story they’d ever heard. Who would ever want to trade fins and a tail for feet?
“No, I’m finding things to offer to the Qanikkaaq,” she’d sai
d, holding up strings of shiny Mardi Gras beads and a plastic silver trophy. “I’m hoping it will do a trade with me.”
“A magical black pearl from a goddess…for a bunch of gogg junk?” Des had asked skeptically.
“I was going to phrase the offer a bit differently,” Astrid had said. “How about: all of these rare and precious sparkling treasures for one dull little pearl? I’m hoping the Qanikkaaq is a more-is-more kind of a guy.”
“Or a total idiot,” Desiderio had said.
Now it was time to try out her idea. Floating here watching the maelstrom spin wasn’t getting them any closer to finding out if the black pearl was still inside it. Astrid was nervous, but trying not to show it. Her plan was sound and it risked only her safety, not Desiderio’s. But would it be effective? Without magic, Astrid had to rely on strength and cunning. She had plenty of both, but would they be enough to outwit the maelstrom?
“Do you have the rope?” she asked Des.
“Yup,” he replied. “You sure about this?”
“Not at all,” Astrid said.
“Let me do it.”
“No, Des. It’s for me to do,” she said. This was her quest and the dangers were for her to face.
Des nodded. He’d searched the container, too, and had turned up a coil of strong nylon rope. He was carrying it over one shoulder. He shrugged it off now, knotted a loop into one end, and handed it to Astrid. While she put her arms through it and pulled it down around her waist, Desiderio made another loop in the other end of the rope. That one went over Elskan’s head.
The orca was hovering nearby, eyeing the Qanikkaaq uncertainly. The duffel bag full of gogg plunder was attached to her saddle. Astrid swam over to Elskan and unhooked it.
“Ready?” Desiderio asked tensely.
Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel Page 21