Authors: Sharon Lee
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Dark Fantasy
Carousel Seas (17 page)
“Easy.” Borgan put his hand on my knee. “It’s not the sea I care about, but what’s in it.”
“If that was supposed to reassure me—it didn’t.”
Borgan sighed. “No, I can see that, all right. Think I’d know by this time to start the story at the beginning. Give me a minute to order myself.”
I nodded, took up my glass and had a sip, looking out over the beach. There were a lot of walkers this evening, and a good number of people in their beach chairs, stubbornly determined to get as much summer sun as it was possible to get.
“All right,” said Borgan, and I turned my attention to him.
He smiled and extended a hand to touch my cheek gently. I shivered—pleasure mingled with yearning. The man knew his work; not only did I like his touch—I
wanted
it. Left to my own devices, I’d even seek it out.
You’re in a sorry state, Kate
, I told myself.
“It turns out I was wrong, back a couple weeks ago, when I told you the prisoners who’d lived to escape had likely gone home.”
I frowned. “Wrong? But the land didn’t find any strangers.”
“That’d be because one of them went into Saco Bay,” Borgan said.
I stared at him, still not feeling soothed, the
ronstibles
very much in my thoughts.
“When did that happen?”
“I’m guessing it happened within hours of your Varothi’s little diversion—but that’s a guess. There was a lot of magic in the air that night, if you’ll recall it.”
“I recall it, all right.”
“After . . . I had . . . an itch, call it, like there was something out of harmony, but I couldn’t put my finger on it ’til today.”
Fourteen days and he hadn’t been able to put his finger on something that was out of harmony in the sea he guarded? I shivered, and this time it wasn’t pleasure.
“How could you not know?” It was a reasonable question, but I could’ve done a lot better in the phrasing department.
“Sorry,” I said, extending a hand. Borgan took it between both of his and smiled at me.
“I’m thinking you already know the answer—you told me yourself, back when you first come home, that there’re bits of land, here and around, that you couldn’t hear—just static, I think it was.”
I nodded, and waved my free hand in the general direction of the living room, meaning to include the maps and guidebooks.
“Right,” Borgan said. “So, it won’t surprise you to hear that the sea holds places that are . . . not dead, necessarily, but not easy to pick up, either.”
“The
ronstibles
’ home is one of those places, isn’t it? That was why Nerazi had to tell you they’d moved back.”
“That’s right.”
“So the prisoner—ex-prisoner—went to the
ronstibles
?”
“Might’ve. There’s other places, but if the
ronstibles
found her, they might’ve seen a chance to make mischief. They’re as alert to changes in the sea as I am, and they don’t have the High Magic to confuse them.”
I thought about how it might’ve happened—but really, it was easy. The prisoner wouldn’t have had much
jikinap
, just whatever she could snatch out of the confusion of energies during the great escape. She’d’ve been disoriented, and she wouldn’t have had access to her memories, but you don’t need memories to know enough to run away from a firefight.
So she ran—and found further progress blocked by the Atlantic Ocean. Hell, if she was from Cheobaug, which I was willing to bet she was, then her instincts might’ve
sent
her to the sea. Whereupon, she’d do the only sensible thing open to her—she’d wade into the nice water, for safety. The
ronstibles
, sensing a disturbance in the force—or, at least, in the balance of the sea—would surface to see what was up . . . and find a confused and amnesiac stranger, with the taint of
jikinap
on her, whom they would have had no trouble seeing as a weapon.
“So . . . what changed?” I asked Borgan.
“She came to me, today when I was fishing, and let herself be known.”
“Two weeks after the fact?”
“A bit long for politeness, I’ll grant. She made a proper manifestation, but she had to feed on a shark, to have enough power for it. That says to me that she went into the ocean weak, and—with or without the
ronstibles
in it—she’s been using the time since to recuperate.”
“So you talked to her? What’s her name?”
Borgan snorted lightly.
“Two minds with one thought, there. I tried to fish it outta her, Kate, but she wasn’t so weak as that.”
“What did she want, then?”
“Well, that’s a puzzle. As I get it from the sea, she wanted to look at me—and she did that for a time, from the waters. Maybe I looked reassuring, or maybe she remembered her manners—in either case, she came up on the deck . . .”
“After draining a shark,” I put in.
He waggled his fingers.
“I won’t say I liked it, but I will say that she didn’t take all she could’ve. I asked her why not, and her reason was it would be bad manners to start killing the sea’s creatures. We mended the shark, after she’d gone, so all’s well.”
We
being himself and the sea together. I nodded.
“So, she came up on deck, dressed to impress—pretty silk robes all flowing like water, her hair done up like a crown. Hinted that a good time could be had, if I wanted it.”
I blinked.
“Sounds like she didn’t waste any time.” That sounded bitchy, so I added, “What did you do?” Which didn’t make it any better.
Borgan laughed softly.
“What I did was told her a working boat’s no place for silks. She changed ’em for something more reasonable, then; told me it was what she’d worn when she’d fished her father’s boat.” He paused, as if considering. “That was true.”
“After we got the wardrobe fixed, I told her to go home. She asked for a few days’ grace, pretty and polite as you’d please, so she could husband her strength. Claims to have enemies at home. That was true, too.”
He paused for a leisurely sip of wine.
“What did you do?”
Obviously, he hadn’t asked the Gatekeeper—that was me—to open the World Gate, though I wasn’t positively certain that he needed me for that. Still, if he’d opened it, I’d’ve heard it. Alternatively, he could’ve sung her back to Cheobaug, and I’d never know anything about it.
“I gave her twenty days and the sea’s fullness,” he said slowly. “The sea . . . likes her, and it was plain she likes the sea.”
“There’s a risk,” I pointed out. “If she’s working for, or with, the
ronstibles
.”
“Sure, there’s a risk,” he agreed placidly. “Nothing’s risk-free.”
He lifted his glass again, and drank off what was left, his eyes on the beach. Or the sea.
I finished my wine, studying his profile. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that there was a woman of Cheobaug in the waters of Saco Bay. On the other hand, I couldn’t fault Borgan’s decision. Whatever quarrel was waiting for her at home in Cheobaug, we—meaning me, Borgan and the whole of the Changing Land—didn’t have any skin in the game. And while we’d like to keep it that way, there wasn’t any percentage in forcing her to go home while she was too weak to cope.
“So,” I said softly, “was that what you didn’t want the sea to hear?”
The edge of his mouth curved slightly upward.
“It wasn’t the sea I cared about. I didn’t want her to hear me tell you.” He paused, head tipped slightly to one side for a moment before he turned his head and looked directly into my eyes.
“I didn’t want her to know about you.” His smile grew somewhat fuller. “Turns out, there’s risks I’m not willing to take.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SUNDAY, JULY 9
LOW TIDE 4:06
A.M.
EDT
SUNRISE 5:09
A.M.
The Garden Cafe was standing room only. Not only was every member of Archers Beach Twelve to Twelve present, it looked like every nonmember store owner was there, too.
I poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter, and looked around. Brand caught my eye from his lean against the wall, and shifted over enough so that I could have leaning room, too. I gave him a nod and settled in.
“Where’d all these people come from?” I muttered.
“Apparently Joan called Mrs. Kristanos, and Mrs. Kristanos got her kids busy working a phone tree, calling every business in town, and anybody else they could reach.” He paused to sip, gingerly, from his cup. “That guy there, in the white T-shirt? He’s one of the owners of the ’change. The woman next to him is the curator of the History House.”
“Hmm. Who’s the guy in the suit, talking to Michelle and looking uncomfortable?”
“Credit union manager.”
“Mr. Poirier coming?”
“Now, I wondered that, too. Seems like it’s time to bring him in, but if he’s coming, he’s late.”
Right on cue, came Jess Robald’s voice, bold enough to override every other voice in the room.
“Okay, everybody!” She was standing as near to the center of the room as possible, holding her arms over her head, so we could all get a fix on her.
“Thank you all for comin’. I know it’s an early hour after a late night, so I’m gonna make this short as I can. There’s a lot of stuff, and I’m asking you to save any questions ’til I’m finished laying it out, all right?”
“We’re all ears,” Brand said from beside me. “Go for it, Jess!”
The land murmured, and I looked away from Jess, just as the door to the restaurant opened and a sturdy woman in jeans and T-shirt entered. She closed the door quietly behind her, turned—and met my eyes across the room. We exchanged a cordial nod, and I gave my attention to Jess, as Felsic drifted forward to stand at the edge of the crowd, nudging the gimme hat up an inch or two with a forefinger.
“For those who are comin’ in late, this is what’s going on that’s got the rest of us all scrambled around,” Jess said. She then gave an admirably succinct description of the situation, and outlined the most popular proposed solutions.
“Now, I’ve got some more information that has a bearing. First, the spot where the Loon used to be, right across from Ahzie’s store—that deal went through. The new owners’ll be siting condos on it, but what they’re waiting for is all the licenses and permits and such that they need from the State before they can start building. That’s the first thing.
“Second thing is that Henry’s talked to a bunch of people. He found out that the asking price for the park land is two million five.”
There was a stir and a mutter at that. Jess nodded, but raised her hand.
“Folks? We’re short on time, so let me just go on, okay? Yeah, it’s a lot of money, but we’ve got a couple ideas about that, if you’ll hear me out.”
The muttering subsided.
“All right, then. Henry . . . Henry’s been doing a lot of work on this. Henry talked to Mr. Poirier at the Chamber, and he’s willing—the Chamber’s willing—to be part of the committee working on putting together a leaseback deal with the town. Mr. Poirier’s going to be personally involved in putting the proposal together; he doesn’t want there to be any loose ends when we take it to the town manager.
“Also, Janice Wing and Sylvia Laliberte are researching how we can form a limited liability company—we’re going to need that, no matter which way this goes—and what a Twelve to Twelve LLC has to have in order to borrow enough money to buy the park’s land.”
She paused and looked around the room.
“The best outcome would be the leaseback, so that’s front burner, and if anybody wants to be on that committee, you give me a call or stop by the ride and tell me so. The backup plan is the bank loan.
“Bottom line. We all of us want the park to stay right exactly where it is, and we all think having an amusement park is important to the town, and to the—to Twelve to Twelve’s core goal of making Archers Beach into a year-round town, with a twelve month season!”
Brand came out of his lean, his mug tucked between his elbow and his side, and began to clap, loudly.
The entire room took it up, chairs scraping as people leapt to their feet. Someone whistled, piercing and high.
I clapped with the rest, the land showing me Jess, the center of all this adoration, red-faced, and moving her hands, palms out, like she was trying to push the applause away.
Another high sound cut the air—this one made by a coach’s whistle—and Michelle jumped up on a table.
“Folks, I’ve gotta open this restaurant to the public in ten minutes! If you’re staying for breakfast, grab a seat. Everybody else—I love ya, but—clear the decks!”
I moved out with the rest, keeping an eye peeled for Felsic. It was interesting that she’d come to the meeting. I wondered if it was her own idea, or if Peggy’d sent her.
Or both.
Whichever, I missed her in the crush and didn’t see her outside. The land, queried, showed me a piece of swamp, which I suspected was just behind the Sand Dollar—Felsic’s service.
All righty, then; I could take a hint.
I turned left, and headed for Heath Hill.
* * *
Mr. Ignat’ was sleeping with his back against Gran’s tree, legs drawn up, hands folded over his belt buckle, hat tipped down over his face.
I paused at the edge of the Center, looking about me. Mother was nowhere to be seen, but I did spy Mr. Ignat’s companion—or perhaps his partner—Arbalyr, the anti-Phoenix, asleep in the high boughs of a yellow birch.
Unwilling to disturb this scene of domestic peace, I turned to leave. After all, my question wasn’t—
“Good morning, Katie.”
Mr. Ignat’ had raised his head, and pushed his hat back. He was smiling at me.
“Good morning. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s time for me to be waking up,” he said, rolling to his feet, and stretching. “Have you had breakfast?”
“I had an early meeting, instead.”
He glanced up, as if he could read the sun through the canopy of the trees. “Early, indeed. What was so urgent?”
“Trying to figure out how to save the amusement park. Got a couple of good ideas, and a bunch of good people working on them.”
“And the odds of success?”
I shrugged. “Not so good, is my guess. I wish my luck rating were higher.”
“Luck rating, Katie?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize it, but apparently just by being here I’ve boosted the town’s luck. You’ve seen the new businesses, haven’t you? Hell, the push to try to expand the Season—that’s part of it, too. Not a responsibility I necessarily want, but if I’m going to have it, then I wish I had more of it.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Ignat’, “let’s go down to Bob’s for breakfast.”
I looked up into the yellow birch. Arbalyr, last seen with his head beneath his wing, looked down at me, gimlet-eyed and very much on the case.
“Sure,” I said. “There might even be a table for us.”
“I’m confident that our luck will hold,” he said seriously, and bowed gently. “After you, Katie.”
* * *
“Was there a particular reason you came to the Wood this morning, Katie?” he asked as we walked down the side of Heath Hill.
“As a matter of fact, there was. I wanted to let you know that one of the prisoners from the carousel took refuge in Saco Bay. Apparently, she’s not very strong, and has enemies at home. She’s been laying low until she felt up to introducing herself—which she finally did, yesterday. Borgan gave her twenty days and all the resources of the sea.”
“That is Borgan’s right, as Guardian,” Mr. Ignat’ said, after we’d moved a dozen steps further down the hill.
“I know it is,” I said. “It’s just . . .”
I turned my head to look at him and met his eyes.
“Mr. Ignat’, do you know who the prisoners—were? Jaron the Varothi was imprisoned for political gain by Prince Aesgyr’s enemies. Did you—did
Gran
—” That sentence wasn’t going even close to where I wanted it to go. I waved my hands and abandoned it.
“Your grandmother knows what the Wise told her about the prisoners,” Mr. Ignat’ murmured.
Let’s be clear here that Mr. Ignat’s not exactly the Wise’s biggest fan ever. Whether that’s because of a general preference for chaos over order, or something more personal, I didn’t know. And it occurred to me that I ought to.
“Why don’t you like the Wise, Mr. Ignat’?”
“Various reasons,” he answered promptly, “most of them having to do with the war with Daknowyth. I also object to their use of your grandmother’s carousel, and to their abuse of the Changing Land. This is a beautiful and peculiar Land; it is not the trash heap of the other five.”
Personal reasons, then, and well-articulated, too. I considered my next question as we walked across Gentleman Johnnie’s parking lot, empty at this hour on a Sunday morning.
“What was the war with Daknowyth about?” I asked.
He laughed.
“So simple a question! Say—simply—that it was about access. To
jikinap
. A very long time ago, power circulated freely through the Six Worlds, so that no world had too much, or too little.”
“Did we—did the Changing Land—have
jikinap
then?”
Mr. Ignat’ moved his shoulders, as if he didn’t quite know how to answer.
“From the beginning, the Changing Land has been unique. Power flowed here from the other Worlds, and of course, it changed. That power then flowed back through the other Worlds, where change was slow, and rare. The flow of changed
jikinap
kept the other five Worlds from stagnating.”
I remembered that the first story Borgan had ever told me had been about the creation of the Six Worlds, and how our greatest strength, right here in this World, was . . . change.
“Sounds like a good system that benefited everybody. What happened?”
Mr. Ignat’ sighed.
“People hungry for more power, for an established base from which to rule over and control other people, began to . . . build dams, to devise ways to attract
jikinap
, and capture it. Other people sought to minimize the effects of the flow from the Changing Land, and moved it, just slightly, out of alignment with the other Five Worlds.”
I blinked.
“How long ago was this?”
“Some while back,” he said. “Before my time.”
Okay, an epoch ago, make that.
“By the time Daknowyth mounted its war, the flow of power had long favored Sempeki. Daknowyth was beginning to die, for lack of sufficient
jikinap
. The Queen had to act, and so she did.”
“And lost.”
“In fact. But it may be said that the war itself created an imbalance in the systems, and Ramendysis arose as the greatest Ozali Sempeki ever produced.”
“By killing every other Ozali in existence, and absorbing their power.”
“Yes. And, as you may recall, the Queen of Daknowyth promised him her daughter, the Opal of Dawn.”
“Why yes,” I said drily, “I do recall something along those lines.”
Mr. Ignat’ smiled gently.
“The plan had been that Ramendysis, replete with the power of a thousand Ozali, would truly wed the Opal, who would then . . . release their shared
jikinap
into Daknowyth, reviving and restoring it.” He shrugged. “It might have worked, too. But by the time Ramendysis came to claim his bride, it was much, much too dangerous to go forward with the plan.” He sighed. “Neither the Queen nor her counselors had expected him to be able to control so . . . very . . . much
jikinap
. It was by no means certain that the Opal—that
even
the Opal—could have survived the sharing of their powers.”
Which was why the Opal had to be hidden. And the carousel had been the perfect hiding place, because there were already souls bound into it. Who was going to notice one more?
That was more or less where I’d come in, except . . .
“Wait.” I replayed the Queen’s plan, and shook my head.
“She was—the Opal was not only going to marry Ramendysis”—a risky, not to say outright dangerous, undertaking of itself—“but she would also have to kill him
and
herself in order to release his—their—
jikinap
into her Land?”
I mean—politics is politics, and the Queen of Daknowyth hadn’t exactly invented the marriage of state, but the rest of it—that was just
cold
.
“Not quite,” Mr. Ignat’ murmured as we crossed Fountain Circle. “In her own Land, the Opal occupies a position quite similar to yours, here in Archers Beach. Daknowyth would not have
let
her die.”
So—according to the Queen’s original plan—Ramendysis wouldn’t have survived his wedding night, but the Opal—and the Midnight Land—would have survived, renewed, and with a future before them.
I liked that plan better.
Much
better.
“So, how’s Daknowyth doing now?” I asked slowly. The question was tricky—time isn’t exactly synchronized between the Six Worlds—but it was the best North American English could do. I caught my breath and stopped, suddenly realizing, there in the middle of the sidewalk, half a block from Bob’s—suddenly realizing what I had done.