Authors: Sharon Lee
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Dark Fantasy
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
FRIDAY, JULY 28
In theory, Game Night would be hosted, alternately, by me and by Peggy Marr, whose brainchild it was. The person who provided the place would provide the refreshments; the visitors would bring the game.
It was an equitable plan, but unfortunately not workable, given the setup of Peggy’s apartment. So, this time, Cael picked out the game, while Peggy and Felsic funded drinks and munchies.
I’d had more fun than I’d supposed I would at the first Game Night, two days after Borgan left for the Vineyard. I’d expected to have a lot less fun tonight, given one thing and another.
But I was wrong.
Cael’s choice was a game called Zoobratic, a lunatic mash-up of Pinochle, Scrabble, and Hazard. A timer was also involved. It was absolutely fatal to lose track of any detail on the board, and before I knew it an hour had passed, the game was over, and I was one of four losers in a field of six, Ethrane and Peggy the two winners.
“
That
. . . was exhausting,” Peggy said, bouncing up out of her seat. “Who else needs an ale? Kate?”
“Great, thanks,” I said.
Moss was already sweeping the letter squares back into their pouch; I started gathering up cards.
“Got your ale,” Peggy said, from my side. “Come out on the deck for a sec?”
Well, why not? I slipped the cards into their box, and followed her outside.
Peggy leaned a hip against the rail, and raised her bottle.
“To change,” she said.
I blinked. “You sure of that toast?”
“Sure as I’ve been about anything in a while. You got a better one?”
“In fact—I don’t.”
I clinked my bottle against hers.
“To change. May it be quick and merciful.”
Peggy chuckled and drank.
I drank, without the benefit of a chuckle.
It was a quiet night. I could hear the band, still cranking down at Neptune’s, and the sound of a motorcycle engine, winding out, as it turned into Route 5.
What I didn’t hear—what I
still
didn’t hear—was the sound of surf, either the crash of incoming waves, or the whisper of those heading out.
My heart cramped.
Give the man time to work, Kate.
“The water’s quiet tonight,” said Peggy.
“Yeah,” I managed. Not much in the way of a conversation starter.
Peggy cleared her throat.
“So, I guess you’re wondering why I called you here tonight,” she said brightly.
Honestly, Kate; be human. The woman has something she wants to tell you.
“Sorry; I’m a little abstracted. Why
did
you bring me together, Jersey?”
“I’m glad you asked. I want you to be the third to know—I’m first and Felsic’s second—that I handed in my resignation at Arbitrary and Cruel, effective the end of this Season.”
I blinked. Inside my head, the land tootled a little tune on what sounded like a kazoo.
“You’re—that’s great, Peg! Better offer somewhere else?”
It came to me that I was having to think about too many things that I didn’t want to think about. The continued absence of Borgan, the stagnation of the sea, the end of Archers Beach as a resort community, Peggy leaving at the end of the Season.
“You could say it’s a better offer. I do. I’m going to stay in Archers Beach.”
I stared at her, torn between relief and disbelief.
“Are you sure?” I blurted, which wasn’t probably the best thing to say under the circumstances. Happily, Peggy was used to me by now.
“I’m sure, Felsic’s sure, and if you’re not, you’ll get there. I believe in you.”
“You haven’t done a winter here. What’re you gonna do when you get bored?”
“I don’t expect to get bored.” She took a swig from her bottle.
Another thought occurred to me.
“I’m not sure the studio’s fit for winter living. Might have to put up with work being done around you.” I drank some ale. “Since you’re not going to be on the big city expense account, we’ll readjust the rent . . .”
“Archer, are you saying you’d let me keep the studio?”
“Why not? You’re a good neighbor.”
Silence. I could see her fine in the light from inside, and for a second, it looked like she was going to cry.
“That’s great of you, Kate. I was thinking, though, that with two of us, the studio’s a little snug. We put a down payment on a condo at the Sand Dollar.”
That made sense; Felsic’s service was the marsh right behind the Dollar.
“Sounds like win-win. Perfect for you and Felsic—and I don’t have to deal with the contractors.”
She laughed.
I smiled, for lack of having a laugh in me, and leaned forward to touch her hand.
“I’m happy for you, and for Felsic. Congratulations,” I said, meaning it.
“Thanks,” she said, sounding more serious than Peggy usually sounded. “I’m scared out of my wits, y’know? But—it feels right. Righter’n . . . anything in my life, ever. So, I’m going with it. Felsic . . . makes me happy. I make her happy. She says. It’s crazy; we only met—what? A month ago? I never—I’ve always been responsible. All business. But the thought of walking away from Felsic, from this place—makes me want to curl up into a ball and die.”
The land had branched out from the kazoo into a complex orchestration, which I had no trouble interpreting as joy and pleasure. It was, unilaterally, happy for Felsic—the land liked Felsic a lot—it was happy for Peggy, it was happy for me . . .
Cael appeared in the doorway.
“Felsic sends that the second round is beginning. She wonders if Peggy prefers to sit and watch.”
“
Hell
I’ll sit and watch!” Peggy said, pushing away from the rail.
Cael stepped back to let her through, then stepped forward again.
“Kate?”
I straightened, and gave him a smile.
“Sure, I’ll play. Why not?”
* * *
“Harpy!” yelled Moss. “I need help!”
“How much help?” Peggy asked.
Moss frowned at his card. He fought at a Level Four; the Harpy was a Level Twelve.
“Eight points.”
“I can help you out,” said Nancy.
Moss looked at her suspiciously. “For what?”
“For all the treasure.”
“What? No, I ain’t givin’ you all the treasure! I’ll give you . . .” Moss paused, staring at his fan of cards. “I’ll give you the first treasure,” he said decisively.
Nancy shrugged, and casually rearranged the cards in her hand.
“I’ll help,” Peggy said, smiling brightly at Moss over her cards. “For the first and second treasures.”
Moss eyed her, looked back at his cards, and gave a decisive nod.
“Done!”
Peggy fought at Level Eight—I was starting to think that Peggy had not only played Munchkin before, but she’d paid off her college tuition by placing genteel little side bets on the outcome. However, Level Eight and Level Four only equaled the monster’s strength. In order to kill it, and get into the room to steal whatever treasure it was guarding, Moss and Peggy had to be one point stronger.
“And,” she said, “I have this!” She tossed a card faceup on the table.
I craned to see it—
“Cotion of Ponfusion?” Moss read. “Three points! We’re over the top!”
Vornflee made a rude noise, while Moss reached out to the second deck to discover what kind of treasure the Hydra had been protecting—
The French doors, which we’d left ajar in case there should ever be a breeze again, banged wide open. I smelled peaches and butterscotch, eelgrass and brine . . .
I threw my cards down and jumped out of my chair. Cael was already between me and the doors, Oscar at his knee.
“What?” Peggy started to get up; I waved her back, not exactly surprised to find Felsic standing at my left shoulder.
“Stay right there,” I murmured, and strolled forward. “Cael, this lady is known to me; please stand away.”
He did so, reluctantly. Felsic kept to my side until we actually reached the threshold, which she let me cross alone.
Naked and disheveled, Nerazi stood in the center of the summer parlor. I could see her face clearly with land-sharpened sight, saw lines carven in her forehead and around her mouth, and tears on her round cheeks. Her braid had come loose and her hair floated away from her head, though the air was entirely still.
Nerazi was not entirely still, however.
Nerazi was shaking.
“Cael, bring me a blanket!” I called.
He was beside me almost before I’d spoken, shaking out the cat’s blanket. I took it from him and stepped forward to drape it around Nerazi’s shoulders, while the land whined inside my head.
I understood the land’s distress. Nerazi was the third person I’d met in the Changing Land; she’d helped Gran nurse me back from being elfshot and almost dead. In all the time since, I’ve seen her at a standstill exactly twice.
And I’d
never
seen her afraid.
Water.
Familiar water, nourishing water; water that knew her, that welcomed her and buoyed her.
She lay back, gasping, and allowed the waters to cradle her until she felt able to look about.
A curtain of sea grass was hung against a rough wall, softening the stone; a couch piled high with pillows awaited her.
She was back—she had returned to the goblins’ abode, achingly empty of their presence, yet as much of a home to her as any other waters in this sea.
Once more, she rested, and took stock.
She had lost power to the scouring winds, though not as much as she had feared, and for the moment, she was safe here. For the moment. She dared not suppose that the Borgan would miss her presence in his waters, and this time she must not err.
She must seek him out, immediately, and tell him what had occurred. Certainly, the author of the geas that had removed her from these waters would be able to ascertain the truth of her account for himself.
Truly, she should go to him at once. Her mind knew that, but her pride balked, not wishing him to see her distraught, with the remains of her fear still lodged in her belly, and her power in disarray.
But would not such a state of disarray add verisimilitude to her tale? Would her fear not excite tender concern? It was to her benefit to show herself thusly, for her intention regarding him had not wavered.
Therefore, she left the goblins’ humble residence, and entered the larger sea . . .
To find that the waters were . . . wrong. Dull. The sweetness lingered, but as an undernote, and the sluggish currents carried a soft keening. She shivered in the sluggard current, grief coating her like oil.
Emptiness ate into her, an emptiness so heavy she thought that her heart would burst under the weight of it. Lethargy gnawed at her soul; she wanted merely to lie among the waters, unmoving, until the pain had hollowed her and she felt nothing at all.
It was terrible, this change in the sweet and joyous sea.
And infinitely more terrible was the knowledge that she had done this.
That part of her soul which she had ceded to the goblins’ essence . . . rejoiced. For surely,
surely
now the Borgan would die, and terribly—for the sea had always loved them best.
But the Borgan . . . was not dead yet.
She felt him on the sluggish current, recruited her will, and moved through the waters to his side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
FRIDAY, JULY 28
I put my arm around Nerazi’s shoulders, and leaned my head against hers.
“Tell me,” I whispered.
She drew a shaking breath.
“I couldn’t hold him.”
The stars rocked in the sky; a flaming sword sank into my belly. I ground my teeth until the land flowed, soft and green and healing; and melted the scream out of my throat. There could only be one
he
in this. Nerazi was strong, and frequently, as I gathered, covered Borgan’s back. If she hadn’t been able to hold him . . .
“He’s dead?” I wasn’t certain who’d said that, but it was a good question.
“He’s with the sea . . .” Her voice faded out.
“With the sea. All this time, he’s been . . . merged?”
All this time, merged with the sea, and the sea had only gotten . . . worse?
“No . . . Your pardon, Princess, I ought tell the tale in order.”
I felt her shivering; I felt her guilt and the dull burn of pain. I looked closer, and saw the wound along her soul, raw and oozing. I didn’t know what could make such a wound, but I did know what to do about it.
I made the request, and let the land’s healing flow from me to Nerazi.
She sighed, and her shivering eased slightly.
“My thanks.”
She stirred. I let her shoulders go, and stepped back. The others were crowding the French doors, watching and listening. Peggy stood with Felsic, one step onto the deck; they were holding hands.
“The last thing I had, from Borgan himself,” I said, “was that he was headed for Martha’s Vineyard, to free a beached whale. There was somebody he wanted to talk to—”
“Turtle,” Nerazi murmured. “He wished to ask Old Man Turtle’s advice. It was several days, to find Turtle, and when he was found, his advice was . . . not to Borgan’s liking. He wished to avoid a full merging, deeming it not in the sea’s best service. That has long been his philosophy and surprises none of us who have known him. When he left Turtle, he traveled to certain . . . places of power, and attempted . . .”
Nerazi turned her gaze on the others of her avid audience, then looked back to me, her eyes flaring red.
“He attempted, let us say, various technical adjustments, hoping that an infusion of old waters might divert the larger sea from her loss. In this, he was . . . partially correct.” Nerazi paused.
“But he wasn’t correct enough,” I said when it seemed like she wasn’t going to speak again. “Nerazi, forgive my lapse. Do you require anything? May I offer refreshment?”
“You have already given much, and richly. Only allow me to recruit myself. It was a cunning thrust . . .”
“Who hurt you?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“In order. Now that my feet have found the path, allow me to say it out in order.”
I nodded, and after a moment’s further rest, she took up the tale.
“It was as you say, his strategy produced a slight improvement, when what was needed was a dramatic recovery. Understanding that more was required, he returned to Saco Bay, and called upon me to be his lifeline, while he opened himself and merged with the sea.” She moved a hand in a gesture that may have meant something to her, but meant nothing to me.
“This was, you understand, Turtle’s advice, saving only that Turtle advised a true and complete merging. Such a merging may endure”—a flash of red-lit eyes toward Peggy—“quite a number of years. Borgan accepted that he and the sea must fully merge; her grief was such that there was no other way for him to show her what her pain cost those who are at her mercy, and to alter her course toward reason.”
A breath, and Nerazi pulled the blanket close around her shoulders.
“I agreed to be his anchor, and we repaired to . . . to a place of particular benevolence. The waters there were touched with the sea’s grief, though more lightly than elsewhere. I wrapped Borgan in my care; he opened himself to the sea’s influence . . .”
She took a hard breath, and I saw the tears start again.
“She snatched at him, the place we were . . . the water boiled with her frenzy. I held, she increased her pull upon him. I clasped him tighter . . .”
“And she struck me, Kate,” Nerazi whispered. “Full across the soul. The sea, my mother and my sister . . . she struck me . . . and I lost him.”
“When?” I heard myself ask. “When did this happen, Nerazi? Just now?”
She shook her head.
“The blow was . . . it stunned me, and I was parted from my senses for what I believe to be three days.”
Three days merged with a desperate and violent sea, with nothing to hold him to . . . to . . . the land.
I raised my hand and touched the bead in my braid.
Nerazi drew a sharp breath.
“Tell me,” I said again.
“I know only that he said he had cached some small bit of his power . . . elsewhere. That was everything he said.”
And if he had cached a small bit of his power . . . elsewhere, that meant he could not be fully merged with the sea.
Which, in turn, meant that, maybe, he could be released.
Hope hurt a lot more than despair. I caught my breath on something that sounded horribly like a sob.
“I’ll go to him,” I said, watching Nerazi’s face. “Should I leave—”
“Take it,” she interrupted. “It is better to have options, and it is nearly invisible to my eye, and she is all but blind with grief.”
I nodded. “I’ll need directions.”
“Kate!” Cael stepped forward, flanked by Oscar and Breccia. “You have duties and folk to care for. Will you go into danger, unprotected, with neither plan nor shield?”
I looked at him.
“You’re right. I do need to make sure that attention to my duties does not lapse, and that the folk under my care suffer no lack of care.”
I offered my proposition to the land, which agreed, reluctantly, but without reservation.
“Felsic,” I said.
“Kate?” She sounded startled—who could blame her?—but she stepped up and put her hand on my shoulder. “What’s to do?”
“You’ve been listening close to all of this, and you know the stakes. The
trenvay
and the land need the sea. If we don’t somehow fix this mess, and soon, we’ll suffer along with the seafolk. Like I just said—and Nerazi agrees that it’s the only way, or she wouldn’t be shy about telling me stand back . . . Like I said, I’m going there, under the sea, to try to pull this out.”
I grinned, feeling suddenly . . . buoyant. Centered.
“You know and I know,” I said to Felsic, “that it’s not impossible that I’ll be dead in the next couple hours. Cael’s right; I can’t leave the Beach without a Guardian. Not now. Not with everything that’s going on.
“So . . . I’m asking you to stand as my heir. If I die, you step into my job and keep everything from going to hell. The land agrees, and will accept you as Guardian.” I took a breath, holding her eyes with mine. “Do you agree?”
Her eyes widened, bright and fearful, and I braced myself for a refusal.
She nodded.
The land played a quick
cha-cha-cha
! inside my head. I smiled at Felsic.
“One more formality,” I said. “Bear with me.”
I didn’t know how to do this, not really. But I’d once seen Grandfather Aeronymous transfer a tithe of his power to a new-made paladin of the House. Not precisely the kind of thing we did here in the Changing Land, but it would have to do.
I leaned forward and kissed Felsic on the lips. A flicker of green fire passed from me to her.
She sighed, and I did. We stepped apart.
I looked to Nerazi.
“Kate,” Cael said again. “Have me by you.”
“Of course,” I said. “I trust you to be my anchor.”
Relief passed over his face, and he bowed.
“Kate.” That was Peggy. I turned to face her.
“Sorry, Jersey.” Meaning that even a Sighted person shouldn’t have had to witness all that had just passed.
Peggy waved a hand.
“Sorry for what? You do what you’ve gotta do. But if you die doing it, Archer, I will personally kill you. Got it?”
She surprised a laugh out of me.
“Got it.” I looked around at the rest of them, and said, “I solemnly swear that I will do my very best to get back here alive.” The land gave the sentence a little jolt of truth, and I saw grim faces relax, a little.
Good.
I extended my hands, one to Nerazi and one to Cael; felt each grip me in turn. I thought about Nerazi’s rock, fixed the location in my mind, and took one step forward.
. . .
The night sky stretched overhead, a glorious blanket of stars unreflected in the dark waters of the sea.
Still holding hands, the three of us walked to the water’s edge. I paused there, allowing the sea king’s power to rise into me.
When I was ready, I murmured, “Cael,” and felt his serviceable
jikinap
rope tighten around my waist.
“My lady,” he murmured, and loosed my hand.
I looked to Nerazi.
“Directions?” I suggested.
“Yes,” she said. I shuddered as the information struck and was absorbed by my
jikinap
.
“Be careful, Kate,” Nerazi said, and she, too, loosed my hand.
I closed my eyes, called Nerazi’s directions to the front of my mind, took one step forward . . .
I heard a boom, like wave striking rock.
And the world disappeared.
She entered waters heavy with age, power silking the ponderous current. Such waters might contain the wisdom of the ancestors. Once, such waters might have healed the most desperate of spirits.
But no longer. Anger tainted the waters; roiled the silken currents. It was not so grief-struck nor as angry as the waters near the goblins’ residence. Not yet.
Not yet.
Though—she feared it—soon.
Within those wise and angry waters, there the Borgan lay, his will breached, and his power bleeding away. He was beautiful in his doom; clad in white leather, and his braid coiled on his breast, like a funeral wreathe, the little charms and amulets sparkling with their small stores of power.
She came to his side, and gazed down upon his face. There was some sign of struggle written there—drawn brows, and a deep frown. He fought the sea’s dominion, even as the sea strove to absorb him into herself. She could see—so clearly in these admirable waters!—she could see his soul beset, and the ocean battering at the walls of his integrity. He was fighting, the Borgan; fighting the force of his sea’s desperate grief and love.
Fighting.
And losing.
Ah, now, the question came.
What ought she to do, with the god of this sea imperiled?
She stroked his face, and felt her heart swell. The two of them . . . perhaps they might win the battle the Borgan had joined, and bring the sea back to its former sweet balance.
However, that plan . . . had always been complex—a compromise made from respect of the sea’s immense tenderness for the Borgan.
The sea’s love was not so tender, now. And its need, with the goblins lost to her, was very much greater.
She kissed the frowning lips, considering the options open to her. Best, she had always thought, to maintain a single focus for the powers of a sea. Best, perhaps and after all, to return to her original plan.
The geas . . . was broken; the author of the geas under siege. She need fear no sudden importunate returns to Cheobaug.
She need only allow the sea to have its way with the Borgan. When that process was complete—
then
would she float forward and propose herself.
Or, she might consume him now, and declare herself immediately. She was strong, he was weak—and growing weaker. Soon, there would be no more possibility of his resisting her as there was of his ultimately resisting the sea.
To consume him, and mix his power, with all its knowledge of this sea, with her own—that was tempting. He would be, she thought, a feast, and she would savor him as he deserved.
But, no, she decided reluctantly.
No. She dared not risk that course, given what had gone before. She would allow the sea its melding; the feast properly belonged to the waters.
However, as she was present at the table, there was no need to deny herself a taste.
She touched the coiled braid, tenderly straightening it, and ran her hand down the length, slowly, sensuously. The Borgan, caught in the sea’s enchantment, moaned softly, stern lips softening in pleasure. In that tiny moment of distraction, she saw a bit of his will break off from the citadel around his soul, and drift off into the waters.