Tempest (26 page)

You give up so quickly,
he thought to himself. It was true. Colm knew now, in his heart, that he was a coward. He could handle hardship, but not hopelessness, and his spirit turned to hopelessness so quickly these days. Colm had barely lasted a day inside the Ardeaglais before he began to wish for death. How much longer had the prisoner in the cell beside him languished there? He had been lost before Rory rescued him from the anguish of loneliness and the fear that he'd killed Nichol. And now he was captured and caged, and being carted off to begin what was likely to be a short and infamous life as a sideshow in the Roving Spectacular. But he had survived all those other things… Who was to say that he might not survive this as well?

Colm remembered what Kiaran had told him in the quiet of his wagon, awe in his voice.
“I never thought I would get the chance to both ruin and save the same person… I'm sorry to disappoint you, Colm Weathercliff. Be assured that one day, I won't.”
This was the time of ruination, this was the fathoms-deep version of the disappointment Colm had felt that day, when Kiaran had given him no answers beyond an admonition not to bargain with Fate. But saving him, surely that was still in the future. There might be a way. There had to be one, didn't there? Didn't Fate have more planned for Colm than this?

It was too soon to do something drastic. These men didn't know he had a knife; they didn't know that Colm had options. He would wait and see, just for a while. He could be patient for a little longer. Perhaps he was finally due a miracle, after the hardship and hatred and fear. Perhaps he was deluding himself, but maybe that was just another way of having faith.

At least Rory was alive. At least Colm had seen Megg one last time and heard her speak of Nichol. It didn't sound as though Nichol was well, but at least he was alive. That knowledge was a blessing in and of itself, and Colm twisted and turned until he was face up again, staring blurrily up at the grate above him. He couldn't make out the stars, but the moonlight was bright enough to filter down through the holes in the metal grate like celestial fingers, the gentlest of touches. He could almost imagine he was back in the Cove, with Rory curled close in place of his tail and the dry breeze of the air across his face. It was a small bit of comfort amid the chaos in his mind and heart, and Colm stared up into the light for as long as he could before sleep finally pulled him back down into the swells of his nightmares.

Chapter Nineteen

Shockingly, Colm slept. Not only slept, but dreamed sweeter dreams than he'd ever had after he'd changed shape. They were incoherent, as so many of his dreams were, a mishmash of people and places brought together in his mind. This time it was his family back in Anneslea, even Merdith, only they were all sitting around the long kitchen table at the Cove in Caithmor, and Megg was feeding them fish pie. When Colm looked to his right, he saw his sister Baylee, and when he looked to his left, he saw Nichol, who beamed at him. “You're delicious,” Nichol said confessionally.

“What?”

“Your body, it's delicious.” Colm looked down the table and saw everyone was eating pieces of his mer tail. It didn't hurt, and as more of it was eaten away, Colm thought he could see the tops of his knees jutting up through the mess.

Nichol leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Don't worry. We won't stop until you're back.”

“You don't have to,” Colm told him. He could see there was still a long way to go, and even Nichol would get full at some point.

“I want to,” Nichol said. This time when he kissed Colm, it was on the mouth. His lips tasted like salt. “I'll never stop.”

The dream felt strangely realistic, so realistic that when Colm opened his eyes he was genuinely surprised to see his tail beside his head. He looked at it blurrily, then out at the glass. He saw Nichol staring back at him, and smiled at him. “You're here,” he tried to say, but the words came out as a hiss. That more than anything broke the spell, and Colm reared back, banging his back against the side of the tank and thrashing his tail wildly.

“No, don't,” Nichol begged, and Colm could hear his voice, really hear it, even muted as it was. “Please, calm down, it's all right! Colm!”

Colm settled almost despite himself, unable to resist Nichol now, like always. He wasn't calm, though. He couldn't be calm, not when Nichol was standing right here in the pale light of dawn, in the broken-down camp of the Roving Spectacular, wearing a ratty cloak and looking like death warmed over. His curls were lank and greasy, his skin was sallow, and the bones of his face were starker than ever, the sweet curves Colm was used to seeing carved away by sickness and grief.

“There, that's better,” Nichol said, looking relieved. He laid his hands flat on the side of the tank, as if he was reaching for Colm. “Soft, love, softly now.” His forehead touched the glass as well, and finally his lips. “Colm,” he whispered, and Colm couldn't hear Nichol, but he recognized the shape of his name on those lips. “Colm. You're alive.” His eyes squeezed shut, and it was still more dark than light outside, but Colm could see the faint stains of tears running down Nichol's cheeks. “I'm so sorry.”

Why should he be sorry? There was no reason for it. Colm moved a little closer to the glass and knocked twice, very gently.
No
.

“Yes,” Nichol said, but there were the edges of a smile there. Colm knocked twice again. “Yes, you bastard, yes. I can't stop being sorry just because you tell me not to.”

No.

“Colm.” Nichol opened his eyes, and when he saw how close Colm was, he didn't start or jump back. He just smiled, helplessly. “I'm sorry I took you swimming, and I'm sorry I pulled you in. I should have left it alone, I know that, but Colm… Gods, I thought I would never see you again. You are the finest sight I've ever seen, even like this, even as you are. I've missed you, you can't know how much.”

Colm pressed his own face close to the glass, taking in as much of Nichol as he could, getting as close as was possible. He knocked on the glass once.
Yes.

“Colm…” Nichol closed his eyes and leaned against the glass. His chin quivered, but he firmed himself and murmured, “They knew you were out there. The Roving Spectacular, they
knew
. The blind man, Kiaran, he came to me two days ago and told me what had happened to you, that you were alive and that…that the only way I could be with you was if I helped them. They were searching for you anyway, but if I led them to the cove, his father would allow me a place with them so that I could travel with you. I don't know how he knew, Colm, but he described his vision to me and it fit the cove perfectly, and I knew they would find it, and I couldn't bear—I couldn't bear for them to take you from me. I couldn't bear it, Colm.” When Nichol opened his eyes again, he looked at Colm grimly.

“I gave you up to them. It was the only thing I could think to do. They were going to go after you that night, and there was no way for me to get there to warn you first, not with Gran watching me like a hawk. She asked me if I wanted to attend your burial, and I thought maybe it was my chance, but there was no way of knowing if you would be there, and the rovers were already on the move. I had to join them, or risk losing you.”

It made a twisted sort of sense. Colm wasn't sure what his reaction would have been if Nichol had joined Megg for the ceremony. Part elation, part despair, most likely. Would he have stayed to listen if Nichol had shouted for him, acted mad, caused a fuss? Perhaps not. Not when he didn't feel he had the option of being a comfort.
Coward, coward
, his mind hissed at him.

Colm wanted to say that he understood. He wanted to wrap Nichol's warm hands in his clammy ones and kiss them, so carefully, and say that it wasn't Nichol's fault. They were together. That was infinitely better than being apart.

“I asked Kiaran not to go after you,” Nichol said, and even through the muffling glass Colm could hear the desperation in his words. “I begged him to leave you be, told him I would do anything, but he said that he had to. That to do otherwise would only make things worse for you. I don't know how much worse they could be,” Nichol admitted. “But I am glad that we're together. I have to be glad for that. I won't leave you again, no matter what happens.”

Colm wished he was giving enough to tell Nichol no, that his sacrifice wasn't necessary, but he wasn't that good a creature.
Yes.

“Yes,” Nichol agreed, followed by a weak chuckle. “Yes.” A sudden sound, indistinct to Colm, made Nichol's head whip around. “Aye,” he said, louder now.

“—mer survived the night, then,” Kith said, walking up to the tank. “How's the damage to the beast?”

“It doesn't look too bad,” Nichol said with a shrug. “Hard to say when it's barely light out, but he's mostly blue and purple anyway. Who's to say what's a bruise and what isn't?”

“True.” Kith smiled with satisfaction. “Your job's t'help me with the upkeep of all the things in the House of Horrors, but this'n especially. Keep it docile, keep it fed. There's a fresh bucket of sea roaches stowed in the lead wagon to give it. Old Grundy loved 'em. Let me know when things get nasty in there, and I'll work the cleansing spell—unless you've got a talent for that?” He asked it very casually, as though admitting you did magic wasn't enough to get you pilloried or worse by the priests.

“No, I've no talent for it,” Nichol said after a moment.

“Pity. Gives me a headache like nothin' else.” He shrugged. “You'd best grab something to eat before we leave. We tend to travel back roads and countryside instead of the highways, so if there's aught you need from the city, best get it now before we're gone.”

“I have everything I need,” Nichol said with perfect sincerity. “Thank you, Kith.”

“Ah, I'm glad enough to have a helper who won't wet himself at the sight of these creatures, Nyle. Bad luck, some of the rovers call them, bad luck to be messing with beasts like this. The gods don't like it, apparently.” He spit off to the side in a display of casual contempt. “But they bring in the money, and this one's a special treat.”

“That he is,” Nichol agreed. “When are we leaving?”

Kith smiled crookedly. “As soon as our leader can rouse his lazy arse and get Kiaran in the front. His son picks our path.”

“Kiaran?” Nichol asked confusedly. “But he's blind.”

“He sees trouble clear enough, though. Trouble and opportunity. Won't be commanded by none but his dad, though, so Regar has to be up for us to be off. Won't be long now, though. Won't be long.”

* * * * *

The first day passed in an ignorant blur for Colm. With Kith keeping Nichol busy learning how to care for the wagons that contained the various bits and pieces of the House of Horrors, there was no one else brave enough to get close to his tank. It was partially covered by a tarred cloth so that the only light that came in was at the very bottom of the vessel. The water actually began to warm, with the sun soaking into the dark cloth that covered most of the tank, and Colm spared a thought for how uncomfortable he could count on becoming if he was still here by midsummer.

That was months away, though. Something had to give before then. Something would change. Colm curled up on the gritty floor and fanned his face with his tail, stirring the water up so it didn't become too stale. From time to time, he reached for the knife he had tucked away, just to reassure himself with its comforting presence. He debated telling Nichol about it, but eventually decided not to. It would be a hard thing to explain when he had no words to speak with, and he didn't want Nichol to ask him for it. He wasn't sure he'd be able to give it up.

Colm did learn a few things on his own that day. One, the road they were on was definitely not one of the great roads that crisscrossed the Muiri Empire, like the pleasantly busy route he'd traveled on his way to the city. This road was rough and uneven, and more than once he heard Kith swear as they went over a bump that rattled the wagon, whose wooden bed creaked ominously under the tank each time.

Two, the Roving Spectacular's caravan didn't stop for a midday meal, but Kith did take a moment to throw a handful of sea roaches into Colm's tank at one point. Colm hadn't eaten them since he'd been human, and he expected to feel the same deep revulsion now that he'd felt then, but from the moment they hit the water and their scent spread, he was ravenous. They were still alive, and now it was a treat to feel them writhe in his mouth, their slick juices tart and fresh when he bit into them. This living prey was what Colm had been denying himself back in the Cove, and for a moment, he hated his own reluctance to embrace this new self.

Then he glanced up and saw Nichol staring at him, wide-eyed with surprise, while Kith nodded and laughed appreciatively. “Thought it'd like those,” he said. “It's a killer, look at those teeth. The food probably don't taste right any other way.”

Colm wanted to shrink from both of their looks, Kith's approval and Nichol's shock. He settled for turning away, his appetite suddenly diminished, and Kith slapped the side of the tank and headed back around to the front of the wagon. When Colm looked back, Nichol was gone as well.

The last thing Colm learned their first day out was this: his presence in the Roving Spectacular was not universally loved. Once the caravan settled for the evening, Colm's tarp was pulled away. He looked first for Nichol and was relieved to find him close by, but his expression was anything but easy. A few feet away, Kith was caught up in an argument with a man Colm recognized from his capture, and they were yelling at each other loudly enough that he could hear everything they had to say.

“Farval's dead, and I'm not leaving 'fore I make this beast pay for his death! 'Twas his poison that did 'im in.”

“This is the Spectacular's newest grand exhibit, and if you break it, Regar'll break you, fool,” Kith shouted back.

“Regar should never have listened to his git about this one. It'll bring ill luck on the caravan, mark my words,” the man—Colm recognized Wes at this volume—insisted. “Now's the best time to get rid of it, before news that we 'ave it spreads.”

“I did tell him to be careful,” a new voice said. All three of the men turned to face Kiaran, who walked up to the wagon with his striped cane held out in front of him, feeling for impediments. “I told all of you that.”

“Your caution wasn't good enough,” Wes spat. “You didn't say anything about poison.”

“I didn't know about the poison. But honestly, man, how specific do I have to be in order for you and your men to keep away from the sharpest, pointiest parts of the creature?” Kiaran demanded. “One would think all it would take was a pair of eyes and a sense of self-preservation. The mer looks like a man-killer. In fact,” he continued blithely, “that's how it's going to be billed. Regar's already agreed, popularizing it with a reputation like that will be brilliant. All we need is the right setup.”

Wes was almost apoplectically red. “You…you wouldn't dare…you wouldn't use Farval's death like that. Y'can't…”

“By the gods, no,” Kiaran scoffed. “Farval will get his rites and rituals like any other man. But look at that.” He waved toward the tank. “What do you see?”

“What do
you
see?” Wes asked, reaching out and ripping the blindfold from Kiaran's eyes before Kith or Nichol could stop him. “What does your sorcery tell you now?”

Milky blankness was all that met Wes's furious glare. “Nothing,” Kiaran said. “Obviously. It comes and it goes, you know that. Now, if you've satisfied your curiosity.” He gestured toward Colm again. “What do you see?”

“My new attraction,” Kith offered hesitantly as he tapped his thumbs nervously against his belly, the copper chain around his neck jiggling along with the movement.

“A foul and murderous beast,” Wes snapped.

“A mer,” Nichol said tonelessly, but he didn't move away from the tank.

“The second is the most compelling description, don't you think? The
show
,” Kiaran said reverently, “is
everything
. The lambs come wanting to be fleeced, and the easier we make it, the better. Give this creature the proper atmosphere and they'll pay twice, three times what they did to see Grundy. Hardly anyone knows what a Grundylow is, anyway. A mer, though… A few warning signs, a few words of caution at the front of the tent before they come in, and then, when they get in to see it…” Kiaran's voice dropped, and all three men leaned in, captivated despite themselves. Colm strained to hear, not quite willing to lay his head against the glass. He didn't want to give away his understanding unless he had to.