39

Leviathan

The air within the bubble was growing decidedly cooler. Night had fallen over the surface of the waves far above them, bringing a chill to the displaced breeze that drifted among the faeries. Aislynn folded her arms in front of her, rubbing her hands up and down quickly in an attempt to draw some warmth into them. She lowered her head, her eyes staring intently forward, and then spoke. “Gosrivar, you said you heard stories of the merfolk? What do you know about them?”

“Aislynn,” the elder faery said with slight discomfort, “I don’t know anything beyond the tales gathered from the few of our Shivashian seamen who have encountered them. They are mercurial at best; fascinated to distraction with the world above the sea yet preferring to keep their world isolated from it. They will just as readily save one faery seaman from death as let his companions drown next to him. They respect strength, deplore any sign of weakness or uncertainty, and are, by one report, admirers of both physical and mental prowess to the point that their leadership is determined either through combat or games.”

“Games?” Valthesh glanced over in surprise. “A Seeker’s tool?”

Aislynn’s lips curled into a one-sided smile. “Don’t ever play a game with the merfolk, Valthesh. I’d have better fortune wrestling a centaur than to beat one of the merfolk at a game. Anything else, Gosrivar?”

“Just that they are certainly liars* and, therefore, clearly some type of Famadorian. In truth, Princess, you would have more experience in these matters than I would through my reports.”

“Perhaps,” Aislynn sighed, “but they are valued nevertheless.”

The growing brightness before them began to take on definition. The frozen undulations of sand at the bed of the ocean ended at a hard, jagged line, falling away down a sea cliff to even greater depths below. As they were propelled over its edge, their eyes widened at the vista opening below them.

It was a city of the merfolk; a sight never before seen by the eyes of the Fae. Great platforms jutted out from the seawall, shaped underneath to appear as a variety of enormous shells, kelp, or, in several cases, heads of serpents. The central and greatest part of the underwater city rested on what looked to be the inverted shell of a gigantic turtle shaped entirely out of the sea cliff stone. Atop these dark platforms rested the city’s fluid, graceful architecture of shaped coral, spun as though by a delicate craftsman’s hand, which covered the face of the sea cliff with a dazzling array of patterned domes, delicate columns, and spiraling towers. Each building glowed from within, suffused with a soft, bright light that was tinted by the coral into an incredible display of patterned hues. The faeries were astonished by the brilliant new display. Not even the fair Qestardis rivaled the beauty before them.

“Well,” Valthesh breathed in wonder, a smile playing on her lips. “I hope they are still fascinated by our world above—what could we offer them that could possibly compare to what they already have?”

Aislynn glanced at the Vargonis Seeker, considering her words. They were four faeries in a bubble at the bottom of the ocean; with what could they possibly bargain?

The merfolk in their company propelled the bubble between the outer towers of the greater city. There were no streets below them—the merfolk having no need for anything resembling a vehicle much in the same way that faeries have no need for stairs—but Aislynn could make out that they were heading for a large open space near the back of the city against the seawall. The area was covered by a beautiful lattice shaped into a pointed dome.

“What is that?” Obadon asked suspiciously.

“That is perhaps our best hope,” Aislynn responded quickly, straightening her rumpled clothing as best she could. “Everyone look confident and pleasant!”

The merfolk slowed with Aislynn’s sphere, allowing them all to drift downward toward a smooth floor. They could now see that a considerable crowd of merfolk had gathered in the clear space under the lace dome. There were large males and the slightly smaller females and, to Aislynn at least, a surprising number of children dashing excitedly about. Several of the young bolted directly toward their bubble, darting about it and staring curiously inside. Their globe settled slowly before a delicately formed arch. In it was a curious structure: a smoothly carved granite stone that resembled a large chair with several smaller chairs carved around its perimeter.

One creature sat languidly atop this strange throne—a male of the merfolk larger than any they had encountered. His barrel chest was massive, his arms gnarled with powerful muscles. A great mane of bluish green hair flowed back from his mottled head.

The merfolk that still held the globe halted and raised it several feet above the floor in such a way that the large male could more easily examine it.

“Bow,” Aislynn commanded her companions quietly as she knelt. “This is their king.”

Her companions dutifully stooped in careful obeisance.

The large male barked his laughter. His voice resonated through the globe when he spoke. “I not king! I K’ktukah—Skuelar of Umuurha, North Shallows of Huuluk Delving!” K’ktukah then casually turned his face away and made a series of sounds that were foreign to Aislynn’s ears: clicks, whistles, and pops in quick succession.

The crowd answered back in a cacophonous cascade of sounds.

“What did he tell them?” Gosrivar asked through chattering teeth, his eyes still averted.

“I tell skuel you think me king—big joke!” K’ktukah replied, baring his rows of sharp teeth in what might have passed as a hideous smile. He slid easily from his throne, the slow undulations of his long, powerful tail driving him easily through the water as he circled the faeries in the globe with a critical eye. “Tell if true or lie; aermen keep fish in glass house for amusement?”

“Yes, sire,” Aislynn answered truthfully as, being of the Fae, she had little other choice. “This the aerfolk have done.”

K’ktukah reached out with his large fist and struck the bubble. It shook with a loud, low ring from the blow.

“Now K’ktukah keep aerfolk in glass house!” He threw his head back, barking once more with his strange laughter. He then apparently communicated his joke to all the assembled skuel, for they roared once more in response. “All skuel pleased! K’ktukah keep glass-house-aerfolk for all skuel can play. Tell names! Tell names!”

Aislynn rose to face the Skuelar. “I am Aislynn of Qestardis, daughter of Tatyana. These are my companions . . .”

“Avast!” K’ktukah said at once. “You tell name again.”

Aislynn drew in a breath. “I am Aislynn of Qestardis, daughter of Tatyana.”

“This name I know,” K’ktukah responded, his black eyes narrowing. “Urumhuul Delving with T’tyan of K’taris much trade. Great Queen of aerfolk this T’tyan. Friend to D’nwyn, mage of souls—stealer of magic.”

Aislynn looked up sharply. Valthesh and Obadon exchanged shocked glances as Gosrivar stared openmouthed.

“You—you know of Dwynwyn?” Valthesh asked.

K’ktukah grinned broadly once more. “Think merfolk foolish of aerfolk—foolish of magic? D’nwyn called dead aerfolk from sea. Powerful magic D’nwyn; dead steal merfolk magic to serve D’nwyn.”

“Your magic—your magic is leaving you?” Gosrivar asked, stepping forward.

“Aye, true speak.” K’ktukah nodded solemnly. “Strong current takes merfolk magic to D’nwyn at Dead Shoals.”

“But before this—this D’nwyn,” Gosrivar continued, “your magic was strong?”

“Aye,” K’ktukah replied suspiciously. “What lies you asking?”

“No lies,” Gosrivar said, glancing at his companions as he licked his lips. “Where does your magic go—when it leaves, I mean? Do you know where it is taken when it leaves you?”

“To old D’lar,” K’ktukah replied. “Lands of K’ree long ago. Now Dead Shoals.”

Gosrivar turned to Valthesh and smiled. “We may have something to bargain with after all.”

Aislynn looked at them both. “What is it?”

“Great K’ktukah,” Valthesh said, turning to the merman just beyond their globe. “We have come across the land and across the air and into your waters on a great mission. This—this aerfolk,” he gestured at Aislynn, “is not only the daughter of Tatyana but a servant of Dwynwyn.”

K’ktukah suddenly flashed backward in the water, putting a little more distance between them. “A dead-mage of the aerfolk!”

“What are you doing?” Aislynn asked urgently under her breath.

Valthesh turned to her, speaking quickly. “Their magic started to drain from them, and then sometime later they heard tales of the dead being taken from the sea. They think the two events are connected—and, in a way, perhaps they are—but K’ktukah says the magic is moving toward Dunlar; that’s Kyree lands. The Kyree were destroyed at the same time the magic started leaving the merfolk.”

“They are the same event?” Aislynn murmured.

Valthesh nodded. “And apparently whatever happened is still happening. Their magic is still draining.”

“Their magic is going to Dunlar; Shaeonyn is going to Dunlar; and now we’re going to Dunlar!” Aislynn said, then spoke to K’ktukah beyond the edge of their glass bubble. “Sire, I am Aislynn and a servant of Dwynwyn. She is unaware that your magic was taken. She would wish to restore it to you if she can. What she would do, we shall strive to do. Help us, and in Dwynwyn’s name, we shall do all we can to restore your magic to your people.”

The quiet hiss of the water around them had lulled Gosrivar to sleep. He lay curled up on one side of the globe, his arms folded tightly around him. Now the water’s hiss was interrupted occasionally by the deep and grating racket of his occasional fits of snoring.

Aislynn looked up from where she stood near the front of the bubble. The surface of the water far overhead was churning and dark. There must be a terrible storm up there, she thought. Here, however, well beneath the waves, their little bubble of air was calm and quiet—Gosrivar notwithstanding.

Obadon and Valthesh had been speaking in hushed tones for some time before they approached Aislynn.

“What is it?” she asked quietly, not wishing to wake the Shivash scholar.

Valthesh glanced at Obadon.

The warrior whispered. “We’ve had nothing to eat or drink for three days.”

“This I well know,” Aislynn responded.

“I am not complaining,” Obadon snapped, then relaxed. “We can go for perhaps another day without water before we will have serious problems.”

“K’ktukah would have offered us both food and drink but none of us could figure a way to get it into this wonderful curse of a bubble,” Aislynn said, banging her fist against the impervious surface in her frustration. “They can’t fly and we can’t swim. I think we’ll be all right—K’ktukah said our friend would have us there by the fourth day.”

Aislynn gestured toward the back of the bubble. There, still pushing them with its tremendous snout, a leviathan, an incredibly huge fish with a broad, flat snout, undulated its enormous body through the water, effortlessly pressing across the oceanic expanse through what K’ktukah called the Serpent Shallows. Merfolk had accompanied them for some time, but bringing the leviathan to a halt, their leader explained with broken Fae words that they had reached the Dead Shoals and that the merfolk could not go further. Then K’ktukah made a series of sounds to the leviathan, who answered him back in kind. The gigantic creature was apparently willing to do the behest of the merfolk lord, for it at once maneuvered to place Aislynn’s magical bubble before it and began pushing it with speed through the water.

“Are you sure he knows where he’s going?” Valthesh asked, nodding toward the beast.

“That’s what K’ktukah said,” Aislynn replied, “that the merfolk have an unerring sense of direction and that this beast is loyal to him.”

“Look! Up there!”

Aislynn and Valthesh both turned to follow Obadon’s pointing hand.

There, suspended above them and silently crashing through the waves, was the underside of a ship’s hull.

Aislynn smiled. “It must be the Brethain.

Valthesh lay back against the inner curve of the globe, her hands comfortably cradled behind her head. “They appear to be having a more difficult crossing than we are at the moment.”

“There appears to be some justice after all,” Obadon said through a tight smile.

“Perhaps a little for now,” Aislynn replied, her eyes fixed on the hull. It was making little headway in the storm, as they were quickly passing under it. “Storms blow over, and I’d never count Shaeonyn out. We may beat them by a day—perhaps—but then we’ll be four of us against Shaeonyn, the Kyree, the entire Mantacorian crew, my own dead guardians, and for all I know there is some unknown horror that awaits us when we surface, and we still have to find something to eat!”

Her eyes followed the rocking hull above her until it fell behind them, vanishing in the black waters.