One Salt Sea

by Seanan McGuire

  “So she picked up one rock at the entrance, one rock from a stream, and one rock from the side of a trail?” I brought the phone back to my ear. “Did you get anything else?”

  “Not really,” said Danny. “Rocks aren’t so good with time, and everything else they had to say was about how much they don’t like the shape stuff’s been in since the big shake.”

  “The big shake?” I asked blankly. “What the hell are they talking about?”

  “The earthquake in nineteen-oh-six,” said the Luidaeg. She leaned forward, close enough to the phone for Danny to hear her when she asked, “Did the rocks say they cried when the towers fell?”

  “What—” I began.

  Danny’s answer cut me off: “Yeah, they did. You know what that means? Who is this, anyway?”

  “It’s a pleasure to finally get the chance to speak with you, Mr. McReady. You can call me the Luidaeg.”

  Silence fell on Danny’s end of the line. Looking amused, the Luidaeg sank back into her seat. Finally, Danny asked, “Toby? Was that really the sea witch just there? On the phone? Talking to me?”

  “Yeah, Danny, it was. She’s not wearing a seat belt, either.” I shot a sharp look at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked quietly amused. “Call if you get anything else out of those rocks, okay? We’re almost to Muir Woods. I’m going to need both hands if we don’t want to drive off the edge of a cliff.”

  “Open roads, and I’ll call.”

  “Good. Hug the Barghests for me.” I couldn’t thank him, and so I just hung up, handing the phone to Connor as I turned my focus back to the road. The closer we got to Muir Woods, the less developed the land around us became. Housing developments and strip malls had already given way to half-hidden private driveways and tiny general stores with rickety wooden porches. The smell of the redwoods was seeping in through the vents, filling the entire car with the living green memory of something older and cleaner than the modern human world.

  The lack of human development also meant a lack of concern among the local wildlife. Wild turkeys casually strutted along beside the road, their scrawny brown chests fluffed out like little avian gangsters. We startled a pair of deer as we came around a blind curve in the road, and I hit the brakes just in time to keep from getting Bambi pâté all over the windshield.

  “Whoa,” said Quentin.

  “My thoughts exactly.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Everyone all right back there?”

  The Luidaeg, who was still not wearing a seat belt, didn’t look like our sudden stop had perturbed her in the least. “Fine,” she said. “Keep driving.”

  I kept driving, more slowly now that we were on the treacherous roads marking the final approach to Muir Woods.

  The Muir Woods National Monument was established to protect one of the last old-growth redwood forests in the state of California. It’s kept open to the public, as much to remind them why the forest is important as for any other reason. “These used to be everywhere in California,” said Connor suddenly. “Just about this whole part of the state was redwoods.”

  “So why’d they cut them down?” asked Quentin.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because they could,” said the Luidaeg. “Parking lot’s just ahead, Toby.”

  “Good.”

  I pulled around the last corner between us and the designated parking area and hit the brakes, swearing as I saw the gate blocking the entrance. Heavy chains held it shut. According to the posted sign, the park closed at sunset.

  “Wait here,” said the Luidaeg, and climbed out of the car.

  “What’s she doing?” asked Quentin.

  “At this point? I have no idea.”

  The Luidaeg walked to the locked gate and lifted the padlock that held the chains in place. She tapped it twice with her index finger, and it popped open, letting the chains fall loose. The Luidaeg unhooked them and swung the gate open.

  She smiled into my window as I drove slowly past her, commenting, “Once you’ve pried open the gates of Tirn Aill with nothing but a headache and a stick, padlocks are surprisingly uncomplicated.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. She waved me to the nearest parking space, following the car as I pulled in and killed the engine.

  I stretched as I got out of the car, taking a deep breath of the clean, redwood-scented air. I still wasn’t wearing a human disguise. In a place like this, where humans have done their best to step lightly and leave few traces behind, that felt appropriate. Connor and Quentin did much the same, even as they started scanning the woods around us.

  Too bad we weren’t there to sightsee. “Quentin, I have a baseball bat you can use,” I said, brushing past the Luidaeg as I moved to open the trunk. “Connor, I don’t actually have any weapons for you—”

  “That’s quite all right,” said Tybalt, from a point immediately behind my right shoulder. “I assumed that would be the case, and brought extra.”

  I jumped, but managed not to embarrass myself by shrieking like a girl. Instead, I turned, finding myself eye-to-eye with Tybalt. He smiled with his usual easy arrogance, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

  “Raj found you,” I said. My voice was lower than it had been when I was shouting to be heard by the people still getting out of the car. It felt like louder words had never escaped my lips.

  “He did,” Tybalt agreed. “I was with my subjects, searching for our missing mice, and the rats that stole them.”

  “Did you find anything?” I asked.

  His expression darkened. “More, and less, than I wanted to,” he said. He dipped a hand into his pocket and produced what looked at first like a children’s toy—a bunch of dried sticks tied together with ribbon and string. I frowned at it, not sure what I was seeing.

  Then the Luidaeg gasped. Her eyes went black from one side to the other as she pushed her way between us, grabbing the bundle and clutching it against her chest. Her sudden fury would almost have been amusing, if the air around us hadn’t been getting steadily colder. “Where. Did. You. Get. This?” she demanded, biting each word off into its own separate sentence.

  “From the hand of a slain Goblin soldier,” replied Tybalt. He held his ground, somehow managing to meet the Luidaeg’s eyes without flinching. “He told me it had been given as a sign of faith by those who hired him.”

  “Does somebody want to tell me what it is, since we’re all getting upset about it?” I asked.

  The answer came from a surprising quarter: Quentin, who was standing off to one side, staring at the artifact with a look of nauseated awe on his face. “It’s a hand of bones,” he said. “Someone gave the Goblins a hand of bones?”

  “What in Oberon’s name is a hand of bones?” I wasn’t asking now; I was demanding.

  My tone caught the Luidaeg’s attention. She turned to face me, still clutching the bundle against her chest. The things I’d taken for sticks before rattled against each other, and something in the sound sang to me, telling me that yes, these things had once known blood. “A hand of bones is a promise to the land,” she said, voice tight. “Each piece comes from the hand of a former reigning monarch—one who no longer reigns, for whatever reason. The night-haunts leave the bones of the hand behind for us, to mark the fall of a regent. This,” she touched a bone that looked like all the others around it, “came from the hand of King Gilad, who ruled the Mists before your current Queen stepped up to claim his empty throne.”

  “Okay, that’s charming, but what does it have to do with anything?” I stalked to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk. My baseball bat was on the top. I grabbed it, tossing it to Quentin. “What does a hand of bones do?”

  “They mark a promise made on a Kingdom’s throne,” said Quentin. He hugged the baseball bat against his chest, shaking his head. “If the Goblins had that, it’s because someone made them a promise on the Mists. What were they promised?”

  Tybalt looked past the Luidaeg, looking straight into my eyes as he said, “Goldengreen. The on
es who hired the Goblins promised that, when the war was done and the Kingdom was theirs, the Goblins would have Goldengreen, and respectability.”

  “My house is not for sale,” I said. I gave the grisly trophy the Luidaeg held another look, and asked, “Did the Queen give it to them?”

  “No.” Tybalt’s answer was quick. “The Goblin who . . . surrendered . . . it to me described a woman with red hair, and a dark-haired man who stood behind her, in the shadows, watching.”

  “Rayseline,” said Connor wearily. He walked toward Tybalt, holding one hand out, palm up. “You said you brought weapons?”

  “It seemed rude not to bring enough for everyone.” Tybalt produced a crossbow from inside his coat and passed it to Connor, along with a leather-wrapped packet of arrows. “I look forward to fighting beside you.”

  Connor looked at him like he couldn’t quite figure out whether Tybalt was messing with him or not. Tybalt looked back with an expression of complete sincerity. Finally, Connor nodded. “It will be an honor,” he said, and turned away.

  The Luidaeg gave the hand of bones one more angry look before tossing it into the backseat of the car and slamming the door. “We should be moving,” she said. “Time isn’t standing still while we mess around down here.”

  “No, it’s not,” I said. Looking back to Tybalt, I asked, “Is it just you?”

  “For now,” he said. “Raj is bringing the knights from Shadowed Hills. I understand your reluctance to wait for them, but a little last-minute cavalry never hurt anyone. My subjects stand watch at Goldengreen, and at your apartment, in case this is a diversion of some sort.”

  “Good thinking.” I shut the trunk. “I’m glad you came.”

  “No other places beckoned half so sweetly,” said Tybalt. “I’ll keep watch as we go.” He half-bowed, and was gone in a swirl of pennyroyal and musk. I looked down at the tabby tomcat now standing by my feet.

  “Well?” I asked. “Were you going to take point or not?”

  Tail high, he turned and trotted toward the open parking lot gate. I looked at the others.

  “Come on. Let’s go get my daughter back.” Not waiting to see if they’d follow, I started after Tybalt. One way or another, this was going to end.

  TWENTY-NINE

  WALKING BENEATH THE TOWERING REDWOODS was very much like walking into a forest in the Summerlands: majestic and unspoiled. Only a few undeniable signs broke the illusion of the forest primeval. Wooden walkways wound among the great trees, protecting the forest floor from careless feet, and there was a small gift shop near the entrance, polluting that part of the wood with the smell of human habitation. Tybalt lashed his tail as he glared in that direction, then continued down the wooden path, a dark streak moving through the growing shadow as the night descended.

  I kept my hand on the hilt of my knife as I walked, flinching a little every time the bushes rustled. An owl hooted in the distance. The sound was answered by another, deeper hoot, before a chorus of frogs began to sing somewhere in the creek that ran beneath the wooden planks.

  The Luidaeg paced next to me, her dark curls almost blending into the background. Her feet were silent, unlike Connor’s or Quentin’s; the two of them alone managed to sound like an entire invading army as their shoes clomped on the walkway. She looked at my face, reading the tension there, before casting a glance back over her shoulder and whispering a word in a language I didn’t recognize. The temperature of the air around us dropped by several degrees, and the sound of their footsteps stopped.

  I nodded silent thanks, the need to stay as quiet as possible saving me from the effort of talking my way around the forbidden words, and kept on going.

  Muir Woods was designed to retain as much of the spirit of the land as possible, while making it accessible to humans at the same time. They wouldn’t preserve anything they couldn’t appreciate, or so the logic ran; unless they saw the true beauty of California’s wilderness for themselves, they’d never understand why they shouldn’t burn it all to ashes. I’ve never understood that sort of thinking, but this time, it was working in our favor. We’d have been moving a lot slower if we’d been forced to make our own way through the undergrowth.

  Tybalt reached a fork in the path and stopped, looking one way and then the other before turning to look at the rest of us. Deliberately, he sat, flattening his ears.

  I bit back a sigh. If Tybalt had lost the scent—and he wasn’t a bloodhound, no matter how cheerfully I exploited the keenness of his feline nose—we were going to need to try something else. I looked to the Luidaeg, raising an eyebrow.

  She nodded and held out her hand, gesturing for me to give her mine. I didn’t hesitate. Whatever she needed from me, she could have it, if there was a chance it meant we’d be able to get my daughter back.

  The Luidaeg raised my hand to her mouth, looking at me solemnly before making a “hush” gesture at Quentin and Connor. They hadn’t been making any noise. All three of us looked at her quizzically, trying to figure out what she wanted.

  We were still looking at her quizzically when she opened her mouth and bit me hard enough to draw blood.

  I’d been expecting pain—I’ve learned that when I let the Luidaeg take hold of any part of my anatomy, pain is going to follow very shortly—but it still took everything I had to grit my teeth against the urge to scream, or at least squeak. As it was, I made a small, muffled, moaning sound before clapping my free hand over my mouth, stopping anything else from getting free.

  The Luidaeg withdrew her teeth from my flesh, studying the resulting puncture wounds for a moment before nodding to herself and letting go of me. Motioning for the rest of us to stay where we were, she stepped off the edge of the walkway and into the creek. Her feet slid into the water without a sound. My blood ran from the corner of her mouth, looking almost like chocolate syrup in the dark.

  Chocolate syrup doesn’t sing to my senses. I cradled my wounded hand against my chest, trying not to think about the fact that I was bleeding, or that we were standing here while Rayseline might be torturing my daughter. Connor stepped up beside me, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. I let myself lean into it, breathing slowly in and out, trying to ignore the smell of blood.

  The smell of musk and pennyroyal joined the mingled scents of blood and redwood trees, and Tybalt stepped soundlessly up on my other side, back in his human form. He looked at Connor, and nodded. That was all; just nodded.

  The Luidaeg stooped to grab something out of the creek. Then she straightened, holding a dripping, Y-shaped branch in one hand, and climbed back onto the walkway. She held out the branch to me. I took it, giving her a blank look. She mimed grasping the two short ends and holding it out like a—

  Like a dowsing rod. Of course. I turned the stick around so that I would be holding it appropriately, only wincing a little as the bark rasped against the wounds made by the Luidaeg’s teeth. My blood ran down the right side of the stick, mixing with the water, as the copper-and-cut-grass smell of my magic started to rise. I wasn’t the one calling it, not on purpose, but I forced myself to relax and let it come. The Luidaeg knew what she was doing. My daughter needed me to trust her.

  As if that thought were the key, the magic locked into place, and the dowsing rod in my hands twitched drowsily to life. It pulled, hard, toward the path up ahead. I started in that direction, holding the dowsing rod straight out in front of me. The others followed, fanning into a rough diamond formation: Quentin right behind me, Tybalt and Connor walking side by side, and the Luidaeg bringing up the rear.

  All of them looked like they really wanted something they could hit. Anything that tried getting the jump on us in this forest was going to have a nasty surprise when it realized what it was dealing with.

  The dowsing rod’s pull led us down one path after another, until I found myself starting up a series of mud-and-timber “stairs” cut into the side of the mountain. We were about halfway up when Quentin grabbed my elbow, bringing our whole procession to a stop. I tur
ned to frown at him, and he indicated a hole in the muddy bank beside us. A place where someone had recently pried loose a rock. We were getting close to our destination.

  I nodded and started forward again, moving a little more cautiously as the dowsing rod urged me to continue ever forward. My hand wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it didn’t need to be, because the blood I’d already spilled was singing so strongly. Gillian was my daughter, blood of my blood, and the dowsing rod was taking us straight to her.

  The pull stopped abruptly, my spell shattering. I stumbled, nearly dropping the now-quiescent dowsing rod. The others stopped in turn, all of them scanning the underbrush for signs of the shallowing we’d come here to find. All but the Luidaeg. She pushed me gently aside as she walked up to a vast redwood with a trunk so big around that it could have been hollowed out and used as a home for a family of four. Leaning forward, she pressed one palm flat against the bark of the tree, and spoke the first words I’d heard any of us utter since she spelled Quentin and Connor’s footsteps into silence:

  “I know where we are now. I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long. I should have guessed, when you blocked my scrying. You’re still protecting the King, aren’t you? It’s all right now. You can let us in.” She paused before adding, with the air of someone who was confessing a great secret, “Arden lives.”

  A ripple seemed to pass through the trees around us, briefly filling the air with the sea-sweet smell of salt and something fainter, less distinct, like a woman’s perfume left open in a sealed room for a hundred years. It was gone before I could figure out exactly what it was.

  The Luidaeg pulled her hand away from the tree, smiling sadly. “Thank you,” she said . . . and the tree opened where her hand had been, the bark fading into nothing and leaving a dark tunnel behind. She looked back to the rest of us. “Hurry. I don’t know how they’ve been abusing the knowe to get inside, but I can’t hold this door for long.”