Mermaidia: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  “Tell me.” Joral asked Illista this time.

  “We were leaving the chieftess's tent after serving. Quarie…” Illista's voice trailed off and ended in a hiccup that sounded perilously close to a sob.

  “She collapsed.” Zuke finished for her. “I brought her back here. She has not improved, and nothing we can do will wake her from this state.”

  Joral took Illista by the shoulders and seemed to gaze deeply in the girl's eyes. “Did someone hurt her? You can tell me the truth.”

  It did not escape Zuke how Joral and Illista seemed more focused on each other than on Quarie. He filed that information away to mull later.

  Illista shook her head. “No one touched her, my lord.”

  Zuke used his staff to push himself to standing, wincing at how tired he suddenly felt. He motioned for Joral to come with him. “Sleep now, Illista. We will tell Nunzi that the prince requested a second assistant and have your things brought over. Stay here tonight and watch over her.”

  Illista nodded and lay down next to the other girl. She looped an arm over the other girl's lifeless waist and buried her face into the still arm.

  Zuke led Joral a few steps back and spoke in a whisper. “The girl is Illista's sister. Her collapse coincided with Mulavi's incantation. Breaking the enchantment has not helped the girl.”

  “What kind of magic did he use? And why was no one else affected?”

  Zuke shook his head. “The relic he wears around his neck summons the power of the oceans. I saw something similar to it, years ago on one of my first travels. The master I studied with said it came from one of the southernmost shores. What Mulavi is doing wearing it here, I don't know.”

  “What do we do?”

  We run and hide. We surrender. We fight fire with fire. Zuke grinned. “You, my friend, shall pack my tent since my new assistants are incapacitated. I shall meditate on how a creature born in the far northern mountains could be vulnerable to the power of an ocean she has never seen.”

  Despite his threat to make Joral pack up the tent, Zuke only required his friend to fetch his horse from the corral. He waited until Joral was out of sight, then had his tent and other items folded and stowed in the wagon in no time. One could travel in comfort and still be prepared to pack and leave swiftly when necessary.

  He and Illista settled Quarie into a protected nook padded with furs and blankets. As dawn broke over the plains, they fell in at the end of the caravan of Ken Segra.

  The hours drug on as they bounced along the hard packed trail, with Quarie asleep and Illista huddled nearby. This trip took the tribe to the territory of the neighboring Xan Segra, where Joral was supposed to marry the daughter and heir of their chief. The whole business was fascinating, and Zuke had been carefully journaling all of the required ceremonies and traditions. The spectacle would be far more enjoyable if he weren't worried about his friend. He and Joral were of an age to be married, though neither of the men had ever truly had eligible candidates who would actually have them.

  For Joral, it was because he was the bastard son of a mountain with no land to inherit, and therefore nothing to offer a bride except his good looks.

  In Zuke's case, he knew his looks weren't bad, but his lame leg had never been an enticement. And he rarely met a woman who could tolerate his zeal for learning. Most people in general were bored by scrolls and alarmed by potions and found his preferred conversation topics to be sleep-inducing. He usually never bothered to reveal the whole fire-magic thing. Silvari was, in fact, the first female who had not been terrified to see the full measure of Zuke's power revealed.

  Just after midday, Joral rode up with two of the Ken Segra warriors, and Zuke shoved thoughts of Silvari aside.

  “I was worried about you at the end of the caravan all alone,” said Joral.

  Zuke snorted. “I can defend myself.”

  “The Xan Segra are our allies, magic man, but you are a foreigner. Your camp holds many treasures that may prove irresistible to some who do not know better.” Joral shot Zuke a guarded look.

  If he were a betting man—and he frequently was—he would wager that Joral's chieftess-mother had ordered the escort. Mulavi's sudden appearance in camp last night, and the standoff in the tent, must have worried her more than she revealed.

  Zuke shifted in his seat, drooping his shoulders and rounding his back just a bit, and tried to play the part of the weak-but-useful healer. “I apologize for my tardiness at breaking camp this morning. I did not mean to inconvenience anyone. I am honored to have such an important escort. Shall we get moving and catch up to the rest of the tribe?”

  They hadn't covered much ground when Zuke felt the frisson of energy tickle his veins. Too late he recognized it for what it was: an ambush.

  Chapter 5

  Zuke regained consciousness in a blaze of pain. His head throbbed. His bad leg and hip felt crushed. And Joral was jiggling his arms and legs in strangely uncomfortable directions.

  He decided to take pity on his friend, who clearly had insufficient healer training, and spoke up. “Am I a puppet? Are my strings broken? Is that why you move me about like that?” The words sounded more hoarse than he had intended.

  Joral smiled at Zuke's words. “Not a puppet, my friend. A corpse. I was shaking your lifeless body in the hopes of loose coins.”

  Not that Joral had ever been in desperate enough circumstances to need to do that. Lucky bastard.

  Zuke tried to roll to sitting. The world around him sort of spun and wavered. And then it all burst into white firestars.

  “Easy. You took a nasty blow to the head. You didn't happen to see what hit you?”

  Zuke blinked and managed to focus. On an arrow. Embedded deep in the side of his wagon. “No, but I am glad it was not one of these.”

  Joral yanked the thing out. “I think this one was meant for me. Nearly caught my horse in the neck.”

  “One of ours?” Zuke had pushed himself to sitting. A wave of nausea passed over him. That was never a good sign following a head injury.

  Of course, waking up on the ground with a splitting headache when he was supposed to be driving a wagon was never a good sign either.

  Joral shrugged. “There are no markings. It could have been made by any of the Ken Segra. Or the Xan Segra. Or anyone who trades with either of us.”

  Zuke leaned over and checked Quarie's sleeping form. She was still breathing, still so eerily motionless. He exhaled sharply in relief. She hadn't been hit by an arrow or a…a whatever hit him in the head.

  Joral rifled around in the back of the wagon. “Where is Illista?”

  Zuke's chest constricted as he watched his friend's motions grow faster, jerkier, more reckless as he tossed about furs and kicked at the sparse bushes lining the path. “I don't know.”

  “I have to find her.” Joral tucked his blades back into their sheath and swung his legs up and into the saddle. “Can you drive? Ride ahead and try to catch the caravan. I am going back to look for Illista.”

  Mulavi was looking for a water witch. The thought chilled him. Or perhaps he was in shock. Same symptoms.

  Zuke heaved himself upwards, gently at first, but then fight-or-flee instinct overrode his fear. “Which of us got hit on the head? Surely you don't plan to ride back into an ambush?”

  Joral didn't answer, only dug his heels into his horse's flanks and galloped off.

  Zuke took a breath and shoved away more nausea and pain that threatened to override him. He had to get Quarie to safety. He had to send reinforcements to Joral. He hoped like hell there wasn't a fight ahead of him as well as behind.

  Zuke's cart barreled into the chaos of the Ken Segra camp, nearly relieving Nunzi and the other Waki of half of their mess tent. Luckily, his horse had a clearer head than he did and managed to pull up short of disaster.

  His head reeled as he tossed reins to a stable boy who cowered with the other onlookers.

  The ride to catch up with the Ken Segra had been too slow and far too fast all a
t once. One of his cart wheels was not riding straight, which kept him from making proper time, and he had fallen so far behind before the ambush started. All through the long drive, he kept an ear out for Joral. Surely his friend would gallop past, laughing at his slowness, carrying Illista. But that never happened.

  It didn't take long to locate Vituri. She stood in the center of a ceremonial circle of warriors from both tribes and a Xan Segra man in elaborate costume was presenting her with some token. Members of both tribes pressed from behind the circle of warriors, and Zuke was forced to squeeze into the back of the crowd.

  He shoved his way forward, earning gasps and angry stares from the Ken Segra.

  Chieftess Vituri began to make her way through the throngs, flanked by her warriors.

  Zuke jumped in front of the procession, and the guard lowered their spears menacingly. Vituri held up one hand to halt them and stepped forward, a furl to her brow.

  “Where is my son?”

  Zuke gave her a curt bow. It wasn't necessary. Definitely more of a southern thing than a Segra custom. But he thought of that far too late to take it back. “Chieftess. There was an ambush. Joral rode after our attackers.”

  “Mulavi?” she asked.

  They were still surrounded by the thick of the Ken and Xan Segra tribes. Bodies—and ears—pressed close on all sides. Zuke was suddenly aware of a hush that fell over the Xan Segra side of the crowd at Mulavi's name.

  He shook his head. “I was knocked out. I didn't see who it was.”

  There was a commotion at the far end of the gathering, and the masses began to part, allowing someone through.

  Zuke recognized him as Rafil, the Xan Segra warrior who had led the delegation to the Ken Segra camp just a few days prior. He wore the insignia of a decorated warrior and a fierce scowl. “What is this accusation of ambush? And why would you believe Mulavi is involved?”

  Vituri turned with a jerk. “You know that man?”

  Rafil crossed arms over a thick chest. “He is a friend to the Xan Segra people and has helped us to prepare for this great joining of our tribes. He would not have been part of an ambush.”

  Vituri didn't blink. In her profile, Zuke saw only cold stone. She was a hard woman to read. Pretty much the opposite of her son. But Zuke had a feeling that both mother and son were eminently trustworthy. This Rafil character, however, spoke with an undertone of barely disguised contempt. Even if the man weren't defending the thug Mulavi, Zuke would have been wary.

  “Of course, Rafil,” said Vituri mildly. “Mulavi visited us just last night, and seems to have been acquainted with the healer Zuke from prior days. Mulavi and I also share an acquaintance in common from prior days. And here he is also a friend of yours. The great lands feel smaller and smaller with each passing sunset. I am relieved to hear that he is not involved in the sort of banditry that Zuke and the prince Joral have experienced today on the edges of your lands.”

  Zuke looked from Rafil's seething to Vituri's stonewall and decided to deflect the direction of this conversation. “Speaking of Prince Joral…”

  Vituri nodded toward two of her warriors. “Take your men and assist the prince to return safely.” Then she turned to Zuke. “Thank you, healer. And now, you may wish to attend to your own healing.”

  Chapter 6

  The pulsing pain in his head did nothing to speed Zuke in setting up camp. He very nearly caved and requested assistance from one of the Waki who were so busy nearby, and doing whatever they did in the background. He really needed to spend more time getting to know them.

  For once, he chose a camp spot in the middle of the Ken Segra encampment rather than on the fringes. News of the ambush had spread quietly among the people, and he sensed curious eyes following him. Good. Being under constant surveillance with a touch of distrust meant that nothing would happen around his tent without the whole of the Ken Segra knowing of it. There was a certain comfort in being surrounded by allies.

  He unloaded gear from his wagon, but didn't bother to unpack anything unnecessary. The wedding ceremony was only a few days away, and he fully intended to be away from here as soon as it was complete. He had promised Joral to stand by him, and he intended to keep that promise. It seemed, however, that his presence might complicate relations between the two tribes if he lingered.

  Assuming Joral returned safely to camp.

  He lifted Quarie from the wagon and carried her inside, cringing at the pain in his hip and his temple.

  Once she was settled and snug and still sleeping soundly, he sat and searched through his chest of herbs and ointments. Not everything in that chest was medicinal. Some concoctions held more recreational value. Some simply made beautiful dye and paint colors. He selected a few that, when brewed as a tea, ought to take the edge off of his pain.

  He summoned a quick fire in his brazier and set about to boil water. After consuming his medicine, he settled in to rest. The embers in his brazier danced with a hypnotic rhythm that nearly brought him to a deep sleep.

  Silvari's voice, calling his name, cut through his peaceful dozing.

  Zuke came fully awake, heart pounding.

  She wasn't there.

  He was safe in his tent, with Quarie still resting unnaturally peacefully nearby. He shook his head to clear the haze of sleep and immediately regretted the motion. His pain relief had not had nearly enough time to work yet.

  “Zuke” Silvari's voice came again.

  His small stove, which had been burning only small coals for warmth earlier, was now blazing with flames. Silvari's image hovered in the smoke that rose from the fire.

  He swore under his breath. She had found him.

  He schooled his features into something resembling pleasantly blank. Or at least he hoped it looked pleasantly blank. “Silvari,” he said. “You woke me up.”

  She smiled a soft, almost kindly smile. So kindly that one might call it patronizing. “So early in the day? I just received the most interesting message from our friend Mulavi. He was able to help me locate you. You've been hiding a long time, Zuke.”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and settled for twisting his tunic in tightly balled hands where Silvari's sending spell couldn't see. “I'm not hiding, just traveling. Searching for traces of elemental magic, just as I intended.”

  The image of her face flickered in and out of focus with the rise of the smoke. It made it hard to read her expressions clearly, but he was certain that her jaw hardened at his words.

  “Mulavi says you are living with the nomads up on the plains, and causing trouble for him. Those horse people are no friends of ours. Take what you want from them and then come home. I need you here.”

  Home. Funny that she would call it that. Once upon a time he had hopes that he had found a home among Zabewah's circle. But a home isn't home when you constantly fear a knife in your back.

  He wasn't exactly home with the Ken Segra either.

  “I will be back once I've found what I'm looking for,” he said.

  Her lips turned down and her eyebrows raised in a pleading look that made her seem more innocent than he knew her to be. It reminded him a bit of when they had first met, when they were both so young. Her voice softened, too. “Please come back, Zuke. I miss you.”

  Her words wormed their way into a crack in his armor. Against his better judgment, they settled there, inside him, making him remember old times. Times before Zabewah's ambitions grew, and Silvari's along with them. Times before thugs like Mulavi were welcome.

  He screwed up his face into a smile that he hoped “Can you tell me why Mulavi is here? He claims to be looking for a sea witch, but I think he's lost. This is about as far from the ocean as it gets.”

  A frown ghosted across her face and she glanced sideways as though seeing someone else in the room with her. “I know the two of you never got along. He's working for Zabewah. Help him or get out of his way, but don't interfere. I have to go. Promise me you will come back soon.”

  Zuke huddled
next to his fire, attempting to keep warm. It was ironic, really, to be a fire mage and still feel the cold.

  It didn't help that the fall from his wagon had badly bruised his already weakened leg, so his limp was more real than ever. The ointments and heat compresses that normally lessened the pain barely touched it this time. The sending from Silvari didn't help either.

  He had set his tent up but kept most of his supplies bundled and ready to flee. Flee the plains. Flee Mulavi. Except he couldn't flee Quarie and Illista. And he had promised Joral that he would stand by him for his wedding. That was assuming that Mulavi's men hadn't found Joral and Illista first.

  It was a wonder Mulavi hadn't crashed through the silk walls of his tent and taken him hostage. And if they did, Zuke would likely not escape. He had a few tricks up his sleeve still, but fire could only do much against cold steel. Surely Silvari would reward him for returning Zuke.

  Quarie slept nearby the fire, bundled as well as he could manage. Her skin felt warm and dry. Her clothes were as clean as he could have kept them on that dusty road. He finished a few bites of dried trail food for his own dinner, and made some tea.

  The night grew long and the sounds of the camp settled into restfulness, and yet he couldn't sleep. He shivered, his leg ached, and his fingers remained chilled even as they clutched his hot mug.

  The liquid was bitter but warm, and the leaves at the bottom danced and swirled almost as though they were tiny dancers in a ball room. His flame magic had never liked the water. It was too full of life, and took too much energy to burn.

  When he had last seen Silvari, she and Zabewah were in search of a certain salt that was only found along the shores of certain southern coasts. The salt was said to have magic properties that could be unlocked by someone with water magic. They were in search of such a person as that as well. They had an affinity for people who could wield elemental magic.