by Amy Ewing
You can write, though, she reminded herself. That had been shocking. She had only meant to trace what she remembered of the symbols on the ancient bowl that had told her Heal them. She thought maybe the symbols held some clue as to why the ceremony had failed, why she’d ended up here—and secretly, in her heart of hearts, she hoped maybe they could help lead her home. She should have told the High Priestess about them, but she had been overwhelmed then, and had never considered the possibility of being trapped on Kaolin. So she had poked her fingers through that horrible net and written out in the dirt what she could recall and then, while Agnes was wishing aloud that she could understand Sera’s language, she found herself making different sorts of symbols, ones she’d never seen before. Sera did not know how she knew it was her name she was spelling out, but she did, as certainly as she knew the sound of her purple mother’s harp or the scent of a moonflower. And Agnes had been able to read it.
Maybe there had been another ceremony already, to make up for her failure. Perhaps a better Cerulean had been chosen, one who was truly worthy, and the City was already drifting through space, leaving Sera stuck on this planet forever. The thought was so unbearable, she began kicking at the crate again. If she could just see the stars . . .
Or the tether! She stopped kicking and sat up. If she could find the tether, she would know her City was still up there. Maybe it even held a clue as to how to get home. The problem was she didn’t know where the tether was attached. She was in Kaolin. What if it was in Pelago? Would she be able to see it if it was so far away? And how far away was far away? She had no concept of distance here. She’d only ever seen the planet from high above, where everything looked small and simple. Pelago was to the east of Kaolin, across an expanse of water. And Kaolin itself seemed a very large mass of land. Where on the lopsided star was she being held? How far apart were the two countries?
She went back to kicking the crate, over and over until her feet were sore and her legs gave out. Her stomach ached, despair threatening to swallow her whole.
“Please, Mother Sun,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “If you can hear me . . . help me, please.”
“It cries.”
Sera’s head whipped up. The voice was raspy and hissing, and there was something off about it, like it was coming from inside her head. A pair of bulging eyes hovered above the edge of the platform. A clawlike hand emerged, then another; then a strange creature wriggled itself over the moss and onto the platform itself. Sera shrieked and scuttled back as far as she could go.
The creature was small, only about three feet long, and pale green. From the waist up it had a torso and two arms and a head that were all humanlike. From the waist down, it had the scaly body of a fish. Its head was perfectly round, with luminous eyes and teeth like razors. Its skull was bare and pocked. Instead of eyebrows, three glowing filaments stuck out over each eye—they dipped and swayed with the creature’s movements. The clawed hands had seven webbed fingers.
The filaments were beautiful and delicate—like spun glass, they refracted the light that shone from the flowers. And on the end of each filament was a tiny bulb. Sera could not help but be reminded of the fish in the Great Estuary, the ones that had filaments just like these, fish that no other Cerulean would go near but herself. Except they were fish through and through, without arms or heads.
The creature stared at Sera and Sera stared back. It never blinked. She was fairly certain it didn’t have eyelids.
“Did . . . did you say something?” she asked, feeling a bit stupid but unsure of what else to do. Even if it had been the creature who had spoken, it wouldn’t understand her.
“It cries in its box, so sad, so far from home, the sea, the sea.” Its mouth didn’t move, but the filaments lit up in a distinct pattern—red-gold, magenta, blue. Something about the voice made Sera guess the creature was male.
“Is that how you talk?” she asked, crawling forward and gripping the slats. “With lights?” Suddenly, she noticed her fingertips were glowing, like the blood bond, except this wasn’t just one index finger, but each of the three middle fingers on both her hands. She stared at them, aghast. “What is happening?” she said aloud.
Her fingertips lit up in flashes, just like the filaments. Purple, yellow, green, purple again. She recalled the story her green mother had told her of the planet with the giant birds. Could her magic let her communicate with this sea creature?
Sera hesitated, remembering what Agnes had said. Don’t let anyone else know you understand us. But she felt that applied to humans, and this creature was not human. She held up her hands so he could see them and said, loudly and clearly, “My name is Sera Lighthaven. I am a Cerulean and my blood is magic.”
Lights flashed across her fingertips. The creature’s entire body reacted, a rainbow erupting over his skin and scales.
“It speaks!” he cried. “It speaks the colors!”
The relief that flooded through her at being heard, at being understood . . . it was a joy so sharp it was almost painful.
“Where are we?” she demanded, her fingers lighting up in amber-jade-scarlet. “What is this place? Who are you?”
“Who am I? Why, I am a mertag, proud and cold and true. My name . . . my name is too long for land dwellers and old, very old, yes, bubbles and blowfish, but no one speaks to me here, no one understands. They call me Errol, over and over, Errol Errol Errol. Errol is my name here and as good as any, Sera Lighthaven.”
“Errol,” she whispered. The mertag seemed to be taking just as much pleasure in being heard as Sera was in being understood, and his lights flashed again and again.
“From the sea I came, yes, the dark cool waters of Pelago, but they took me, they took me from my home, nasty humans with nets and tricking lights, they stole me away and put me in this false sea, this tiny ocean.” He turned back and made a derisive sniff in the direction of the moss. Sera figured there must be water on the other side. “Long now have I been here, too long, too much light, no current to move by.” Errol shuddered and rubbed a webbed hand over his pocked skull.
“What do they want from us?” she asked. “Why are they keeping us here?”
“Who knows why humans do the things they do? They come, they go, they destroy, they take, by seaweed and starfish they care not for the homes of others, only for themselves. More fish they want, always more and more, and flowers too, and all the while Errol is so tired.”
Sera wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but she agreed humans were cruel and selfish. She remembered how intrigued she’d been about life on Kaolin and Pelago, wishing to visit them as the Cerulean had visited planets in days of old. Now she felt ashamed of that curiosity. She should have appreciated her beloved City more when she had the chance.
A thought occurred to her.
“Could you help me get out of this crate, Errol?” she asked.
The mertag cocked his head. “I can try,” he said. He pulled himself across the platform with his arms, his fish tail wriggling behind him. He got to the chain and inspected it. “I am afraid it is locked, Sera Lighthaven.” He yanked on a heavy iron padlock. Then he bit the chain. “And too thick for old Errol to bite through. I am sorry.”
“Oh.” Sera was unable to suppress her disappointment. She watched the mertag as he began to chew on one of the slats, then spit out splinters in disgust. “If you can leave your pond, then why don’t you run away?”
Errol made a croaking sound that Sera decided was a laugh. “Do not think I have not thought of that, Sera Lighthaven! Mertags are smart, smarter than humans, by fins and feelers. But there is no way out of this place that I can find, walls and walls and more walls and no way through them. You will see soon enough, the lights will come back. And I cannot be out of the water forever, no, not forever, just a little while.” He laughed again. “But they do not know that, oh no, humans think Errol needs water always. Humans are blind, no brains at all.”
Sera wasn’t sure if the humans sh
e met were stupid—Agnes certainly did not seem to be. But at least for now, Sera was not alone. She could speak to someone, even a someone as strange as Errol. She pressed her glowing fingertips together and sent up a prayer of thanks to Mother Sun. Then she held her hands back up so that she could talk to her new friend.
The lights did come back, as Errol had said they would.
Sera did not realize she had fallen asleep until a loud bang woke her up with a start. A series of lights switched on and a cheerful voice called out, “Morning, Boris. Morning, Errol, old boy. Hope you all slept—”
Sera blinked in the bright light and saw a young male standing before her, with a pale face and a mop of sandy hair. He looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. She froze, not trusting what he might do to her.
“Hello,” he said. “I didn’t know there was anyone new coming.” He crouched in front of the crate. “Wow. You’re quite something. I’ve gotten too used to Errol, and Boris over there.” He nodded to indicate the tree. “You must be hungry.”
It took everything in her to keep still, not to nod and beg for food. She was starving, but she would not let this male know she understood him.
He inspected the crate and shook his head in disgust. “Not even a cup of water? Or a bucket to relieve yourself? Typical Branson,” he muttered. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Sera.
Why did he keep talking to her? Did he know she could understand his language? Her heart sank as she wondered if maybe Agnes had told.
Now that the lights were on, she could see the space she was being kept in more clearly. It was larger than a dwelling, with a vaulted ceiling like the temple, except there was some sort of dark cover over it. Three-quarters of the room was taken up with neat little rows of seats covered in red—they stretched all the way to the ceiling, three balconies mounted one on top of the other. There were objects carved into the walls, fruit and flowers painted gold, and a covering on the floor that matched the color of the seats.
The male came back with a bowl, a small bucket, and a saw—Sera scuttled away from its sharp teeth.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, putting the bowl and bucket down. “I’m just going to cut one of the slats so I can get these in. I’m not allowed keys, and besides, Mr. McLellan would have my hide if I unlocked that chain.” He looked at her with pity in his eyes. “They should have left all this for you last night. I’m sorry about that.”
He seemed sincere, but Sera did not believe him. She watched as he cut away a piece of wood, enough to slide the bowl and bucket through.
“Barley and carrot soup. It’s cold, but it’ll have to do for now.”
Sera waited until he and the saw had vanished behind the curtain before crawling over to inspect the food. She knew she should be careful, but at the smell of broth and carrot, her stomach let out a great roar and she found herself halfway through the soup before she knew it.
Once she’d finished, she watched the male water the tree called Boris with a huge watering can and realized that he talked to everything, not just her.
“How’s that for a good breakfast, Boris? Your saplings are looking quite nice today. They’re bigger than they were yesterday, I’d wager. I’ll get you some sun just as soon as I’ve fed Errol.”
Then he left and returned again with a different bucket filled with something that smelled pungent and meaty.
“Time for some grub, Errol,” he called as he stood on the moss’s edge and scattered whatever was in the bucket into the water where Errol lived. It made wet, plopping sounds.
Sera was confused by this behavior—he seemed kind, certainly the kindest male she had encountered so far. But he would not let her out, and he was part of whatever operation had brought her here to begin with. How could someone so kind be involved with people so cruel? After he fed Errol, he disappeared again. There was a loud cranking sound, and the cover on the ceiling began to retract. Sera dropped her soup bowl and pressed her face against the top of the crate as, inch by inch, the sky began to appear.
The sky! It was not the sky she knew, but a crisp, robin’s-egg blue, not a star in sight. Sunlight shone through the glass panes on the ceiling, a richer yellow than the sunlight she was used to, and landed on the slender tree and its saplings. Sera thought the tree seemed to straighten a bit, its leaves rustling and its branches stretching.
“Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” the male said, coming back and giving the trunk a pat.
Just then, a door at the back of the dwelling opened and a man with a mass of red hair carrying a small black bag bustled in, followed by a very familiar face.
Sera hissed as Leo walked up the aisle between the red-covered seats.
“Good morning, Francis,” the red-haired man said cheerily.
“Good morning, Mr. Kiernan,” the kind male replied.
“I heard we have a new addition,” he said, walking up a set of steps on the side of the platform.
“Indeed, sir.”
“Have you met Leo McLellan? Xavier’s son. He and his sister Agnes are responsible for this latest capture.”
Sera had not realized Leo and Agnes were related—they looked and acted nothing alike. Francis and Leo gripped each other’s hands and moved them up and down.
“Boris is looking happy today,” the man named Kiernan said. “That’s what we call the Arboreal,” he added, explaining to Leo. “And Errol is our mertag. He’s quite shy, I’m afraid. Spends most of his time at the bottom of that pond. Now.” He clapped his hands together and turned his attention to Sera. “Let’s have a look at what you discovered in the plains!”
He crouched by the crate, and when he saw her, the pink flush in his pale cheeks vanished, and his eyes grew so wide Sera thought they might fall out of their sockets.
“My . . . my goodness,” he said breathlessly.
“What is it, sir?” Leo asked. “Do you know what she is?”
“I am a Cerulean, you idiot,” Sera snapped at him. Leo looked startled at the fierceness of her tone, and Sera felt a grim sense of satisfaction, before she remembered she shouldn’t have spoken at all. But the two males did not notice she understood him.
“She doesn’t seem to like you much,” Kiernan said with a chuckle. “And I do not know what she is. She almost looks like . . .” He hesitated, leaning forward to study her more closely, then shook his head. “No, she is nothing I have seen before. But let’s find out a bit about her, shall we?”
Sera didn’t know what was happening. Kiernan was rifling through the bag, pulling out a long needle with a bulb on the end of it—Sera had a wild thought that he was expecting her to sew something when the needle pierced the skin on her foot and she gave a cry and then everything went dark.
17
Agnes
AGNES WAS MOROSE ALL THROUGH BREAKFAST.
Her father stopped in just as she was finishing her coffee. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she replied stiffly.
“Ready to meet with your fiancé?” He frowned. “I should have had Leo pick you out something to wear.”
Agnes didn’t see anything wrong with her dress—it was navy blue with red accents and a white ruffle on the neck. Hattie had insisted on pinning a matching navy-and-red hat to the front of her hair. For Agnes, this outfit was positively flamboyant.
“I’m sure Ebenezer won’t mind,” she said sweetly. “He doesn’t have a choice, does he?”
“Sir.” Swansea came up behind her father, the day’s paper in his hands and an anxious expression on his face.
“What is it?” Xavier asked.
Swansea held out the paper. Agnes couldn’t see the headline, but whatever it was had her father out of sorts in a flash. “Get Kiernan back here at once. And Roth. Now.” He gripped the paper so hard Agnes thought he would tear it in two. “At last,” he said, and his tone was almost reverent.
Without a word of explanation or even a goodbye to his daughter, Xavier strode off to his study, lea
ving Agnes thoroughly confused.
Eneas popped his head into the dining room. “All set, miss?”
His thick, wavy black hair was spilling out from under his chauffeur’s cap, and his usually cheerful expression was tempered with pity. He knew where they were going and why. Agnes nodded and followed him out to the car.
“Have you seen the papers today?” she asked as he opened the door for her.
“I have not, but Olive Town was abuzz with some news about a discovery on one of the Lost Islands. Not sure if I believe it, though,” he said, starting up the engine and backing out of the driveway. “No one has seen a Lost Island in . . . well, not in my lifetime, or my mother’s, or her mother’s. That’s why they call them Lost, isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” Agnes murmured. Eneas was from Thaetus, the southernmost island of Pelago, and he always talked about it lovingly, the olive trees and vineyards, the rolling hills and warm crystal waters, and the big bustling market in the main city of Arbaz.
The Granges lived on the west side of Old Port, in an area called Ellsbury Park, not as posh as Upper Glen but still a nice neighborhood. It took forever to get across town, though—they were stopped for a full ten minutes in Central Square when a hansom cab wheel got stuck in one of the tram rails. Any other day Agnes would be pestering Eneas to teach her a new Pelagan word or phrase, or maybe wheedling some more information out of him about her mother.
But not today.
Whenever Agnes had thought about getting married, usually Susan Bruckner was the first person who came to mind. Susan had been in her class at Miss Elderberry’s Finishing School—her family was from Pearl Beach but they had sent Susan to Old Port for one year. She hadn’t minded Agnes’s eccentricities the way the other girls did; once she’d asked Agnes to help her with her corset, her smooth dark skin glowing against the white lace, her breasts spilling up in a way that set a sweet ache between Agnes’s thighs.
