The stone drew her swiftly down to the bottom at thirty feet. The early sun slanted down, stage-lighting a mountain of coral reaching almost to the surface. Off to the right she caught a glimpse of a deep purple Horniad, a giant Sea Worm, one of those strange, ever-so-slow, immensely patient creatures she and Douglas had first met in these waters some years before.
Once she would have been terrified by the sight of the Worm, but now she knew many of them quite well by name. She settled to the sandy bottom, waved after the Worm—it did not wave back, having no arms or tentacles, but she knew it had seen her—and began expertly to pry oysters from the coral with her sheath knife, ignoring the thousands of tiny, red fishes that swarmed about her, curious about her movements and darting in swiftly to snap up some morsel of food she disturbed as she gathered the bivalves.
“Would you carry a message back to Augurian at Waterand for us?” a small voice sounded in her ear. A school of stippled silver-and-blue wrasse hovered before her as she turned to load her catch in the weighted basket her father had dropped down after her.
She nodded, moving her hands in a universal fish-language signal of greeting and agreement.
“Tell the good Water Adept that we’ve located the wreck of the ship Windskipper not far from Battle Shoals. He asked us to keep an eye out for her, you see.”
Myrn wigwagged her understanding and added, carefully, “We’ll send a Porpoise to look her over. She was lost at the beginning of the battle, I recall. It’s their job to investigate all wrecks, you know.”
“We know,” said the school of wrasse. They bobbed politely, all in unison, and turned as one, shooting off into deeper water.
A pearl diver with years of experience, Myrn stayed at the bottom for five minutes, unaided by any magic or mechanical device, although she would someday be able to work underwater as her Master did, through magical means. Now, unbuckling her lead-weighted belt from her slim waist and hooking it to the stone’s line, she began to ascend to the surface.
The basket, hoisted by her father and brothers, passed her on the way up. When she broke the surface beside the smack, Nick Manstar and his two sons were already shucking oysters.
“It still amazes me!” said the eldest Manstar, when she was in the boat again, drying herself with a rough towel. “You bring up a dozen oysters and ten of them have good pearls in them!”
“The Horniads leave the pearl-bearing shells for us and eat only the others,” she explained, although she knew he was as aware of the arrangement between the Flowringers and the Worms as she was.
So as not to overfish the rich beds, the fishermen took only a few of the valuable gems, pink and white, blue and pale yellow, sometimes gray or black, each season. Nick Manstar claimed that this also helped keep the price for pearls high.
“If the Worms can manage to curb their appetites for the oysters, we certainly can curb ours for the pearls,” he insisted. While a few local fishermen still distrusted and feared the great Worms, Nick Manstar was their strongest defender whenever the question arose.
Mother and daughter sat atop the cliffs at the north end of Flowring Isle, watching the surf crash against the rocks far below, throwing spray halfway to the summit. This had always been Myrn’s place for quiet thinking and talking. She and Douglas had first realized they loved each other here on a windy, rainy day two years ago. It seemed both a long time ago and just yesterday.
“I found the cliff tops a generation before you did,” her mother said, reading her mind, as mothers so often do. “Your father and I often walked up here to get away from the crowd in town. When we were courting, that was. Always loved it and still do.”
“I’m glad that you had this place to come to, too,” said her daughter. It was late afternoon and they had hours before they had to be home for supper. Rich, creamy oyster stew was traditional on oyster-fishing nights, and the whole town, the whole island, would gather in the Square to eat the full bowls with salty soda crackers and drink beer imported from somewhere on the mainland, where barley and hops would grow.
Tomasina sighed contentedly and, turning to Myrn with a smile, said, “Was there something special you wanted to talk to me about, daughter Wizard?”
Myrn took her hand and held it in her lap for a moment, returning the smile.
“No, nothing special, now. Well, you know, Augurian was upset because I was distracted, and Flarman said, under the circumstances, it wasn’t surprising, because of the wedding next winter and Douglas halfway about World in a dangerous land and all.”
Tomasina nodded. “It still gives me a turn of sorts, hearing you talk about two of the greatest men of this Age as if they were family. I’m used to taking a deep breath before I even think of Flarman Firemaster, he’s that far above the likes of me.”
“Nonsense! Flarman is an old dear, a really wonderful old uncle, you know.”
“I know. I like him very much, and not just because he’s been so good to you and us. But he’s one of the Great Ones, nevertheless. It daunts me at times.”
“He would be the first to scoff at that, however true it might be,” Myrn assured her. “He’d also insist that you are an even greater person than a mere Pyromancer.”
“What? Me! Now it’s you speaking rot, girl! Me? What am I but a fisherman’s good wife?”
“He’d say being a good mother is much more important even than being a Wizard,” Myrn told her, seriously. Her mother laughed, throwing her head back and slapping her knees in glee. Myrn noticed she wiped a tear from her eye shortly after.
“Six days only?” asked Nick Manstar, the next day but one. “We was hoping you’d stay to help with the blue coral, lassy. You’re the best at that of us all.”
“You don’t need me,” laughed his daughter. “Things are going well here at home, even without me.”
She stretched her arms above her head and examined the fresh tanning on her forearms and the backs of her capable hands. That was one other thing she’d missed, studying on Waterand Island—the chances to be out in the wind and sun all day, glorying in her health and youth.
There just hadn’t been time. She resolved to take more time off from her studies. But it would be hard to do, she loved the lessons that well.
“Well, I won’t gainsay your Wizardry is important,” admitted Nick. They were seated on the seaward end of the town dock, kicking their bare heels over the running tide and watching her youngest brother walking beside a pretty, dark-haired island lass along the crescent beach in almost-full moonlight.
“Be another wedding in the family, I guess, soon after you and Douglas are spliced,” observed her father, lighting his pipe. “She’s a good lass. Not as good as you at diving and sailing, but few are, since your mother’s time.”
“I like my mayhap sister-in-law. How long have they been courting?”
“Since the middle of winter. He sort of discovered her, all of a sudden. He’s known her since they were babes on the sand, together, but he never paid any mind to her before midwinter time. Funny!”
“That’s the way it goes sometimes,” said Myrn. “I’ve got to go back to Waterand. I feel the pull of my lessons and the work I have to do there. I might otherwise stay here forever. But then there’d be no career as Water Wizard, as I’ve set my heart upon! Nor any Douglas by my side, either. These are what draw me away from you and Mama, you know.”
“I find that not hard to understand or believe,” said Nick Manstar, comfortably puffing away. “I believe, myself, that a good pair will find each other, no matter what the rest of World does or says.”
“I think you’re right, Papa,” said Myrn. When he looked at her she gave him a special daughter smile and after a while they strolled down the dock to meet her brother and his best girl, as if by accident.
****
“Back so soon?” asked Bronze Owl. He and Stormy, Augurian’s familiar, were sharing a warm spot on the black rocks below Augurian’s Water Tower. The Petrel nodded to the girl, who had just then stepped f
rom the waves, perfectly dry.
“I needed a little taste of home,” Myrn said. “Now it’s good to be back.”
“Augurian has been a cross-eyed whirlwind since you left,” said Bronze Owl. “Flarman says he would send the Waterman home, if he weren’t already here.”
“Has he been grumping about so terribly, then, because I was gone off?” Myrn chuckled. The birds accompanied her up the steep path to the Water Gate that would admit them to the Palace. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried.”
“Flattered,” declared the metal bird. “I have to say with sorrow, however, there has been no word from our traveler out west, Myrn.”
Myrn paused for a moment before she opened the gate.
“I was hoping for, but not really expecting a letter. It’s so far away, Owl!”
“Mark my worldly-wise words,” said the Owl, following her through into the moonlit Fountain Forecourt. Augurian and Flarman were arguing amiably, seated on a stone bench beside the vast basin. “When word comes from Douglas, it’ll be worth the waiting.”
“I know!” agreed Myrn, waving to her Wizards. She ran to greet them and bring her parents’ admiring regards.
“Probably shake World, too, when it comes,” Bronze Owl added aside to Stormy.
The great black-and-white Seabird might have chuckled, deep in his throat, but nobody could be sure. Not even Bronze Owl.
Chapter Ten
Whitewater
As they entered the foothills of Tiger’s Teeth Mountains, Bloody Brook suddenly became a swift-charging flood and then a wildly leaping torrent between high, narrow walls. It went quickly from shallow to deep in a wink and back again, throwing itself recklessly to the right, then to the left.
Its bed here was fretted with jagged rocks, often barely awash, and then shallow, madly foaming rapids. Its sources were the glaciers and snow caps of the Tiger’s Teeth, and the water was freezing cold, white as milk with rock-dust carried in turbulent suspension.
It became more and more difficult to control the gondola, designed entirely for smoother and quieter waters. Unexpected cross-currents tossed her sideways and tried to roll her end for end without warning. Douglas fought both with Myrn’s magic spell and the long sweep to keep her head-on to the current and inching slowly forward.
The canyon walls rose twenty, fifty, then a hundred feet high. Tributaries plunged into the mainstream as thunderous cataracts, churning the water to foam and threatening to swamp the frail craft if he allowed her to come too close.
At the end of the day Marbleheart, fully recovered from his harrowing barrow fright, swam bravely ahead to investigate an even greater commotion. He soon returned with bad news.
“There’s a great wall of water, fully ten times as tall as you,” he panted. “Its voice is louder than any storm surf!”
“A waterfall? Any path around it?”
“Not that I could see. The water fills the whole ravine from side to side. To pass, we’ll have to climb to the top of the wall and find our way on foot around the fall.”
“We’ll take a closer look, however” decided the Journeyman Wizard. He’d known from the beginning that at some point the river might become too narrow, shallow, or wild to allow even Myrn’s propelling spell to force the boat against the flow, and yet he disliked the thought of abandoning her just yet. She had served them well since Summer Palace.
Around the next sharp curve the waterfall appeared, as awesome as Marbleheart had described, allowing for some exaggeration. It dropped at least fifty feet, smooth as green glass at the top and plunging into a constantly roiling, rolling pool at its foot with a force that shook the very rocks of the canyon walls.
To one side, Douglas spied a narrow beach of coarse sand and rounded pebbles caught between two enormous boulders. A lush stand of drooping willows and water-loving bushes had taken precarious root above the narrow beach. Other than this, the walls of the canyon were almost vertical, dropping straight into the swirling river.
“Not a particularly promising place,” Douglas admitted to the Otter. “But, somehow, I think the better choice is to stay here, rather than go back. I can’t recall any place within two day’s paddle where we could get safely ashore to climb the walls.”
“You hate to backtrack, is what it is,” guessed the other.
Douglas made a face at his words and drove the slender boat around the edge of the whirlpool into the lee of the two house-sized boulders. Together they hauled it out of the water and tied it securely to keep it from being swept away if the water rose during the night.
They stood on solid ground, looking about. The beach was tiny. The black rocks on either hand cut off not only the worst of the current, but some of the wind and thunder as well.
“Actually, it’s not unpleasant if you ignore the grumble,” observed Marbleheart. “Not many enemies would bother to get at us here, at any rate. Too tall the cliffs, to climb.”
The Journeyman carefully examined the narrow strand and the bit of tanglewood behind it. Here were slender white birch, rowan and beech growing beyond the first screen of willows, and, higher on the slope, a small stand of sturdy maples. The air smelled sweet, well washed, and fresh.
“We’ll spend the night here, anyway,” decided Douglas. “Do you think you could climb these walls?”
Marbleheart craned his neck so far back he toppled over on his tail.
“Not bloody likely!” he sniffed. “I got webs between my toes, not sticker pads like an octopus.”
“You’re probably right. Some might be able to climb here, but getting the boat up would call for a Dwarf’s skill at engineering. As far as I know, the nearest Dwarf is a long way off. There’re levitation spells I could use, I suppose, but it would tire me dreadfully. I’ll have to think about it.”
“First we’ll need a fire,” said the Otter, “and then supper.”
There was plenty of dried driftwood swept up on the tiny beach by a hundred or a thousand years of spring storms. They gathered a good supply and Douglas touched off a cheery blaze, over which they warmed their weary limbs and shared Faerie Waybread, which filled them comfortably.
The sun disappeared quite suddenly behind the cliffs, but the glow of the evening sky over the deep canyon allowed them to see almost as well as in daylight.
“Why don’t you try the Firefly thing again?” suggested Marbleheart. “A local bug might be able to tell us of a way to the top.”
“I’d leave the boat but I prefer not to walk the rest of the way to Pfantas, if I can help it. As for the ‘firefly thing,’ I’ll do it when it gets darker, although this place seems remarkably clear of insects. Haven’t seen a fly or a mosquito all day.”
“Their sort likes only still water,” explained the Sea Otter, curling himself into a comfortable ball before the fire. “There’re a few birds, however.”
Douglas looked up, following his gaze.
“Crows? I don’t trust them. Crows are too often Witch friends, Bronze Owl says. They enjoy making mischief. Even if those crows aren’t actually someone’s lookouts, you can’t trust them to keep their beaks shut. Caw and blab everything to anyone who’ll listen when they see a free meal or two for their troublemaking.”
After full dark he compounded the green-and-white bead again and dropped it into the fire as before, but no insect informant appeared.
“Huh! Nobody home,” snorted Marbleheart.
Sleep was much closer. They both were drowsing in their blankets.
“Careful!” Douglas warned Marbleheart, who lay quite near the flames. “You’ll toast yourself!”
“Not I!” cried a new voice.
Douglas sat up slowly and saw the tiny speaker in the heart of the campfire, basking in the glowing embers.
“A Salamander!” he cried in surprise.
“Oh, one of those Fire Lizards I’ve heard about,” said the Otter. “How do you do, Sally Ann?”
“I love your fire! We usually have to wait ‘til noontime for
such warmth, especially in this chilly place.”
The three-inch-long lizard ran up a glowing branch and dived into a pool of blue flame, rolling ecstatically over and over.
“There’s something different about this fire,” he observed, stopping to peer up at the travelers. “It doesn’t quite feel like a common, ordinary fire to me, and I’m a sort of expert.”
“That’s because it was magically kindled,” replied Douglas. “How far did you come to answer my call?”
“I live nearby in nice, safe cracks in the cliff face where the sun strikes best and there’s no claw-hold for a hungry crow bent on lizard for lunch. Usually I’d be sound asleep by this time of night, but this evening I told my wife that something unusual was happening here on the beach, and I wanted to investigate. She said I was crazy, but I came anyway. Then I felt your calling.”
Douglas explained, “I was calling for information.”
“I’ll be happy to oblige, if I can,” said the Fire Lizard, coming so close they could feel his heat radiate on their hands and faces.
“You see the boat there,” began Douglas, and he explained their predicament to the hot little lizard.
“Yes, I can see where the boat would be a problem, even if you could climb the cliff. Well, I can’t help you much myself, but there are those who might be able to. The Cliff Swallows, for instance. They travel quite far afield looking for food, you see. I’ve never been above the rim, myself, so I don’t know what’s beyond.”
“In the morning I would love to make the acquaintance of the Cliff Swallows,” said Douglas. “In the meantime, I suppose we’re safe enough here?”
“Safe as sulfur matches—whatever that means,” said the Salamander. “It’s something my grandmother always used to say.”
They chatted awhile about families and fires, the Salamander being very interested in a Wizard who specialized in his own favorite element.
Aquamancer (mancer series Book 2) Page 11
