Seaborn 01 - Saltwater Witch

by Chris Howard

  Hating it, Limnoria agreed with Helodes. “We must tell the king. He has spies everywhere.”

  “Like us,” said Helodes.

  Limnoria looked at her pityingly, their agreement abruptly ending. “We’re guards not spies. The king gave us the waters in return for our service.”

  “What waters?” Olivia asked, her brain stopping on the only other item of conversation that appealed to her besides killing Kassandra.

  “All of it between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains.”

  “They’re not his to give,” said Parresia, never really liking the deal they had made with the seaborn king.

  “He said he wouldn’t dispute it. It’s all ours.”

  “He also said Kassandra is the daughter of a traitor’s maid, but it turns out she’s the daughter of the traitor herself.”

  “Does it really matter if she has the Wreath?” Helodes asked brightly out of left field.

  “Of course it matters!” Limnoria shouted indignantly.

  “Idiot! She screams at you, you’d wilt like rockweed under the sun!” Olivia threatened Helodes with one tight-clenched fist.

  Helodes kept her pleasant expression. “But why does it matter? All we really have to do is make sure Kassandra doesn’t go where she’s not supposed to. That’s all we promised King Tharsaleos.”

  Parresia nodded, her gray eyes cold and thoughtful. “Nothing more.”

  Limnoria and Olivia stared at her. Helodes folded her arms, satisfied.

  “But she’ll grow in power and soon we will not be able to stop her.”

  “Can’t stop her now,” snapped Olivia, shaking her head and then mumbled something like “I’d like to try.”

  Parresia, with her finger still in the air, nodded again. “We’ll wait for the right time, and then we’ll tell the king. After that, his death armies will be in Nebraska in a matter of days. They’ll pound the school into the ground and exterminate every living thing within miles of it.”

  “He wouldn’t use the Olethren, would he?”

  “Pestilence!” shouted Limnoria. “They’ll foul our fresh water!”

  “The king will not care about that. You know the stories, what he did to House Rexenor? This is a matter of deceiving the King of the seaborn. It will end quickly and completely. He’ll use the dead army.”

  “Will he honor his word?”

  “You mean, will we be able to keep all the waters to the Rocky Mountains? Only the king knows that.”

  “King Tharsaleos may say that since he had to get involved the bargain means nothing.”

  Helodes smiled, way out in left field now. “What if we let Kassandra go?”

  “What?” Limnoria scoffed, shaking her head. “Then we’ve failed, and broken our word.”

  “But if the king takes back the waters anyway why does it matter? If the king doesn’t have to keep his word why do we have to keep ours?”

  “Because he’s going to punish us instead, that’s why!”

  “If you’d half a brain...” mumbled Olivia, scowling at Helodes.

  “Interesting questions,” said Parresia. She had started to lower her finger, but had it up in the air again.

  Limnoria and Olivia looked at her, stunned.

  “What do you mean? Let her go?” Parresia studied Helodes.

  “Tell her she can run away, escape from her prison.”

  “But she doesn’t know it is a prison. She doesn’t know that she can’t run away.”

  “What if we tell her?”

  “Are you stupid?” Limnoria poked a finger at her.

  “If she’s not here then the king will not send his armies here,” said Helodes as if it was a simple conclusion to draw.

  Parresia shook her head, her brows knotting together. Something about the idea didn’t make sense but she couldn’t think of anything against it, and so let it go.

  Helodes chattered on. “He’ll send them somewhere else...like east of the Mississippi. Going on the king’s own word, Kassandra’s just your typical seaborn transported deep inland to serve a sentence for a crime she did not commit.”

  “How could she? She was just a baby? Kassandra’s being punished in place of a traitorous parent.”

  Limnoria said the words with a snarl, and Helodes dropped her shoulders, returning a scowl that said, “Now you’re just being argumentative because Parresia sided with me.” She sighed. “That’s what I’m saying. So why don’t we let her go? We can even give her a little nudge in the right direction.”

  “Away from here!” Limnoria blurted out, catching on and making it sound like her idea at the same time.

  “And when King Tharsaleos asks us why we didn’t stop her, we say that stopping her was...beyond our powers. She’s the Wreath-wearer, after all.”

  They stared at Helodes with a range of facial expressions, from frowning disappointment from Olivia to a partial smirk from Parresia, that could only mean that she was mildly impressed with the woman who always seemed so flighty, irresponsible and even nit-witted on occasion.

  “How do you suggest we nudge her in the right direction, Helodes?” Parresia asked. “What could we show her that would make her really want to leave?”

  “We could send her a dream that gave her some hints.”

  “I was thinking that as well.”

  “Something subtle, something simple to show her what she’s up against. Give her a vision...”

  “Of what?” said Limnoria. “King Tharsaleos angry and shouting?”

  “Hmmm...” Parresia turned that thought over. “That’s not bad, but she doesn’t know who Tharsaleos is.”

  “King Tharsaleos is probably her grandfather.”

  Helodes stood up to Limnoria. “But she won’t recognize him.”

  “Wait!” Parresia burst out, frightening the others. Even Olivia, the least shakable. She had been grumbling to herself for the last minute, but shook suddenly, throwing her arms wide as if the rug had been pulled from under her.

  A slow, scheming smile spread over Parresia’s face. “I have just the thing.” She pointed a demanding finger at Limnoria. “But first we need a storm. Quick. Nothing too strong. Just enough to get some water through the open windows of St. Clements.”

  Limnoria rushed to the window to start on it right away. Helodes looked excited. Olivia chewed her lip, disappointed.

  “Does this mean we ain’t gonna kill her?”

  Chapter 9 - Dream of the Deep

  Rain?

  Brushing aside the curtains, I reached for the window frame over the nightstand, but not before catching a few drops on my hands. It felt good and I bent down and stuck my head out to let the water sprinkle my face.

  Then licked the rain off my lips.

  “Typical.” I slammed the window closed. The last few weeks had been nothing but sun. No sign of any change in the weather all day. Suddenly there were storm clouds filling the sky.

  I jumped onto my bed in a sitting position and opened The Odyssey to a random page about halfway through.

  The page didn’t matter. I was only pretending to read.

  Most of my homework was done. Almost everyone was watching some obnoxiously loud TV show at the end of the hall. A few still had schoolbooks open and papers scattered over the tables opposite the television set, their eyes drifting up from their work to the bright screen.

  “Sorry about that, Prax. Mind if I call you Prax?”

  As a matter of fact, I do.

  “I had to close the window. Crazy. It started raining.”

  Raining? said Praxinos in an especially excited voice. Is that when the water falls from the clouds?

  “How many times did you get to the surface?”

  Ten or eleven times, mostly when I was young and wayward. After my father gave me the crown and the Wreath I spent most of my time battling the Telkhines, the oldest House. Actually all the seaborn are descendants of different houses of the Telkhines. It was the old royal house that my grandfather destroyed after stealing their
enchantments.

  “What enchantments?”

  The Telkhines had powers beyond anything we Alkimides can imagine. They could change the shape of the earth, make islands rise where they wanted. They could appear in many forms, a dolphin, an octopus, a dragon, anything. They could lift the water off the seafloor, make whirlpools wide enough to swallow navies. They controlled monsters, enslaved titans of the oceans, and made them do their bidding. My grandfather used these thralls against the Telkhines, freeing them and asking for their service in return.

  “Monsters?” I whispered, chewing my lip. “Like Ephoros?”

  Praxinos made a choking sound, and I felt my own throat constrict.

  How do you know about Ephoros? Praxinos wheezed the question. I’d surprised him with that apparently.

  “I accidentally released him here in the hall yesterday.”

  There was a long silence. How old did you say you are?

  “I didn’t mean to call him. It was an accident.” I put some defensive in my voice, and then added firmly, “I’m fifteen now,” as if that was sufficient.

  And where are we exactly? How close to the ocean?

  “In the middle of Nebraska, about as far as you can get from any ocean.”

  Rivers and lakes nearby? Anything big and deep that flows into the sea?

  I thought about it for a minute. “I’m not sure where they end up, but there are a few big rivers. The Loupe is big, the Platte I think is the biggest. Why?”

  And you are certain it was Ephoros? He said his name?

  “I—I had a lot of cleaning duties.” I didn’t need to mention that Matrothy was punishing me. So far, I knew that Praxinos heard me only if I spoke the words aloud. He couldn’t read my mind. “Ephoros cleaned the dirt off my bed and the floor for me. Some of the other girls got them all muddy. He told me I had the Wreath. That I’m the wearer. He even said I might one day speak with my mother.”

  Praxinos gasped. You had Ephoros...doing chores?

  “Yeah, he wasn’t too happy about it either, but he snapped his fingers sort of, and everything became clean. He had to leave in a hurry because the director showed up and then some of the girls returned to the hall...Is something wrong?”

  Ephoros, said Praxinos cautiously. Is the master of those monsters my grandfather released. He is their king. He doesn’t answer to anyone but the Wreath-wearers, and maybe a few immortals. He is so frightening most of us never saw him, too afraid to call him for any reason. There were always some fearless Wreath-wearers capable of befriending him—well, as close to friendship as you might make with someone like him. He hesitated over continuing this thought and abandoned it. And you summoned him from the ocean to...Nebraska?

  “Yup. Nebraska. The middle of Nebraska. He went back into a small drop of water and into my right eye.”

  That is just the door through which he can emerge. The deathless ones live in the oceans. Kassandra, you called their king all the way to Nebraska.

  “Am I not supposed to be able to do that?”

  At fifteen years old? No! I called for his help only once in my life, and I nearly fainted when he appeared.

  “But how old were you?”

  Sixty-one.

  I bit my lip and flipped through a few more pages of my book. Was there something that made it easier for me? Easier than a sixty-one year old king?

  “Well...there’s a little river, a tributary that comes close to the school. It’s not deep but you can see it from the road. So much is happening, and it’s all going so fast...” Words were coming out of my mouth, trying to make it sound as if my success and toughness came from not being able to take it all in. “I was frightened, but... Maybe if I hadn’t been attacked by that witch in the lake the day before, I would have been more frightened...And you’ve heard what Matrothy is like. She’s more of a monster than Ephoros.”

  Making excuses. You are Ampharete’s daughter, and you’re just like her. Ampharete did not belong at the king’s court. She was like a wild seaborn—not in a go-any-way-the-current-goes kind of wild, but the maker of currents that others follow. She liked to stir everything up. I liked her immensely. Your mother called Ephoros hundreds of times, for protection and for knowledge. She had no bleed, and so she relied on his power. He’s roamed the oceans since the dawn of time and has seen many civilizations rise and fall. Ampharete...She was fearless, and always did what she thought was the right thing, even if it meant going against the power of her house and even all the seaborn. Ampharete was of House Alkimides, you know...and your father of House Rexenor, an exile house of the seaborn...

  His voice trailed off.

  There was silence for a bit, and then Praxinos muttered a curse followed by a sound of desperation, a sob that caught in his throat. The lives of the last four or five wearers have been so short. It saddens me to remember them.

  “Tell me more,” I whispered impatiently. “What’s a house? What does it mean to belong to a house? Not where you live, but like House Alkimides?”

  Maybe Praxinos would think I was stupid for asking it, but the idea of one family living under one roof didn’t fit the way he was using the word.

  Ah. I did not at first understand your question. A house is like a city, a polis, a people with their own ways and art and culture.

  “Not all related?”

  By blood? No. There are royal Alkimides, your family, and there are people of other blood and family lines that belong to House Alkimides.

  “Is that my family name? Alkimides?”

  Of course it is.

  I scowled, recalling the surname written on the forms by my deliverers. I’d never liked the name, Porthmeus. It had an odd sound. It just didn’t fit me, and, on the rare occasion where my surname was required, I always changed it to Prometheus—the guy who stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans. Much rather be related to a guy who plays with fire than whoever or whatever Porthmeus was.

  Okay, I’m an Alkimides. Kassandra Alkimides. “What else? What exactly is Ephoros?”

  Listen to me. He paused for a few seconds as if collecting his thoughts. You must be careful. You cannot tell anyone about the Wreath, or that you have any unusual power. You mustn’t call Ephoros or any others to Nebraska.

  “Others?”

  He ignored me. It’s not like you’re growing up at the Thalassogenêis court in the Nine-cities, where everyone can see with their own eyes that you wear it, and you would have your own bodyguards, demons, and the royal army to protect you.

  Never forget who you are, Kassandra. You are royalty, a descendant of the kings and queens of the seaborn, but your father was a noble son of an exiled house. The seaborn have been at war with House Rexenor for two hundred years, and King Tharsaleos, your grandfather on your mother’s side, has spent most of his life battling Lord Nausikrates and Lady Kallixene of Rexenor. Nausikrates was your grandfather and Kallixene your grandmother on your father’s side.

  “Lord Now-seek-rah-teaz,” I said and repeated it, and then went to my grandmother’s name, “Lady Kal-ix-eh-nee.” I had him spell the names and, after digging around in my nightstand for a pencil, I wrote them on the inside cover of The Odyssey.

  Nausikrates and Kallixene were my family. I felt my heartbeat pounding harder. “Will I get to meet them, ever?”

  Praxinos didn’t answer at once. They were the last of the rulers of House Rexenor, all dead now it is to be assumed. When I last spoke with your mother, King Tharsaleos’ army of the drowned dead, the Olethren, were swarming over the walls of the Rexenor fortress, killing anyone who had a pulse. You can only lose to the Olethren once because no one has ever survived their attack. All I know is that your mother willingly passed on the Wreath to you when you were very young, five or six months old, and once Ampharete passed it on, her body withered and died.

  “But that’s horrible!” My body snapping upright in surprise. “Why would she do it? Couldn’t she fight the king? What about Ephoros? Couldn’t he help her?”

 
Praxinos hesitated. The seaborn have weapons that...The king has magic. It is weaker magic, nothing like the spells the ancient Telkhines used to employ, but magic of some power nonetheless. And he has tools that were created with that ancient magic.

  “Couldn’t she hide or run away?”

  She would have been hunted. She had already tricked her father, secretly accepting the Wreath from her mother. The king does not know that a Wreath-wearer survived. And by passing it to you, she made sure that the Wreath of Poseidon was hidden until you were old enough—fifteen years. That is why you must never drop your guard.

  He paused and seemed to sigh. Do not think for an instant that the seaborn are not watching you. They don’t send anyone to a place like St. Clement’s and then not keep an eye on them. The king’s purpose has never been to dump you in Nebraska, ignore you, hope you can fend for yourself, or hope you never bother him again. The king has spies everywhere. Everywhere there is water. If you turn out to be a threat, they will kill you, kill you mercilessly. If they discover that you have the Wreath, they will gather all of their forces—they have considerable forces and allies—and they will destroy you for good. The king would risk everything he has to kill you. He would end the world before he let the Wreath of Poseidon fall into the hands of someone he thinks an enemy.

  The door at the end of the hall banged open and Matrothy filled the space, blocking out all the light from the entryway beyond. She had her shoulders hunched and both her hands were drawn into fists.

  “TV off!” She shouted, but her eyes were fixed on me.

  “Got to go, Praxinos,” I whispered and closed the book. “Matrothy is here.”

  The way you described her, she sounds like a—

  “Worse.”

  Matrothy walked slowly down the aisle, shooting mean looks at some of the girls still playing cards on one of the beds. She moved up the space between my bed and Nicole’s, examining the nightstand, the curtains and the floor. Deirdre had probably told the old bat how they had been muddy yesterday.

  Matrothy turned to go, stopped, and then wheeled to face me, one hand up in a gesture at me, making it clear that whatever was about come out of her mouth was about me. And it wasn’t going to be good. She blinked, distracted, and then stared down at the book, The Odyssey of Homer on the blanket where I’d dropped it.