Tide

by Lacy Sheridan

  I crouched beside it, watching it climb to its feet but not dart into the air. “Are you alright?” I asked. It nodded, breathing heavy.

  Its strange, slanted eyes turned toward me, cautious. “I know where Aven is.”

  I didn’t have a chance to ask; the wolf-like beast started its barking again, fierce and vicious, clawing at the walls of its cage again and again. Moray stiffened. “That thing should be the next one they eat,” it grumbled.

  I swallowed hard. “I’m letting it out.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t deserve to be caged up.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to release it; it was wrong for it to be caged, yes, but food was food. I was a farmer’s daughter and a hunter’s sister. I understood the chain of prey and predator. But something in its eyes begged me to, even as it snarled and bit at the air.

  I grabbed the rock again, fingering the sharpest edge, and started for the beast’s cage. It paid me no mind, caring only for Moray—or its shiny skin, rather, I suspected—as I sawed at the rope binding the door of its cage closed. It was thick and heavy, and the rock was slow and clumsy in my hands, but tore apart easy once I weakened the first layer. It unraveled and the door fell slack, and the beast lunged forward.

  “Hania!” Moray shouted, scrambling away. I thought it maybe was warning me of the beast, and then I heard the clang of metal and whirled around. One of the men stood there, drawing a knife. A guard brought by the beast’s noise, or making a round to check on the stables. I couldn’t move, staring at the knife in his hands. We’d just gotten out—

  And in a flurry of fur and teeth the beast was on him, dragging him to the ground with its jaws around one arm. I stepped away even though I was out of reach, gasping. The crunch of bone and scream of pain echoed in my ears.

  Moray was staring with a mask of shocked horror, but pulled its gaze to me. “Leave them. It’s the natural order. We need to find Aven.”

  My voice shook. “Can you fly?”

  “No.” It didn’t look like it could: it looked too heavy, too tired. I tore my gaze from the attack, swallowing bile that rose in my throat, and crouched down again. I held out one hand, and it gave me another long, careful look before climbing onto my palm. I lifted it to my shoulder, where it sat and clung to the fabric of my dress.

  Another muffled snarl. Another scream that made me flinch. I turned away and squared my shoulders. “Where do we go next?”

  “Aven is across the village,” Moray whispered in my ear. I peered around the edge of a tent, watching the people pass, going about their business. Men with weapons or meat or ropes, women with baskets of laundry or jugs of water, many with children racing around them. A woman and two little girls hung dresses to dry on a laundry line not far away, chatting. From somewhere nearby came the smell of meat and vegetables cooking, maybe a stew. Everything was friendly and orderly, so unlike what I’d imagined. If I closed my eyes, so I couldn’t see the blue skin and purple-gray grass, I could almost convince myself I was home.

  I’d made it from the stables to the main part of the village without being noticed, following Moray’s directions, but how I was going to get through it I had no idea, “Did you see Aven?”

  The sprite’s answer was grim. “I heard him.”

  I didn’t ask what it had heard. I had a feeling it wasn’t something I wanted to know. “How do we get to him?”

  “Quickly and quietly.”

  “Maybe you can do that, but I can’t. I don’t blend in here.”

  “And I do? They caught me as well, if you remember.”

  I studied the arrangement of the tents, trying to memorize them. They were more disordered than the rows of buildings at home, like they’d been built wherever needed without much planning. If I could run between the tents—but there were so many people. Some alone, some in little groups, talking and laughing. There was no way to do it without being seen, and, if I was, I’d be hauled right back to the stables. Or worse.

  “How long does he have?”

  “If they’re taking his skin…it takes a day and a night to remove it in one piece and keep the selkie alive.”

  “So we have until well after midnight to interrupt it.”

  “If they care to keep him alive.”

  “I haven’t seen any sign of a storm.”

  “He may be too weak for one. If they managed to catch him, his magic is weakened. He’s probably exhausted.”

  “Without magic how does he fight back?”

  “With tooth and claw, like anybody else.”

  Footsteps approached, rounding the tent. “Hopefully he gets a start on that soon,” I muttered, ducking away. A stack of firewood to stoke one of the massive cooking fires scattered about the village sat in front of the next tent over, and I hid behind it. I closed my eyes and listened to the footsteps passing by. When there was silence again, I risked a careful glance around the side of the wood. Nobody by us, but plenty not far away. “We need to clear a path or we’ll never get to him.”

  “Lovely idea, little one. I would never have thought to get them out of our way.”

  “Shut it unless you have a real idea, sprite.”

  “Quite a mouth you’re developing, did you notice?”

  I did, but I didn’t care. Something stirred in my mind, and I poked at it. Something stupid and dangerous, but that might buy us the chance we needed. “The animal back at the stables. The one that attacked that man.”

  “The velyt?”

  “Yes. I guess. It barked at you every time you went into the sun.”

  “Because sun reflects off of sprites. Plenty of animals do that. It’s why we aren’t fond of them.”

  “Do you think it’s still there?”

  Moray huffed. “More than likely. There was plenty of meat for it to enjoy. But I am not leading a wild velyt here. I just escaped being boiled. I’d like to not have to escape being eaten today, too.”

  “It would cause a panic, wouldn’t it?”

  “Wouldn’t it in your village?”

  “If you led it here, where they would have to deal with it, I could find Aven while they’re distracted.”

  There was a long silence as Moray thought on the plan. “I never expected you would be willing to lead a vicious wild animal into the heart of a village, where it might kill and maim innocent people, for your own gain.”

  Said like that my stomach rolled. What was I thinking? These people had held us both captive, yes, and were torturing Aven, but did they deserve to have that thing set on them? There were children here. I shook my head, my heart wrenching. “No, no, you’re right. It’s terrible. I didn’t think about it attacking them, just chasing you.”

  Because I was only thinking about Aven, about what might get me to him.

  “Of course I’m right. But I would do it, if it saves Aven.”

  I dared another quick look. A pair passed by us, but were too engrossed in their conversation to notice us. I dropped out of sight again. “Alright. No velyt. What—”

  Fingers clamped around my arm and hauled me back. My question turned into a scream that cut off before the first note was out, a second hand covering my mouth. I stumbled across the ground, and Moray tumbled off my shoulder into the dirt. I thrashed against the hold, unable to twist around and see who was behind me, but it did as much use as ever against the tidespeople. The cool, rough fabric of the tent passed over me into shadow as they pulled me inside.

  No weapons. No fire. No cage. They dropped me, and I fell on my back.

  I blinked several times to steady my vision in the dark and see the woman standing above me. Long twists of dark hair, beaded necklaces dangling down her chest. The woman who brought me food and given me my ‘choice.’

  Moray scrambled into the tent as I pushed myself up, staring at her. She was unarmed, but that hadn’t done anything to help me the last time. We were caught, and we were dead.

  But she held out one hand to me. I stared at it and then risked a glance to Moray, who
shook its head. I took her hand, and she pulled me to my feet, but I hurried back a step as soon as she dropped it. “What—”

  She shushed me, searching the pockets of her skirt. “I did not know you had a sprite.”

  Moray crossed its arms, dragging itself up into the air. Not as high as usual, but better than it had been able to manage earlier. “Sprites are not owned.”

  The woman bowed her head. “I’m sorry to offend. I meant that I did not know you held one’s favor. You should not be here.”

  “We’re very aware,” Moray snarled.

  I waved a hand to quiet it. “What do you mean?”

  She glanced to the tent’s opening, as if expecting somebody to catch us, and lowered her voice. “They caught you while hunting, and your friend as well. The right stands. But we would never hold one with a sprite’s favor.”

  “Then let us go. Let our friend go.”

  “I can’t,” she murmured, shaking her head. “The men claimed him. He’s a selkie; his skin is worth more than our entire village. And if they knew I was speaking to you I would be…” She trailed off and added, “But you and your sprite are free. I won’t speak of it.”

  Moray lifted its chin. “We won’t leave without him. He has my favor, too.”

  She looked torn, looking from us to the tent opening again and again. “I can’t help you.”

  “I will tear this village apart if I must,” Moray growled, rising higher in the air. “And I will start with you. The pieces of you can be the distraction that lets us get to him.” The cold promise in those words raked through me, and I resisted the urge to step from the sprite. Did it really hold that much power, and that little mercy?

  The woman cut her gaze away. “I’m sorry. I…” She took a deep breath and pulled something from the folds of her skirt. A knife, simpler and rougher in design than the one I had lost, but with a blade that curved to a murderous point. My heart rushed at the sight of it, but she held it out to me. “So long as your sprite stays beside you, nobody will bother you. They know better. Only the hunters would. And…and they will not be in this part of the village before nightfall.”

  We couldn’t trust her. She’d turned me over to them that morning.

  But Moray looked her up and down and nodded once. A silent approval.

  I took the knife with shaking hands. “Thank you,” I murmured. Thank you wasn’t enough. It couldn’t touch how grateful I was, if this was sincere. But it was all I could think to say. She nodded and turned to the opening. “Wait,” I stopped her. “What’s your name?”

  If she helped save Aven, I wanted to whisper that name to the old gods for the rest of my life, in case they could do something for her.

  And if she led us to our deaths, I wanted to curse it for eternity.

  “Ilosia,” she said and left the tent.

  I gripped the knife in one hand and listened to her footsteps fade. “Can we trust her?” I asked Moray.

  It landed on my shoulder again, slumping in exhaustion. The flying was only a ploy, then, not to show weakness. It wasn’t recovered. “I don’t know, but we don’t have a lot of choices.”

  “Why does having a sprite give so much protection?” First, Aven had warned me not to underestimate one, and now Ilosia had acted reverent toward Moray.

  “Once again, little one, you do not have a sprite. Now let’s go.”

  The unfamiliar wooden handle of the knife bit into my hand, but at least now if I needed it I had a weapon. I prayed I wouldn’t—a vain hope at best. I counted ten seconds of silence before I stepped out of the tent. Nobody was in sight. “Which way, Moray?”

  “Between those two tents, the ones with the pots in front. Then left.”

  Another deep breath, steeling myself, and then I bolted. There was nobody to see me duck around the sides of the tents, but a small cluster stood where I needed to turn. Two women and two children. My heart sped up.

  Moray didn’t hesitate; it sped off my shoulder into the air, a gray-blue flash of light, and caught the children’s attention. I stepped back as they looked toward me, still on the other side of the tent, holding my breath.

  There was a flurry of conversation I couldn’t understand, and I glanced around the tent again to find the children pulling away toward the dazzling dance that was Moray, flitting in and out of shadows, and their mothers dragging them the other way.

  And then two pairs of dark eyes landed on me, wide and horrified. One of the women curled her lips like a dog baring its teeth, pushing her child behind her. I tightened my grip on my knife. Before any of us could move, Moray flew out of the shadow and bared tiny fangs in return. They scurried back a step, two, and ordered something to the second child, who’d reached toward Moray in fascination. “Leave her,” the sprite hissed.

  They didn’t say a word, hurrying deeper into the forest of tents. “Do you think they’re running to get the hunters?” I asked Moray.

  It shook its head. “I don’t care. Keep going. Down this way until we reach the well.” I rushed down the row of tents as quick as my feet would carry me. My heart chanted at them faster, faster, faster.

  I collided with the stone wall of the well, grabbing onto the edge to keep my balance, and looked around. It was quiet, empty. Too quiet and empty for the center of any village in the middle of the day.

  A scream rang from somewhere far off. A woman’s scream, sharp and piercing. But was it real or practiced? Genuine fear or a distraction from Ilosia?

  I wanted to go find out, but it was in the opposite direction as Aven. I hoped it was fake and bolted in the direction Moray indicated. Around tents and wood piles and abandoned work, listening to every direction hissed in my ear.

  Another scream ripped through the air, this one a man’s, from ahead. A scream full of raw agony that sliced through me and made my feet stumble. A sob broke from me.

  “He’s alive. At least we know that,” Moray murmured.

  Another turn. Desperation laced every footstep, every breath.

  I stopped at the largest tent I had yet to see in the village. Twice the size of any other and towering. Nobody was in sight outside of it, but I knew better than to let my guard down because of that.

  I adjusted my grip on the knife.

  Another scream from Aven, and I closed my eyes against it. So close.

  Moray lifted into the air again. I’d never seen it so tense, rigid from head to toe, jaw clenched and eyes burning. “We need to go. Now.”

  “How many people does it take to remove a selkie’s skin?”

  “One, if they’re practiced.”

  “And if the selkie puts up the kind of fight Aven would?”

  “A dozen seems like a safe guess.”

  “So there could be anywhere from one to a dozen men in there to get through?” Moray nodded. My entire body felt numb all the way through, as if I’d stayed too long in cold ocean water. But I forced one foot forward. Then the other. Again. And I pushed through the entrance into the tent.

  A few flickering candles lined the room, causing shadow to fall over us. The area had been sectioned off with heavy curtains, blocking our view of anything but a few empty tables. I glanced to Moray, who was turned into a ghost of a shadow by the candlelight. It was tensed and radiating fury. I had a feeling I was about to see why Aven had warned me not to underestimate it.

  My palm felt too slick to hold the knife steady as I stepped to the curtains.

  Another scream—no, not a scream. A roar, like an angry, wounded animal. From outside, distant thunder boomed. The relief almost made me dizzy. Even now, he had plenty of strength for that.

  The sound knocked the numbness from me, replacing it with burning rage. I understood why they had taken me. I understood what I was here. But that they were doing this to him, to my friend who had saved me time and time again—I couldn’t forgive it. I couldn’t let it continue.

  I yanked the curtain back before I could stop myself, fingers so tight around the fabric I thought I might tear it
.

  The first thing I saw was Aven stretched across the ground in the center of the floor. His arms and legs were bound to four wooden stakes driven into the ground, holding though he pulled at them wildly. His shirt had been stripped, and the half-closed wounds from the sellye were the least of his visible injuries. Dark bruises peppered his fair skin, mingling with smeared blood. So much blood I couldn’t tell where it all came from. His back arched as another pained roar tore from his throat.

  The next was the man crouched beside him, dragging the edge of a blade carefully along Aven’s ribs. Fresh blood welled up along the wound and spilled across the dirt.

  Third was the gleaming, wicked point of a spear aimed at my throat by a second man standing guard.

  Wind tore at the outside of the tent, and the sound of it howling in my ears was all I heard.

  And then a soft, icy growl beside me. “Drop it.”

  The spear clattered to the ground, and the man’s eyes bulged in shock. He reeled back a step with a choking, sputtering noise, one hand at his chest. All I could do was watch, my eyes glued to him as his hand travelled to his throat, and then water trickled from the corners of his mouth.

  There was a flurry of motion as every other man in the room stopped and turned on us. I stepped back on instinct, glancing to Moray bobbing the air beside me. Its eyes never strayed from them. “Get Aven,” it ordered.

  I wasn’t about to disobey, not after that. I ran around the guard and skidded to the ground beside Aven. The candles blew out, drenching us in near-darkness, and I fumbled for one of his wrists. The room was filled with the sounds of choking and gagging. I tried not to listen.

  I found one wrist and pressed my knife to the rope around it, but Aven jerked away. My hands shook, my knife unsteady, and he struggled. “Aven, stop!” I was going to cut him like this. If he heard me, he gave no indication. “Aven!”

  I got a growl in response. “I’m going to get you out, alright? But you need to stop moving.”

  My blade slipped, and I felt warmth trickle through my fingers. I cursed under my breath, and Aven yanked away. “I’m sorry, Aven. I’m sorry. I’m trying.”