But now, as I returned to Fomoria without my baby...without my Merlin... the luster of the place was lost. I couldn't walk in with the same wonder I had before.
The city radiated with life...
But I was like a corpse...
Alive enough by appearance. But stone cold dead inside.
And now, the surge of adrenaline I'd experienced when attacked by that creature... that... whatever it was...
I was crashing.
Cleo was waiting for me at the gates.
Cleo was maybe ten or fifteen years older than me—she looked so much like Ariel from the Little Mermaid with her red hair the I had to resist the urge to burst into song. I knew all the Disney musical songs by heart. Cleo wouldn't get it, mainly because she'd never so much as seen a television, much less a movie.
"Joni," Cleo said. "I knew you'd be back. But I expected it would take longer..."
I shrugged. "I couldn't face Merlin's father. You wouldn't believe it, Cleo... leaving my baby... wrapped up with a note. It feels like I took a spoon to my chest and dug out my own heart... then fed it to the dogs."
Cleo opened her arms. I barely knew her—but the people you meet during the most challenging moments of life, those who take the extra effort to show that they care... people like that leave an indelible impression on someone's life. I trusted her.
I hugged her as I cried. My tears were whisked away by the water the moment they were shed.
"And that creature..." My voice trembled as I said it. Yes, I'd spoken to it. I'd sensed her pain. But she was what she was... probably the scariest creature I'd ever encountered, more intimidating than even a dragon, and she was, if nothing else, hungry.
"Come dear," Cleo said. Sure, she wasn't that much older than me, but she was a priestess. In mer culture, she was primarily a ceremonial figure. Conducted weddings. Funerals. Crowned monarchs. Even a few healing rituals. But for those who would hear it, she had a wealth of advice to offer. "I have plenty of space if you'd like to stay with me."
I nodded. "I'd like that very much."
Cleo lived in one of the lesser spires. The more splendid spires, which more closely resembled skyscrapers, extended to near the top at the center of the magical dome surrounding Fomoria. Most of the lesser spires, though, where the common merfolk lived, were near the underwater city's perimeter.
I wasn't as graceful as those who'd used tails their whole life. Still, I'd picked it up fairly quickly. I had a sigil on my hand—one in the shape of a trident—that contained a focused shape-shifting spell. It's what gave me a tail or legs again if I needed them. All I needed to do was use it to find a magical source—any kind of magic would do—and channel it into the sigil.
I flipped my tail and followed Cleo into her tiny home. A mermaid's version of a studio apartment. Cleo had never been married. I didn't know the whole story—but apparently, she'd been engaged when she was around my age. Her husband-to-be was killed in battle. She didn't talk about it much when we met before—that's about all I knew about it—but it explained why she became a priestess. As she'd put it, she'd already known the love of her life. To try and love another... she'd never been able to give her heart to a new merman completely. It wouldn't be fair to him. So, she took her vow, devoting her heart to the service of the common-folk instead.
"So you encountered a wyrm?" Cleo asked.
I shrugged. "If that's what you call it... but I could sense its feelings, its thoughts. They aren't trying to kill us or anyone. They are afraid. The one I saw, she was a mother, too. And she'd lost her baby..."
"Are you sure about this?" Cleo asked.
I nodded.
Cleo reached into a small chest and retrieved two bottles. They were sealed by seaweed, stretched over the top. Cleo jabbed a straw through the seal and into the drink. She did the same with the second bottle. That's the thing about consuming beverages underwater. You need to contain it, somehow. Open glasses don't work so well when you're under the sea. She handed me mine. I took a sip—it tasted a little like a dirty martini. But there was also a bite to it, something like ginger. Not exactly the most refreshing thing I'd ever sampled.
"Is there alcohol in this?" I asked.
"A little," Cleo said, grinning.
"Damn," I said.
"I'm sorry. I should have asked. Do you not drink?"
I laughed. "No, I was hoping it would be more than a little."
"It tastes stronger than it is," Cleo laughed. "You know, Joni. It's courageous what you did."
"Not like I had a choice. I mean, it was either fight or be eaten."
"I'm not talking about the wyrm. I'm talking about what you did before that... when you gave Merlin to his father."
I huffed. "I'm not sure bravery had much to do with it. More like fear. This... influence... these instincts that rage inside my soul, ripping me apart into shreds... like Freddy Krueger in a silk factory."
Cleo shook her head. Apparently, the Nightmare on Elm Street reference was lost on her. You don't think about how much television... film... the Internet impacts life until you spend a little time with people untouched by technology. Still, even if she hadn't seen any of what felt like thirty or more Freddy movies, I was pretty sure she got the gist of it.
"It's still brave," Cleo said. "A good mother will accept any cost if she knows it's what's best for her child."
I sighed. "I knew it would hurt... but not like this... there was already something missing inside of me, something of my humanity. And now, there's an even bigger void—just an emptiness. And I'm afraid it's not going to be what's left of my humanity that fills it. The dragon's rage will take over... I'll become even more of a monster."
Cleo grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "I understand you have a hole inside of you. But, perhaps, it's not a vacuum that should ever be filled. It's supposed to hurt, Joni."
I snorted. "Not exactly comforting. I don't know how long I can live with this feeling."
Cleo pressed her lips together. "What you feel isn't only loss, you know."
I shook my head. "Then what else could it be?"
"It's love. If it wasn't for love, the loss wouldn't hurt. Remember, when the pain overwhelms, when it seems like you can't make it through another day... it comes from love. And love is worth aching for."
I ran my fingers through my hair as it flowed around me in the water. I'd always had issues with flyaways. Nothing a good conditioner and a high-quality oil couldn't help. But floataways were another problem altogether. "Love sucks," I said through a sigh.
Cleo laughed. "Love hurts. But it doesn't suck."
I pressed my lips together. "What do you think they're going to do about the wyrm? The mother, the one that tried to eat me... she felt the same loss in her heart..."
Cleo sighed. "King Conand only knows one way to deal with a threat like this."
"He'll attack it..."
Cleo nodded. "It's his nature. It's all of ours, really. To attack the things that frighten us the most. It's a lot easier to kill, to fight, than it is to try and understand something so different than oneself."
I tucked my hair behind my ears. "That's the reason most wars are fought, I'd say. It's easier to kill. Easier to discount a threat as evil, as the enemy, than to try and see the world from the other side's perspective."
Cleo folded her hands together and held them at her waist. "But there is a time, nonetheless, when the innocent must be defended. When the kingdom must be protected. The question is, where does one draw the line?"
I raised my eyebrows. "Between when we must fight to protect the innocent, and when we are better off opening our ear to those we think are our enemies?"
Cleo shook her head. "We must always open our ears to our enemies. Even if it is in the midst of battle, we are protecting what we hold dear. The line that must be drawn is between when we are truly fighting to protect the innocent, and when we are fighting for something else..."
"For power?" I asked.
Cleo tilted her
head. "Definitely one reason why many kings go to war. To expand their power. Others fight out of hate, to eliminate something they despise. And still more, many take up arms for glory. Or out of habit, even."
I fluttered my tail a little. "Out of habit?"
"Many of our men have grown up trained to be warriors,' Cleo explained. "Trained to respond in one way to any threat—to defeat it. Going to battle can be as much a habit as anything else. When that's all you've ever known, the only way you've ever learned to respond to something you don't understand... it's a tough habit to break."
"And in this case, what is it that motivates the Merking?"
"All of the above," Cleo said. "He desires power. He despises what he doesn't understand—humanity, the wyrm, you name it—and more than that, for him, war is a habit, an addiction, even."
I sighed. "Can the king be convinced otherwise?"
Cleo shook her head. "Not by words. But Admiral Agwe has his ear. Of course, the admiral isn't just a merman..."
I chuckled. "Then what else is he?"
Cleo cocked her head. "You're a siphon, Joni. You draw on the magic of others. Haven't you sensed it, yourself? It's a kind of magic, you know... a sort you've encountered before. Maybe not something you can siphon. But it's magic you should recognize."
I furrowed my brow. Yes, I'd told Cleo most of my story. How a caplata, a voodoo priestess, came back from the grave and attacked our family... an attack that left my mother in a coma for years. I'd barely gotten her back, in fact, before all this happened... before I had to go. But momma was one of us. She was even more Fomorian than me. Perhaps, she'd join me here in time. Until then, she was there for Merlin. The only connection he'd have to me... until I was in a better place until I could be in his life again. I'd told Cleo about Elijah—the druid whom I loved, the father of our child. I told her of all the incredible things he'd done so that we could be a family. He was working to make the world a better place. Not just for humanity generally but for our child. And she knew how, when he was in trouble, my effort to save him got me trapped between dimensions, how I had to draw on a dragon's magic to escape the in-between... and what it had done to me.
"I don't understand," I said. "I mean, I suppose there's something about Agwe that's different. But with all the magic in this place, there's so much I could draw from, so much I could feel, that it never occurred to me to focus on the magic inside of him."
Cleo nodded. "He's a Loa, Joni."
My heart sank into my stomach. The Loa... the demigods revered in Voodoo... it was a Loa whom the caplata who attacked my family had summoned before. "Are you... sure?"
Cleo raised her hand and extended her index finger. "But don't allow your prejudices or your experiences with the Loa before taint your perspective of Agwe. He is good and noble. He means well..."
I shook my head. "If he's a demigod, if he's a Loa, then why is he serving under the Merking? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"
Cleo raised her eyebrows. "One would think. But Agwe's purpose has never been to rule. He's here for other reasons."
I shrugged. "And those reasons are?"
Cleo smiled wide. "Perhaps you should ask him? And you should tell him what you know. What you've sensed from the wyrm. If anyone can stay the king's hand, it's him."
3
SLEEPING IN FOMORIA is a bit different. They don't have beds. I mean, being underwater, you don't strictly require a standard mattress. Gravity isn't completely absent in water—but I'll say this: there's a reason astronauts train for zero-gravity in pools.
I'm not exactly sure how astronauts sleep, though. I never thought to Google it.
Fomorians had little nets, almost like hammocks. You'd pull them over your body and tie yourself in. The whole point was to prevent yourself from floating around.
I've had issues sleep walking before. But sleep floating... well... I was sure that could lead to any number of embarrassing or dangerous situations.
Falling asleep underwater is actually reasonably easy. Most of the aches or pains that keep someone awake at night are exacerbated by gravity.
That didn’t mean I wouldn’t feel pain. The soreness hadn't settled in yet. Not like it did last time. Using a tail to swim exercises your core in ways walking doesn't. Since all this was still new to me, and I was challenging muscles I wasn't accustomed to using, I was sure the delayed onset muscle pangs would come eventually. For now, my muscles were exhausted.
It didn't take me long to fall asleep.
And then... the nightmare.
The same damn nightmare I'd had ever since...
I was back in the cave. It wasn't actually a cave. It was the in-between, a place where people went if they ever traversed the fabric of space and time and attempted to enter a place where their soul already was. Do that, and something about the cosmos rejects you and leaves you somewhere in-between. And it was like a cave. Endless tunnels. Pitch black.
Except for him... the ancient Fomorian king who'd been trapped there with me...
The ancient Fomorians weren't the most attractive creatures. Not like the merfolk they'd evolved into, not through natural selection but as they'd developed better shapeshifting abilities.
Since he was a Fomorian, though, I was able to draw a little magic from him. Just enough to illuminate my wand and make my way through the cave...
"Hello, Miss Joni," Balor said.
I scratched my head. "This damn nightmare again. It feels so real."
Balor shrugged as he put his massive hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. "What is real?"
I knew I was dreaming. Balor's overly philosophical question was a product of my own mind. But when you're dreaming, the fact that you're dreaming isn't usually something you think about. Until later, when you wake up wondering why you were so foolish to think the experience was real.
This was different. I knew I was dreaming, and I realized it. But that didn't give me any mastery over what was happening.
Not like Neo in The Matrix. Red pill, blue pill. Didn't matter. Realizing the truth didn't give me any magical abilities that I didn't already possess.
"This feels real," I said. "Probably because it was so traumatic. I can't shake these memories."
Balor rested his massive hand on the side of my arm, his single eye looking back at me empathetically. "The dragon keeps the memory alive. The dragon never forgets."
I nodded. That made sense. I figured that the dragon had something to do with it. This cave was where I met the dragon... Balor had tried to prevent me from doing it. But I needed the dragon's power. The ability to forge gates. It was the only way we could escape.
But it came with a cost... and a part of the dragon was still inside of me.
"Balor need the Wyrmriders," he said, referring to himself in the third person.
I cocked my head. This was a different spin on the dream. When I met him, Balor had said that he knew me because he'd met me before. He'd told me I was a Wyrmrider... it's why he recognized me. It's why he believed I could command the dragon to open a gate to help us escape.
What he didn't realize was, at that very moment, I was about to siphon the very ability that would allow me to speak to dragons or wyrm... that at the time, I didn't have a clue what I was doing.
But why did I imagine that this ancient king thought he needed the Wyrmriders? I was just a girl, a momma in mourning... not the sort of hero Balor had said when I first met him in the cave I was supposed to be.
But it made sense, especially now, that I'd be reliving this nightmare.
I saw myself, as before, wandering the caves with Balor at my side.
I put my hand instinctively on my womb.
Yes, I was still pregnant... when I was in the cave...
Not much longer.
I heard the dragon's snore.
I smelled the feces. The dragon had been here so long that massive piles of dung littered the chamber where it was hidden.
Why was it there? Because it wasn't a
dragon... not originally... it was a man who'd been cursed as a dragon. And I don't think he knew how to wield the power he'd been given.
But I was a siphon. When I absorbed the power, when I took the curse, I amplified the power.
It was our way out...
I felt it again, even as I had at the moment. My bones cracking... my skin hardening... my womb contorting...
Dragons lay eggs. They don't give birth to live young...
Whatever womb I acquired when I became a dragon convulsed the moment I'd shifted... my baby was born in this cave, in this abyss...
He was born a dragon.
A problem to solve later.
At the moment, I had the ability to forge a gate. We escaped...
Didn't go back home. Not at first.
Getting home was an adventure of its own.
But this was the moment that changed me.
For most mothers, giving birth is a new beginning. For me, it was as much a goodbye as it was a hello...
That fateful decision, to siphon the dragon's magic. It saved us. But it also damned us... my son and me, anyway... from being what we should have become.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I thought it was a part of my dream, but the sound startled me from my sleep.
Two more loud thuds on Cleo's door. It tickled my back. Loud noises underwater hit you differently than they do on land. The sound is a bit muffled, but you feel the sound waves more.
I giggled a little. Miss Cleo was a psychic who used to run awful infomercials on television when I was a kid. For a small fortune, Miss Cleo would tell you your fortune. Another reference that would be lost on the merfolk—but I found it amusing.
"Come in, Titus," Cleo said.
Titus was probably the most intimidating merman I'd met. Think Conan the Barbarian meets Andre the Giant—and then give him a tail. Even his tail bulged with muscles giving it an odd shape compared to my relatively more graceful tail. Don't get me wrong. I loved my legs. One of my better assets, when I'm in human shape. That and my born and bred southern charm. But my tail, so far as tails go, wasn't bad. Not that I had a good metric for judging what made for a sexy tail or not, but I liked the one that my legs became.
Gates of Eden: Starter Library Page 29
