The Deepest Blue

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Tentatively, Mayara reached out with her mind.

  There were three leviathans.

  One felt cold, sluggish, as if its hate had frozen long ago.

  Another was like fire, ready to burn everything until it all disintegrated into ash.

  And the third was hollow, as empty as the eye of a tornado, with a stillness that could crush you and a void inside that could swallow you.

  She did not want to link her mind with theirs.

  If it was even possible.

  There had to be someone else who could do this. Heir Sorka. Any of the other heirs. Or other spirit sisters. But she and Roe were in the grove. And Roe was unreachable now, drawn into the minds of the spirits, waging a war in the sea above the grove.

  There’s no one else.

  She took a breath. And committed to the dive.

  Reaching out, she touched the first of the leviathans, the dragon. Let me be your queen. Choose me. Bond with me.

  She heard the dragon howl with rage. Or was it pain? She remembered what she’d felt when she first woke: pain, from the leviathans.

  You don’t have to feel this anymore, she told him. You don’t need to be alone.

  His voice was a whisper in her head: Die. It echoed through her body, making her bones shake within her and her heart thump unevenly. She wanted to curl back and withdraw her mind. But she thought of Queen Asana, lying wounded on the beach, telling them about the dreams of the Deepest Blue.

  I can help you dream again.

  I will remake the world, the dragon said. It will burn, and I will have my dream. You, little worm, have no place in this.

  You’re angry because you woke, and the world wasn’t what you wanted it to be.

  The world is not how it should be!

  She felt his cry, and she shuddered as the dragon hurled his body against the palace tower. She could see the city, partially through his eyes. Flames and water were everywhere. The tops of the towers were above the waves, but the streets were rivers. She saw humans clinging to whatever they could, and she saw the spirits of Belene fighting, lost in bloodlust, against the many-headed snake and the kraken.

  She touched all three of their minds.

  Go away, the kraken’s voice oozed, thick as lava. She sounded even older than the dragon, and Mayara could feel the coiled power within her.

  Interesting, the snake thought. We can hear her. Why can we hear her?

  Let me be your queen, Mayara thought at them. She pushed down every hint of doubt and fear, exactly as she did before a dangerous dive. She concentrated only on the three voices.

  You are not the queen, the snake said. There’s another. We felt her. We shunned her. She tried to order us away. We will not go. It’s our time to stay.

  It’s our time to kill, the kraken said.

  She’s in the grove, the snake said. That is why we hear her.

  Then we destroy the grove, the dragon said. He felt close, as if his breath was on her neck. She wanted to scream. But she didn’t.

  Instead she pushed again. Bond with me. You know it’s what you need. She thought back to what Roe had said long ago, about how the spirits needed queens at the same time as they hated them. Without queens, they would destroy and destroy until there was nothing left. It hurts you, doesn’t it? Destroying so much.

  We must destroy! the dragon said. His voice was a claw inside her mind. She flinched, her hands over her ears. But the voice was unblockable inside her.

  Why? she asked.

  Why? the kraken repeated.

  A rich question from the spawn of those who wrecked the world, the snake said. Eons ago, we made the world. Us and our brethren. We made it beautiful. And then your kind came—it was not your time. We were not finished. And so we want to begin again. It is only right.

  You can’t begin again, Mayara said. There’s no going back. We’re here. You can’t erase that.

  We can erase you, the kraken said. Remove you and your kind from the face of the world. And then . . . it will be as it was, as She intended it to be.

  You can’t bring her back, Mayara said. She died. Time moved on.

  The rage at those words . . . and the pain.

  You miss her, Mayara said. You’re lonely. You think if you do what she wanted you to do . . . You think if you live enough for her . . . it will hurt less. It will be like she didn’t die. You think you can go back to being who you were, but you can’t. There’s a hole in you now, and you’re trying to fill it by destroying us. But it won’t work.

  She felt them listening.

  It might help, the snake whispered.

  It won’t, she told him. I know. And she opened her mind to them, showing them her memories: her and Elorna. She remembered when she was little, watching her sister run around the house, ribbons flapping after her, laughing as she ran from Mother’s hairbrush. She remembered waking from a nightmare and going to Elorna, who would sit with her until dawn telling her stories. Elorna, whom she worshipped. Brave and beautiful and smart and funny, everything she aspired to be. She remembered how Elorna would scream and stomp sometimes when she didn’t get her way. How she’d climb out the window when she was forbidden to leave. She remembered how Elorna would laugh when the wind stole socks from the laundry line, and how she’d run full tilt along the edge of the cliff, as if it were impossible she’d ever fall. She remembered how Elorna had taught her to swim, how she would duck her head under the water. She remembered how they’d pretend to be spirits, wild and free in the waves, and how they’d both be scolded. She remembered the first time Elorna used her power and how afraid her parents had been—she’d called in a little spirit, and they’d giggled as they’d played with it in a tidal pool. It was the first time she’d seen Elorna scared, not of the spirits but of their parents. And it had only made Elorna worse. She would climb to the rooftops and be gone from lessons. She’d dive off anything. She’d hold her breath underwater so long while making Mayara count that Mayara would be crying in fear before Elorna popped up through the surface of the water.

  But she’d always pop up, laughing at Mayara for her fear.

  Until the day they took her, when all the running and laughing wasn’t enough.

  Mayara relived that day, seeing her mother collapse on the ground, seeing her father take his ax and hack the hull of his boat—the boat that Elorna had taken out when she had drawn the spirits. She’d been seen in the harbor with them, calling them to her.

  Elorna had made her promise not to use her power. Not to let anyone see. To do everything that she hadn’t done and everything she couldn’t do. To run on the cliffs. To dive off the rocks. To swim in the sea. But never to make her mistakes. To do it all alone.

  I didn’t want to be alone.

  She saw Elorna taken away by the Silent Ones.

  And I wasn’t.

  She showed them Kelo. He was by her side every day. Whenever Elorna ran off, he was there. He’d been her companion ever since she was a child. And after Elorna was gone, he filled that void.

  Except not fully.

  There was always an Elorna-shaped hole inside her.

  And there always will be. But I can still feel happiness and love.

  That had been her mother’s mistake. She had let the hole consume her and didn’t allow herself to feel happiness or love. Instead she cut herself off and never stopped feeling alone.

  The leviathans didn’t need to make that mistake. You can feel that again too. Even if you never lose the pain of loss. You can find joy. Like I did.

  The dragon clawed through her memories and found the one of Elorna taking off her Silent One mask. He held it as if it were a pearl, displaying it for her to see. But she lives! The Great Mother died. She can’t return. We are alone forever.

  Elorna has changed, Mayara thought. And maybe she wasn’t ever what I thought she was. Maybe she was scared too. Maybe that’s why she ran so fast and dived so deep, because she was trying not to be. The Elorna from my childhood, the one I idolized, is
gone. I have a new sister now, one that I barely know.

  She didn’t add how badly she wanted to know her.

  I do not understand, the kraken said. Your little lives have nothing to do with us.

  It has everything to do with you! Mayara said. Don’t you see? You’re me! Running along the cliff. Diving into the sea. Trying to flee what you’re afraid of. Trying to fill the hole inside of you!

  We do not fear, the kraken said. We are fear. We are Death.

  Mayara thought of the woman in ruffles, Lady Garnah, who had murdered Lanei without hesitation or remorse. And she thought of how she’d let her. She’d stopped Roe from pleading for an antidote and had stopped Garnah from reversing what she’d done. You’re not. You’re just like me.

  The ancient horrors hesitated.

  You need me, she told them. You are in pain. Like I was when I lost Elorna. You are alone. Like I am when I’m not with Kelo. Join with me, and I’ll soothe your pain. Join with me, and you won’t be alone anymore.

  She felt them—they were listening.

  “Roe, pull your spirits back,” Mayara said.

  “But they’re winning!”

  “Do you trust me?” Mayara asked.

  “Of course,” Roe said. Holding out her hand, she squeezed Mayara’s. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Mayara felt the spirits withdraw, pulling back from their attack. The three leviathans breathed, thinking, feeling, hating—but not attacking.

  You don’t want to be here, do you? Mayara whispered to the leviathans. You were happy in the Deepest Blue, asleep with your dreams.

  We know they’re dreams now, the snake said.

  So? You’ve fought, and you’ve destroyed. Are you happy now?

  We are not, the dragon said.

  Then dream again. But dream with me. So when you wake, whenever you want to wake, you won’t be alone. You’ll still have the hole and the pain from what you’ve lost and what has changed. But you’ll have new joy too.

  She fed them other memories: playing on the sands with Kelo, dancing with the villagers on the cliff, diving into the sea. Little moments. Little joys. She gave them images of the children of her village playing with one another and of the grandmothers clamming on the beach. She gave them singing and dancing and drumming. She gave them listening to stories.

  It’s not the same, I know, Mayara said. But maybe it can get better.

  Choose better.

  She felt them, thinking, feeling.

  And hoping.

  Yes, the dragon said.

  Yes. The kraken.

  Yes. The snake.

  And she felt their power rush into her, with their thoughts and memories, fears and pains, hopes and dreams. Without her issuing any command, the three leviathans withdrew from the city and swam deep out to sea.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kelo stepped out of his studio into the sunlight. He blocked the glare with one hand and squinted out at the sea. Silhouetted against the bluer-than-blue sky, he saw impossible myths: a dragon with wings that looked like a slice of night across the daytime blue, a kraken whose tentacles writhed against the horizon, and a many-headed snake. Torn between wonder and fear, he watched them shrink as they swam away from Belene and then vanish, leaving behind only the turquoise blue of the sea.

  “It’s over,” he said.

  He didn’t know how he felt saying those words. Over? What did that mean? He didn’t know what had happened in the capital, who was queen, if Mayara was still alive. . . . He knew “over” didn’t address all the rebuilding still to come, the loss of boats and nets and homes and lives, or the mourning that had just begun.

  Behind him, he heard shuffling. Queen Asana’s mother and father joined him by the cliff, looking out at the sparkling sea.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” the queen’s mother said. Her voice had an emptiness that hurt to hear. “No parent should outlive their child.”

  Kelo stood for another moment, watching the sun sparkle on the gentle waves. He wondered if the abalone shell he’d carved for the queen had survived. Probably not. Perhaps he could make another, to help ease that emptiness. If anything could. “I’d like you to meet my wife’s parents.”

  He picked his way down the path. Much of it was covered in rocks and branches. Chunks of houses had been tossed up as well—a bit of a roof, a door. Slowing, he helped the queen’s parents climb around a boat that had impaled the cliff. It stuck half out of the rocky sand, its mast broken and sails tattered.

  At last, they reached the storm-shelter caves. Villagers were beginning, slowly, to come outside, blink at the sun, and marvel at the fact that they were still alive.

  The village itself, at the base of the cliff, looked to have sustained less damage than it had experienced in the spirit storm—their village had been the target of that storm. In this disaster, Olaku had experienced only peripheral damage. Most of the spirits’ rage had been focused elsewhere.

  Not on Mayara. Please, let her have survived.

  It might be days, even weeks, before he heard word. She’d come home when she could, if she could, but given the damage in the harbor . . . It would be difficult to find a ship to sail her.

  And I don’t know if they’ll let her sail anywhere.

  She’d deserted the test. That was treason.

  Maybe she’ll be forgiven. She must have delivered the queen’s message—the leviathans had departed, and the storm had ended. All was well, wasn’t it?

  As the villagers poured out of the cave, Kelo located Mayara’s parents and then let Queen Asana’s parents introduce themselves as Horam and Pesana. He didn’t think those were their real names. “Horam and Pesana recently lost their daughter,” he told Mayara’s parents. “And their home. I was hoping they could stay with you until we’re able to fix up a house for them.”

  “We don’t know the condition of our home—” Mayara’s father began.

  “Yes,” Mayara’s mother said. “Of course you will stay with us, as long as you need.”

  Mayara’s father stared at her for a moment, then an almost-smile touched his lips. He caught Kelo’s eye. I was right to bring them, Kelo thought. Mayara’s father said, “As my wife said: yes, of course.” And he clasped their hands, welcoming them.

  Kelo moved away, searching the crowd for his own parents. He found them quickly—his mother with a bruise on her cheek, his father with a faint limp he hadn’t had before, both dirty, in clothes that were wrinkled and torn, like everyone else’s. But they were alive. He embraced them both at once.

  “Mayara?” his father asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kelo said. He looked out again to the sea. “But I have hope. And faith in her.”

  MAYARA LIFTED THE CROWN ONTO HER HEAD AND FELT LIKE A KID playing dress-up with their parents’ ceremonial clothes. Except this was worse, because the crown was worth more than every fish ever caught and sold by her village.

  “Do I have to wear this?” she asked Roe.

  “You’re Queen of the Deepest Blue.”

  “Yes, but it’s not like there’s ever been one before. Maybe the queen of the Deepest Blue doesn’t wear a crown.”

  Roe rolled her eyes. Her crown was made of delicate pearls of different shades. It had been her mother’s crown and had most likely been worn by generations of queens before her. It was lovely, Mayara thought, and without many pointy bits. Mayara’s crown was newly fashioned of too much gold, and its filigree twists poked at her scalp. “You just don’t want to be a queen,” Roe said. “No matter what the headgear.”

  “You know what it’s like to have three monsters crawling around in your mind?” Immediately, she added, “Sorry. Of course you do.” Roe, in fact, had hundreds of them in her mind. Just smaller and not quite as ancient.

  Death, the kraken whispered in her mind. Blood.

  Their dreams were filled with glorious destruction, tearing the world apart so that fire spewed from the sea floor and the ocean spilled over the land, a
nd then rebuilding it from the ashes—she didn’t know if they were dreaming of a time before humans or a hoped-for time after. But at least they were sleeping again.

  For now.

  Every few hours, one of the three would rise to the surface of her mind, and she’d have to persuade them again that today was not the day for them to destroy humanity.

  At least, though, they’re listening to me.

  Sometimes she had the suspicion that they were only waking to make sure she was still there. They’d lost the Great Mother, their creator. While she knew she was a poor substitute for a god, she was at least something. They’d been alone for a long time.

  You’re not alone anymore.

  She sent the thought, not knowing if they’d hear it, but their dreams shifted to swimming through great oceans of kelp, shafts of sunlight filtering through the green. Grateful for that, she pulled her mind back into her own body. It was an effort, even though she was bound to them—she couldn’t imagine how much it must have cost the queen of Belene to send her mind out so far without that bond.

  “All right. I’m ready. Let’s do this,” she said to Roe.

  “Lady Garnah, if you would be so kind . . .” Roe said, gesturing to the door.

  Garnah flashed them a smile. “I’m never kind. It’s one of my best features. But yes, I will tell the poor lambs it’s time for their slaughter.” Humming to herself, she crossed the throne room . . . or what was left of the throne room.

  There was very little that remained of the once-shimmering palace. Nearly all the towers had been reduced to rubble, and only the most sturdy of the interior still stood. A few rooms had been cleared out to serve as the queen’s chambers, and they’d converted one of them into the ad hoc throne room.

  The queens had called for representatives from each of the ruling Families, and indeed it was tradition for them to meet with the new queen after a coronation—a tradition that Lanei had eschewed. They’d also attend the funeral for the prior queen and lead memorials for the dead from their islands.