by Sharon Lee
“This was, you understand, Turtle’s advice, saving only that Turtle advised a true and complete merging. Such a merging may endure”—a flash of red-lit eyes toward Peggy—“quite a number of years. Borgan accepted that he and the sea must fully merge; her grief was such that there was no other way for him to show her what her pain cost those who are at her mercy, and to alter her course toward reason.”
A breath, and Nerazi pulled the blanket close around her shoulders.
“I agreed to be his anchor, and we repaired to…to a place of particular benevolence. The waters there were touched with the sea’s grief, though more lightly than elsewhere. I wrapped Borgan in my care; he opened himself to the sea’s influence…”
She took a hard breath, and I saw the tears start again.
“She snatched at him, the place we were…the water boiled with her frenzy. I held, she increased her pull upon him. I clasped him tighter…”
“And she struck me, Kate,” Nerazi whispered. “Full across the soul. The sea, my mother and my sister…she struck me…and I lost him.”
“When?” I heard myself ask. “When did this happen, Nerazi? Just now?”
She shook her head.
“The blow was…it stunned me, and I was parted from my senses for what I believe to be three days.”
Three days merged with a desperate and violent sea, with nothing to hold him to…to…the land.
I raised my hand and touched the bead in my braid.
Nerazi drew a sharp breath.
“Tell me,” I said again.
“I know only that he said he had cached some small bit of his power…elsewhere. That was everything he said.”
And if he had cached a small bit of his power…elsewhere, that meant he could not be fully merged with the sea.
Which, in turn, meant that, maybe, he could be released.
Hope hurt a lot more than despair. I caught my breath on something that sounded horribly like a sob.
“I’ll go to him,” I said, watching Nerazi’s face. “Should I leave—”
“Take it,” she interrupted. “It is better to have options, and it is nearly invisible to my eye, and she is all but blind with grief.”
I nodded. “I’ll need directions.”
“Kate!” Cael stepped forward, flanked by Oscar and Breccia. “You have duties and folk to care for. Will you go into danger, unprotected, with neither plan nor shield?”
I looked at him.
“You’re right. I do need to make sure that attention to my duties does not lapse, and that the folk under my care suffer no lack of care.”
I offered my proposition to the land, which agreed, reluctantly, but without reservation.
“Felsic,” I said.
“Kate?” She sounded startled—who could blame her?—but she stepped up and put her hand on my shoulder.
“What’s to do?”
“You’ve been listening close to all of this, and you know the stakes. The trenvay and the land need the sea. If we don’t somehow fix this mess, and soon, we’ll suffer along with the seafolk. Like I just said—and Nerazi agrees that it’s the only way, or she wouldn’t be shy about telling me stand back… Like I said, I’m going there, under the sea, to try to pull this out.”
I grinned, feeling suddenly…buoyant. Centered.
“You know and I know,” I said to Felsic, “that it’s not impossible that I’ll be dead in the next couple hours. Cael’s right; I can’t leave the Beach without a Guardian. Not now. Not with everything that’s going on.
“So…I’m asking you to stand as my heir. If I die, you step into my job and keep everything from going to hell. The land agrees, and will accept you as Guardian.” I took a breath, holding her eyes with mine.
“Do you agree?”
Her eyes widened, bright and fearful, and I braced myself for a refusal.
She nodded.
The land played a quick cha-cha-cha! inside my head. I smiled at Felsic.
“One more formality,” I said. “Bear with me.”
I didn’t know how to do this, not really. But I’d once seen Grandfather Aeronymous transfer a tithe of his power to a new-made paladin of the House. Not precisely the kind of thing we did here in the Changing Land, but it would have to do.
I leaned forward and kissed Felsic on the lips. A flicker of green fire passed from me to her.
She sighed, and I did. We stepped apart.
I looked to Nerazi.
“Kate,” Cael said again. “Have me by you.”
“Of course,” I said. “I trust you to be my anchor.”
Relief passed over his face, and he bowed.
“Kate.” That was Peggy. I turned to face her.
“Sorry, Jersey.” Meaning that even a Sighted person shouldn’t have had to witness all that had just passed.
Peggy waved a hand.
“Sorry for what? You do what you’ve gotta do. But if you die doing it, Archer, I will personally kill you. Got it?”
She surprised a laugh out of me.
“Got it.” I looked around at the rest of them, and said, “I solemnly swear that I will do my very best to get back here alive.” The land gave the sentence a little jolt of truth, and I saw grim faces relax, a little.
Good.
I extended my hands, one to Nerazi and one to Cael; felt each grip me in turn. I thought about Nerazi’s rock, fixed the location in my mind, and took one step forward.
…
The night sky stretched overhead, a glorious blanket of stars unreflected in the dark waters of the sea.
Still holding hands, the three of us walked to the water’s edge. I paused there, allowing the sea king’s power to rise into me.
When I was ready, I murmured, “Cael,” and felt his serviceable jikinap rope tighten around my waist.
“My lady,” he murmured, and loosed my hand.
I looked to Nerazi.
“Directions?” I suggested.
“Yes,” she said. I shuddered as the information struck and was absorbed by my jikinap.
“Be careful, Kate,” Nerazi said, and she, too, loosed my hand.
I closed my eyes, called Nerazi’s directions to the front of my mind, took one step forward…
I heard a boom, like wave striking rock.
And the world disappeared.
* * * * *
She entered waters heavy with age, power silking the ponderous current. Such waters might contain the wisdom of the ancestors. Once, such waters might have healed the most desperate of spirits.
But no longer. Anger tainted the waters; roiled the silken currents. It was not so grief-struck nor as angry as the waters near the goblins’ residence. Not yet.
Not yet.
Though—she feared it—soon.
Within those wise and angry waters, there the Borgan lay, his will breached, and his power bleeding away. He was beautiful in his doom; clad in white leather, and his braid coiled on his breast, like a funeral wreathe, the little charms and amulets sparkling with their small stores of power.
She came to his side, and gazed down upon his face. There was some sign of struggle written there—drawn brows, and a deep frown. He fought the sea’s dominion, even as the sea strove to absorb him into herself. She could see—so clearly in these admirable waters!—she could see his soul beset, and the ocean battering at the walls of his integrity. He was fighting, the Borgan; fighting the force of his sea’s desperate grief and love.
Fighting.
And losing.
Ah, now, the question came.
What ought she to do, with the god of this sea imperiled?
She stroked his face, and felt her heart swell. The two of them…perhaps they might win the battle the Borgan had joined, and bring the sea back to its former sweet balance.
However, that plan…had always been complex—a compromise made from respect of the sea’s immense tenderness for the Borgan.
The sea’s love was not so tender, now. And its need, with the gobl
ins lost to her, was very much greater.
She kissed the frowning lips, considering the options open to her. Best, she had always thought, to maintain a single focus for the powers of a sea. Best, perhaps and after all, to return to her original plan.
The geas…was broken; the author of the geas under siege. She need fear no sudden importunate returns to Cheobaug.
She need only allow the sea to have its way with the Borgan. When that process was complete—then would she float forward and propose herself.
Or, she might consume him now, and declare herself immediately. She was strong, he was weak—and growing weaker. Soon, there would be no more possibility of his resisting her as there was of his ultimately resisting the sea.
To consume him, and mix his power, with all its knowledge of this sea, with her own—that was tempting. He would be, she thought, a feast, and she would savor him as he deserved.
But, no, she decided reluctantly.
No. She dared not risk that course, given what had gone before. She would allow the sea its melding; the feast properly belonged to the waters.
However, as she was present at the table, there was no need to deny herself a taste.
She touched the coiled braid, tenderly straightening it, and ran her hand down the length, slowly, sensuously. The Borgan, caught in the sea’s enchantment, moaned softly, stern lips softening in pleasure. In that tiny moment of distraction, she saw a bit of his will break off from the citadel around his soul, and drift off into the waters.
She smiled, and caught the braid again. This time, she ran her hand down its length hard and fast, stripping away all the little charms.
A cry, this time, as he felt the loss even in the depths of his struggle—and another bit of his will floated away.
She surveyed the captured bounty in her palm. He had stored more among the little charms than she had expected, ceding her, if not a feast, then a very satisfying dinner, indeed.
Lips pursed in anticipation, she lifted up one of the captured charms—and absorbed the flow of its power.
* * * * *
I slid into the water like it was a silk robe. It was remarkably clear water, not the murk I’d had to deal with when I went in beyond the breakers, days ago. The general feeling was of age, and peace, and power. You could lie down in these waters a monster of depravity, and rise up as pure as a newborn star.
And there, scarcely an arm’s length away, was Borgan, his white leathers gleaming, his braid floating free—and unadorned.
“If you arrive to unbind him,” a sweet, high voice said, “you arrive too late.”
Apparently, the waters here weren’t as clear as I’d initially thought. I had to bring real effort to bear, to see the woman at Borgan’s side; her long black hair moving lazily in the ancient current; her slim figure wrapped in the simplest and softest of creamy robes.
She smiled at me, and it was as if I had looked directly into the eyes of the sun.
I averted my gaze, so as not to be blinded, but before I did, I saw her raise something to her lips, like a piece of candy, and saw the tiny flash of power consumed.
“I thought you’d be home in Cheobaug by now,” I said, bringing my best attention to Borgan’s situation.
“There is a disturbance; the Wind Between the Worlds has become unbalanced. The geas broke inside the storm, my will was insufficient to bring me to Cheobaug—and thus I return here. It is fortunate, is it not?”
I raised my eyes in time to see her consume another bit of candy.
“Fortunate, how?” I asked. “Unless you’re going to help me get Borgan out of this.”
This was a complex series of bindings. Picture a kracken holding Borgan in its mighty tentacles, applying slow, even pressure. Eventually, Borgan would open; his power, his will and his soul would flow out and he would become one with the sea.
At the moment, his soul was still bright, his defenses battered, but holding. The price of that…was his power, which was bleeding out into the ancient waters at an alarming rate. I wasn’t sure what the reasoning was, there, unless there was a threshold of diminishing returns involved. If that was the case, how much power did he have to lose before he went below the sea’s radar?
Best not to wait around to find that out.
“You come on a useless errand,” the woman from Cheobaug told me. I looked up at her. She was still eating candy. “The sea will prevail. He will be one with her, and I shall be goddess in his stead.”
“This is the Changing Land. We don’t have much truck with goddesses here. Also…if what you did to the ronstibles is an example of your work, I think we’re better off going with the incumbent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to concentrate.”
* * * * *
The Borgan’s power, which had been stored in the small amulets, was sweet, and unexpectedly potent. Strange passions ran in her veins, altering the flow of her blood, mingling with the power she had absorbed from the treacherous waters wherein he had imprisoned her. Strange passions, indeed, and, even stranger, a sense of restraint.
Her intention had been to embrace the interloper who strove to free the Borgan from his fate; she was rich in power—surprisingly old power, or so it seemed to her questing senses. Such would be useful to her…
But, her hand was stayed, her will diverted, her intention floating away on a current she did not fully understand.
The interloper was the Borgan’s lover—so much she knew from his power that she had eaten. There was no need to harm the Borgan’s lover; after all, she would soon know grief enough.
It was a young creature, the Borgan’s mistress, strong in power; her soul fierce and brilliant in these kindly waters.
She had entered her task with a will, snapping the sea’s bindings, seeming to care not for the increased loss of the Borgan’s power. Perhaps she did not see it, flowing away upon the waters. Perhaps she did not know that he might die, if he lost too much. The Borgan was old, and his power was his life-force.
Also, the determined young mistress did not seem to notice that these deep and placid waters were beginning to warm, and, somewhat, to roil. Anger was rising in the currents—and yet she worked on, oblivious to her danger.
Well, there was no reason for her to remain, to take the brunt of the sea’s anger. She might easily return to the goblins’ house and wait inside the deep grotto until the currents brought her news of the Borgan’s consumption.
Retreat, indeed, was the course of wisdom. Despite which, she remained, watching the young lover work, feeling the sea’s anger rise and the bitter taste of guilt upon her tongue.
* * * * *
The sea was getting mad. Check that. The sea was getting madder.
I tried to ignore the unsettled sensation in the waters and the bubbles boiling up from the deep, and kept chopping away at the kracken’s tentacles.
Each tentacle I broke meant more of Borgan’s energy left him. I tried to ignore that, too. There was only one connection that I had to be sure not to break—the brilliant blue rope that bound Borgan’s soul to the sea.
It wasn’t easy work; the tentacles were tough; they resisted the bite of my will, and, if I didn’t strike hard enough for a clean cut—they grew together again, tougher than ever.
Around me the water was heating fast; it was getting downright choppy. I narrowed my concentration and plied my will like shears, the same technique I’d used to free Aleun and Tioli from their bindings.
“The sea is becoming angry,” the woman from Cheobaug said.
“At this point, I’ve got no sympathy for the sea.”
“If she grows angry enough, the sea will kill you. You are nothing to her, but an inconvenience and an irritant. Allow me…” She stopped.
I spared her a half glance. Three more biggish bindings to go. She—the woman from Cheobaug—was frozen in place, staring at Borgan’s face, her fingers pressed to her lips.
“I will create a diversion,” she said slowly, as if she wasn’t quite sure what the
words meant.
“I’d appreciate it,” I said softly, suddenly understanding what was going on.
She’d taken some of Borgan’s power—taken it, like I’d taken Prince Aesgyr’s power, though it had been too much and too hot for me. Unless I missed my guess, the lady from Cheobaug was finding herself suddenly very concerned with caring for the sea, calming the grieving waters.
…and giving Borgan a chance to get gone.
Well, she wasn’t my problem. My problem was chopping the last three of the kracken’s tentacles and getting the hell out of here.
I managed one, though it took two strikes—couldn’t handle too many more of those; my power was blunting, like I was using physical shears, and I had no idea how to sharpen it, except to bring more of my will to bear.
The next time I had leisure to look up, with one tentacle left to break, the woman from Cheobaug was gone.
* * * * *
It was true that not even a goddess may hide from a sea, and she did not wish to hide. Still, she chose her place carefully: the goblins’ abode, which had been theirs since the sea had spawned them. There, supported by waters still bearing something of their taint, she rested for a moment.
She had brought this trouble into the sea—she knew that. And having brought trouble to the sea, it fell to her to bring relief. She was a goddess; it was hers to heal, to comfort, and to bring order out of chaos.
There among the waters, she smiled. The Borgan was a subtle man. Perhaps she could have loved him, if…
No, let it be, for this moment, perhaps the last of her own existence— Let it be that she did love him, that she had loved him for all of her life, and that the influence of his power was no more than that which she herself had always desired.
She opened herself to the waters.
I offer myself willingly, to serve the sea and mingle with the waters. I bring myself, who loves you and wishes nothing else but to serve you as a child serves her mother. I bring also those whom I have in my ignorance consumed. They can be yours again, through me, and our love will never fail you…
