by Starla Night
Bex nodded shyly.
Dannika helped her tidy, then clambered in the hammock. The routine and noise of the women putting their children to bed elsewhere on the island faded away. The stars spackled overhead, and a breeze flushed away the stinging insects.
She pressed the cracked Sea Opal to her chest.
This was wrong. Ciran should be here. She should have been stronger.
Sending him away was just like when she’d sent off Eliot. She’d made a mistake. She should have gone with him.
But then he might have died in front of you. Because of you.
Now he might die out of sight. She might never see him again.
Her bones ached and the anxiety lifted her out of the hammock, forcing her to toss and turn.
She’d made a mistake. She knew she’d made a mistake.
But it was too late.
It was far, far too late.
They warriors swam in standard V-formation with Konomelu in the lead. He and Itime had sheathed old daggers to their biceps and thighs. Chipped tridents rested in the crooks of their arms.
Ciran carried a shiny new trident. Lieutenant Orike’s was well-balanced and finely wrought, with the points twisted into tentacles. It was not what he would have chosen—his trident was solid, plain, and forthright—but it was much better than the human crowbar or a coral trainee’s dagger.
This would have been a perfect test for the women and their budding powers.
Dannika. Have faith. I am strong enough to be your warrior. When I successfully return, please, please finally believe.
His heart beat akimbo.
He forced his mind clear.
Unlike the tumultuous trip to the island, the sea life no longer agitated their currents. Squids rilled past him peacefully. Sharks emitted their warning sirens with territorial swagger and faded away as the warriors passed out of their territory again. The off-tune yodeling of far-away giant cave guardians, utterly absent from around the island, marked their distance.
“Two more songs,” Itime vibrated for Ciran’s benefit. “Then we will drop beneath the echo point. That is where the current patrols like to hide and ambush unwary travelers.”
They passed two more giant cave guardians, which the humans called giant octopi. In surface time, each giant cave guardian lived a day’s swim apart, but under the water, time had little meaning. Unlike the circadian dictates of the surface, Ciran could swim for weeks without food or rest. There was only current, fish, and ocean.
His strength flagged and flourished on a rhythm. Was Dannika thinking of him? I feel you. I believe in you. I am healed. You too can heal.
Konomelu dove, and he and Itime followed. They entered a slower current and coasted to the vortex that carried vibrations across the oceans. Konomelu suddenly veered into a reverse current and held up a hand.
They both joined him. Ciran readied his trident.
“…come here? … attack…exiles will not pass. Undine thinks…do…Atlantis…”
Five or six voices sounded too close.
Itime drew his thumb across his throat. Luscans.
Konomelu nodded and tapped his index and thumb together five times, hesitated, and another five times. Two patrols of five.
This was an ambush.
Curse it.
Ciran’s attempt to get Lieutenant Orike to brag into the echo point about having beached him had backfired. He might slip past one patrol, but as soon as he spoke a word, they would hear and capture him. Two patrols? He would never reach the echo point.
Konomelu raised his fist at the echo point—silently insulting the patrols with an obscene gesture—and then kicked into a fast current flowing away from the echo point.
When they were at a safer distance, he vibrated his change of plan. “We cannot reach the echo point. The queens must make their powers first. We will take the elixir to Angie and Meg, train them in the lagoon until they have the same force as Bex and Dannika, and then we will conquer the echo point.”
“Agreed,” Itime vibrated. “Ciran?”
They could descend for the elixir or they could return early to the island. Five surface days would have passed by now. If Dannika had been practicing, she might have overcome her doubts.
I can’t risk you.
If he was wrong, then they would have wasted more days. The patrol might return in full force and block their escape.
It felt like the wrong answer, but it also felt like the only answer he could give. “Agreed.”
The trio descended to the barren, rocky seafloor. Great spires thrust upward amid mountain ranges and vents. Schools of fish and flashes of coral showed that they were closing on a mer city.
A giant ray lifted off and ruffled its wings like a whooshing ghost. It followed the warriors for too long before flying off on its own deep, melodious flight.
Konomelu held up his hand.
They kicked to a stop.
Juvenile squids fled big-mouth predators and swarmed silver prey.
Ciran couldn’t hear anything.
Itime shook his head.
Konomelu frowned and continued cautiously over the rise.
Beneath, the tail of the wreck embedded in the seafloor.
Finally!
The tail had separated near the surface. The body must be close.
They fanned out, leaving sight distance between them. Itime winked in and out from the passing squids.
Konomelu pointed up.
Above them, on a tall spire, the main wreck teetered.
The tube was mangled. All windows had broken or fallen out. Something wedged the door closed, and debris filled the middle aisle.
Konomelu drifted above the wreck as a lookout.
Ciran wedged Lieutenant Orike’s trident in the gap and forced the door open.
Metal shrieked.
Konomelu’s eyes widened. Itime grimaced.
Ciran pushed and squeezed inside.
“Where is the elixir?” Itime vibrated quietly.
“It was in the lower compartment.” Ciran sifted through the wreckage. Dannika’s folders were strewn lifelessly across the mangled seats. Her pen balanced on the broken table as though she would lean over and take notes.
She had been so much brighter then. Bright and confident, and he had known she was ready to heal. Ready to embrace a new life. Ready to accept her second chance at true happiness.
That memory, like the plane, was now a hollow wreck.
“It has taken too long to find this.” Itime peered through the holes. “I do not see a lower compartment. Has it sheared off?”
Ciran gathered the folders. A massive crab side-stepped from a dark corner. Ciran jumped. The crab clacked its claws, then crawled out the window and disappeared.
Where was the elixir?
Ciran pushed over the broken seat. The pen drifted down and bounce off a cracked, empty plastic bottle.
Uh oh.
He waved off the dust. A case of cracked bottles greeted him with jagged, empty smiles.
Heaviness filled his limbs. “I found it.”
Itime flew beside him. “Where? Oh.”
“The elixir has leaked out.”
Itime studied the broken plastic, impassive.
They had risked so much, searched so long, pinned so many hopes on this moment.
For nothing.
“Every crab outgrows its shell,” Itime murmured.
“Hm?”
“Sanctuary. It has sheltered us, but now it is our trap.” Itime lifted the bottles one by one, seeking any shining droplets in the bottom. “I enjoyed seeing Meg in the ocean, joyful and fierce, as she was when we met. To think that she must retreat once more hurts my soul.”
“Meg does not have to retreat. She made her power. You know, I do not think she is weaker than the others. Her powers are different. She is not a warrior, but my injury is almost healed, and no weak queen would summon a bull shark to her side.”
“But she cannot shield herself or push enemies aw
ay. She is too vulnerable to battle at my side.”
There, he was right.
But Ciran was from Undine, wasn’t he? He kicked to the door. “This is a problem they trained me to overcome. How far are we from Lusca?”
“About a day.” Itime kicked after him. “Why?”
“We should go there first, review the security, and gather information.” Ciran squeezed out the plane door. “I will form a complete strategy for how to take over Lusca.”
“Take over Lusca?” Lieutenant Orike’s sharp voice repeated. “Not likely, Undine exile.”
Ciran’s veins froze to arctic ice.
The lieutenant floated overhead with a double patrol of brutally armed warriors. Konomelu thrashed in a net, his chest and limbs already bound.
Warriors descended around him and Itime, cutting them off from the plane or any other escape.
“I thought you would go to the echo point. But when you did not, I knew you would come here.” Lieutenant Orike smirked. “Your bride has a strange power.”
Ciran evaluated their attackers for weakness. “She is a queen.”
“Of course a warrior who claimed to come from the mythic city would say that. But do you know what I learned? Your new Atlantis is made of exiles. Not even your weak All-Council will help you now.”
“I do not need their help.”
“You poisoned your bride with a strange human concoction. We destroyed the rest before you could poison the rest of the brides.” Lieutenant Orike curled his lip. “And after we imprison you, we will liberate the rest of the young fry from the weak humans and train them to be proud Luscan warriors.”
Help me, Dannika. I must defeat this patrol and escape to warn you. Think strong thoughts.
Itime rotated his trident, like Ciran, clearly seeking the weakest warrior to make his best chance for an escape. “Only traitors violate the sanctuary of the brides’ island.”
“You violated it first. The Undine must suffer for his arrogance.”
Ciran picked out his best chance, then pointed the trident at Lieutenant Orike. “Come and get me then.”
Lieutenant Orike’s eyes narrowed. “Did you enjoy using a real weapon, exile?”
“Greatly. I used it to lever the wreckage apart.”
His nostrils flared. “You did not.”
Ciran nodded, never removing his eyes from the weakest warrior.
“He did,” Itime said calmly. “I saw him.”
Lieutenant Orike gritted his teeth. “Patrol? Do not kill these warriors. The king wants them alive. But he does not care about the condition in which they arrive.” Lieutenant Orike lowered his backup trident at Ciran. “And I am going to enjoy beating you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Two weeks after the warriors had left, Dannika awoke in a sweating panic.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
The night sky faded into dawn. Stars winked out on the horizon and the sky turned a pale white like the inside of an egg. A cool breeze rustled through the coconut palms and shivered through the long island grass. It chilled Dannika’s sweat-dampened skin. She hugged herself.
The nightmare faded slowly.
Someone had locked her in a tiny coral-lined room, her body aching as though she’d been beaten nearly to death. Ciran’s voice had echoed. “I am sorry, Dannika. I was not the warrior you needed.” And then a warrior she didn’t recognize, an older guy with a massive scar running down his face through his left eye, appeared in the window to the coral prison and vibrated, “Feed him to the kraken.”
And she’d jolted awake.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
She hugged Ciran’s Sea Opal to her chest. Even though it had cracked inside, the outside was smooth. It held together, fractured, but whole.
Dannika touched it to her forehead. Be safe. Be strong. I’m thinking of you.
And then, with a lump in her throat, You are the warrior I needed. You’re my soul mate. Come back, Ciran. Please come back.
The boulder crushing her chest rolled off, just for a little, and she breathed deeply. Could she go back to sleep like on the past three mornings? … No. Even though she felt better, uncertain dread lingered on the periphery of her consciousness.
Dannika rolled out of the hammock, folded the scratchy grass blanket protecting her from tarantulas and who knew what else, and sauntered to the main structure.
Angie was already chopping a green pumpkin for breakfast. “You’re up early again.”
Come to think of it, Dannika hadn’t slept in since she’d left New York. And compared to the nightmares, she’d much prefer to be awoken by nude warriors, tall or small. “Do you need any help?”
“I couldn’t ask a guest.” Angie smiled at her. Lines around her eyes showing just how hard she worked to stay in pleasant denial of their situation.
“I know.” Dannika sat beside her on the mat. “I need to do something with my hands.”
“Well, in that case.” Angie passed over a pumpkin and coral knife. “You can peel.”
Dannika sat with the older woman and peeled pumpkins into a woven basket.
Early morning bugs skittered in and out. The sea birds cawed. Out on the shore, Bex stood alone at the water’s edge, gazing the direction the warriors had gone.
Meg stumbled to the preparation mat yawning and rubbing her eyes. She blinked and peered at the piled-high basket of peeled, chopped pumpkins. “Mom, you made too much again.”
“Did I?” Angie dropped her knife and sighed. “We’ll save them or use them up one way or another.”
“That’s what you said after Luk and Prince Ankena disappeared.” Meg collapsed on the mat. “Do you remember how much we threw away?”
“This is fruit. I’ll make a wine.”
Everyone dropped silent.
The island, which had seemed like a paradise when she’d arrived, now closed in on Dannika. She’d walked its beaches and trails every day, searched for seashells or pretty rocks—or a passing ship that she could signal—but her gaze kept turning inward.
She felt Ciran’s presence more than ever.
His phantom arms wrapped around her. His soft voice murmured on the wind. Believe in yourself, Dannika.
Was this how Bex felt?
In her dreams, Ciran was in trouble but alive.
And she just wanted to save him. Somehow.
But the dreams were only reflections of her inner turmoil. Any good psychologist would say that.
Bex walked to the firepit, winched it open, and stoked the fire.
“Any sign of the warriors?” Dannika asked, even though it was a stupid question. If they had sighted the warriors, everyone would have screamed and danced, even stoic Bex.
Bex shook her head.
“They could come back today.” Meg penned a note in her squid-ink journal. “In a few hours, we could be chugging elixir on our lounge chairs while the Atlantis army destroys Lusca. We’d get Prince Ankena and Luk back, and never even break a nail.”
Dannika studied her ragged fingernails.
Bex chewed a hangnail.
Val limped to the table, rested the new crutch Bex had made against the wood, and settled into her seat with a yawn. Her split lip had healed to a scratch, and most of her bruises had faded to a ghostly greenish-yellow. “Oh, my. I used to think I was a morning person, and here you all are.”
“Not me. I never get up early,” Meg said. “This is out of character. I had a bad dream.”
What?
“Me too,” Dannika said. “For three nights now.”
“Oh my God, me too.” Meg’s eyes widened. “In mine, I’m trapped in a prison cell and the king of Lusca is glaring in at me, making threats.”
“Well, that is creepy.” Val helped herself to a sliced papaya. “You’ve met the king of Lusca?”
“Oh yeah, he showed up to sink Mom’s yacht. He’s this terrifying old guy with gray eyes. Or, one eye. The other one has this long scar through it.”
An unholy shiver traveled up Dannika’s spine. “Meg, were the threats in your dream, ‘Feed him to the kraken’?”
Angie stopped chopping.
Meg gaped at Dannika. “What? Get out of my head. How did you know that?”
“I’ve been having the same dream, except I didn’t know who it was. It’s really more of a nightmare.”
“Oh my God.” Meg rubbed her arms. “Look at that. Goosebumps. Bex, have you had that dream?”
She shook her head. “No king. I’m trapped in tunnels and it’s getting dark out.”
Meg shuddered. “No thanks. Mom?”
Angie rested her knife on the cutting board, wiped her hands on a neatly woven mat, and then smoothed her eyebrows and neatened her hair.
“Mom?”
She stood abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She strode down to the shore, careful of the more aggressive waves.
Meg bit her lip, stood, and hurried after her mother.
Val made the Twilight Zone theme music and helped herself to another slice of fruit. “That’s probably not a dream, in my opinion. Not that I’m a dream interpreter, but I’m just guessing.”
“How long have you been dreaming about being trapped in tunnels?” Dannika asked Bex.
“A long time.”
“Three years?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”
Meg brought Angie back on the promise that they wouldn’t talk about it anymore, but Meg whispered that it meant Angie had had the same dream and was afraid to get too emotional.
She finished preparing breakfast just in time. The kids woke from their various hammocks on the island and crowded the food table—cranky and sniping from the unspoken tension. Why was breakfast always sweet pumpkin and coconut mash? Did they have to eat smoked fish? What did Meg mean, no pets at the breakfast table? Aw, she was so mean.
The same tension vibrated under Dannika’s skin like a hot wire.
Angie clapped her hands. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t speak.”
The kids grumbled.
“Mom’s right. When I was a kid, I was expected to be seen and not heard,” Meg said.
One of her middle children rolled his eyes. “You were never a kid.”
