Shattered by the Sea Lord (Lords of Atlantis Book 8)

by Starla Night

  This was different.

  “What do you think it is?” Itime asked, calmly, in the cell beside his. “Atlantis warriors discovered you imprisoned?”

  “These are not military cries.” Konomelu rested a hand on his cell door and rattled it, as he did occasionally, although it never opened. “They are bloodthirsty, predatory…Ah. New recruits have arrived. They will soon bring us out for display. And sacrifice.”

  Now. It was happening now.

  A group of warriors descended from the Life Tree toward the prison.

  “Remember the plan,” Ciran murmured, floating back from the door.

  “Of course I remember,” Konomelu growled and hunched his shoulders weakly, trying to look as incapacitated as he had days ago. “It is all I have thought about since you told us. Although it is insane. Our actions will only hasten our deaths.”

  “Then I will see you in the blacknight sea,” Itime vibrated calmly. “Second Lieutenant, it has been an honor.”

  “We will survive.”

  The unit gathered outside the prison.

  One warrior opened Ciran’s cell. “Out, Undine exile.”

  He floated out obediently and held out his wrists.

  The warrior eyed him like he was crazy while he opened the other cells. “What?”

  “You will not bind me?”

  “No, weakling scholar. I hope you will resist.” He grinned and thumped the base of his trident against Ciran’s scarred shoulder. “The kraken likes her meat tenderized.”

  Konomelu and Itime exited and received more blows—because they were Luscan betrayers, whereas Ciran was just an ordinary enemy combatant. They directed the prisoners to fly up the armored stalk of the Life Tree to the central dais where the rest of the city had gathered.

  As they rose, the odd territory of Lusca spread out beneath them.

  Ciran tried to take in as much of the landscape as possible.

  His plan depended on it.

  The Life Tree of Lusca was old and venerable, and its nurturing radiance filled the normally barren seafloor with vibrant life. Healthy coral forests teemed with fish. The thick stalks of the mer castles punctured the seafloor and the massive green spheres floated level with the Life Tree dais.

  A mer castle grew a new layer of rooms every few years. Ciran had grown accustomed to Atlantis’s young Life Tree and its small, whale-sized castles. Lusca’s were the size of Undine’s, colossal and magnificent.

  But the city was lopsided and there lay the key to Ciran’s plan.

  The forest and castles fanned outward from the yawning chasm. Lusca’s Life Tree teetered on the edge. The slightest quake could slide it, castles and all, into the abyss.

  Itime and Konomelu had described in detail what would happen next.

  To sacrifice them, the king would change the orientation of the mirror stones. The kraken would loft a few tentacles and scare the new recruits into pledging their obedience to the king. For good measure, the king would sacrifice his enemies by tying a great stone weight to their wrists. They would fall into the trench, into the kraken’s arms. Then, the king would reposition the mirror stones to drive the kraken back, deep into the trench.

  He had done the same to Prince Ankena. In fact, he had even stabbed Prince Ankena as insurance. But Prince Ankena had somehow survived.

  Ciran’s plan was more ambitious.

  Searching for Prince Ankena would be much easier if the trench were empty.

  They would raise the kraken.

  “We must trick the warriors into dropping us prematurely,” Ciran had detailed. “As close as possible to the Life Tree. Then, do not fight against the stone. Use it to swing closer to the stalk. The best would be to break the mirror stones closest to the trench. But as a backup, we will unmuffle the bell.”

  Because of the tentacles, no one would chase after them. They would have precious few moments to move the coral, wood, and mud. But as soon as the bell cleared, the Luscans would have a different problem to worry about.

  He hoped.

  “We will have the same problem,” Konomelu had growled. “And a kraken to avoid. Itime, reason with the Undine. I mean, Atlantean. This is madness.”

  “I approve.”

  Konomelu had frowned.

  “We are past the point of reason.” Itime had rotated his healing wrists. “It is time to fight madness with madness.”

  Now, the Luscans led them up the stalk of the Life Tree and over the lip of the dais. There, in the center, rested the massive white Life Tree. Like all the old trees of the ocean, it sat on a mountain of unclaimed mating gemstones. Holy radiance bathed them with pure welcome.

  Tinkling chimes soothed Ciran’s jangling nerves and quieted his pounding heart. Large droplets of resin coagulated and rolled through the barren branches to drop at its base.

  This was not his Life Tree, but he was a mer, and its radiance would always affect him, even if he drew healing from the sap of another.

  The city’s warriors clustered near the Life Tree. Two small boulders rested on the dais, causing the whole dais to slightly tilt. Gemstones tinkled as they rolled against the trunk.

  Three warriors carried a third stone and rested it beside the others. The dais tilted farther. Stones rolled and clinked.

  The trio easily bore its weight, but a single warrior could not.

  Hmm.

  The stones were heavier than Ciran had calculated. If they were dropped from the center of the chasm, it would be impossible to swing or angle back to the land.

  Itime and Konomelu looked at him.

  He held out his wrists.

  Again, their guard laughed. “You think to face your death with dignity? Oh, no. We will drag you to it screaming like the coward you are.”

  The Luscan guards bound the stones to their ankles.

  Now they had a much bigger problem.

  With ankles bound, they had no maneuverability. They would fall where they were dropped.

  Konomelu and Itime looked to him for guidance.

  “We must go.” Ciran indicated straight down.

  They nodded their understanding.

  The Luscan warrior thumped his chest with the hard base of his trident. Pain echoed in his chest. “No talking.”

  He rubbed the spot.

  Their guards floated out of grappling range but close enough to stab if they detected resistance. And the prisoners could not afford to get stabbed.

  Ciran would time their moment of resistance. The other two subtly nodded, reassured.

  Around the Life Tree, the rest of the Luscan warriors straightened and turned toward the largest castle. The vivid green bulb was so colossal that the grand entrance—which could fit six warriors swimming across—looked like a tiny pinprick.

  The king emerged and led his entourage to the Life Tree.

  The Luscans watched in taut, respectful silence.

  His single gray eye glared at them out of his scarred visage. The sheaths for his ceremonial daggers hung from his thin arms and he clenched his trident in his bony knuckles.

  He was by far the oldest mer in Lusca, having outlived all the elders who had once caused him so much pain, and the skin around his face was unusually tight around his skull. He had no extra weight, and he was frail, but he’d continued to live on through sheer force of will.

  Or of hate.

  He shifted his fins to human feet and touched down on the dais beside a long lever.

  Prince Lukiyo floated behind him, pale and noble. The sheaths on his arms and thighs were tight and strong, and he carried his trident correctly in his elbow. He took his place to the left of his grandfather.

  Another warrior dragged a bound, defiant Nuno. He handed the rope to the king.

  Nuno rotated in the water until he locked gazes with his father.

  Konomelu clenched his fists behind his back.

  “Those cowards have chosen their fates. Face me.” The king yanked Nuno’s rope until the young male obeyed. “Serve me or die.”
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  Nuno sneered. “Die.”

  Prince Lukiyo swam forward. “Nuno. Do not speak so recklessly. This is your last chance. Swear you will follow your king.”

  “I’ll follow him into the kraken trench and kick his fins.”

  The king pulled a long dagger from its sheath, gripped Nuno’s forearm, and rested the blade under his chin. “You will feed the kraken. Perhaps in chunks.”

  Nuno tilted his chin away from the blade, fighting back his horror.

  “Grandfather, no, please.” Prince Lukiyo floated in front of Nuno. “I can still reason with him. I beg you—”

  The king turned his blade on Prince Lukiyo. The point flicked, scarring his cheek. Prince Lukiyo jerked back.

  The king’s good eye narrowed. “A warrior of Lusca does not flinch.”

  Prince Lukiyo stiffened.

  “And he never begs.” The king turned the blade on Nuno and swam him to the stone weights. “Remember your place, Lukiyo. Do not let the weakness of your birth doom your death.”

  Prince Lukiyo flexed his fingers helplessly.

  The king eyed Ciran. “Why is he in shackles?”

  The guard whitened. “He is an enemy, my king.”

  “I have plans for him.” The king gestured with the knife to release Ciran. “Make sure he has a good view.”

  Two guards directed him at trident-point to a spot apart from the Luscans ringing the Life Tree. Konomelu and Itime watched him until the guards shackled Nuno to his stone and floated into place, blocking the prisoners from Ciran.

  Curse it.

  The plan was going more and more awry.

  The king returned to the dais and dug out the mating gemstones that had rolled and piled around his lever.

  The Luscans must frequently wait for their ceremonies to begin. The younger ones flicked their fins restlessly. The adults remained in stiff, battle-ready formation with full weapons and trident.

  Konomelu rolled the rock, testing it.

  Prince Lukiyo paced in front of Nuno. “Why did you not pledge? You could have trained with me. We would have commanded armies.”

  “You’re not commanding anyone,” Nuno snapped. “You’re just licking the king’s fin. Look at him. He’s insane. If you flinch wrong, you’ll end up in here.”

  “I am his prince.”

  “So? He’ll turn against you. Just like he turned against your dad.”

  “My father turned against him first. And he would never turn against me. I am his last heir.”

  “That’s not true.” Nuno snorted. “There’s always Hadali.”

  Prince Lukiyo blanched. Then, he snarled. “Hadali is nothing. I am ten times the warrior. He is too soft, too weak. He belongs on the shore.”

  “Yeah? Well, I doubt your insane grandfather cares.”

  Prince Lukiyo’s chin wobbled.

  An older warrior floated close. “Prince Lukiyo. Chin up.”

  “Quiet, Warrior Figuara. Do not talk to me.” He kicked back to his place of honor and gripped his trident.

  The former lieutenant, who’d watched over the island kindly before his demotion, floated closer to the tied warriors. “It pains me to see you here, Nuno.”

  “Well, then, do something about it.” Nuno held out his hand for a weapon.

  The guard slammed Nuno in the gut, causing him to bend over, and shooed Figuara away. He turned the pointed end of the trident on Konomelu. “No more games. You will feel its weight soon enough.”

  Konomelu winced to play up his pre-existing injuries, hate burning in his eyes.

  The king unearthed his lever and conferenced with his city lieutenant. The gist of their conversation drifted to Ciran.

  Everything would start once the recruits arrived.

  Hopefully, the new recruits would be older. Trainees taken from an unlucky traveling party or a raid.

  A shout heralded their arrival. The city warriors parted to make an entry path. Lieutenant Orike led his patrol. He released a net. Inside floated out a mixed crowd of trainees, some very small.

  Ciran’s heart sank.

  The youths saw Itime, Konomelu, and Nuno. “Father! Dad! Father! Dadaaaaa!”

  Konomelu roared and struggled in his bonds.

  Itime fisted his shackles, no less emotional, but outwardly calm.

  The guards battered both of them. They curled into defensive balls. Konomelu realized his mistake and cut off his fury before they injured him.

  The young fry screamed.

  “Silence the new recruits,” the king ordered.

  The patrol jostled the young fry. The older ones obediently quieted, but the youngest wailed.

  The king lifted his trident. “Silence him.”

  His captors jostled and shook the skinny young fry, but his cry elevated to piercing.

  The king lowered his trident. “Must I do it myself?”

  “My king.” Figuara floated forward. “He is too young. He has had no training to obey your orders.”

  “No one is too young for punishment.” The king twitched his trident at the nearest captor. “You silence him or I will. And my method will leave us down a recruit.”

  The warrior’s nostrils flared and pity flashed across his face before hardened obedience replaced it. He raised the base of his trident to slam it into the wailing young fry’s skull.

  Tulu darted in front and took the blow on his shoulder with a grunt.

  Hadali pushed through the other trainees and yanked the wailing young fry into his arms. He rocked and shushed him desperately. The young fry’s cry muffled.

  Prince Lukiyo flew to his brother. “What are you doing here? How could you leave the island?”

  “I didn’t.” Hadali bounced the young fry to quiet. “They came onto land. Lieutenant Orike broke into the sacred church.”

  Shocked murmurs echoed through the city.

  So that sanctuary had been as much an illusion as the coral barrier.

  Ciran’s stomach squeezed. Why had he been feeling stronger and healthier? These armed, deadly warriors must have terrified the women.

  The king floated forward, trident upright, and silence fell instantly. “Lieutenant Orike?”

  Lieutenant Orike bowed to the king. “We carried out your orders and rescued the young fry.”

  “Grandfather?” Prince Lukiyo floated in front of the young fry he’d grown up with. “You ordered him to break the treaty negotiated by my father and Elder Daka?”

  “Lukiyo.” The king hardened into obsidian. “Your place. Now.”

  “But, Grandfather, the island is sacred ground.”

  The king’s bloodless lips curled back from his teeth. His chest vibrated. “Now.”

  Prince Lukiyo’s brow knitted with worry. He kicked to his respectful position, straightened, and stared into the distance.

  His brother and the others watched him. Betrayal mixed with fear, hurt, anger.

  How could they unleash the kraken with the young fry here?

  Ciran needed to think.

  But there was no time.

  “Ciran of Atlantis.” The king waved him forward. “Watch carefully. Today, you witness the might of Lusca.”

  Did he dare to still summon the kraken? This position was perfect to make eye contact with Itime and Konomelu.

  “You claim that your city is the only one besides Lusca who has the will to stand against the All-Council.”

  Nuno hunched, groaning. Konomelu would have to push his and Nuno’s rocks at once, then explain on the dive. Was he strong enough?

  “So it will be a pity when they come to rescue you and are wiped out. It has been too long since Lusca destroyed an army. Lieutenant Orike, go to the city’s echo point and transmit that we are holding this Ciran.”

  Lieutenant Orike made the slashing salute, gathered his warriors, and flew from the ceremony.

  “When we have wiped out the army, I will give you the privilege of being sacrificed to the kraken with what remains of your best warriors. Perhaps, if your city is as ar
rogant and stupid as you, they will even send their king.”

  How could Ciran save this? Think.

  “Now, witness what happens to those who defy me.” The king returned to the dais and pulled the lever.

  Cranks turned with clicking and clanking. Below, the mirror stones rotated away from the trench.

  The kraken howls changed tone. Tentacles writhed like a nest of blood-red worms in the shadows within the trench. They slithered out, not eight or ten, but fifty, a hundred and probed the coral forest, invading and crushing the prison cell he had just vacated. Longer tendrils pushed on the bell and the very longest wrapped around the stalk of the Life Tree.

  Too late.

  Too late, too late, too late.

  Visceral fear stabbed Ciran. Ancestral dread of the kraken flowed in the darkest tunnels of his blood.

  The king pushed the lever past its starting point. The mirror stones rotated back toward the trench.

  Tentacles shied away from the Life Tree and retreated into the trench.

  How could Ciran possibly release that?

  The king pulled the lever into the middle, its starting position, and the mirror stones stopped rotating. The kraken writhed at the lip of the trench, its tentacles just emerging like a questing mouth.

  “No one defies Lusca,” the king intoned to his horror-stricken audience of warriors and recruits. “I control the kraken, the mightiest beast to ever roam the seas. No one will stop me. Whoever tries will die.”

  Any moment now, the king would order his warriors to drag the rocks out to the middle of the trench and drop them.

  He needed another plan. One that protected the young fry.

  But how?

  He needed…

  Doot-doot-doot.

  A small reef squid jetted past, its skin flickering with multi-colored sparks, signaling in a code only another squid could understand.

  That was odd. They rarely left their surface reefs. For the length of his imprisonment, Ciran hadn’t seen a reef squid. Why would one dive this deep?

  Another reef squid motored over his shoulder, and a third one torpedoed down over his head.