“Any who disturb it?” Melanthius’ eyes sharpened as he turned his gaze to his wife’s face.
“Well,” she shrugged her shoulders and crossed her long slender arms across her breast, unconcerned. But the glint in her eye was hard as a hammer driving the nail home. “You are the king. What happens to those who disturb it?”
King Melanthius turned to her and stretched out his arms. His great bulk of body pulled her willowy one close. His muscled arms encompassed her. “I have been wrong,” he smiled over her shoulder, but his eyes glistened with tears and fleeting sadness shone from them. “And you, my dear wife, have been right. We cannot forget the Plot.”
“My king.” She reached up to trace his jaw with one long finger. “You are the ruler of it all. From days of old you have ruled here, and now you are so mighty the Author himself could not gainsay you. An ancient legend cannot overthrow you. It’s only you, King. So make your decision,” she whispered close to his ear. “And make it a strong one.”
The mist before Posy’s and Kyran’s eyes swirled madly now, smearing and erasing the forms of the king and queen. Posy had a fleeting awareness that Kyran was crushing her hand in his own until it pained her, but she pushed all other thoughts aside as a new scene churned thickly and took a new form before them.
Now a bright landscape seemed to stretch beyond where they stood for miles. A glistening lake shone in the warm sun, surrounded by towering, age-old trees, and flanked by an enormous white mountain. She thought she had seen that mountain before, far in the distance, from the stone window of the princess’ room in the castle. She had not seen its wonder then, within the fog of the Plot that had become a fog in her mind as well. But her clear eyes saw it now, and she gasped at the beauty of it.
Across the distant field were black dots at the edge of the horizon—a party of men came, riding horses. As they drew closer, Posy saw they wore the colors of the Kingdom, and she knew they must be the king’s men. All held weapons except one with a large scroll tied to his belt. They approached the lake and dismounted. Everything Posy saw seemed to take place at a distance, through a cloud. She could hear no voices, nor the splash of water on the banks. She could only see.
One of the men walked to the water’s edge and called out. The group waited, moments, minutes. At last, one by one, heads and shoulders began to appear across the lake; a hundred—two hundred—and more; men, women, children. The merpeople swam toward the bank to where the soldiers stood waiting. The man with the scroll took it from his belt, unfurled it, and began to read. As he read, Posy saw the faces of the merpeople change. Curiosity gave way to surprise. Surprise turned to anger, and tears. The mermen raised their fists and shouted angrily. The women held their children close.
Posy was startled to see a familiar face amidst the many. Seraphine. She looked the same, and as beautiful—but there was something different in her face, and Posy recognized it immediately. Kindness, and happiness. Both were alight in her eyes, even as the soldier proclaimed whatever terrible sentence was to befall her people.
She saw a merchild huddling in the protective curve of Seraphine’s slender arm. Seraphine bent her graceful neck to touch her lips to the top of the child’s head tenderly. Posy saw that, though Seraphine was smiling, tears flowed from her lovely eyes, and her mouth trembled with the sobs she was fiercely holding down.
The scene seemed to become muddled in the haze. Posy saw flashes of things. Mermen raising bright flashing swords in defiance. The king’s soldiers securing merpeople with thick, cruel ropes. And, lastly, Seraphine being torn from her weeping child, her face set like marble, misery swimming in her dark and fathomless eyes. The mist itself now seemed to weep for them, and it ran rivulets down across the vision until it was washed from the air of the chamber.
* * *
After the vision, they knew they had to trust the mermaids, this beautiful trio of sisters. They shared a bond of pain with them, and pain inflicted by the same person—King Melanthius. Posy knew now, though, that the queen was equally to blame, and it made her wonder how much Valanor had to do with every decision the king had made. More than Falak gives her credit for, I’d bet, thought Posy. She wondered what the king had meant when he had told the queen he loved only her. Could he have fallen in love with Seraphine or one of her sisters? Was that why Valanor had urged him to banish the merpeople? Or had they done something more serious to threaten the Plot? Posy looked at their beautiful faces and knew it wouldn’t take much for any man to fall in love with one of them. Kyran himself had not been immune to it.
“So,” Seraphine urged, a strange crooked smile on her lips, “you will help us?”
“I will do all that is within my power, lady,” said Kyran with a bow of his head. “The king’s behavior is unpardonable, and he must be taken from the throne.”
“But what of the Plot?” asked Limnoreia with a flip of her corn silk hair, and a sideways look at Kyran, “If you make yourself king, will you uphold it?”
Kyran paused. Posy knew he fought against everything he had ever known. What a leap it must be to abandon the only thing you were certain of—what courage it must take! For he had lived within the Plot for lifetimes, longer than his eighteen years. His childhood had been spent, generations ago, within the only story he knew. She knew she could not blame him if he chose to follow it still.
Decision swept across his face, and he nodded, “I will only uphold it where necessary. I cannot—I will not—make the cruel decisions my father has made. There are characters in the Plot, but they must have voices of their own.”
“And what of the Author?” Limnoreia asked quietly. “What power will you give him?”
“Power?” scoffed Seraphine before Kyran could answer, bitterness edging her voice. “He has no power. If he did, he would have stopped my child being taken from me. He would have stopped the king’s cruelty long ago, before it had destroyed so many lives and made a misery of the Kingdom and the Wild Land both. The Author has no power within the Plot at all—not anymore. And if he has power, he misuses it by allowing such evil to persist. Only the characters have true power, and we must do something to take it in our hands now. It must lie in the hands of many—not one.”
Kyran listened intently to her. Posy heard the raw pain in Seraphine’s voice, even now, even after so much time had passed. She knew that she spoke through that pain, too, and it was all she could see. She looked at Kyran, trying to trust her love for him, and have faith in the answer he would give. He didn’t disappoint her. “I cannot give you an answer for that, lady, until I have found the wisdom for it. The only thing I can promise you now is that, if I reign at all, I will reign with kindness for all characters, within the Plot and without. You will not see such a thing as befell you ever happen again, if I am king.”
Seraphine studied him a long while before deciding. She nodded once. “Then I will take you to the princess,” she said shortly, and dove beneath the water, her tail throwing a string of water-drops through the air, like glittering diamonds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Scout
Quintus sighed with boredom. Chief Councilor Falak had sent him on a futile mission. Following Nocturne was the easiest thing he had ever done, and was a waste of his superior scouting abilities. What could Nocturne possibly do that would be of interest to anyone, especially Falak? He may be a traitor, but he was a weak traitor, and could do little harm.
Quintus stretched his sleek black feathers and blinked his piercing yellow eyes. It was almost painful to watch Nocturne’s progress, he thought with a cringe. How determined he was, walking, walking, holding his pathetic wounded wing against him. Nocturne’s fevered voice came up to him now from far below on the forest floor, repeating, as it had done the past two days, “Must find him, must find him! Have to ask him what to do—yes, that’s it.” Quintus thought Nocturne must be mad, or close to it.
Yet his burning determination had begun to shine a pinpoint of doubt into Quintus’ mind, though the owl
was slow to admit it to himself. Where was he going, after all? Mad or not, he had a firm mission—that much was clear. Would he lead Quintus to the king’s children, as Falak suspected?
Thinking of the king’s children and their disappearance in the glade made Quintus push his head down into his shoulders and wince. He was a good scout. He knew that—the best there was to be found in the Kingdom. Even King Melanthius had used him for his own purpose ages ago when stirrings in the Plot had to be crushed. Why, then, had the children vanished before his eyes? No one knew for sure what that dark place truly was, he reasoned to himself. No self-respecting character of the Plot had ever ventured long into the Wild Land, let alone the Glooming itself. It was an empty place in his mind, the Glooming; somewhere that even his imagination couldn’t conjure pictures of. All he now knew of it was that it could eat people up, make them dissolve into air as if by magic.
Magic. Quintus straightened up on his high branch, trying to block out the sounds of Nocturne’s desperate mumbling below. He had never seen magic up close. He knew that Falak experimented incessantly with it in his secret room in the castle. Some things he did on the king’s orders; others, without the king's knowledge at all. Whatever the case, everyone knew that magic flowed, untamed, in the Wild Land and beyond. Magic was the answer, he suddenly knew.
He turned to look up to the sky flecked with a million stars. The moon shone bright; the next night it would be full. What better time for magic than that, Quintus asked himself with a shudder of self-satisfaction. Alert now, and hungry for the unknown, his sharp eyes focused with renewed interest down to the silvery spot on the forest floor that was Nocturne. Falak, he thought suddenly, had already worked this out. Quintus noted a newfound respect for his leader, followed closely by a prickling unease that felt very close to fear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Into the Deep
“She is ready,” said Limnoreia suddenly, as if hearing a silent call from her sister beneath the water. Posy froze in anticipation. This was what they had come for. This would be the end of their quest for the princess Evanthe. Her eyes roved the surface of the water, still and shining as black glass. Nothing happened.
“Here,” Adamaris beckoned a slender hand to them. “We must ready you to enter our home.”
“Pardon me?” asked Kyran, confusion written across his face. Posy almost laughed at the courtesy in his voice at such a moment, though she felt a quick sting of foreboding.
“We may not bring the princess to you,” explained Limnoreia, her pale blue eyes wide. “As you can see, there is no way out for you here. The only way out is the other side of the Glooming. And you may not find that any other way than through the water.”
Posy did laugh now. “And as you can see, we don’t have fins and tails as you do,” she stated, an edge of mistrust resurfacing into her conscience.
Limnoreia smiled sweetly at her. “Of course not, my darling. That is why we must ready you. You must don these.”
Posy and Kyran both gazed to where Limnoreia gestured by their feet, but saw only slick wet stone. The mermaid’s tapering fingers reached to pluck something from the rock, and as she raised her arm, a filmy, glistening thing hung from it, visible only because of the glint of light reflecting off it.
“I’m most definitely not donning that,” Posy exclaimed, and crossed her arms as Kyran turned to smirk at her.
“It will allow you to move swiftly and smoothly through the water,” stated Adamaris calmly. “And most importantly, it will allow you to breathe. It is not as it seems.”
“Huh,” Posy rolled her eyes. “So I am beginning to understand.”
“These garments contain magic in them,” Adamaris’ voice took on a slight note of defense. “Our offering of them is not to be scoffed at, young maid.”
“I’m not scoffing at your offer,” Posy said apologetically. “I—”
“Posy—that is, we both—are overtired and more than a little overwhelmed by our journey,” Kyran cut in, directing his most charming smile at the mermaids. “We accept your offer and thank you. What must we do?”
“You need only drape the garment over you, and it will do the rest, Prince.” Limnoreia lifted her arms, and Kyran bent to take the silky mantles from her. Kyran placed a hand on Posy’s arm and nudged her back. She knew that he meant to put his cloak on first, to save her from any danger that might be hidden within it. She snatched the second cloak from his hands before he could stop her, and she watched it unfold, rippling like liquid from her hands to the stone floor. In a single moment, without another thought, she had swung it around and draped it over her shoulders.
She could see Kyran still, and the frown on his face as he watched her, struggling to unfold his own garment. But he was not the same. He swam before her eyes as if she saw him through a watery mist. A pleasant warmth spread from her shoulders, upward to her face, and all the way to her feet. Suddenly, she felt her lungs seem to grow heavy, as if the atmosphere pressed on her. She was nearly gasping just to pull a breath into her body. Posy’s panicked eyes found the outline of the sister mermaids in the water, and she could make out the laughing smile on both of their faces. Did they mean to kill her this way—was that the trick in it? She tried to speak, but could not. She could only pull the air around her with all her strength, trying to force it into her lungs.
“You will not learn so quickly, my dear,” said Adamaris brightly. “Though you try ever so bravely. It would take years for you to become accustomed to breathing out of water, in this horrible shallow air. Hurry now, jump into the water and all will be well.”
Kyran had his own garment on now, though the moment he had placed it on his shoulders it had seemed to disappear as if it had become a part of his skin. He grabbed Posy’s hand and in one violent movement pulled her off the stone ledge. Both of them plunged into the icy black water below.
The water should have pierced them with its cold, should have shocked and frozen them from any movement. Though Posy could feel its chill caress on her skin, it did not penetrate any deeper. Her body remained pleasingly warm, and she could feel a tight, smooth resistance on every inch of her new slick skin. She looked down at her hands and body in curiosity, but could discern no difference. She took an experimental breath and found that water flowed into her mouth like air, soft and effortless.
“Very good, very good!” exclaimed Limnoreia, clapping her small hands together like a pleased child. Posy could clearly see her now—so clearly and intensely that it almost hurt her eyes. Limnoreia’s beautiful blue eyes shone like sapphires, and her hair floated around her like a cloud of spun gold. If the mermaids had been beautiful before, they were radiant now, here in their true home.
Kyran’s voice broke through Posy’s wandering thoughts. “Lead us to my sister now.” His voice was courteous, but there was no mistaking the command.
Adamaris bowed her gleaming auburn head and flitted away.
Posy and Kyran found how natural they were now, beneath the lake. Its darkness became weightless and clear, its icy depths only a cool touch to their skin, its dense waters easily pierced as they plunged after the mermaids, deeper and deeper.
How deep are we? crossed Posy’s mind in wonder as she trailed the mermaids. She and Kyran had already descended so deeply in the earth before even entering the lake. What a weight of water, land and stone must sit above their heads now! The thought made her shudder and suddenly have an odd premonition, as if they were being led into a trap. Had it been only two days ago that she had been in the camp of the centaurs, sleeping and eating, breathing the fresh forest air, walking through the forest talking with Caris and speaking of the Author? Posy wondered, with a darkening of her heart, if the Author had written this place they were in now, this lake with its black, shadowy beauty, and if he watched as she and Kyran tore through his story and changed every word.
“Here is our home,” Adamaris’ voice rang like a bell over her shoulder as she pointed one long finger.
Posy
saw before them a great rise of stones on the floor of the lake, like a chain of small mountains. She exchanged a glance with Kyran. This was no mere rise of stones, his look said, and she had felt it already. It was a palace, a kingdom within itself, that lay beneath those deceptively natural rocks. Perhaps it was the magic in their glossy cloaks, now closer than their own skin, that allowed Posy and Kyran to see it for what it truly was.
Soon they were swimming through a pair of mammoth doors, into the side of the rocks, entering the palace of the mermaids. Posy clung to all the trust she could muster. It was too late now, wasn’t it, for second thoughts? They were entirely in the keep of these sisters. They must hope the purpose that united them was strong. Strong enough.
Posy’s last thought before the heavy doors grated shut behind them was a question—a simple one, but one that sent an ominous chill through her. She took a breath and put it into words. “Why do the three of you need such a large place to live? Were you not banned from the Plot alone?”
Seraphine seemed to materialize from the stone walls of the palace. Her white arms moved gracefully beside her and her shapely hips and tail glistened like a water serpent. Her eyes held sadness, but a glint of her small white teeth shone behind her smile, like a wordless warning. “You are correct, of course,” she agreed slowly, with a nod of her dark head. “But that was long ago. You will find we are far from alone now, my dear.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Mermaid Palace
Posy reached for Kyran’s hand, its familiar grip strange and slick in its watery skin. Kyran said, his face unchanging, “You will take us to my sister now. We have waited long enough.”
“Long enough?” Seraphine stared at him, her eyes bottomless dark pools. “You do not know what it is to be separated from someone long. How long have you been separated from your sister, Prince? A few days or weeks? Even many years would not come close to comparing to what I have lost, and the time I have waited to hold my little one again. This enchanted lake keeps my sisters and me prisoners in unending pain. We have been here many lifetimes ... too many.”
The Word Changers Page 18
