by Plum Pascal
That’s about all we have in common.
“Go, child. I will hold off the rest,” she says.
She claps her hands together quickly and when she spreads them again, golden energy undulates between her palms, seething like agitated gulper eels.
I break away from her then, pumping my tail as hard as I can and slice a path upward through the dark, sailing past the spiny and blackened merfolk that abide in the deeps.
Triton has never liked them, has always shunned them for their ugliness. He banned any of them from setting tail in Aspamian territory. Until Opeia arrived, the dark mer were nomadic, constantly living in fear of the giant squids, the kraken, the sharks, and the other monstrous deep-dwellers. Opeia had given them protection with her sorcery, promised them prosperity if they followed her.
And she’d kept her promises, for the most part. It isn’t her fault Triton had the gall to sever the spells that bound these monsters, the grotesquerie, to the depths.
My muscles ache and my eyes begin to burn furiously as I ascend, lagging behind the adolescent kraken by a few miles. I’m not going to reach it before it crests the waves. The color of the water shifts from black to navy, from navy to sapphire, and finally a lovely teal as the light of the moon above filters through the water, illuminating the field of open sea that drapes the gulf. At any other time, I might sing at the sight.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the skies and the celestial spheres that light it. Burning sunlight or placid moonlight, I don’t care. Being beneath the wavering illumination is a bliss all its own.
I don’t have long to enjoy it, however. To my horror, I see the kraken propelling itself ever nearer to a large and dark shape that bobs along the surface. A ship. A merchant vessel, most likely, and a prime target for Triton’s new attack beasts. I have to slow the kraken, reroute its attention. Perhaps doing so will give the sailors time to abandon their ship. The kraken’s eyes aren’t adapted for the surface, so smaller vessels might go unnoticed.
I’m not a sorceress. Not like Aunt Opeia. My magic comes in stops and starts, and spells rarely ever turn out the way I plan them. She’s tried to teach me, but there’s only one spell I’m truly good at—and now I rely on that exact spell.
Drawing in as much air as I can through my gills, I puff up like a blowfish until the magic thrums like a drumbeat in my chest. Then, I release it in a protracted wail of sound.
The water around us vibrates, the trailing bubbles left in the kraken’s wake jumping in time to the sound. As I hoped, my magic stops the kraken dead in the water for a second as the noise scrambles conscious thought. Siren’s song is a potent weapon when wielded competently, and a ticket to instant madness if done incorrectly.
The kraken immediately pauses and then just simply floats there, immobile from the tones of my song, just as I intended. But, mere seconds later, the kraken shakes off my song as I blink at it in shock. Siren’s song should have immobilized it for at least eight or so minutes—at the very least! Enough time for me to alert the men in the ship. But how is it moving now? After only a few seconds…
I swim as close as I dare while its enormous squid-like head begins to breach the surface, sending churning foam across the tops of the waves. It’s rising half a mile away from the ship.
I surface closer to the side of the ship, noting its size and beautiful construction. When my tailfin brushes the sealed wooden siding, a jolt runs up my spine and tingles at the base of my neck.
Sorcery.
The ship has been enchanted. Heavily enchanted, judging by my body’s reaction—my skin hasn’t buzzed so much since I had the misfortune to fall into a deep cave network teeming with electric eels.
My body recoils on principle, though curiosity niggles in the back of my mind. Human magic is rare, most practitioners having been driven from their homes by their foolish rulers many moons ago. This enchantment must be by fae design. But the last Opeia had heard, Septimus of the Unseelie court had either banished or killed most of the fae. So who enchanted this vessel?
Again, I don’t have much time to ponder the mystery. The kraken is almost wholly above water now. To my relief, I see a man leaning over the side of the ship, helping mortals into small dinghies. The boats should escape the kraken’s notice. I hope so anyway.
But it’s not the dinghies that keep my attention for long.
No, I can’t stop staring at the captain.
I’m fascinated by his face, which is quite clear in the moonlight. I have no concept of what humans consider beautiful—for all I know, he’s as homely as they come. But to me? He’s fascinating. An exotic beauty, skin as tan as I’ve ever seen on a human. Most of them look pale, almost sickly, with their veins standing out like stringy blue lines underneath their skin. And the skin itself usually appears too thin, like it might tear open such as kelp does under the slightest pressure.
But not this man. His skin is tanned almost brown, like he’s been kissed by Sol himself. He radiates good health. His long, dark hair is pushed into a tail at the nape of his neck, beneath one of those ridiculous floppy things humans wear on their heads. He’s got scrubby growth on his chin and cheeks, something I’ve never seen on a merman. Is it some sort of moss? Algae? A growth he tolerates? I can’t imagine it’s comfortable.
His upper body reminds me of Bastion’s. Large biceps that appear through a fairly thin covering, which is rolled up around his arms. Clothing, I believe it’s called? His chest is broad and his shoulders broader. His neck reveals thick, corded muscle and I can see the swell of his large thighs through the covering of fabric he wears above them. He is strong, capable.
I can’t see his eyes or read his expression, but it must be something to behold. The white-haired youth in the boat looks stricken when the man casually draws a long blade and severs the ties that keep the boats tethered to the ship. The boat falls, without fanfare, into the water close to me. There is another boat soon to follow.
None of the occupants take note of me when I paddle nearer, trying to get a better look at the man. I notice, with interest, that the captain doesn’t find his place within the row boats, but he cuts the ropes that hold them to the side of the ship and then gives the inhabitants a brief wave as they clearly reject his decision, calling out to him.
The captain of the ship is clearly sacrificing himself. Staying to steer the enchanted ship away from the crew he’s released into the ocean. And the kraken continues to follow the ship, paying no attention to the small dinghies that float away.
Then, to my astonishment, the ship begins to lift from the water, trailing drizzles of icy spray from its sides as it takes to the air. At first I wonder if the kraken has somehow taken ahold of it? Maybe it’s airborne owing to the fact that the Kraken’s tentacles have held it aloft? But, no, the ship appears to be lifting of its own accord—no doubt owing to the fae magic surrounding it. The magical sigils shine as the magic ripples over the wood.
I spy a name etched into the craft and I squint at it, trying to make out the meaning.
The Jolly Roger. Is it perhaps named for the captain? Could his name be Roger?
The ship rises rapidly from the sea, ascending like a gull, with only half the sound. It spins agilely in the air to face the rising kraken. The shape of the man aboard is hard to make out now. I can really only see a black speck moving against the moon. Then, one of the knobbly black growths that juts from the side of the boat belches out a tongue of flame, sending a projectile toward the kraken with thunderous sound.
The speeding black thing hits its mark, burrowing deep into the creature’s large eye and utterly destroying its orbital socket.
The kraken lets out an unearthly scream that vibrates the water all around me. I don’t want to feel bad for the beast, but I do. There are more painless ways to finish them.
The kraken lashes one long tentacle into the air, aiming as well as it can with its injury and already limited eyesight. It’s lucky to even be alive. The tentacle hooks the ship in
the middle and drags it seaward again at an astonishing speed. The man aboard doesn’t even have time to move before the kraken brings the entire vessel crashing down against the waves.
The ship breaks apart with a sound like cracking ice and a spray of multi-colored sparks as the enchantments break. The man is hurled like a stone from the deck and lands in the water. He’s far from the boats he released earlier. In fact, I can no longer see them and I assume the inhabitants must have begun rowing for the shore.
My thoughts return to the captain. Now stranded in the ocean, he will certainly perish. If the kraken doesn’t find him first, some other unsavory sea creature will. Or perhaps it will be the cold that takes him first.
Something has to be done for him. Even if the air up here is comparatively warm, he won’t be able to maintain his warm, human temperature when soaked to the skin. Worse, if the blow has rendered him unconscious, he’ll drown long before the cold takes him.
I dive below again, narrowly dodging bits of debris as I go. The enchantments on the ship continue to flicker faintly, like the glow of an angler, before they die out completely, leaving only the moon to guide my way.
I reach the man just in time, but then one of the poisoned tentacles of the kraken comes down beside him, thrusting him away from me. While the tentacle doesn’t land on him, it creates a huge wave and a vacuum beneath that pulls the man under. I dive beneath the wave and watch as the man dives downward. It’s then that I realize his eyes are closed, his head askew and flopping with the current of the water as his long hair furls like seagrass. Bubbles stream from his nose, expelling the last of his precious air.
We’re too deep. He won’t make it to the surface.
There’s only one thing I can think to do, though it will no doubt annoy Opeia and Bastion. I propel myself downward as fast as I can until I reach out and grip the man around the arm, pulling him to me. Then, leaning forward, I press my lips very gently to his throat. I trace my tongue along the point where his blood pulses weakly beneath his skin, and expel the barest hint of my magic. My power hums warm and ready beneath my lips, and when I draw away, there’s a perfect imprint of my lips on his neck.
The beginnings of a mate mark, a mate mark that will stop the human from drowning.
My heart jumps wildly at the implication of what I’ve done, but I don’t have time to examine my feelings too closely. I scoop him up and into my arms and pump my tail as fast as I can, angling north toward Delorood, leaving the kraken behind to be dealt with later.
For now, there’s a sailor to save.
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ANGEL
Prologue:
The Oath of Devotion
As there is light, there must also be dark. As there is life, there must also be death. As there is the mortal world, there must also be the realm of light and shadow…
In the beginning, there was balance.
Then, with the coming of the Singularity, light was nearly sacrificed by dark when a rift in the Shadow Realm resulted in darkness spilling into the mortal and fae worlds. Humans were completely wiped out until only the magical remained, and the balance of the natural order was left hanging precariously.
The Mortal, Fae, and Shadow Realms were the charge of the Midnight Queen. In order to set the equilibrium right, she chose four representatives—two from the Shadow Realm, and two from the realm of light.
These four soldiers pledged to maintain the balance between shadow and light by taking the Oath of Devotion. Thus, they were bound to protect this delicate equilibrium by making a pact, through blood, and witnessed by none other than the Midnight Queen, herself.
The first to take the pledge was the King of Shadows, a gargoyle.
The second was the King of Light, an angel.
The third was the King of Nature, an elf.
The fourth was the King of Death, a vampire.
With the rise of the Midnight Queen’s Protectors, balance was achieved anew. But that stability was short-lived, as greed and envy upset the equilibrium once again…
ONE
Eilish
(pronounced Ay-lish)
Mortal Realm
I shiver.
Drops fall from the sky, big ones that make it difficult to see the road.
I don’t know where I am. Or how I got here.
My stomach rumbles and nausea threatens to send bile up my throat—a throat which already feels strangely raw. It stings like I’ve been repeatedly vomiting.
A second wave of chills shoots through me, shaking me from head to toe, thrashing me forward and then back again. Heaving, I’m forced to bend over as my body does its best to eject the contents of my stomach… now just acid.
You have to run, a woman’s voice yells at me.
I glance around, but no one’s there.
Run, Eilish, the voice insists.
I don’t recognize the name but since the voice seems to be addressing me, I figure it must be mine.
Go, now, Eilish, run! The voice grows more insistent, panicking even.
I don’t know where it’s coming from, if someone I can’t see is talking to me or if the voice is just in my head. Or if I’m just imagining the whole thing.
“I can’t… run anymore,” I say out loud, panting with the exertion it takes to speak. My voice sounds strangely foreign—high pitched and terrified. Inhaling, I shake my head as I face the road ahead of me—asphalt that stretches for what seems like miles, with only the loneliness of a dark forest on either side to keep it company. And the occasional broken-down car, mostly reduced to a skeletal, rusted frame.
It’s coming, the voice warns.
I can hear it. Tree limbs snap behind me, accompanied by growling and the sound of something sniffing, catching my scent on the wind.
Move, Eilish!
My heart beats like a frightened bird trapped in a tiny cage. The chills are growing stronger now, refusing to let go. Beneath my armpits, my sweatshirt is soaked, and still more beads of perspiration bleed from my hairline. I’m so exhausted, the idea of continuing on makes me want to pass out.
If it finds you, it will rip you to pieces, the voice cautions.
A long stream of snot drips from my nose, and I wipe it on the sleeve of my torn sweatshirt. The drops of rain come down harder now and I stand up, forcing my fatigued legs forward. The chills continue to throb, echoing the pain that envelopes my entire body.
Move, Eilish, the voice commands. Move now!
“There’s… nowhere to go!” I sob, wiping away tears. Ahead of me, I see only empty highway. Who knows where it leads? Who knows if there might be more of them up ahead? Who knows anything...?
More breaking branches in the distance. It’s getting closer.
Take that path, the voice orders as soon as I turn my head to the side and notice a narrow aisle leading between the trees, weaving a barren trail between the foliage.
I won’t make it, I think as more panic begins bubbling up inside me—or it might be the sickness. The nausea. The vomiting.
Move faster!
Seizing the cresting wave of hope that swells through me, my energy surges. I make a furious run down the path, forcing whatever drive I still possess to my aid. The sounds of the forest around me heighten, as if my hearing is suddenly amplified.
Branches break in the distance, the heavy sound of footfalls of someone or something in pursuit. And the grunting of something big, something angry.
The trail bifurcates at an enormous pine tree, the path splitting ways around the trunk. I could go right, or I could go left. Right or left.
RIGHT OR LEFT?
At the sound of grunting, my blood freezes. W
hen I turn around, I feel my heart start thundering again, but I see nothing there—only the dark outline of the skeletal tree trunks that surround me. But I can still hear the snapping of branches underfoot. Whatever is after me, it’s even closer now.
I face left and follow the trail around the tree, then down a small hill of loose dirt. I lose my footing and start to stumble, but right myself on a large rock before continuing forward. The trail is interrupted by a small trickle of water, but picks up again just beyond the stream and parallels it. I jump over the water and follow the path.
It’s still behind you. You haven’t lost it, the voice tells me.
I keep going, trying to keep my balance even as my worn tennis shoes sink into the mud at the side of the stream. Once I’ve reached the bottom of the hill, I notice the path takes a sharp right, disappearing around an enormous boulder. I follow it, doing my best to keep my shoes from being sucked into the mud. As soon as I turn the corner, around the boulder, I’m greeted with a massive gate constructed of sheet metal, barbed wire looped across the top.
Above the wire is a crudely erected outpost, jutting out beyond the line of the tall gate. Rusted vehicles are piled high, flanking either side of the entry. And on the platform someone is dressed in military fatigues. The someone is also armed with a large weapon, and he’s wearing a helmet so I can’t see his face.
“Help me!” I yell as I emerge from the forest and stand before the gate, waving my arms. I suddenly feel lightheaded.
You have to remain aware, the voice insists.
I focus on the platform above me. From my standpoint, I can’t tell what type of creature the soldier is. All I can hope is that he’s friendlier than whatever’s behind me.
“Who are you, an’ which precinct you comin’ from?” the soldier asks.
