by Teri Mclaren
"No, no, no, we'll be fine. It finally worked! My song has weakened the structure over the years and your lovely roar has triggered the collapse. See? You are not so weak after all… Ha! I've beaten your prison, Rotapan, you old poisoner! And I have beaten you!" he shouted to the ceiling. Then he whirled to Womba, who was plastered to the iron gate like a big green barnacle. "Look, you push on the bars. That's a big, fine girl; you can do it. Think of your loved one."
In the first stages of panic, Womba could have moved mountains. Her little yellow eyes glazed over and her lips curled into a snarl as she nudged the gate with her shoulder. The bars sprang loose instantly.
And sank instantly.
"No, no, let go, orcess! Let go of the gate!" shouted the selkie, diving after her. But Womba had a death-grip on the gate, her shriek rising from her mouth in huge, pearly bubbles. The selkie rolled his eyes and dove after her, trying to distinguish her face from the morass of seaweed and barnacles growing on the lower part of the gate. In clear water, it would have been a difficult job; in the silty tidewash, it was impossible.
Wiggulf went up for air, wondering why he even cared that Womba was drowning. After all, her kind had put him in this wet pit where he had languished for years, living off the fish the tide brought in, and the crabs and mollusks that favored that dark, protected walls of the dungeon. He'd never been dry enough to change back into a man. But they had put her in there, too. Somehow that was enough.
He dove again, finding Womba's huge hand, claws still locked around the bars of the gate, and opened his mouth to bare two savagely sharp incisors. He clamped down on her scaly fingers with all his might. It worked. She let go of the bars and grabbed viciously for him, chasing him up from the sea floor to the sur1 9 6
Teri McLaren
face, rage and pain in her salt-blinded eyes. Wiggulf barely escaped her proven grasp,
"Enough, orcess! Leave off! I mean you no harm. You are safe-look, see?" He pointed toward the open sea. "We must swim now, out of the gate. Just hold your breath." He panted as Womba clacked her teeth at him and fought to stay above the waves.
"But I cannot swim, you rodent!" she whuffed, spewing him with water.
Wiggulf had not thought of that. But there was no time to work it out; the temple had begun to collapse, a few small bleached, hollow bones plinking here and there into the sea like the beginnings of a hard cloudburst. Soon, he knew, they would be unable to get far enough away before the top-heavy structure crumbled, sending huge chunks of marble, heavy monaurochs skulls, and enormous whale bones crashing over their heads into the bay.
He swam out past Womba, nipping her as he went, and waited as she followed, her anger providing enough propulsion to get her out of the dungeon. Wiggulf circled her again and again, teasing and poking at her, until he had maneuvered her several yards out from the dungeon, toward something he had spotted floating in the water: one of Rotapan's favorite decorations, a massive gargoyle made from a bunch of large, round skulls lashed together, which bobbed in the waves like a coconut raft. Wiggulf swam under it and towed it to Womba, who grabbed onto it with all the strength she had. When he was sure it would remain afloat, Wiggulf tugged at the lashings, slowly bringing the strange raft along.
The sea was high-the whirlpool controlled the current-so he steered Womba far to the right, close to the ruin of the causeway, just as most of the temple broke apart and fell. It was a sight Wiggulf had awaited for years. He turned on his back to watch and grinned so widely that his whiskers tickled his ears. "Ha! You old poisoner… builder of bone lodges! You have done this to yourself. Good-bye, Rotapan."
Womba looked back also. The bones crashed into the sea behind them, what remained of the temple disappearing amid a puff of white dust. A lone boot, its workmanship exquisite, its decoration exquisitely tasteless, floated up beside Womba.
"Og…" she cried, reaching for the boot, hugging it to her chest. "Og… oh, and Papa, too…" she moaned, about to lose her grip on the raft.
Wiggulf sighed, it was hard work, saving an enemy.
"Hold on, orcess, over there is part of the old bridge. We can rest there until the tide goes out again. I will swim to my people and bring you help. You will be safe here: the water never rises above these rocks, and the piling is hollow-our fishers once used this place as shelter in storms."
Wiggulf pulled himself up a cairn of crab-infested rocks, once part of the destroyed bridge's pilings. Womba clawed up the rocks after him, hugging the boot, and fell into an exhausted sleep as soon as her feet were out of the water. The blue fiddlers and the spiky red crabs, their black-tipped claws clacking at their new find, swarmed over Womba momentarily, but Wiggulf batted them off, taking one or two to taste. For years, he had eaten crabs. And since the crabs ate the remains of everything else in the sea, they had held the most poison in their flesh. Wiggulf spat the bitter meat out in disgust. He could wait until he got home; it wasn't that much farther to decent food.
He dipped back into the water to clear his paws of the foul smell, hopped back upon the dry piling, and began to preen his fur, awaiting the transformation. It had been years since he had taken the shape of a man. He wondered what it would feel like to be dry. Seconds later, he knew.
13
"What did you say?" snapped Frijan.
"About the temple?"
"He's right. Collapsed just as Og left. Most of it anyway. The last I saw, the first seven or eight stories still stood, if somewhat shakily," said Cheyne. "You are thinking about your father?" he asked the selkie.
"Yes. Did you see him?" she asked.
"No. But we did hear him just before the temple fell. Perhaps he escaped."
"Perhaps he did. Perhaps he is right here behind you," said a voice from over Cheyne's shoulder. Frijan turned, her face incredulous.
"Father? No… how can this be? My sire is no bent greybeard."
"And my daughter no tall, strong woman. You forget, child, how long I have been imprisoned by the poisoner. I forgot, too. It was, to say the least, a shock to find myself with bent back and bowed legs. The poison has done me grave harm, it seems. Fortunately, I met the delta guards, and they helped me to cover most of the damage up with this rag."
He leaned hard on his newly cut walking stick and pointed to his ill-fitting tunic. Claria eyed it closely, noting that the design looked remarkably like the decoration on Riolla's slaves' garments. Cheyne and Claria introduced themselves, and when it was Og's turn, a strange smile crossed Wiggulf's lips. He held out a short, webbed fingered hand to each of them.
"Greetings to you all, and welcome to my kingdom. I am Wiggulf, the riverking, and I apologize for my inability to meet you properly. I have just escaped, with the help of an orcess, of all people, from the Wyrvil water dungeon. The poisoner is dead!" He laughed, bowing painfully to Cheyne, Claria, and Og, Wiggulf straightened abruptly when the others did not share his laughter.
"No, Riverking, he is not," said Cheyne.
"What? But I saw as we escaped-the bone temple has fallen into the sea. Rotapan never leaves, except to pour out his poisons upon the waters of the cauldron. But you say he lives?" Wiggulf took a few steps toward them with the aid of his walking stick.
"He and the Sumifan Schreefa follow us, Riverking," said Og. "Rotapan, um, seems to believe this stone is his." He held up the staff, its serpent's head still covered with the rag. Even so, Wiggulf drew back instinctively at the sight of the poisoner's rod.
"Where did you get that?" he asked roughly.
"We retrieved it from the waters as we ran from Rotapan,B said Cheyne quickly. "The stone in the serpent's eye truly belongs to Og, and was stolen from him many years ago."
"Then our stone was also yours to begin with… for the four were all from the hand of the same workman, cut to fit one to the other. Just like the old stories, which say our kingdoms used to be joined." Wiggulf considered the thought, a frown crossing his wizened face. "We must hurry to the lodge."
The others made to follow
him but, Frijan hung back, still uncertain. Wiggulf could bear it no longer. "Please come to me, Frijan. I have missed you…" he said quietly, holding out his thin arms to his daughter.
As Frijan embraced her father, Cheyne turned and looked behind him into the forest, remembering his last words to [avin, an unbearable feeling of sadness overwhelming him. He jerked his head back suddenly. No. / will not look back, he thought, setting his jaw.
Claria studied his bitter expression closely, but said nothing, her thoughts interrupted as Og drew closer, a look of terror on his face.
"Did you hear him? He said Womba escaped with him. That means she's on her way here. We have to leave as soon as we can and go on toward the mountains," he whispered to them both.
"Why? There are enemies still on our trail, we're all tired, we need more suitable clothing, I need a chance to think, and before we try for the Sarrazan forest, we have to get some provisions," said Cheyne. "Unless, of course, you can sing all those things out of the air for us right now, Og." He winked. "But maybe that's not a good idea-we might see Womba even sooner…"
Og did appreciate Cheyne's attempt at humor.
But Wiggulf and Frijan heard Claria laugh and moved to join them.
"What about this one? Did he attack you?" said Wiggulf, pointing to Yob, who had been lying all this time almost hidden upon the forest floor. The color had completely drained from the big ore's face, and he was still trembling violently.
"No, Father. I found him half-drowned by the sea. He was to help with your ransom. I cut him with a razorclam to make him cooperate. He'll die soon, I think. We can leave him here; it's far enough away from the lodge. The corbies will take him inside a day or two," Frijan replied.
Wiggulf met his daughter's eyes, a look of surprise and disappointment clouding his face. "My child, the terrible burden of my absence has made you hard. No, Frijan, we cannot let him die. There is no need. He deserves life as much as any of us."
The old selkie bent over the ore and examined the cut. "Ah, time is short. The wound is already sour. Once the cut of the razorclam was not even serious, but now, since Rotapan's been dumping his poison potions as sacrifices to that imaginary water worm in the sea, the smallest nick is deadly. Well, best get on with it. Give me the stone, girl."
Frijan's silver eyes went wide with disbelief. "You would use the stone on one such as this? One of the enemy, who held you captive in that pit? Father, how could you? At your best, your strongest, using the stone for the life song always made you ill. It will kill you in this weakened condition."
"So you never were going to make Yob well? You were just using him until you got what you wanted?" said Og.
"You know this ore?" she said incredulously.
"Well, he has done me several favors, I suppose you could say. It's kind of a complicated relationship," said Og.
"Stay out of this, little man. To me he is but an ore, so I am his enemy. Don't make me yours, too," she snapped.
Og threw up his hands and withdrew behind Cheyne.
"Well, somebody either help him or kill him," said Claria. "I can't bear seeing him suffer."
Wiggulf beckoned to his daughter again. "I said give me the stone. I am still your father, and your king. Obey, Frijan."
Out of old habit, Frijan submitted, tearing the water sapphire from her ear and handing it to him. "I cannot watch this! You come back, after all these years, after all my waiting and hoping, and now you will go, this time forever, inside the same tide. For the sake of a filthy greenskin!"
She bounded away into the forest, leaving Wiggulf holding the dark stone to his heart, his eyes following her sadly.
"I love you, Frijan," he whispered, knowing she did not hear him. "And you have kept my kingdom well. But I am still king, and this creature has not come to my kingdom of his own accord. His blood is on our hands. And it is true, his kind would not help us in the same situation. I have spent the last ten years in my enemy's prison; now that I am free, I will share none of his ways. The life song must be sung."
He closed his gentle eyes and began to hum. The water sapphire twinkled and glittered in response, its colors changing slowly from deepest purple to pale blue and back again. Wiggulf s strength seemed to wax and wane along with the colors.
"Is there nothing we can do to help him?" said Claria softly.
"Not that 1 know of. The stones are Og's. I know nothing of their powers," Cheyne said helplessly. Og began to pace and mutter behind them.
"Wiggulf will die that way. Too much random power. It'll stop his heart. He can't make the tone true enough, can't direct it outside himself without-" Og stopped, noticing suddenly that Cheyne was staring at him.
"Without what, Og?"
Og creased his forehead with a grimace and held up the cloth-covered staff. "Without the ajada. But I haven't sung the life song in a long, long time. If I tried it, using both stones, and I missed the notes, it could kill me, too, and Yob would still die. And Wiggulf could never manage both stones. That's a very powerful song," he said miserably. "Far more powerful than the one I sang for Yob and his company at the oasis. You do remember what happened there when I couldn't release a note."
Cheyne nodded and turned back around to see Wiggulf shake violently as he lost his breath. Yob lay stretched on the forest floor, his face blanched and slack, his eyes closed and still. But Wiggulf raised his silvery head and continued the song, spending himself without thought.
Or effect. Finally Og could bear it no longer. He parted the way between Cheyne and Claria, and laid his hand upon the old selkie's head. Wiggulf opened his eyes and saw that Yob was no better.
"Let me try, Wiggulf. I have the sister stone. Perhaps it will help, perhaps not. Results may be variable, of course." Og chuckled lamely, uncovering the staff. Instantly the ajada began to gleam redly in the bronze serpent's head.
Wiggulf drew back again from the fanged effigy.
"No, I cannot. He lies upon my land; he is my responsibility. And put away the poisoner's wand, I beg you," panted Wiggulf, his face as pale as the ore's.
"Like your stone, the ajada itself is not evil, Wiggulf. The user determines the use of its power. Command me to your service," said Og. "As king, you can do that. Please, there is no time. And your daughter should have her father back. Let me try-I think…"
He took a deep breath and looked at Cheyne, knowing his speech had yet to convince the selkie. Cheyne nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Og's.
"… I know I can do it," Og finished strongly.
"Please, Father. Let him," a voice said quietly. Frijan stepped back out of the forest, returning to his side.
"Yob's stopped breathing," said Claria, watching the ore's chest.
"I will let you try on one condition," wheezed Wiggulf. "I vowed that the poisoner's staff would never rule in my lands. Break the staff and take the stone from that serpent's head. Then you may make your attempt."
"Agreed," said Og instantly.
Cheyne snatched the rod and banged the red stone loose on a large river rock, then broke the staff under his heel in one swift motion. Claria dove for the ajada, and desperately, Wiggulf put his hand upon Og's head, spoke a word none of them could understand, and changed places with the songmage.
Og smiled weakly, took the ajada from Claria, holding it in one hand and the water sapphire in the other, and began to sing the same song Wiggulf had attempted. The water sapphire seemed to catch fire in Og's hand, its dark blue depths lighting to an intense brilliance with the notes of the life song. The magical light blossomed over Og's head again, the ajada's red mingling with the sapphire's shades of blue and purple.
Cheyne could hardly believe his eyes, much less his ears. Og's voice had become resonant and clear, full of life. Tears formed in Claria's eyes and spilled unbidden down her face. Frijan broke into joyous laughter as Wiggulf s back and legs straightened, and the pall of Rotapan's accumulated poisons lifted from his face. As Og finished, the stones' light receded. The skin on Claria's a
nkle was smooth, Cheyne's neck no longer hurt, and the selkie king stood on his own, marveling that his twisted body was restored and whole.
And Yob woke up.
"Where — .. am I? What is this place? Womba?" he rasped weakly, raising himself on his callused elbows.
"You are in the territories of Wiggulf, king of the selkies," said Cheyne. "And Ogwater has brought you back from your final journey, Yob."
"Your daughter is safe also, ore. We escaped together, she breaking down the dungeon gate. We managed the swim to the middle of the Silver Sea. I left her waiting in the shelter of the old bridge ruins for the help I promised. It will take a while for my people to rig a raft for her, but she will be along shortly," said Wiggulf.
Yob smiled hugely and threw himself onto the song-mage in a crushing hug. His strength, apparently, had been completely restored. "I will never forget this. My house owes yours the life-debt, Og," said Yob.
Then a shadow of confusion passed over the ore's face and his skin prickled visibly. He put the songmage down. "I was cold and tired. Then I saw the land beneath the hills. I saw the old ones, waiting there. I saw a great city, full of bright things, strange machines, and also many bones. Where was this place I went to? I did not see any of you there. Then I heard a terrible sound, like your singing, only very bad. The sound reached into my chest, hurting like a dagger, and pulled me from the darkness, and then 1 am here." He looked puzzled. "What are you doing with Rotapan's staff, Og?"
"Urn, this won't hurt a bit. Just stand still, Yob," said Og, as he took up the bronze end of the broken staff and swung it mightily at the ore's head.
The impact would have killed a man, but Yob's eyes suddenly cleared, and he grinned again.
"Feeling better now? You just had a bit of the death shock hanging about. You'll forget all about it in a little while." Og tossed down the staff.
"About what?" said Yob. "I'm hungry. Let us hunt."
