The Drowned Tomb (The Changeling Series Book 2)

by James Fahy

  “Undine,” the sirens hissed, three voices at once. “The high ones. The elder sisterhood. They are wise fools, and their queen is dead.”

  “Yes, we know she’s dead,” Robin said. “We need to know where she is, and for that we need to get to Hiernarbos. No one knows the way.” He held up the cylinder. “The way is in here.”

  “Ran away with a pretty Fae, she did,” the flickering darkness rasped, sounding softly scandalised. The lights in her skin ebbed and pulsed. “Left her throne, left her charge, went to hide, to live and die in peace. No one knows where. No one.”

  “We already know she was with one of the Fae,” Robin said. “We don’t know where the two eloped to, but the Undine in the hidden valley, at Hiernarbos might. She may be buried there, in her homeland. We need to find her. Will you help me or not?”

  The lights of the siren brightened, swirling backwards across its form. Robin could see from the flickering outline that it was basically human shaped, but tall, very, very tall, with stooped shoulders and its arms were large and long like clubs. Powerful. Its claws clacking at its side. “What is the riddle, Scion of the Arcania?” it said eventually.

  Robin told it. He was aware that Woad was crouched by his side, firmly planted rather protectively between him and the water’s edge.

  “Three states, unlock the gates,” the siren cackled, a bubbling, throaty noise. “How simple. How simple you must all be. What do they teach the Fae these days?”

  A claw shot out from the waterfall, making Robin flinch a little and take a step back. He hadn’t realised it, but he’d been slowly walking toward the cave, his feet sleepwalking while he watched the lights flicker in the darkness. He’d been moving without thinking, without noticing, drawn closer to the creature by its light show. The claw pointed at the grass between the rocks, where the waterfall hit the pool. “Drop it here. We will open it now.”

  Woad and Robin exchanged glances. The faun shrugged, which wasn’t very helpful, so Robin, careful to keep his eye on the things swirling in the water, slowly dropped to one knee and placed the long tube gently on the tussocky grass. He stood and took a step back. Quite a big step.

  “If you are thinking of tricking me,” he said, trying his best to sound stern and impressive. “You should know that I am the Scion, and Erlking is mine. You don’t want to be my enemy.”

  The sirens all bubbled with laughter, the exact opposite reaction he had hoped for. Woad glared at them, furious on Robin’s behalf. “He is!” the boy piped up. “Any tricky business and he’ll throw a slush-spear at you! Trust me, that will be…” he hesitated. “Cold and unpleasant.”

  “Yes, thank you, Woad,” Robin hissed, mortified.

  “Three states, open the gates,” the sirens swirling in the water sang. They were glowing too, down there beneath the dark surface. Flickering in prismatic light, making the blackness of the pool into a whirling soft rainbow. It was very, very hard not to look at, Robin found.

  The siren in the cave flexed her claw, and a small jet of water shot out from the waterfall, redirected by mana. This jet encased the tube in a floating bubble, flowing over it in rippling, caressing waves.

  “State one, water,” it said.

  There was another pulse of mana, and with a loud series of crackles and snaps, the water flowing over the tube clouded, becoming pale and white. Frost tinged the grass in a circle around the cylinder as the watery skin hardened. In seconds, it was solid and shining.

  “State two,” the siren explained, still shimmering brightly in the gloom. “Ice.”

  A third flick of its long claw, and with a loud hiss, the ice encasing the Undine’s case evaporated immediately, billowing up and dissipating in mid-air in a whooshing cloud.

  “State three … steam.”

  Robin stared at the tube. It had changed. Where before it had been covered in intricate carvings, now it was smooth and pale, like whalebone. As he and Woad stared, there was a click, and one end of the cylinder opened smoothly, as though on an invisible hinge. Rolled neatly and tightly inside, they saw, was a yellowed scroll.

  Robin’s heart leapt. They’d done it. The three states of the Tower of Water, that was all that had been required. Without thinking he looked up, meaning to thank the siren. He hadn’t noticed, but while he had been watching the magic at work, the creature had slid out of the waterfall and stood now directly before him, a dark and shimmering shape. Its bodily lights flickered and blazed, catching and trapping his eyes. He was rooted to the spot, unable to turn away. Unable to move or do anything other than stare, idiotically and helpless, into the pulsing nebulae of lights rolling over the creature. It was beautiful, a rolling kaleidoscope, making his eyes dilate.

  “Now, you swim,” it growled. With alarming speed, it lunged forward, its reach from the waterfall’s edge much greater than the boy had anticipated. With a heavy swing of its thick claws, it batted Robin off his feet. Dazed and entranced by the lights, he faintly heard Woad calling his name in panic, and then he hit the water, crashing into the pool, and everything was icy blackness.

  Robin thrashed in the darkness, the water was cold as ice, and pitch black. It rushed in against him, shaking off the dizzying stupor of the siren’s lights and bringing him immediately to his shocked senses. The cold seemed to pierce his skin, knocking the air from his lungs in a shocked gasp which sent countless noisy bubbles rolling over his face. His heart felt as though it was going to explode, and his limbs were heavy with the weight of his sodden clothes. Robin had imbibed black kraken bile, he knew he was a strong swimmer, and in the past few months he had become utterly at home in the cool clear expanse of Erlking’s lake. But this was different. The water here was so cold and dark, and his disoriented brain couldn’t quite make his body work as it should. He kicked out, blind and freezing, starved of air, but his clothes and trainers were so heavy. He was sinking, deeper and deeper into the midnight waters, colder than the grave. Shapes brushed against him, unseen. Buffeting him around, over and over, large and heavy things. He felt the scrape of claws against his frigid skin, as the sirens in the water sought to entangle him.

  I’m going to drown, he thought quite clearly. They’re going to drown me. Claws sought for purchase. In the blind darkness there was a flash of sickly light from the bodies of the sirens. A claw gripped his thigh like a cruel vice. Another bit into his shoulder, pushing him downward as a thick, slippery arm curled around his throat from behind. He brought his arms up, in nightmarish slow motion through the water, to grapple at the arm, but it was hard shell and he may as well have been battering against stone. It was like trying to fight in freezing, suffocating treacle. Blind and helpless. The sirens dragged him downwards, their limbs flashing and rolling with waves of beautiful cold colour. It was mesmerising. Pushing all reason and resistance from his oxygen-starved mind. A beautiful light show to soothe his soul. He wanted to lose himself in it. This silent song in light. The song of the sirens. Despite his lungs distantly screaming for air and the rolling sound of his last few bubbles around his ears. Despite the cold and the blackness, the lights soothed him.

  They grew dimmer, and a small part of Robin’s mind knew that this was because his vision was darkening. He had to breathe, he had to. But through his open, gasping mouth, nothing flooded his lungs but water, agonisingly cold and brackish. He coughed instinctively, making him gasp, taking in more water, filling his lungs. He felt his grip loosen, his scrabbling fingers stop their fight, as consciousness left him.

  Far off he heard voices, distorted through the water. Woad … and someone else? Someone was shouting. In the glimmer of distant light that remained above him, a ghost memory of the surface, as far from him and as unreachable as a supernova, something was moving against the sky. Out there in the world above, the sky above the pool was a great fractured maelstrom of shadow.

  A shimmering claw closed over his face, cold and smooth as it covered his mouth and nose, and Robin passed out.

  “Robin!”

  �
�Robin Fellows!”

  A female voice. Not Karya. How odd, Robin thought distantly. He was aware of something solid beneath him. Along his back. He was lying down. Prickly. Was it grass? And he was so cold.

  “He’s not breathing!”

  That was Woad. He sounded panicked. Robin’s distant mind couldn’t bring himself to care. Everything hurt. Everything was so far away.

  “His lungs are full of water,” the girl’s voice again. “Move back, let me get at him, will you?”

  Something brushed his lips softly. Air was forced into his lungs, painful and sudden. It hurt so much it snapped him to his senses and he lurched, rolling onto his side and unceremoniously spewing a mouthful of icy water onto the ground. Coughing and spluttering, he vomited up brackish pond water, retching until his eyes watered. Then he took in a great wheezing gasp of air. It felt like the deepest breath he had ever taken. It hurt immensely, and it was wonderful. It was life.

  “Pinky!” Woad yelled, incredibly close to his ear.

  Robin’s eyes flinched open blearily. He was staring up at trees, their blurred swaying green branches bright above him, a dappled green curtain. He was lying on the grass, soaked and aching, but not dead. His head was elevated on something. He was drenched and freezing. As he blinked, coughing furiously, two faces swam into focus, staring down at him. One was bright blue and looked both terrified and jubilant. Woad. The other was pale and half hidden by a sweep of purple hair. He knew this face too, but he was so confused.

  “They didn’t kill you then,” the girl said simply, blinking down at him. Her cool hand was resting on his forehead. It brushed his sodden hair out of his eyes.

  “What … what happened?” he croaked. “The sirens…”

  He tried to sit up, but the girl’s hand forced him down again. He realised she was kneeling on the grass, his head was cradled in her lap. Floating above the three of them, Robin noticed with disoriented wonder that there were moths. Hundreds and hundreds of black moths, dancing amongst the trees.

  “She pulled you out, Pinky!” Woad said urgently. “Sirens were fast, had me trapped in their shiny. Stupid Woad standing like a tree stump, but she! She was out of nowhere and she pulled you out with shadows!”

  Robin’s head was finally clearing. He knew where he recognised her from. It was the girl from the village.

  “Penny?” He coughed again. His body was aching all over and he was shivering uncontrollably from the cold. “How did you … what are you even doing here?”

  The girl gave a lopsided smile. He noticed for the first time how dark her eyes were. There was almost no colour at all, just black, under her pale makeup. “Well, you did say to come. It’s a good job I did. You would be rolled around on the bottom of that wet pit like a crocodile’s meal otherwise. Sirens have sharp teeth and take small bites. It wouldn’t have been pleasant, and it wouldn’t have been quick.”

  None of this was making sense. How was the girl here? How did she know about sirens? Robin forced himself to sit up, suddenly acutely embarrassed that he was using her lap for a pillow. Still disoriented, he stared around. They were some distance from the pool. Woad and Penny must have carried him somehow.

  How did she know about any of this? She certainly didn’t seem to be freaked out by the fact that Woad was squatting next to her, blue and be-tailed.

  “She isn’t human, Pinky,” Woad said, pointing at the girl in an accusing way. “I’ve never seen mana like that before. The shadows, like a whirlwind, tearing into the water like black confetti! It was a whirlwind. She plucked you out like a fairground prize!”

  The moths, Robin realised. They weren’t real moths; they were some kind of imitation. They filled the glade above them, shimmering and unsteady. Robin got waveringly to his feet, coughing. He saw the girl stand smoothly beside him.

  “Well, don’t thank me all at once,” she said. “Although in truth, Scion. I didn’t save you out of the goodness of my heart. I’m just not that nice to be honest. Though any excuse to annoy sirens is a good one.”

  Robin saw that in her free hand she was holding the rolled up scroll. The contents of the cylinder. “I’ve had a look at this.” she said, waving it at him tantalisingly. “Very, very interesting. I wonder if you’ll figure it out as quickly as I did?” She looked doubtful, narrowing her eyes at him. She also looked a lot paler than when he had met her in the village. Her skin was like chalk. She practically glowed, ghostlike in the dappled forest light. “I came for two things,” she told him. “This.” She tossed the scroll to Woad, who caught it, looking confused. “All done now. Your toy, enjoy.”

  She looked back to Robin. “And the second thing I needed. The magic ingredient of course.”

  Penny ran a white finger along her bottom lip, and it came away red.

  Robin raised a hand to his own mouth, noticing for the first time how tender his lip felt. He hadn’t noticed in the confusion of other aches and scratches. She had given him the kiss of life, breathing air back into him, but at the same time she had bitten him. It was his blood.

  “What … are … you?” he asked, shakily. Penny smiled at him. Her black eyes twinkled. She raised her bloodied finger in the air, and in seconds, several of the shadowy moths had descended, fluttering against her skin, gathering the blood.

  “I tried to be subtle,” she shrugged. “Hey ho. That failed, right? I thought just a drop would be enough, all we needed from you, but sadly nope. My little charmed keyring didn’t collect nearly enough Fae-juju for my purposes. I needed more, see?” She rolled her dark eyes between the two boys, staring at their confused faces. “Well, obviously you don’t see. This should be enough though. Sorry about the nibble. I can be a little opportunistic.” She grinned at Robin. “I guess you better hope to hell it is enough anyway, or I’ll be back for more. My brother isn’t nearly as patient as I am. He might come himself, and then he’d take it all. He has no self-restraint.”

  Woad had scampered and picked up the cylinder which the girl had dropped and discarded carelessly. He retreated to behind Robin.

  “Penny, what’s going on?” Robin asked, dabbing at his lip gingerly. The moths were gathering all around the strange white girl, descending from the trees in their hundreds. They flew past his face, batting against his cheeks like dark kisses. Woad waved his hands around as though shooing bats.

  “What’s going on? What am I? Scion of the Arcania? So many questions. I’m the one collecting your blood, blood is the key you see. Opens the way and raises the spirits. Saving you from your own idiocy just now? Don’t read into that too much. It was just lucky for you that I needed you more that the sirens did.”

  She grinned, a flash of white teeth as the moths covered her completely in a dark and whispering blanket. He saw a glimmer of dark eyes and a swish of purple hair. “I’ll tell you what I am. I’m the competition, kiddo. Catch us if you can.”

  The moths flew apart, exploding in a dark cloud all over the glade, and rising up, a living plume smoke, to scatter above the branches and disappear into the blue sky. The girl was gone.

  Robin and Woad stood silently in the clearing for a few moments. Birds chirped in the tree branches around them. In the distance, they could hear the tinkle of the waterfall at the dangerous sirens' pool, reassuringly far off. Of the defeated sirens, there was neither hide nor hair.

  Eventually, Woad spoke. “Scary white ghost lady saved you from the sirens, sent them back to the deep.”

  Robin nodded, dumbfounded, his finger still on his sore bottom lip. “She kissed me.”

  “Bit your face. Stole your blood,” Woad agreed in a matter-of-fact way. He lifted the scroll, still tightly wrapped in his small hand. “Girls, eh? At least she didn’t take this. She just looked at it while I carried you up from the pool to here.”

  Robin glanced at Woad absently. “You carried me?”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” Woad assured him. “I could carry ten scions.” The faun looked up to the sky above them. There wasn’t the faint
est sign of even one black moth.

  “Girls around here are very odd,” he said, after some consideration.

  “I don’t think she was a girl,” Robin shivered. He was still freezing and aching all over. “I think she was something else.”

  Robin reflected on the sobering fact that his very first kiss, of sorts, had clearly been with a member of the Grimms.

  BLOOD AND BONE

  “A Grimm?!”

  Robin winced. He had never heard Karya sound shrill before. She wasn’t the yelling kind, as a rule. He winced again as Hestia reapplied the strangely pungent rag to his shoulder. It stung like nettles.

  “A Grimm!” Karya yelled again. She was staring at him, wild-eyed and scandalised. “An actual Grimm?!”

  “How many times are you going to say that dark name, wild creature?” Hestia fluttered, smearing more of the oily, greenish gloop none too gently onto Robin’s bare shoulder with a rag. “You are hurting Hestia’s ears with your noise! Like a little bird trapped! It is too much!”

  Robin flinched as the housekeeper patted his back, the unguent she was applying to his many scratches prickling unbearably. She flicked her beetle-black eyes to his. “And you! Be still, you horrible, thoughtless child!” She clucked her tongue, shaking her head in bewilderment. “To go swimming with sirens! Sirens! You are trying to give old Hestia a heart attack! You think I have nothing better to do than pull poison from your body? Who is mopping the ballroom while poor Hestia is here? Tell me that? No one, that is who? And who will have to explain why when Lady Irene returns? Why there is…” Her lip quivered, “ … dust!” She spat the word.

  Robin tried to hold still. It was bad enough that Woad had half carried him all the way back from the woods, hanging limply from his shoulder as the small but ridiculously strong faun held his stumbling frame upright. It was even worse to be sat here, bare-chested and perched on the tabletop in the great kitchen like a naughty child while Hestia, who had almost shrieked the house down on seeing him, attempted to tend the many scratches and bruises he had sustained with a bowl full of foul smelling crushed herbs. She had prepared the herbs at lightning speed, wailing all the time about the carelessness of children, and who would be blamed if he were to die while Aunt Irene was away.