Rise of the Sea Witch (Unfortunate Soul Chronicles Book 1)

by Stacey Rourke

  Turning, I found Alastor seated on top of one of the larger manatee bulls, attempting to ride the animal, much to its extreme indifference. Adolescence was being slightly kinder to Alastor. He was just as sinewy as Triton, but somehow it looked … better on him. Jerking his entire body forward, he attempted to coax the bull to move. Long blinks while munching on a mouthful of musk grass was as taxing an activity as the manatee intended to partake in.

  “Not you, too, Alastor. Really, one might question your upbringing.” An audible lilt of humor drifted into my stern tone at the opportunity to utilize our long running joke at my father’s expense.

  “It’s all in the name of science!” Alastor countered, slapping his tail against the side of the manatee. “They’re known as sea-cows. Perhaps, if we can train them, we could ride them into battle. Or, more likely, we could transport Atlantica’s elderly and feeble around without even blowing their hair back.”

  The last fin slap was the one which annoyed the manatee into action. At a speed that a snail would find tiresome and dull, it began rolling to its side.

  Alastor disappeared behind the manatee’s girth, nothing but his flapping orange tail visible. “Oh … ow! There’s a boulder back here! He’s still rolling … may not be able to breathe much … longer. Little help, please?”

  “In the name of science, I think you need to see this experiment through to fulfillment. What will you learn if I help you?” My glossy black hair hung down my back in a curtain. Loriana had caught just the sides and pulled them back in a delicate braid resembling a waterfall.

  Flipping the end of that braid over my shoulder, I once again focused my attention on Triton. “Now, we don’t have time for you to change into fitting attire, but if we hurry we can still make it before the curtains to the Summit Room are drawn back.”

  Popping up next to a nursing manatee, Triton rested his elbows on her back and cradled his chin in one palm. “You know, I hear other girls in the town square talking about which member of the Royal Guard they find to be the dreamiest. Are you capable of such musings?”

  “Neleus’s name is mentioned often,” Alastor’s muffled voice came from behind the bull, who appeared to be smiling victoriously. “They say his eyes are as bright as freshly sprouted sea grass.”

  I couldn’t have fought off that eye-roll if I tried to—which I didn’t bother. “Most girls aren’t contenders to the throne. Who I apprentice with is a crucial undertaking. If not directly with the Royal Guard, I need someone who can help me form solid relationships with Atlantica’s dignitaries. Triton, if you have any desire to be king, you’ll strive for the same.”

  “That’s where you’re mistaken, dear sister!” Triton’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I have no desire to rule today, tomorrow, or ever! By all means, give my regards to Father and his Council.”

  Patience waning, I slapped my tail against the water. “Triton!”

  If I showed up without my brother, I would be the brunt of Father’s fury. I would sooner fish-hook Triton’s cheek and drag him back to the palace flailing and kicking than to allow that to happen.

  A grunt, a shove, and Alastor squirted out from behind the manatee. Tawny hair stabbed off his head in disheveled spikes, his amber eyes bulging. “What did I miss?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I twisted my lips to the side in wry smirk. “Oh, nothing much, just Triton relinquishing all rights to the throne.”

  “We haven’t even had breakfast,” Alastor mused, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “That seems like a big proclamation to make on an empty stomach.”

  “Oh, but it’s true!” Throwing his arms out wide, Triton swan dived backwards. Calves scurried out of the way to avoid being clobbered by his back flip. “Vanessa can be Queen of Atlantica! I’ll be King of the Mana-minis!”

  Finding himself face to snout with a calf, Triton caught it in his arms. Cradling its face in his hands, he puffed his cheeks and mimicked its expression. The mother of the calf scowled her disapproval and whacked Triton with her tailfin. Erupting in a fresh fit of giggles, he rolled away from the herd.

  “Your subjects seem less than enthusiastic about this prospect,” Alastor pointed out to my slow-witted brother and playfully bumped my elbow with his.

  Letting my head loll to the side, I stared up at him from under my lashes. “You speak his language. If I apologize for letting you get squashed, will you please help me wrangle him?”

  “For you?” Alastor’s eyes narrowed in contemplation for a fraction of a second before a smile bright enough to light the farthest reaches of the ocean’s depths spread across his face. “Okay, but you owe me a favor to be named later. Anything I ask.”

  “Within reason,” I countered, hitching one brow.

  “Agreed.” He nodded, then raised his voice to be heard over my brother’s babbling baby talk directed at the infant manatees. “Triton! Your birthday banquet is tomorrow. They’re sure to have those seaweed-wrapped scallops you adore. If you don’t participate in your Initiation Rite, you know your Father will have you mucking out the porpoise stalls instead of feasting with the rest of the nobility!”

  Triton’s head burst up like a surfacing orca. “I love those scallops!”

  “Well, of course you do!” Raising his palms skyward, Alastor let them fall to his sides with a slap. “They’re delicious! Little bit salty, little bit sweet, it’s delightful! A true culinary treat, so let’s go!”

  Repelling off the nearest bull, Triton fired past us, stirring up a strong current in his wake. Spinning around, he paused to toss back a winning smile. “You two coming, or what?”

  Without waiting for a response, he swam off, leaving only his echoing laughter behind.

  Alastor tried, and failed, to hide his victorious smirk. Turning one hand palm up, he shrugged as if he was as surprised by his talent as I was.

  “You think you’re clever? If I do become queen, I’m assigning you to be his handler. You can spend your days preventing him from irritating Blue Ring Octopuses or being devoured by Great Whites.”

  “Oh, come on! I’m only one person! Albeit an insanely charismatic one, but still!”

  Offering him little more than an indifferent lift of my shoulder, I kicked off with the intention of following Triton. I hadn’t made it one flip of my tail before Alastor’s hand caught my upper arm and turned me back to him.

  “My one favor; I want you to answer a question for me.”

  A hot blush warming my cheeks, I self-consciously pulled my arm away. “What’s that?”

  Alastor’s eyes darkened with a wisdom beyond his years, the intensity of his stare causing my heart to lurch in a spastic stutter-beat. “You work extremely hard, deprive yourself of much, and for what? We consider our culture to be evolved, yet some of our practices are still archaic and rooted in tradition we can’t begin to understand. You work and you slave for that throne. Do you ever stop to think, I wonder, that on the day of the Choosing Ceremony all the tireless tolling could be for naught? It will come down to the Trident and the Ursela shell. One will choose you, and not the other way around. If the shell picks you, it will grant you its power. You will become the Royal Alchemist, resigned to a life of science … and magic.”

  A noose of fear tightened around my throat, choking me with its looming threat. The all too vivid memory of my mother’s reanimated corpse flashed behind my eyes.

  “That can’t happen.” Forcing the words through my constricted throat, I turned tail and kicked for Atlantica. But it was too late. Alastor had seen the tears of fear welling in my eyes at the prospect of such an abysmal fate.

  Chapter Two

  I couldn’t tell when you came in if you actually were a pauper, or just had some sort of aversion to mirrors and good taste. Regardless, I should give you a bit of backstory on the politics of Atlantica so you can follow along. As I have made abundantly clear, my father was the king and held ultimate rule over the seas. Even so, like any quality leader, he needed trusted advisors
to help him see various sides of the issues Atlantica faced. To keep matters as fair as possible, one representative was chosen from each of the Seven Seas; the Gulf, Arctic, Caribbean, Indian, Mediterranean, Atlantic, and Pacific. By the votes of their own people, these select seven were chosen to sit on the Council of the King. They were an intricate part of our government … and were surfing my last nerve with their tardiness. The Summit Room couldn’t be opened to Triton and me until all of them arrived, and some stragglers had yet to make their appearance. Therefore, we were being dragged through the same tour of the Temple of the Kings that we, and every other child of Atlantica, had been subjected to every year since our first schooling. That said, I took my role as princess and future queen seriously. With my hands folded behind my back and my posture stiff and regal, I floated behind our guide, listening intently to historic tales I could have recited by memory.

  “This is Thetis, of the twelfth empire,” the records keeper, a reed-thin merman with a hook nose and overbite which rivaled that of a swordfish, explained in a monotone cadence sure to cure insomnia. “She followed her grandmother, Tethys, to the throne. She was sculpted in wedding attire from the day she married the notorious war hero, Peleus. It is said the jubilance of that day radiated so far and wide, it created the first red sunset human sailors now gauge the weather upon. Positioned at the foot of Thetis you will see an exceptionally oversized pearl. Legend says Thetis was gifted that pearl on the eve of her wedding by the gods of Mt. Olympus. Each laid their hands upon the precious stone and bestowed upon it a glimmer of their power. It was believed the artifact would grant a surplus of magic to whomever possessed it. As queen, Thetis so feared its power, and the threat of it falling into the wrong hands, that she commanded it be protected by guards at all times and never touched. Now, it or a replica there of, sits here for us all to appreciate. And we’re moving on! We’re swimming. We’re swimming.” Curling his fingers, he swam backward and motioned for us to follow. At the foot of the next statue, he spun around to gaze up at it like a familiar old friend. “And we’re stopping.”

  From behind me I heard a muffled snort of laughter. Let me state up-front I didn’t want to look back. I knew nothing good would come of it. That being said, my doofus of a brother was behind me. If I had learned anything growing up with him, it was that it was better to risk a glance than to be hit in the back of the head by whatever trouble he had stirred up. Pulling up short, I glanced back in time to see Triton pluck the giant pearl from the foot of the Thetis statue.

  Tossing it up with one hand, he caught it with the other, and offered me a toothy grin. “Hey,” he whispered, flipping the pearl onto the back of his hand, he let it roll up his arm and onto his back, “do you think I can roll this into the Hall of Records from here? There’s quite an angle at the archway, but if I put the right spin on it—”

  “Triton, no!” I hissed through my teeth, my head whipping in the direction of our guide.

  If he had heard anything he didn’t let on, but continued his well-rehearsed spiel without interruption. “Here we have Pontus, who was quite a character during his reign!”

  “Put it down before you break something!” I demanded in an urgent whisper, my hands balling into tight fists at my sides.

  “This is fragile?” Triton asked, momentarily frozen. Flaxen brows rocketed into his hairline, his face a mask of mock innocence. “Then, I really shouldn’t do this.”

  Letting the pearl roll down his spine and onto his tail, he gave it a bump with his fin and flipped it over his head.

  Diving to catch it, a yelp escaped my parted lips. The second the pearl settled into my waiting palms, a warmth I hadn’t expected radiated over my skin in relentless waves. My fingers—sliding over the flawlessly smooth surface—prickled, a shiver of awareness shuddering through me.

  Righting myself, I gaped in Triton’s direction with bulging eyes. “Did … did you feel that?”

  “Princess Vanessa!” our guide snapped. Appearing over my shoulder, he glared down his dorsal fin of a nose at me. “Perhaps you could put down the priceless work of art, and repeat back to me what I just said?”

  With a dutiful nod, I returned the pearl to its rightful place. Stone scraped over the treasured jewel as I situated it back into the shallow cavity Triton had plucked it from. Cold, as cutting as that of the sea’s most formidable depths, bit into the morrow of my bones the instant I released my hold on the artifact.

  “Actually, sir—” Swimming forward, Triton attempted to do the noble thing and fess up.

  If I didn’t think it would land him in a boiling spring of trouble he couldn’t handle, I may have let him speak. Instead, I caught him by the elbow and pushed him behind me.

  “Shut up, Triton,” I commanded. My stare flicked passed the tour guide to formulate my best guess of which statue he had stopped at. Flicking my tongue over my bottom lip, I began, “Well, sir, you were introducing us to King Pontus. It is said that he personified the sea more than any other king or queen before him, or since. As a fierce leader he could embody the most dangerous elements of the oceans. Yet he was still a just and kindly leader, like the lapping sea on a calm day. Rumor has it he became so enraptured by the sea, that he never found a true love of his own. He never married. Never had children. Such things were impossible when he felt his soul mate was the essence of Mother Ocean herself.”

  The guide simply stared, blinking his astonishment.

  “Was that right?” I asked, knowing full well that it was. Catching the end of my braid, I twirled it around my finger. “I could work on my execution for next time.”

  “Nessa,” Triton tried to interrupt.

  Unfortunately, this ball of sass was on a roll.

  “Maybe I should juggle?” I ventured at the expense of the aghast guide. “Make it a bit … showier.”

  “Vanessa!” my father boomed from the expansive archway behind me. “Apologize at once!”

  My gusto washed out like a riptide, the cause for Triton’s dire warning suddenly blazingly obvious. I didn’t try to argue, didn’t omit a peep of protest. Chin dropping to my chest, I mumbled a brief apology to the guide. Turning to my father, my entire body tensed in anticipation of his fury. Triton edged in closer, offering support in the simple form of his arm brushing mine. My only saving grace? Poseidon had an audience, and in the eyes of his people he always strove to appear considerate and kind.

  Pulling himself up to full, menacing height, Poseidon tipped his head and glared me down from under his brow. “This is my palace. Gillian is a member of my court, not yours. I shall never hear you speak to anyone within my kingdom with such blatant disrespect. Is that clear?”

  Something within me wilted in upon itself, like a land plant deprived of the sun. “Yes, Father,” I croaked, blinking back the hot rush of tears that stung behind my eyes.

  Father nodded as if appeased. “It would serve you well to follow your brother’s lead in what is acceptable conduct. For now, you shall conclude your tour here. With our thanks to you, Gillian,” the king nodded to our tour guide, who dipped in a respectful bow in return, “the Atlantic representative has finally arrived and we are about to call the Council to order.”

  Heart aching, I hung back for a pause, catching Triton’s hand as he swam past to follow Father out.

  Eagerly he spun, his apology already forming on his lips. “I’m so sorry! You didn’t have to take the blame for me!”

  Stare locked on our father’s retreating back, I batted his words away with a flick of my wrist. “We’ll talk about that later. I fully intend to put a poisonous jellyfish in your bed tonight. But the pearl, Triton, did you feel anything when you touched it?”

  Triton’s lips screwed to the side as he considered it. “Cold, kinda slimy, heavy …”

  “Dig a little deeper, simpleton. No tingling warmth, like touching an electric eel, only nicer?”

  Clapping a hand on my shoulder, Triton pulled me closer and pressed his forehead to mine. “Maybe that wa
s the thrill of doing the first fun thing in your life. It’ll be less jarring if you don’t space those moments out as much.”

  Laughing, I shoved him away with more force than necessary. Triton fell into a back roll then kicked off after Father, jerking his head for me to follow. I paused for a beat, casting a quick glance back at the pearl. The once still stone had come alive, swirls of opalescent color dancing within it. Curling my hands into fists tight enough to slice half-moons in my palms, I fought off a pull—almost magnetic—to reunite my twitching fingertips with its hypnotic pulse. Its glow beckoned in a siren song for me alone.

  From my first trip to the Temple of the Kings, I had always figured King Pontus to be mad for his romantic feelings for the ocean. I mean, it was a thing; it could never reciprocate that affection. Then, I entered the Summit Room. If the Summit Room was a person, I would have written our names in the sand with a big heart around them. I would’ve waited in the hall to stage an accidental encounter where I flipped my hair and batted my eyes coquettishly. I would’ve … well, I think you get the idea.

  It wasn’t a particularly impressive space—modest in size and sparing in decoration—yet power and purpose dripped from the walls. Triton and I sat in the second row of the two lines of seating which circled the perimeter. Massive columns separated the spectators from those with position and prestige. Golden Angler fish had been carved into each column, the lures that bulged from their heads irradiated by luminescent plankton. In the center of the room, a stately stone table spouted from the earth like a massive whale’s tail. Eight high-backed thrones were situated around it, none as elegant or kingly as that of Poseidon’s.