The Shift of the Tide

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Dafne finished translating and Nakoa inclined his head in grave acceptance.

  “Do you even have a standing navy?” Kral demanded.

  Her flinty gaze shot sparks, but she pressed her lips over the retort she’d planned, the grimace turning rueful. “Not as such.” She turned her speculative eyes on me. “But the king and the queen of the Tala do.”

  Oh, I couldn’t wait to listen in on that conversation. Dafne and Nakoa had been conversing quietly in Nahanaun, and she held up a finger. When Ursula acknowledged her, she gave Nakoa a wistful smile, then turned to the group. “King Nakoa KauPo offers his assistance in creating storms to halt any invasions.”

  “Storms?” Ursula echoed. “I thought he just did rain.” Nakoa regarded her with the black eyes of a dragon. Something clicked inside me, and I understood some of what I sensed in the coiled tension of the man—a storm about to break.

  “He brings rain of all kinds,” Dafne said simply. “I’m a witness. From nourishing rain to—” she glanced at him, asking a question in Nahanaun. She nodded, laughing lightly. “Yes, to a ship-sinking storm.”

  “That won’t do us much good if he sinks the Hákyrling and his own ships,” Kral groused.

  “He can target them,” Dafne replied. “Put the Hákyrling and our ships in the effective eye of the storm and sweep the rest away.”

  Kral grunted, fingering his beard. “Handy, that.”

  Ursula inclined her upper body in a slight bow. “More than handy. My gratitude for the offer. Thank you for the offer to go back to the barrier, Zynda, but if Annfwn is where you need to be, then you should do that. Harlan, Zynda, and I will sail the Tala ship back to Annfwn. Zynda, I have an additional agenda for you in that I hope you’ll be available to help me parley with Rayfe and Andi, should it come to that. Marskal will, of course, be with Zynda.”

  “Why is Marskal of course with me?” I interrupted, and he gave me a long, unamused look.

  “To continue to safeguard and assist you,” Ursula replied without missing a beat. “You may be powerfully gifted, but you are not a warrior. You are a critical player in this, you’re still recovering from a life-threatening injury, and I’m not taking any chances with you, so save your grumbling. After Annfwn, Harlan and I will continue on to Ordnung and see to ordering our forces. Kral and Jepp, whatever you can do to send messages on your status and needs. If Zynda is with us, perhaps she can fly to—”

  Marskal stopped her with a subtle hand signal. Then he hadn’t told her. She assessed the import in a moment. “Send Ove’s crows, if you can. If not we’ll relay via Dafne. Librarian—work on that, would you?”

  “On it,” she replied, making notes and giving me the impression she was carefully not looking at me.

  Tired of it all, I spoke up. “I’m not clear on what you expect of me.”

  Ursula frowned, ever so slightly. “You said the Star could be creating magical permeability at the barrier. We also know Deyrr wants it badly. It’s only smart—if thinking defensively—to get the Star as far from the barrier, Dasnaria and Deyrr as possible.” She nodded to Jepp. “Time to relieve you of your unwelcome burden.”

  With a fist pump of glee, Jepp stood, dug the Star out from under her leather vest, and dangled it on its long chain in front of me.

  I took it, mostly because I couldn’t resist its siren’s call. Jepp had crafted a sort of wire cage around it, to attach it to the chain. Unlovely, but nothing could dim the radiance of the perfectly spherical topaz jewel. I’d only held it the once, after the high priestess cut it out of Ursula’s stomach, but now as then, it carried a sense of depthless power and antiquity. Though flawlessly transparent, the center of the jewel held a deep opacity, a dark heart I couldn’t see into. It seemed to hold an answer to a question I hadn’t fully formed. Chasing after it only made it slide away, until I only looked into a topaz again. Realizing I’d been mesmerized, staring into the jewel for some time, I wrenched my gaze from it to find them all watching with similarly rapt expressions.

  The insouciant Jepp recovered first, clapping me on the shoulder. “Well, that little display confirmed she’s the one to have it. And Danu! Am I relieved to be rid of the thrice-cursed thing.”

  Feeling as if I were coming out of a dream, I frowned at them. “What am I to do with it?

  “You’re Salena’s line, so I’m entrusting it to you to take it to the safest place possible—the Heart. That’s what it’s designed for, yes? The ultimate barrier against Deyrr. Also conveniently close to Andi, so she can retrieve it should the need arise.”

  But I couldn’t get into the Heart, not without shapeshifting. My own heart clenched with physical pain and I looked to Marskal. He didn’t look my way and the wires around the jewel cut into my palm. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said softly to Ursula, almost a plea.

  She cut me one of those steel-edged, expectant stares. “Better figure it out then. Danu knows none of us can do it. If nothing else, you can give it to Andi and she’ll take care of it.”

  Marskal stayed to confer with—or report further to—his high queen, so I took the opportunity to give my ever-present guard the slip. By the time I made it out to the grand esplanade that led down to the beach, my fast walk had turned into a full-out run. At the last moment, I caught myself going in my usual direction, to my habitual beach where Marskal would know to look for me, and turned the other way instead.

  I ran as fast as I could on the hard-packed damp sand where the waves had lapped. That, at least, felt something like exercising wings or fins. Not animal quiet in the same way, but the exertion lulled the anxiety, the insistent beat of doubt. My heart pounded, my hair flew behind me. Running at my maximum speed should shake any of Marskal’s mossback spies.

  I ran until I couldn’t run any more. Until a stitch formed in my side and the edges of my vision went dim with exhaustion. Despite Marskal’s diligent feeding, I wasn’t up to full form. Especially not on a diet of fruit and honey. My human body needed protein to rebuild the muscle and bone I’d raided to make myself again.

  Forced to stop, I flung myself into the sea, swimming out into the water. I swam well—as any child growing up next to the ocean did—but with nothing like the power of my other forms. Even if I hadn’t already tired myself, I’d have to give up on going deep enough to see the brilliant sea life below. Winded, I floated a while, looking up at the endless blue sky also denied to me.

  How did mossbacks live this way? Forever grounded, trapped in one form.

  How could Ursula ask me to take the Star to the Heart when Marskal had informed her that I couldn’t shapeshift anymore? The Heart could only be reached by a shapeshifter capable of many forms, shifting rapidly from one to the next. The Star lay heavily between my breasts, a reminder of my vows. I’d once been so certain that I could do this, that I could follow in Salena’s brilliant footsteps, perhaps even outshine my powerful aunt.

  Beware of overconfidence, little changeling.

  Kiraka’s words had been my first warning. No wonder she’d nearly knocked me out of the sky with it. Perhaps my unreliable gift of foresight had been speaking to me, telling me all along that I’d fail. I’d died, and maybe should have stayed dead. I was unnatural, an imbalance of nature. Who spoke to a goddess? That could have been my dying brain’s hallucination, my will to live cobbling together rationalizations to spur me to resuscitate my own body.

  Surely there are more magically gifted shapeshifters.

  There were others. Zyr had plenty of ability, though he’d become prickly about the topic of ever leaving Annfwn again. The one time, with King Rayfe to rescue or abduct Queen Andromeda—depending on your point of view—had been more than enough of the land of mossbacks, he’d said. He never discussed his brief tenure as Uorsin’s prisoner in the dungeons of Ordnung, but that refusal spoke volumes about what he didn’t say aloud.

  I only know you’re not ready. Not even close to ready. Send another.

  I’d died and I should have stayed dea
d. I certainly couldn’t go on living this way, with nothing left to me.

  There is loving and being loved. The voice seemed to whisper in my mind. Not the memories, not Kiraka speaking in my head. Moranu. I blinked open my eyes, crusted with salt, and gazed up at her moon, a waning fingernail in the dusky blue sky. A gentle smile.

  All an illusion. I didn’t have that. Marskal had admitted to loving me and I’d laughed at him and told him he’d get over it. Because I’d known that I couldn’t love him back. Jepp had acted as if loving someone was a simple decision. I knew I no more had that ability than to shapeshift. Better if I hadn’t come back. Better to sink into this ocean, a final swim.

  But the cursed Star hung heavy around my neck, a reminder of all the responsibilities I couldn’t fulfill. The final stone around my neck. I couldn’t take it into the depths with me. I owed it to my friends to at least bring it back to them. Inexpressibly weary, I turned toward shore, swimming back.

  I’d gone out so far. Much farther than was wise.

  Farther than my body could swim, I suddenly realized, with atavistic, stark terror.

  A wave slapped me in the face and I swallowed salt water, burning my lungs.

  I tried treading water, my heavy limbs failing to respond. Going under, I sucked in more seawater. Not friendly on my gills, but searing my human throat. I struggled for the surface. Barely reached it. I gulped for air and took in more water.

  I was drowning.

  I couldn’t make it. I’d die here, and take the Star with me.

  Here was the moment of truth.

  I had to shapeshift. A fish that couldn’t drown. And I’d have to do so with enough skill to take the Star with me, and manifest it again.

  I wasn’t at all sure I could. At the peak of my abilities, that would have taken utmost concentration. Perhaps I could shift into a fish and take the chain into my mouth and carry the Star that way. Marskal’s quip about giving me a rope to hold in my mouth came back to me and I choked out a sob of a laugh, swallowing more salt water, the surface a hazy distance above.

  It was now or never. I couldn’t let the will-sapping fear stop me. An easy form. Shift to a fish, grab the chain, swim for shore. Once I’d have done it with barely a thought. Easy. So easy.

  Just do it.

  ~ 17 ~

  Moranu’s power filled me, stretching my bones, compressing. The shift took me and I leapt…

  Panicked.

  Like flying headfirst into a cliffside, I crashed back into human form.

  I flailed, my lungs filling with water. The surface seemed impossibly far overhead, but I strained for it. So far away. I couldn’t make it and I’d take the Star with me.

  Irresponsible and arrogant. Incapable of love. How they’d all hate me. I’d deserve their loathing.

  I loathed myself and it filled me like wet sand, weighing me down. I had nothing left to fight with.

  Strong arms grabbed me, dragging me to the surface, pushing my face into the air and vising around my ribs. “Breathe!” he snarled.

  I couldn’t. He squeezed again, punching a fist up and under my sternum. I coughed up water, dragging in a burning breath.

  “Keep doing that,” Marskal ordered, changing his grip to under my arms, dragging me along as he struck out one-armed for shore.

  “The Star,” I croaked, trying to reach for the chain. I could give it to Marskal and be done with this onus.

  “Be still, Moranu take you, or you’ll drown us both. Just breathe.”

  I concentrated on breathing, trying to be obedient and helpful, but the air dragged in sharp as knives, ragged and wet. It hurt. I was so tired of the pain. You’ll want to take the easy path. If you truly want this, don’t take it. Choose pain.

  I’d thought my choosing was done, but apparently not. I’d still been taking the easy path. Avoiding the pain.

  My heels grated against sand, Marskal cursing steadily as he dragged me ashore. In the shallows, he collapsed to his knees, shoving me onto my side and pounding my back. I coughed and vomited more water, unable to lift myself up. He reached under, bracing me with an arm, lifting and turning me face down so water flowed out of me. Waited for me to drag in a breath. Then repeated the methodical pummeling.

  Until finally no more water came out, and I could breathe without undue struggle. Hooking his hands under my shoulders, Marskal dragged me the rest of the way out of the water, onto the dry sand still hot from the day. Then collapsed beside me. I stared up at the sky, most of the light fled from it, and even Moranu’s moon smile had sunk beyond the peak of the volcano.

  “Do you have a death wish?” Marskal finally asked, his voice gravelly and weary.

  I rolled my head to look at him. He sat, knees up, arms folded on them, and forehead resting there. His long body curled into a shell and he no longer wore his leathers, boots, or weapons. He must have shed them to jump in the water to swim after me.

  “How did you even find me?” I croaked.

  He lifted his head, his brown eyes dark holes in his pale face, the baleful stare palpable. “You didn’t make it easy, did you?” he accused. “You shook my people off your tail, so I had no choice but to follow in the last direction you were seen heading, and hope. If I hadn’t made out your tracks here and there, I would have despaired. When I finally found where you went into the water—at least the general vicinity, because I missed it by half an hour and had to backtrack—I thought for sure I’d lost you forever.” He laughed without humor, a rasping through salt-sore throat, and wiped a hand over his face. “You know, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe she shifted. She just didn’t bother to tell you and she’s out there, being a dolphin or a fish, and she’s fine. She’ll emerge from the water, wading out like Glorianna born of the sea, with that beautiful smile, and she’ll mock me for my worry.”

  “Marskal,” I said, lifting a weary hand, but I couldn’t reach him.

  “That would have been all right,” he repeated, harshly, glaring at me, “because it would have been far, far better than when I finally spotted you, so far out there, floundering in the waves. Seeing your head go under and knowing I couldn’t reach you in time.” He scrubbed his hand over his face again. Tears, not sweat or salt water.

  “You did,” I said, wretched that I’d brought him to this. “You did reach me in time. You saved my life.”

  “I’ve never swum like that in my life.” He sounded wondering, as if he were talking to himself. “Nearly killed myself to reach you, and you don’t even care.”

  That struck me silent and he shook his head, laughing that horrible harsh laugh again. “You asked me how long I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, that bright day you descended from Odfell’s Pass. I’d never seen a woman who shook me to the bone like that, so beautiful, radiant with magic, and wild like a deer or an eagle. You never noticed me and it didn’t matter. I watched you like I’d watch a sunrise, feeling that sheer astonished wonder at what a force of nature you are.

  “How dare you,” he said in searing accusation, all the worse for being spoken in a nearly voiceless whisper as he turned that baleful glare on me. “How dare you suicide?”

  I opened my mouth, so salty, sticky with brine. The answer didn’t come immediately. “I didn’t mean to,” I finally offered.

  Making a scoffing sound, he looked away, clearly disgusted with me. “She didn’t mean to.”

  “I didn’t.” I found some reserve in myself, enough to push myself up.

  He didn’t help, only watched my struggle. “You know, I would have gone on the same way, not telling you how I felt, never touching you, flirting with you, or asking to be your lover. I knew you were beyond my reach in every way. Until you weren’t. You seemed so alone and you actually needed me. I thought if I let you know that you’re not alone, if you enjoyed at least that aspect of being alive, then you might truly want to live again. And then this.” He sounded so bleakly bitter—and betrayed—that my own heart thudded
with sorrow.

  “I didn’t suicide,” I insisted. “I never intended that.”

  “Lies,” he said softly, the accusation sharp.

  “I forgot!” I shouted at him, stung, unsure how to reach him. “I’ve never swum so far that I couldn’t get back, never had no other recourse to save myself. I only needed to think for a while…”

  “To escape,” he supplied with a sneer.

  “Is that so terrible?” I railed at him, raking my hands into my snarled hair and getting nowhere. I should cut the cursed stuff off if I was going to be stuck in this form. “I don’t know how you do it, being trapped like this.” My chest went tight. The seawater. Surely I couldn’t be on the verge of sobbing. No descendant of Salena’s would be so weak.

  “Trapped,” he echoed. Thoughtful more than angry and contemptuous. “You say a mossback can’t understand, and maybe I can’t, but having one form isn’t being trapped. You’re not in a cage, Zynda, except one of your own making.”

  That made no sense at all. “I was trying to swim back. I realized I should, and then I realized I … couldn’t.”

  “What made you realize you should?” he asked, sounding idly curious.

  Danger there. Some kind of bait I didn’t dare take.

  “Indulge me,” he pressed. “I’d really like to understand what, in your puzzle of a mind, seemed important enough for you to try to make it back to shore.”

  “The Star,” I admitted. “I forgot I had it with me and it would have been a failure if it were lost because of me.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, and I wished I could see his expression. Once I would have reached for a slight bit of shapeshifting magic to enhance my night vision.