The Adventures of Rustle and Eddy

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “I never had any doubt,” he said, wiping his mouth. “The sea provides.”

  He let the simple pleasure of a full stomach roll over him for a bit, then slowly became aware that he was in complete silence.

  “That’s… peculiar,” he mused. “What happened to the water?”

  He gazed up at the faintly glowing roof to find, where once there had been a hole, now there was little more than a bulging bit of fresh, spongy growth. The covering had sealed up the hole through which they had entered. It would have concerned Eddy more if there had been any chance of them using that hole to escape this place, but now that he’d eaten he was keen to explore. One thing that did concern him was the fact that Borgle had gone silent. He flopped his way over to the mechanism and checked its face. The glowing eyes had gone dim. None of the bits and pieces he’d replaced had come loose, so he tried the next most obvious solution. He smeared a bit of the blood from his meal over the maker’s mark on its forehead. Immediately it flickered and whirred to life again.

  “So, you were hungry too,” he said. “I can’t say I’m surprised, what with all that digging. Come to think of it, there were an awful lot of tunnels up there. I can’t imagine someone was swimming about bleeding all over you to keep you going. Sounds like a messy way to fuel a machine.”

  Borgle released a negative-sounding knock.

  “Do you usually run longer with a single, um, offering?”

  The machine chimed an affirmative.

  “Do you know what happened to make you start running down faster?”

  The reply was a sequence of rattles and rings that very likely laid out the answer in no uncertain terms. Alas, it was in a language Eddy didn’t understand.

  “That’s another mystery to solve then. Here’s a question for you, though. Can I fix you?”

  A very positive chime was the reply.

  “Do you know how? Should I be looking for a rock to beat this flat like I said?”

  A negative knock.

  “Then what?”

  The glowing eyes shifted about and focused on something. Three arms became arrow-straight, indicating a point in the distance. Eddy squinted in the proper direction. Like his nose, his eyes weren’t quite as effective in open air as they were underwater—yet another advantage mermaids enjoyed—but with a bit of effort he was able to spot something gleaming in the distance.

  “Is that… that’s another Borgle!” he said.

  A negative knock.

  “Another thing that you are at least?”

  This produced a chime of agreement.

  “Of course. If you were coming here, it stands to reason all of the others were coming here too. And they didn’t have someone to keep waking them up and fixing them. I’ll go see if I can get it to help!”

  Eddy flopped painfully along until he came to one of the snaky paths left by either the lobster-thing he’d just killed or another of its kind. He ran his finger across the path. It was quite smooth. Smooth enough it wouldn’t rub him raw like the rest of the floor was already beginning to do. He slipped onto it and set about sliding along toward the next adventure.

  #

  Far above and far away, Mira huffed and puffed, completely spent and still barely half of the way to the rift. She been swimming as fast as she could, but now she could barely keep moving at all.

  “Had enough?” called a gruff voice behind her.

  She turned. The four nomads she’d hired—and promptly left behind when they refused to match her speed—had caught up. The smallest and youngest of them, Cora, darted forward to catch her by the arm.

  “I was getting a bit worried. We didn’t expect you to get this far before running out of energy. You almost got yourself far enough along to risk running into the sort of things you wouldn’t want to face alone.”

  “You… hah… You knew you’d catch up?” Mira said.

  “Trying to get somewhere as fast as you can is never the fastest way you can get somewhere,” Cul said, catching her by the upper arm on the other side.

  She tugged briefly against their grip, but having their strong, confident strokes to make up for her own failing stamina was a gift she wasn’t willing to completely abandon.

  “You go as fast as you’re comfortable going. Whatever speed doesn’t make you tired. Then you just keep at it. Little by little is how you go from shore to shore. That’s what Trendana says.”

  “No sense explaining it to her. Mermaids like her like to stay put. Gets their heads all clogged up with silt,” mocked Bult.

  “So?” Cora said. “Still worth knocking some silt free, now and again.”

  Mira gave a halfhearted smile. “Thank, Cora.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “You know, forgive me, but I never really understood how you could stand to not have home.”

  “We’ve got a home. You’re in it right now,” Cul said.

  Cora nodded. “To a nomad, anyplace wet is home enough for us.”

  “But doesn’t that feel… I don’t know… aimless?”

  “Why would it be aimless?” Cora asked. “We’re always heading somewhere. That’s about as much of an aim is you can get, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. But, how can you ever feel… I don’t know… Safe? At the end of a long day, when I get back to Barnacle, I can just be at peace.”

  Cora hiked her thumb at the others.

  “That’s what these folks are for. Home is the drift. Home is the tribe. If I’ve had it with swimming for the day, I know one of these folks will grab me just like I grabbed you and give me a tow. And they know that when I’m good and rested I’ll do the same for them.”

  “You’ve got walls to keep you safe,” Cul said. “We’ve got Bult and Sitz.”

  Cora leaned close and whispered. “Mind you, some folk make you feel a little safer than others.”

  “It’s folk like you that make me wonder,” Cul said. “How can you stand waking up in the same place you went to sleep. Sounds like a waste of a nice bit of shut eye.”

  “Sounds like a prison,” Sitz remarked from above them.

  “Wow… There are some notions I assumed united us all,” Mira said.

  “There are,” Cul said. “But ‘home’ being a lump of rock on the bottom of the sea isn’t one of them.”

  They were heading a bit deeper now. Farther from the surface, the sea was getting darker. The eyes, fins, and spines of Cul, Sitz, and Bult began to glow, each a subtly different shade of blue or green. Cul, glanced Mira, then squinted at her hair.

  “What’s that you’ve got here?” he said, pointing to an ornament she’d woven in.

  Mira touched it. “Oh. That’s a skull. I get them from a fisher woman.”

  He blinked at it. “That thing came out of a creature?”

  “Yes! A land creature,” Mira said, briefly indulging herself in one of her favorite subjects. “I’m told this is a rabbit skull. A little one.”

  He scratched his head. “They sure do make some strange beasts up there…”

  “They really do. Do you do any trade with the surface people?”

  “Most of our time is going to and fro between the larger mervillages,” Cora said. “If what I’ve heard is true, it takes a while to find a surface person you can trust to do business without throwing a net over you.”

  “You do need to be careful.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Cul said.

  “We don’t have need for that,” Bult added. “There’s more than enough down here. No reason to go up there.”

  “You’re just saying that because only the mermaids get to go up there, Bult,” Cora said, matter-of-factly. “Bult and Sitz are always sore that most surface folk don’t even know mermen exist.”

  “Good riddance…” Sitz muttered under his breath.

  “The beginning of the rift shouldn’t be much further, I don’t think,” Cul said. “It’s a little tough to tell, swimming against the tide.”

  Bult made a sound of
disgust. “At this rate we’ll get there just in time for the tide to turn, and then we’ll be swimming against it on the way back.”

  “I’m thinking one gem isn’t enough for this sort of trip…” Sitz said.

  “A deal is a deal, Sitz,” Cul snapped. “Now, Mira, how far along the rift is your brother’s farm?”

  “A fair way,” Mira said.

  The mere thought of her brother brought anxiety rushing back. Cul and Cora seemed to notice it.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mira,” Cul said. “We’ll get there, and everything will be fine. Now, these land animal bones… How big do they get…”

  #

  Rustle’s body ached and his stomach rumbled. Even before being given his assignment by the beauteous and wise Merantia, he had been flying or working non-stop for some time. The last time he’d had a moment to rest was when he’d been clutched in Eddy’s hands as they sought out exquisite being he’d just been blessed with meeting.

  He paused, hanging in air over the water, and thought.

  “Eddy,” he murmured. “This was… I was trying to help Eddy.”

  Something in his mind tugged him away from that thread.

  “Such a quest is not a divine quest, handed down by the mighty Merantia. Eddy can wait!”

  He buzzed forward again, eyes sweeping the walls of the cave for some semblance of writing.

  “There will be a tablet. Something with instructions on how to end the enchantments that imprison dear, kind, gentle, and sweet Merantia. And I can read them now. By her gifts, I can read the words of the merfolk.”

  His buzzing and searching continued briefly. When he paused, it seemed to take great effort even to remember what he had been thinking about beyond his precious mission from the pristine and perfect Merantia.

  “Eddy… He could be hurt. Surely anyone as compassionate and knowledgeable as the magnificent Merantia would approve of taking a moment from her indispensable quest to help a merperson in need.”

  An almost physical tug in his thoughts derailed him once more.

  “No! Her mission is paramount! She must be freed. The chains of her bondage must be broken, and her opponent must be crushed. It is the only way.”

  Though his words were spirited, Rustle hung in air, grappling with his own thoughts. It was as though he was literally of two minds. Both were his own, but one was utterly devoted to the tasks set forth by his lovely and all-knowing patron, and the other wished only to help his inconsequential merman friend. No matter how hard he foolishly attempted to divert himself from the crucial mission, that second part of him could not help but be countered by the far more measured and virtuous instructions of the majestic and mighty Merantia.

  “The task must be done. It must be done, there is no question. … But two sets of eyes searching are better than one,” he reasoned. “Eddy can already read his own language. He can breathe water already, and he can move far more quickly underwater than I. If I find him, I can honor the wishes of my delightful and radiant Merantia far more effectively.”

  Suddenly the tension was gone. Both halves of his mind still existed, and still disagreed on the motivation for his action, but they agreed on the action itself. Eddy would be found. He would be rescued. And he would be put to work in service of Merantia.

  He squeezed every ounce of remaining strength out of his body, hungrily devouring one of his two sweets along the way. He couldn’t remember having ever worked so hard on anything in his life. He’d been making almost constant use of his limited mystic knowledge and driving his body for all it was worth. Though it was wearing terribly on his body, with each flex of his magical abilities, the spells and techniques became easier.

  “Is that the secret?” he wondered, wiping a purple smear of gooey sweet from his mouth. “I always thought magic came with time. That you would be strong or you wouldn’t. Merantia, may her musical name ring through the halls of history from the world’s birth to its demise, has existed for years beyond number and she is more powerful than any other. I thought… I thought one either was strong or one wasn’t, that the strong uncovered their strength by working their magic. Can strength be created?”

  He munched a bit more, easing at least the ache in his belly. When the sweet was gone, and his tummy was packed with the much-needed meal, his mind turned to the burning fatigue in his wings. If he didn’t rest soon, he wouldn’t be any good to Eddy or Merantia.

  Rustle dropped to the warm surface of the water and was swiftly dragged beneath by the weight of his equipment. Some buzzing and kicking brought him to the surface, but it took just as much effort to remain afloat as it did to fly.

  “Maybe… Maybe if I can just remember the proper spell…”

  He dug through his mind to the icy spell he had cast, very nearly with tragic results. It had been difficult to remember its details before, as they were effectively nonsense sounds to him. But now that the whole of the merfolk language had been wedged unwillingly into his head, his memories of the spell seemed to have a flow and lilt, like an ancient rhyme. All he needed to do was churn up the first few words and the rest of the spell emerged from the murky depths.

  An idea formed. He flitted up and shook the water free from his body, then carefully spoke the words of the merfolk spell. The air crackled around him as the final words rang out. This casting wasn’t nearly as potent as the one in the chamber of the wretched and evil Stuartia, but it was enough to crystallize a sizable slice of the water beneath him. He dropped down on to the makeshift raft and quickly flitted up again. It would serve as a way to rest himself, but freezing himself to the bone in the process was hardly an improvement. He set down his digging claw and perched atop it. That, at least, was tolerable.

  Now there was the issue of continuing his quest. He could rest for a minute or two and then continue on his way, but the current was flowing opposite the direction he wanted to go. He would be losing time and distance for every moment he wasn’t in the air.

  If magic could solve the first problem, it could solve the second. He flapped his wings once or twice, just to get the air around him moving, then shut his eyes and set his mind upon the wind.

  Wind was life. Wind was an extension of a fairy. It was one of the fairy’s senses. Part of a fairy’s body. It was a vessel for a fairy’s will. He stirred the air with his wings a bit more, then let his thoughts weave into the air, coaxing it forward in much the same way he had dragged it down to form a precious breathable bubble when under the surface. The wind around him began to shift direction. It caught his wings and started to grow in strength. Soon it was enough to threaten to heave him from his perch atop the digging claw. He flipped the claw over, so its curved bite dug into the ice. He curled his fingers around the blunt end of the claw and leaned into the wind, is filmy wings spread like a sail.

  Gradually the ice slowed and reversed direction. Starting the wind had been difficult, but keeping it going required little of his mind. Keeping his wings spread and firm wasn’t quite as restful as he’d hoped, but it was still somewhat less exhausting than flight.

  “I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never been able to conjure a wind this strong in my life! I really am getting stronger! I might actually be able to find Eddy! And save him! And serve the wondrous and elegant Merantia! Adventure!”

  Chapter 12

  Eddy slid to a stop at the bottom of a slope. The long smooth paths ground into the surface by the mysterious and tasty creature he’d grappled with weren’t the best way to get around. He tended to build up a bit more speed than he could handle and ended up pitching off into tufts of sticky golden stalks, but it was better than dragging himself. And the good news was he’d reached his destination.

  He turned and peered up the slope he’d traveled down, spying Borgle’s distant form. When he turned back and spread the stalks ahead of him to investigate the similar machine he was heading for, he’d expected to find an exact duplicate. Perhaps at one time that might have been the case, but no long
er. This mechanism had plainly been here for ages. Tufts of the stalks grew up through it, and the plummet through from the ceiling, whenever it had broken through, had been far more destructive. The thing lay smashed apart. Its delicate internal mechanisms had spilled out on the ground.

  “Oh… Dear… You will not be waking up to help us, will you?” he mused.

  Eddy slid forward and painfully curled his tail. His injuries were really starting to accumulate, another thing that didn’t seem to be in keeping with the narrative of any adventure he’d ever heard. But this could simply be the bit between chapters.

  “Let me see now,” he said, sifting through the spilled remains. “If you can’t help us, perhaps you can donate a part or two. Hopefully whoever made you did so with great precision, because it seems whenever I find myself trying to replace this or that, I’ve always got to make adjustments to make it fit.”

  None of the sprockets and gears on the ground were the right size, but there were plenty more where they came from. He tugged at shafts and chains, gently disengaging them as best he could without doing too much damage.

  “Ah! A-ha!” he proclaimed. “This looks just about perfect. And if not this one, then this, or this! Three gears, just the same. And so well made.”

  He cupped a handful of smaller sprockets and held them up to glitter in the light of the stalks and his own eyes.

  “The sea has barely touched them. And they are so intricate. I wonder what sort of things Mira could do with these. No sense leaving them here to go to waste!”

  He threaded one of the smaller drive chains through the gaps and holes in a dozen or so small gears—as well as the three he hoped to use. Raising his arms to hang the makeshift necklace about his neck revealed at least five other aches and pains he’d not noticed.

  “Oh…” he murmured, looking at the hill between him and Borgle. “This will not be a pleasant climb. How do land creatures do this? I can’t imagine legs are that helpful. What if they hurt one of them, like my tail is hurt? Didn’t Mira say something about how people move faster on land? What is the name of it… A carriage! Yes. That’s the thing. I remember it now. Those round things for rolling… wheels.”