Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel

by Jennifer Donnelly

  Shrieking with rage, the EisGeist rushed after the whale. It was fast, but Elskan was faster.

  “Is it gone?” Astrid asked Des, panting.

  ASTRID!

  Astrid winced. Her hands went to her ears. “Do you always have to be so loud?”

  Desiderio blinked. “I didn’t even say anything.”

  “Not you….”

  What’s happening? Are you all right? Sera asked anxiously.

  “We just fought off an EisGeist,” Astrid replied.

  “Yeah, I know that. I was here,” Des said.

  Are you all right? Is there someone with you?

  “I’m…uh…I’m not familiar with the songspell for convocas,” Astrid said, desperately hoping Sera wouldn’t ask her to songcast. “Is there some way of including a mer who’s nearby?” She glanced at Des.

  Take her hands. Sometimes that works, Sera advised.

  “It’s a he.”

  She offered her hands to Des. He gave her a quizzical look, but took them. A warmth flooded through her at his touch.

  She told herself it was just the convoca and closed her eyes. Des did the same. They immediately saw each other in the convoca. So did Sera.

  “Des!” Sera cried. Her hands flew to her mouth. Neela and Yazeed flickered and faded. Sera quickly grabbed for them again.

  “Hey, little sister. Is that you?” Des said. He was trying to sound cool, but Astrid could hear the emotion in his voice.

  Sera tried to answer him, but she was overcome by tears. When she could finally speak again, she said, “I was so worried, Des.”

  “Astrid got me out of the Citadel’s dungeons. She saved my life.”

  “Th-thank you, Astrid,” Sera said, her voice hitching. “Thank you so much.”

  “Her own life’s in danger now,” said Desiderio. “She can’t go home. Rylka wants her dead.”

  “That’s wonderful!” said Sera.

  “Yeah, it…Wait—what?” Astrid said, scowling.

  “Since you can’t stay in Ondalina, you’ll have to come here. Join us, Astrid,” Sera urged.

  “It just so happens that I’m on my way,” Astrid said, pleased that Sera still wanted her. “Des and I both.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that!” Sera said. “Where are you? When will you be here?”

  “We’re in the Greenland Sea. We should be there in three or four days. We’re going to the Qanikkaaq first.”

  Sera’s smile dropped away. “No! Don’t! Just come to the Karg,” she pleaded.

  Astrid blinked. “Did I just hear you correctly?” she asked. “The last time we talked, you begged me to go to the Qanikkaaq!”

  “Now I’m begging you not to. Vallerio’s sent death riders to the Mississippi and Cape Horn. That’s why I convoca’d you. In case you changed your mind about the Qanikkaaq. I’m scared he might send death riders to the maelstrom, too. You and Des could be taken.”

  “What else is new, Sera?” Astrid said.

  “We’ll be okay,” Des assured his sister. “We’ll keep an eye out for Vallerio’s soldiers. Astrid told me about the talismans and everything else. We’re close to the Qanikkaaq now. We might not get another chance to see if the pearl’s still there.”

  Sera nodded unhappily. “Be careful, both of you. Please,” she said. “Astrid, I know how good you are with your sword, but use your magic, too, okay? You’re going to need everything you’ve got.”

  Astrid looked away. Tell her, a voice inside her urged. Tell her now before you get yourself killed. And Des, too.

  But Astrid couldn’t make the words come. She was too afraid. And even if she could, it was too late. The convoca was over. Sera was gone. Astrid released Des’s hands.

  “Sera’s right,” Des said thoughtfully. “We’ll need every bit of magic we can muster to deal with the Qanikkaaq,” Des said. “It’s the biggest, ugliest maelstrom in all the waters. How’s your stilo spell? Can you throw a decent frag?”

  “I’ve got to find Elskan,” Astrid said briskly.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  Des looked puzzled by her suddenly curt tone. “Hey, Astrid, what’s up?”

  “Nothing. I’m cool.”

  “Yeah, I’ll say. Like, icy cool.” Des gave her a look, but then softened. “Are you worried about the maelstrom? Is that it? I’m not going to let you do this alone. I’ll help you. We’re in this together.”

  Astrid couldn’t look at him. “Sure, Des,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Des nodded. Then he started off after Elskan.

  He didn’t see the sadness in Astrid’s eyes, or hear her as she softly said, “Yeah, Des, together. Until you find out the truth.”

  “ASTRID KOLFINNSDOTTIR…”

  “Mmmpff,” Astrid said, turning over in her sleep.

  “Wake up.”

  “Leave me alone…tired…”

  “Time grows short.”

  Astrid sat up, angry to be woken by yet another convoca. “Argh! Ever hear of boundaries, Sera? It’s got to be three in the morning! What do you want now?”

  But Sera didn’t answer her.

  Astrid looked uneasily around the metal shipping container. It was full of gogg furniture, clothing, and trinkets. Both she and Des had found mattresses. Des was sleeping soundly on his. Outside, Elskan was munching contentedly on some seal bones.

  Something moved behind Astrid. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. In a flash she was out of bed and reaching for the dagger she kept tucked in her belt.

  “There’s no need to be frightened,” the voice said. “I mean you no harm.”

  A silvery light shone from the very back of the container. It hadn’t been there when she and Des settled down for the night. Astrid swam toward it now, her dagger in her hand. As she drew closer, she realized that the light was coming from a mirror. It was long and wide, and half-hidden behind a sofa.

  A man was standing in the mirror. A human dressed in black and wearing sunglasses. He’d spoken to her once before, inside an abandoned house in a raided village.

  “What do you want?” she asked him.

  “You.”

  “Who are you?” Astrid demanded.

  The man replied with a question of his own.

  “Where are you going, Astrid? To your friends?” His tone was mocking. “Do you really think it will be different with them? What can you offer them? More importantly, what can they offer you? But I can offer you so much, child. If only you would let me.”

  He walked up to the glass and pressed his palm against it.

  Astrid backed away, worried that he meant to climb through from Vadus, the mirror realm. But he remained where he was, perfectly still, a half smile on his lips.

  Slowly, Astrid moved toward him. She didn’t understand why.

  “Blood is strong, child. Stronger than the tides. Deeper than the sea itself,” the man said.

  Astrid raised her hand and pressed it to the glass, her palm to his. As she did, she felt a jolt, as if an electric current was moving through her. She saw herself not as she was—weary and silt-streaked—but in a gown of black sea silk, wearing a crown of polished jet, her white-blond hair swirling about her shoulders.

  She was songcasting.

  She was singing.

  The man’s fingers interlaced with her own. His grip was cold and strong. “I have waited for you. For centuries.”

  “No,” Astrid said. “No.”

  She jerked her hand away as if she’d been burned. She was frightened—of herself. The image she’d seen of herself songcasting…she wanted it so badly, she’d nearly dove headlong into the mirror realm and into the presence of a man she didn’t even know.

  “Who are you?” she asked again.

  “The blood knows. The blood calls.”

  He smiled, and with a slight bow of his head, turned and walked back into the quicksilver world, down a long hall full of mirrors.

  Astrid watched him until he disappea
red.

  “This isn’t real,” she said out loud. “It’s only a dream.”

  As she continued to gaze into the mirror, Vadus dimmed. She saw only her reflection now—the ice-blue eyes, the blond braids, the strong nose and full mouth.

  “It’s only a dream,” she said again.

  Then she lay back down on her mattress, stared into the darkness, and tried her best to believe it.

  Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish Ladies,

  Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain,

  For we’re under orders

  For to sail to old England…

  BECCA, HIDING IN a thicket of kelp, watched the dead sailors gathered around the wreck of the Achilles. She put her traveling case down. A silvery, sullen-faced codfish circled it.

  “There must be hundreds of them,” Becca whispered. The ghosts were all wearing the clothing of their various times and singing an old naval ballad. Brass lanterns full of moon jellies illuminated them.

  Some sported leather doublets laced across their chests. Others wore white tunics with squared collars. Peacoats. Yellow raincoats and rubber boots. Many had single gold hoops in their left earlobes—a badge of honor indicating that the bearer had survived an eastbound run around Cape Horn.

  They were shipwreck ghosts. The Williwaw, a wind spirit who lived in a sea cave at the cape, had sent them to their deaths, whipping up fierce storms that destroyed their ships. Yet the sailors bore the spirit no ill will and in fact served him by guarding the underwater entrance to his lair. They’d known the risks of a seaman’s life, and the alternative to a watery grave—being buried topside in the cold, hard ground—held no appeal.

  They spent their deaths much as they’d spent their lives—telling stories of seas they’d sailed and ships they’d loved. They played cards. Threw dice. Laughed and fought. They made music with accordions and fiddles. Danced hornpipes. The ghosts were merry, loud—and lethal to any mer who came too close.

  Becca had been sternly warned to stay well away from them—and the Williwaw—by the owner of a bubble tea shop in a nearby village.

  “The Williwaw’s deadly,” the merman had said, after Becca had asked him how to find the spirit’s lair. “It’s like a giant bird of prey, vicious and territorial. It spends a good deal of time building up its nest. That’s why it sinks ships, so it can carry off their rigging and timber and bring it back to its cave. Few have gotten close to it. If it doesn’t kill you, its shipwreck ghosts will. Best to give up this foolish idea.”

  “I take your point,” Becca had said, “but giving up’s not an option. The Williwaw has something I need.”

  Once the merman saw that he couldn’t dissuade her, he had told her more.

  “The creature lives in a sea cave inside a rock formation off the cape. Half the cave’s submerged, half of it’s dry. It flies in and out through an opening above the waterline. Its nest sits on a broad ledge.”

  Becca’s heart had sunk at that. “I can’t fly,” she had said. “Is there any other way to get inside the cave?”

  “There is—for any mer brave enough to attempt it. Through the Achilles.”

  “What is it and how do I get to it?” Becca had asked excitedly.

  “It’s a brigantine that went down in 1793. The captain’s name was Maffeio Aermore,” the merman had explained. “Stories about him persist to this day. Mer who saw his ship go down said he must’ve been insane, because he steered for the rocks that shelter the Williwaw’s cave. The spirit saw the ship coming and sank it. The crew was lost, though some say the captain survived. Hard to believe, if you ask me.”

  “Why would a captain sail straight into rocks?” Becca had asked, mystified.

  “Ask his crew. You’ll be swimming right by them,” the merman had joked.

  “What do I do when I find the Achilles?”

  “You have to swim through the wreck, then through a crack in the base of the rock. It leads to a tunnel. Follow it and you’ll find yourself inside the cave,” the merman had said. “Only a handful have managed it. They all cast transparensea pearls to get past the ghosts. That’s the only way. But it’s no guarantee. Even if you’re invisible, you still make vibrations in the water and the ghosts can feel them. That’s about all I can tell you. Good luck.”

  The bubble tea seller had given Becca good directions, and she’d found the Achilles without much trouble.

  As she peered out of the kelp thicket now, she could even see a way into the wreck—through a jagged hole in its hull.

  “First thing I have to do,” she whispered, “is sneak past the ghosts.”

  She shuddered to think what would happen if she didn’t succeed. The ghosts were jolly with one another, but if they sensed a soul nearby—mer or human—they instantly turned savage. They craved the rush of blood through the veins, the beating of a brave heart. Becca knew they would converge on her, and the touch of so many would drain the life from her body in an instant.

  But hopefully that wouldn’t happen.

  Because Becca, as usual, had a plan.

  “ALL THE SQUID. NOW,” the codfish said.

  “No. I’ve explained the deal,” Becca said firmly. “Half of the squid now, half when you get me back out.”

  The cod shook his head stubbornly.

  “Okay, then. No squid. Ever. Does that work for you?” Becca asked huffily.

  The cod glowered. He jutted his jaw.

  Becca opened her traveling case and pulled out one of two bags of fresh squid she’d bought in the village. She popped a squid into her mouth and ate it.

  “Mmm. So good,” she said, savoring it. “Sweet and chewy.”

  “Okay, mermaid,” the cod said. “Half now, half later. Stop eating my squid.”

  Becca had come across the large fish on her way out of the village, and he’d given her an idea. The bubble tea seller had said that she’d need to make herself invisible, but that she’d still create movement the ghosts could sense. The large cod could cover her. If they swam into the wreck together, the ghosts would think that the fish was the one making vibrations.

  Becca knew that cod loved squid, so she’d hurried back to the village and bought some. Then she’d gotten the cod to agree, and they’d made their way to the Achilles.

  Becca held out one bag of squid to him now, her eyes on the wreck.

  “Here, let me grab that with my hands. Oh, wait a minute…I don’t have any!” the cod said. “So not funny, merjerk.”

  Becca hastily apologized. Acting like another sea creature had hands was bad form. She opened the bag and dumped out the squid for him.

  “I didn’t mean to be rude. Really,” she said. “A few hundred shipwreck ghosts are kind of distracting.”

  The cod snorted. “You mer think you’re so apex with your opposable thumbs, don’t you? Hey, if a great white shows up, maybe you can thumb wrestle him. Me, I’ll be swimming for it.”

  Cod, Becca knew, were super touchy about their place in the food chain. She didn’t hold it against him. Tuna and swordfish were the same way. Creatures hunted to the brink of extinction had a right to be prickly.

  When the cod had finished eating, Becca said, “Are you ready?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay,” Becca said, slipping the second bag of squid into a pocket, “here we go. I lead, you follow. Stick close.”

  She closed her traveling case and tucked it next to a rock. It would be safe there. Then she reached into another pocket and pulled out the transparensea pebble that Vrăja had given her. She cast it and immediately became invisible.

  Summoning all her courage, Becca swam out from the kelp and headed for the Achilles. The ghosts were still singing and dancing. Becca swam between two English sailors who, judging from their clothes, had died centuries ago. They were playing chess.

  “You feel something?” one asked, as she passed them by.

  “Aye, Jackie! Look out, it’s yer wife! She’s brandishing a rolling pin!” the other said.

&nb
sp; Jackie jumped. He spun around, panic-stricken, then laughed when he saw the cod. “Naw, that’s not me wife,” he said. “That fish is ten times prettier!”

  Yes! Becca thought excitedly. Her plan was working.

  She glided past a Spanish sailor wearing a uniform last seen when Ferdinand V ruled. He was fencing with the blue-blazered owner of a yacht who looked like he drowned a week ago. The Spaniard, too, swiftly spun around as Becca swam by, cutlass raised, only to relax when he saw the cod.

  She moved past more ghosts, careful to stay out of reach, until finally she reached the ship’s hull. The hole was in the starboard bow. Becca carefully swam through it and made her way down the hold.

  The inside of the ship was murky and filled with more ghosts. As she reached the stern, she spotted what she was searching for. There was another opening in there, much larger than the one in the bow, and beyond it rose the rocky base of the Williwaw’s lair. Becca could just make out the crack, jagged and wide, that the bubble tea seller had told her about.

  Fear raised the scales along the back of her tail. She had no idea what she was swimming into, if the Williwaw was in its cave, where Pyrrha’s gold coin might be, or even how long the transparensea pebble would last. She squeezed through the crack and found the passageway. It was dark, but Becca didn’t dare cast an illuminata for fear it would be seen, so she had to feel her way along the walls. Creatures of the darkness—soft, slimy, and sightless—moved under her hands. After she’d been swimming down the passageway for five minutes or so, it started to angle up. The waters around her grew lighter.

  A few seconds later, Becca surfaced in a soaring space. She tilted her head back and saw that the cave was conical in shape and the top had a large opening that let in air and light.

  On a large, broad ledge just above the waterline, sat an enormous nest. It was made of ship’s timbers, splintered masts, whalebone, human bones, sailcloth, rigging, pieces of fiberglass, and shredded life jackets.

  The nest was empty. The cave was empty. Becca was alone.

  She heaved a sigh of relief, almost unable to believe her luck. But her relief quickly turned to discouragement as she realized Pyrrha’s coin was nowhere to be seen. She’d thought the Williwaw might have a chest, or a special niche where he kept his treasures, but no. The small coin was probably somewhere in that giant nest, and it would take her ages to search it.