Astrid said she was, and Desiderio led Elskan forward to take the slack out of the rope.
“Greetings, mighty Qanikkaaq!” she shouted as she neared the maelstrom, unsure exactly how to address it.
The maelstrom slowed its spinning. It tilted its giant face down to look at Astrid. As it did, the surface waters became calm.
“Why have you interrupted my meal, mermaid?” the Qanikkaaq asked, glowering.
“I beg your pardon, Your…Maelstromness,” Astrid said. “I’m searching for a black pearl. And I thought a magnificent whirlpool such as yourself must have one.”
“Whirlpool?” the Qanikkaaq said, clearly offended.
“I meant, powerful, amazing, super-impressive vortex of doom,” Astrid hastily said.
Desiderio’s eyebrows shot up. Vortex of doom? he mouthed.
The Qanikkaaq was somewhat mollified. “And if I had such a pearl, why would I give it to you?” it asked.
“Because I will give you ten times as much treasure in return,” Astrid replied.
The Qanikkaaq was pleased. It chuckled—a low, deep, gurgling sound. “Come closer, mermaid. Show me what you have.”
“Astrid, be careful,” Desiderio warned.
“I’ve got this, Des,” Astrid said. She moved toward the maelstrom. The Qanikkaaq’s eyes fastened on her bag. Astrid took out the silver trophy and tossed it to the creature. It greedily sucked the trinket in. She tossed a handful of Mardi Gras beads next, a ball covered in tiny squares of mirror glass, and then the neon sneakers.
“That’s just the beginning, great Qanikkaaq,” she said. “There’s plenty more where that came from, and it’s all yours if you give me the pearl.”
“I can’t hear you very well,” the Qanikkaaq said. “I am very old and my ears are not what they used to be. Come closer.”
Astrid knew what the maelstrom was up to—it wanted to swallow her—but she inched forward, playing along.
“I’m sure you can hear me now,” she said, tossing it a plastic tiara. “So…how about that pearl?”
Currents from the Qanikkaaq were swirling around her now, tossing her hair, plucking at her clothing.
“I would oblige you, mermaid, but your request comes too late.”
No! Astrid thought, her hopes crushed. Were Vallerio and Portia right? Did the mysterious he really have the black pearl?
“What do you mean, Qanikkaaq?” she asked, leaning in closer.
“I had such a pearl once. A mermaid threw it to me.”
Merrow, Astrid thought.
“But I swallowed a large school of tuna later,” the maelstrom continued, “and one of the fish survived inside me. It ate the pearl. Then this tuna, a clever fish, found a way to escape. It swam up my gullet and bit the inside of my mouth. I yelled, of course—tuna have sharp teeth—and stopped swirling, and as I did, the tuna jumped out and swam away. However, that fish wasn’t quite as clever as it thought it was. A nearby fisherman caught it in his net. And when he cut the tuna open to clean it, he found the pearl.”
Astrid, riveted by the Qanikkaaq’s story, moved closer. She wanted to find out every detail about the pearl, so she could tell Sera and the others. Des called out another warning, but she barely heard him.
“What happened next?” she asked.
“From what I’ve been told, a young Viking warrior who had heard of the pearl’s beauty bought it from the fisherman.”
Astrid’s fins began to prickle.
“The pearl must have been magical,” the Qanikkaaq said. “From the day the young warrior acquired it, his power grew. He became a ruthless chieftain, feared by all. He conquered Greenland, Iceland, and Scandinavia—plundering those lands, and their waters, for treasure. His changed his name to Feimor Fa Eaemor—Feimor, son of Chaos.”
“What did he look like?” Astrid asked, dreading the answer.
“Like many of the Norsemen. Blond. Bronzed by the sun, weathered by the sea.”
A chill ran through Astrid. Like the man in the mirror, she thought—the one who she was still trying to convince herself was only a dream.
“They say that his eyes held evil in them and none dared to look into them,” the Qanikkaaq said.
Astrid remembered that the man in the mirror wore dark sunglasses—even though it wasn’t sunny in Vadus. And he had a black pearl strung on his neck.
Could they be one and the same person? she wondered. Could his pearl be the one I’m trying to find? How, though? It’s impossible. Feimor has been dead for probably eight hundred years. And his pearl would have been buried with him.
The Vikings had been a seafaring people, and they and the mer had been friends. Ondalinians were familiar with the Viking sagas and Astrid knew that chieftains were buried with their valuables.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t realize that the Qanikkaaq’s currents had pulled her a good deal closer. Nor did Desiderio, who’d turned his attention to an agitated Elskan.
The Qanikkaaq realized, though. It smacked its lips and then it struck, surging toward Astrid with its hungry maw wide open.
Astrid screamed and tried to swim away, but the maelstrom pulled her closer.
Desiderio turned around and saw what was happening. “Grab the rope, Astrid!” he shouted.
Astrid did so and Des slapped Elskan’s flank. The orca shot off, and the rope tightened with a twang. It jerked Astrid forward with a wrenching force. And yet, as strong as Elskan’s pull was, it wasn’t powerful enough to break Astrid free of the maelstrom.
She could feel herself being sucked backward, and she could see the fear on Desiderio’s face. She knew it mirrored her own.
“Cast a songspell, Astrid!” he shouted. “Try a commoveo! A stilo!”
“I can’t sing, Des!” Astrid yelled back.
Des swore. He slapped Elskan’s flank again. “Get up, Elskan!” he ordered. “Get up, girl!”
The orca pulled with all her might, but still she couldn’t yank Astrid free. Astrid, terrified, felt her tail fins disappearing into the Qanikkaaq’s mouth. It would take her. And Elskan, too. It would whirl them around inside itself and break them into bits.
Desiderio left the orca and sped to Astrid. He grabbed her hands and heaved, but it was no use. She was slipping further into the maelstrom.
“Cut the line, Des!” she yelled. “Cut me loose before it takes you and Elskan!”
Desiderio shook his head. Still gripping her hands, he cast a commoveo songspell and used it to push against the maelstrom. To no avail. Half of Astrid’s tail was now inside it.
He cast again, this time using a stilo to call up spiked balls of water. He launched one after the other, hitting the maelstrom in its face.
And then he launched one straight into its mouth.
The Qanikkaaq gagged. It stopped spinning and started coughing.
Astrid found herself flying through the water at a dizzying speed. Elskan, who’d been trying her best to bolt off, suddenly found that she could. She streaked through the water dragging Astrid behind her. Des had fallen away.
Unable to breathe, barely able to see because of the water rushing into her face, Astrid pulled herself up the rope hand over hand and climbed onto Elskan’s back. After a minute or so she was able to calm the frightened animal and get her to stop. She wheeled her around and doubled back.
She found Des where she’d left him, bent over and panting. The Qanikkaaq had returned to the surface.
Des straightened as he heard Elskan’s fins. He was angry. Astrid could see his emotion on his face. So much for that friendship, she thought. He probably won’t want anything to do with me now. Kolfinn’s words came back to her: Who wants a mermaid without magic?
“Why didn’t you say something?” Des asked.
Astrid didn’t answer. She dismounted from Elskan, her eyes downcast.
“By not telling me you can’t sing, you almost got us both killed,” Des said. “I wasted precious time shouting at you to songcast instead of doing it myself.”
“I guess you’ll be going now,” Astrid said miserably. “Take the food. I can find more.”
“Astrid, what are you talking about? I thought we were going to the Karg together.”
Astrid shook her head. “You should go to the Karg alone, Des. It’s okay, really. Most mer don’t want to be around me once they know. I’m seen as a liability. Like I was just now.”
Des was quiet for a few seconds, then he asked her a question. “Is that why Kolfinn didn’t go through with the permutavi?”
Astrid, still looking down, nodded. “He didn’t want my secret to get out. He didn’t want anyone to know that a member of the admiral’s family was weak and defective.”
“That’s awful, Astrid,” Des said, still angry.
Astrid thought he meant her father’s attempts to cover up her disability, and her own attempts to do the same.
“I’m sorry, Des. I should’ve been straight with you,” she said.
“No, I meant the way your father treated you,” said Des, his voice softening. “He shouldn’t have done it. He had no right. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. You’re not weak—you’re strong. One of the strongest merls I’ve ever met.”
Astrid looked up at Desiderio uncertainly, wondering if he was teasing her, but she saw no maliciousness in his eyes, only kindness.
“Look, Astrid. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled,” he said. “The only reason I did is that I was scared.”
“Scared?” she echoed. “Of what?”
“Scared you were going to be sucked inside the maelstrom,” Des replied. “Scared I’d lose you.”
Astrid looked away again. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She could hardly believe what was happening.
“Why don’t you let me decide if I want to be around you, okay?” he said. “Because I do. A lot.”
Astrid raised her eyes to his once more. They were warm and smiling, and she felt as if she was falling into their green depths like a stone into calm seas. And then Des took her face into his hands and kissed her. It was fierce and gentle all at the same time and it took her breath away.
She looked at him as he broke the kiss, scared he would do it again, scared he wouldn’t.
“A lot,” Des said once more, and then, suddenly shy, he swam off to deal with Elskan.
“IT’S BEEN TWO whole days, Marco,” a worried voice said.
“I know that, Elisabetta. She took a hard blow to her head, but her breathing’s good and her color’s improving,” said another.
They were speaking Italian, a terragogg language. Becca was surprised to find that she understood it. The bloodbind, she thought. She could follow most of the words, but she had no idea to whom they were directed. The voices seemed so far away. She felt like she was drifting on the surface of the sea. Waves were rocking her gently. She wanted to keep drifting, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to open her eyes. She had to keep swimming. There was a reason she had to, but she couldn’t remember what it was.
“What if there’s a brain bleed? What if there’s a hairline fracture? What if—”
“What if you made us some coffee, Little Miss Sunshine?”
Who has a brain bleed? Becca wondered. What’s coffee?
She opened her eyes. And immediately wished she hadn’t. The light sent a bolt of pain straight through her brain. She waited for the agony to subside, then tried again.
Her vision was blurry. Little by little it cleared. As it did, she saw that a face was hanging over her—the most gorgeous face she’d ever seen. Two warm brown eyes, filled with worry, stared at her. The mouth, generous and full-lipped, was frowning, but suddenly broke into a broad, beautiful smile.
It was a man’s face.
Wait, Becca’s aching brain said. A man’s face? A man’s?!
She realized with horror that it was a terragogg who was staring at her. Terrified, she twisted and tried to swim away from him, but she couldn’t, because she was inside some sort of shallow tank. Crazed with fear, she started to thrash against it.
“Listen! Please listen to me!” the man pleaded, in Mermish now. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Becca, her heart pounding, swam to the back of the tank. She grabbed the edge and tried to pull herself over it, but her hands slipped. She gave the side another frantic whack with her tail, but it was pointless. The tank was strong and she was weak.
“You’ve got to stop doing that. You’ll rip your stitches out. You’ve already torn some bandages off,” said the man.
Becca turned to face the man. As she did, her hand went to her temple. The pain in her head was blinding now.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, her voice ragged.
“Redo the bandages you wrecked, give you some moon jelly soup, and get you to the Karg. Unless you manage to kill yourself first.”
Becca blinked. “Who are you?” she asked.
The man smiled. “Marco Contorini, the duca di Venezia.”
“YOU’RE NOT THE DUCA,” Becca said, eyeing the terragogg warily. “Duca Armando was killed by Rafe Mfeme and his men.”
Marco nodded. “Yes, he was,” he said, sadness filling his beautiful eyes. “I’m his son. I’ve inherited his title and the duties that come with it.”
“You’re his son?” Becca asked. “So you’re…” The words wouldn’t come. It was so hard to think, to remember.
“Head of the Praedatori and the Wave Warriors,” Marco finished. He smiled. “At least, I’m trying to be. What I really am is a student at the University of Milan. Double major—marine biology and filmmaking. I had to leave my studies when my father was killed, and take over his operations.”
“In Venice…the palazzo…” Becca said. She’d never been there, but knew about it from Sera’s stories.
“No, the palazzo’s too dangerous for me now. I’ve had to lock it up and leave it. Rafe Mfeme’s men are after me. With the help of the Wave Warriors, I’ve managed to stay ahead of them.”
A female terragogg entered the room just then, carrying two mugs.
“Becca, you’re awake!” she said, grinning. She put the mugs down.
“This is my sister, Elisabetta,” Marco said. “She’s a student, too. Environmental law.”
“How do you know my name? Where am I? How did I get here?” Becca asked, still wary. Her knowledge of terragoggs was limited to the awful way they treated the seas and their creatures.
“All in good time. First, you need to eat,” Elisabetta said. “You were badly banged up and you lost a good deal of blood. You need to build up your strength. Can you manage some moon jelly soup?”
Becca realized that she was, in fact, very hungry. “I suppose I could try…” she replied, still leery of the two humans.
“Good, I’ll get it for you. Marco will answer your questions.”
“Do you mind if I answer them while I fix that bandage?” Marco asked, nodding at Becca’s right arm.
“I—I guess not,” Becca said.
She followed his gaze to her arm and gasped. The bandage was mostly off. Under it was a deep gash, neatly stitched, that ran from her elbow to her wrist. She looked the rest of her body over and saw more bruises and scrapes, and another terrible wound across her right hip.
“You put your arm up just before you crashed into a very large rock. Your head still hit, but not as hard as it would have if you hadn’t cushioned your impact,” Marco said.
Becca’s hand instinctively went to her scalp. Her fingers touched a bandage.
“More stitches, I’m afraid,” Marco said. “It’s a miracle you didn’t fracture your skull. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Do you have a mirror?” Becca asked.
Marco winced. “If you really want one.”
“I do,” Becca said. I think, she added silently.
Marco found a hand mirror and gave it to her. As he gathered bandages, a scissors, and waterproof tape, Becca grimaced at h
er reflection. The right side of her face was covered with scrapes and her right eye was blackened. The bandage on her head was angled like a cockeyed hat.
She handed the mirror back. The marks on her were not pretty, but they would heal and fade. Something else was bothering her a lot more than her cuts.
“How did you find me?” she asked, still suspicious.
“We were looking for you.”
“But who—”
“Mahdi. The Praedatori are scattered now, but he managed to get word to one of them—Nero—and Nero got word to me,” Marco explained, taking the old bandage off Becca’s arm.
Becca felt much better knowing that these goggs were connected to Mahdi.
“I traveled to Cape Horn right away and asked the head of the Warriors in America to get to the Mississippi,” Marco continued, wrapping a fresh bandage around Becca’s arm. “She’s been looking for Ava for the past two days.”
“But she hasn’t found her,” Becca said dully.
“Not yet,” Marco said. “But we’re still hopeful. We didn’t find you right away, either. We circled the waters near the Williwaw’s cave for a couple of days, searching for you. When a bad storm came up out of nowhere, we thought it might be the wind spirit’s doing and that you might be coming up. That’s how he works—getting the ghosts to drive intruders to the surface, then bashing them against the rocks.”
“He sure bashed me,” Becca said, flinching at the memory of the impact.
“El got the boat close to the rocks, and I brought you in with a net. You were out cold. Soon as I had you on board, El gunned it. This is a speedboat. It does eighty knots on smooth seas; fifty in rough ones. We were knocked about a bit, but she got us out of the storm.”
Becca watched Marco expertly cover her new bandage with tape. “You’re pretty good at this,” she said. “Do you make a habit of rescuing mermaids?”
He smiled. “Not many mermaids, I admit. But this boat—it’s called the Marlin—is fitted with a saltwater tank to transport sick and wounded sea creatures. We try to do our part, though it’s getting harder, with—”
“Here you go,” Elisabetta interrupted as she returned with a mug of soup. “Drink this down. It’ll do you good.”
Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel Page 22
