Verse III

  The eel-things, unpleasant as they were, did not take their deaths well. There was much thrashing and lashing with their tentacles as Ardenne's spear skewered them each in turn, and after that a few beats passed before they accepted their dooms to the tips of their tails. But as soon as the twitching ended, the limp bodies began to dissolve around the edges, soon to be nothing but an unpleasant feel upon the waters, like a thin and oily mess.

  Ardenne knew that should would never be used to that. For all the abominations she had fought and killed since leaving the Mere Sangolia—not such a number, but still far too many—each one of them had left her wishing that it would be the last one. The things made her feel sick on the inside, even above the odd pains and cramps that had struck her the other day.

  There must have been something, some sign in the stroke of her flukes through the water to hint at how she felt, because the others gladly gave her the first seat within the float's limited space. Rook squeezed in right beside her with one of the rune-marked shells in her hands. The mer settled into the smaller seat with a contented look on her face.

  "What's got you so happy?" the hunter had to ask.

  "Oh, the sat-iss-fak-shun of a job well done, don't'cher know." The shell hid the smirk, mostly, but it still showed around the edges. "Gonna do s'more studyin', see what else I can get to doing well. Hm..." The orange mer hummed tunelessly as she read on.

  Being not a mer of letters, Ardenne could not begin to decipher the scratches on the surface of the shell, and she did not even wish to try. Her thoughts turned inwards, to the many things she'd learned that day, and outward to the scenery of the Mere Mezzerle. The sands were pale and colorless as ever, with the occasional rocky outcroppings, uniformly dark in contrast regardless of their color. Shadows played across the sand, of animals in the waters or ripples in the firmament.

  A single shadow dominated the sands in the distance. It was so large that, no matter how she bent her neck, Ardenne could not see where it ended, only where it began. The details were lost in the far-off haze.

  "Almost there!" shouted Sera. "Just up ahead."

  "Where?" asked Rhiela.

  "Was sayin', up and ahead. Got eyes, right? Use 'em."

  The shadow on the sands was cast by something above, and as their float approached, that something grew less vague and more green. A solitary, immense mass of sargo and kelp floated in place, practically to the firmament, with only a thick kelpen cable to anchor it to an outcropping below. Their own float passed into the shaded expanse long before it reached that point.

  "What...?" Ardenne could only get the one word out, but it was the most important.

  "Welcome to Morag Head. One of the fortresses of flow, and the ride to our next destination." Sera's arm was up and waving to unknown eyes.

  "There are mers up there?" Rhiela had her eyes shaded as she tried to follow the direction of the wave. "How? Who?"

  Amid the sprawling green, small figures swam freely. Only by peering at them did the entirety of Morag Head become obvious to Ardenne, and even then she was not sure she believed what her eyes reported. The mass of greenery was as large as any one section of her home reef in the Mere Sangolia, or perhaps larger still. There was no way to tell when the farther reaches were obscured.

  "Watch your mouths up there," Sera warned. "Those're friends, but not always friendly. Or sometimes too friendly."

  "Which is it?" Rook's shell was on her lap, forgotten as the orange mer stared upwards.

  "Complicated folk." Sera shrugged. "But they hate the Temple and they don't trust Bryndoon mers much, so..." The red mer's thumb jerked back towards Rhiela. "Should probably keep mum on certain details. Clear?"

  "As the morning firmament," said the princess. "This is the Free Flow we're talking about, isn't it? The rebels." Rhiela's face was hard to read for anything but the distaste so strongly scrawled across it. "I've heard reports."

  Sera waved her off. "Not worth the water they floated in on. And this ain't exactly the Free Flow. These're the mers what inspired it, sure, but the Flow's found across the seas, hidden here and there in plain sight. All the mers of the Free Flow are welcome on Morag Head, but they don't live on it."

  Eyes squinted, Ardenne caught the moment three bodies left the protection of the foliage and began the descent through the fathoms to where they now floated. Even from a distance, the thick, scaleless tails and side flippers were obvious. "Mer equmara," she said. Any comment about possibly being too friendly made more sense to her now. "Ah, if they, um..."

  The rogue read the blush on her face with ease. "If they feel like offering hospitality, and you're not comfortable with it, tell 'em no. Just do it polite-like. No punching."

  Her mouth tightened in annoyance. "I wouldn't..."

  There was a chuckle from the front, where the twins sat. "Yes, you would," said Millie. "My chest still aches when I think about it."

  "Well, you weren't being hospitable right then," Ardenne shot back.

  Rook's eyes bounced back and forth during the exchange. "Um, missing something?"

  There was no time to explain, for which Ardenne was grateful. The three equmara were swift, and though the fathoms numbered a full hand's span and more, it did not take them much time at all to cross it. Ardenne's sole previous experience with this tribe of mers had been Rohaise, the wanderer who'd helped her and Sera go against the greater flow and reach the Mere Le?na from Sangolia in a few days. That was enough to prepare her for their appearance.

  They were older mers, these equmara, though not necessarily old. Her own mother's age, Ardenne figured. Their top halves lacked the slender grace that Rohaise possessed, being sturdier, better muscled, and more motherly in the chest. The kelpen wraps they wore around and under the armpits were barely enough to contain it all. Thicker waists still looked dainty when seen above tremendous tails more akin to a cetacean's in size and strength. The little side flippers paddled lazily as their owners settled into a comfortable floating position before the visitors.

  "Hail, capetas." Sera bowed her head. "Nantsi, Eilee, Ailit. Too long, too long."

  "Too long, indeed," said the middle mer, the one Sera had called Eilee. Like her sisters to the right and left, her hair grew long on top, but kept the temples and ears bare. The three of them all possessed brown hair dappled in different patterns of white, patterns that extended to their bare skin, though faintly. A broad forehead merged with a broader nose to provide a long ramp for wide-set eyes to stare down. "Heard we a mite from Rohaise, when last she passed through on her way to Mezzeret. Some business in the royal harbor, was it?"

  "Went a mite muddy, at that?" said the equmara to the left, Nantsi. Ears swiveled towards the visiting mers. "And bring you guests this time? A rarity. Need we ask how muddy things got?"

  "Knowing the answer already, right? Immensely." The sigh Sera released was loud and dramatic. "And happy to tell you all and Dulut about it. Ah, Dulut's not with you?"

  "At Mezzeret," said the third equmara, Ailit. "Getting you all stowed on the Head, then casting off. But first..."

  "Ah, yes." The red mer bowed her head. "Introductions. Everyone, these three are the capetas, the mers who run Morag Head. Nantsi, Ailit, Eilee. Well respected, honest, maybe a dozen daughters between them?"

  "Eleven," Eilee confirmed. "Two grand-daughters now, as well."

  "My best regards to your lucky daughters." Sera waved a hand through the currents, pointing out each of her companions in turn. The hunter was not surprised to be first: "Ardenne min Diana, of the Mere Sangolia. Rohaise probably mentioned her."

  "Yes." Ailit nodded. "How fared that business with your mother?"

  A stone crashed through her stomach at the memory of her last talk with the mer who birthed her, but Ardenne was able to stutter out a generally positive report with just the bare facts. It was hard to read the wide-set eyes of the equmara, but if they had questions of her account, those would wait for later.

  "Next up," said Sera. "Jumilla and Jumella, twins from the Mere Kazahn. Crafters."

  "Didn't think Kazahn manoa knew what honest work was," Nantsi cracked.

  "Most of them don't," replied Millie in matching tones.

  Jumie added, "We feel sorry for them, sometimes."

  "And from the Mere Le?na," the red mer continued, gesturing to the last two of their companions. "Rook min... ah..."

  The speckled orange mer finished for her. "Should be Rook min Ranee, but that's not too common to say mother-names in the Mere Arkhala, so Baba never let me get in the habit of it. I do runework and stuff," she told the capetas. "If'n you gots anything broken, I could use the practice at fixin'."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Nantsi chuckled. "Might be we have sommat in need of repair. And your last friend?" The senior equmara nodded to Rhiela.

  A thrill ran down Ardenne's spine, a little line of shock that served to get the rest of herself ready for trouble. She did not know the equmara all that well, nor their particular ways, but she was pretty fair at understanding Sera. It was not much of a guess that any friend of the red mer's would not take well to the truth of the princess. The question was, what would their roguish companion do in the here and now?

  "Rhia? Oh, she's been tagging along since that business in Bryndoon," Sera began.

  "Bryndoon?" Ailit's nose twitched in disdain. "Not much good out of there these days."

  Rhiela had drawn herself up to her full length, chest huffed in that way that made her indignation clear but otherwise did little for her dignity. The princess's top had seen far better days. "I left Bryndoon because I want to help," she said flatly. None missed that the words were aimed more towards Sera. "And I shall continue to travel and learn until I can do everything that needs doing."

  "So what can you do, young'n?" said Eilee. "Asides filling your blouse?"

  The princess's face went bright pink, all the way up to the dark roots of her hair, as Sera and the equmara shared a loud chuckle. "I am studying runecraft with Rook here," she declared. "I've already mastered a shield spell, and I am working on a blade spell right now."

  From Nantsi, an appraising eye looked the brown-gold mer over. "Might you be more interesting than you seem at first," she said. "Well, with the introductions concluded, shall we be off? It's a long day and more to our destination."

  "Why, er, yes, I suppose so..." Rhiela's words tripped over the sudden change of subject, and she remained quiet for some time afterwards as she helped Ardenne and the twins stow the float properly.

  Ardenne had to pat the mer's back or shoulder a few times to reassure her. To reassure herself, actually. The current was heading once again to strange waters, and that was enough to make anyone nervous.

  Verse IV

  It was a busy hour of the day in Bryndoon, with the light of the firmament gracing the shellwork beauty of its buildings to guide mers of all colors through the outer waters and inner passages as they carried out their tasks. Marai was among them, making a straight line between the palace and the guard barracks on the other side of the cliff's gentle curve. She did not mind the crowds, paid no mind at all to the busy bodies swimming towards and away from her. She did not even need to ignore them; most took one look at the ministry insignia upon her tunic, the sign of the House of Linnea next to it, and then wisely decided to swim upon a different current to their destination.

  The assistants, those grey-clad mers who bowed to her mother's every whim, nodded as she approached the ministry tent, and she in turn acknowledged them in the same manner. Along her shoulders, the satchel of shells rattled.

  "Good morning, my daughter," said Ministra Marhyd. Her mother was a slimmer bulk than before, brimming with an energy that ate her food as swiftly as she could fit it into her mouth. "How was your swim here? Were there any issues with the crowds? I know how that used to trouble you so."

  "All was well, mother," she reported. No further words were volunteered as Marhyd made a quick examination of Marai's face and eyes.

  "Pupils dilated normally, no slackness of muscle, responsiveness as expected..." the ministra muttered to herself. "Good, good. It is encouraging to see that your treatments are taking so well, Marai."

  Within her mother's voice dwelt something to prompt a response. "I am ever thankful, mother."

  "It always sends me a thrill to hear you say that. Now, go see your sisters. They'll be leaving at the end of the hour, so allow them a proper send-off, understood?"

  "Yes, mother."

  A single float waited in preparation at the barracks mooring post: one of the small, swift types used by couriers to the far seas. The folds of its kelpen exterior fluttered in the currents, and inside it were bundles marked again with the signs of the ministry and the House of Linnea. Marai knew their contents well; she had helped her mother finish several of them. Some other time, in the safety of her chambers when the actions of the day grew dreamlike and ephemeral, she might have a vague reminiscence of them and feel sorry for whoever would be on the receiving end of their power. That was if she remembered what they did; those hours of rest were when the tender ministrations of her mother were at their weakest, and her mind did wander so.

  But she was not in her chambers now, nor the princess's. She was out and about on family business, and such thoughts did not float to mind.

  "Martella!" she cried instead. "Marilis! Is all ready for departure?"

  Her sisters were clad in blackest green, the kelpen weave strengthened by runic processes until it was tougher than sharkskin. Their faces and hands were pale, while their hair was the lavender of the House of Linnea. Unlike Marai with her long braid, the sisters kept theirs short: Marilis's swept back and pinned, Martella's in spikes.

  "Greetings, sister," replied Marilis as she checked the last of the straps on the float. "We shall away soon."

  "And be back sooner," promised Martella. "We shall find those wicked mers and smash them up right well!"

  She had her best smile on at the sound of that. "I look forward to hearing your stories."

  "And to having your precious princess back?" Martella teased.

  Her cheeks went red, and for a beat she could feel herself sliding back into her old habits, into the hazy mental blindness of her chamber-time, ruled by anxiety and worry. All too suddenly was she aware of the mers swimming around, and if none of them looked her way, that did not mean they might, and if... Her body shuddered at the thought, air bladders expelling clouds of bubbles even as she fought to keep them in.

  And then a hand was on her back. A heavy hand, but fever-warm and comforting as it stroked her skin. "Now, now," came her mother's whisper on a current for her ears only. "We shall have none of that. Be strong, Marai. Be in control. Be my best daughter."

  The subtle harmonics which rode upon those last few words buoyed Marai, lifting her spirits and dispelling the weights of doubt and fear. Yes... she was the best. She knew that. Mother had told her, and thus was it true. She would need to remain best, for... for... The black current almost overcame her once more, but with her mother at her back, Marai found the strength to push through.

  She would be the best for Rhiela, the strongest and the bravest, and the princess would lover her for ever and ever. Things would be as they should.

  *

  Ministra Marhyd kept an eye on her daughters as they finished the preparations. How beautiful they were, three little dolls in a row with their matching hair in the light purple tones of the fulgurant force. Such a difficult, quarrelsome energy to control and direct, and yet the things a mer could do with it, once properly harnessed! Marhyd fancied that no mer to live since the War of the Black Flow had shown even half the skill, half the prowess with which she herself could manipulate it.

  Nor could any mer imagine the uses the fulgurant force may have, beyond the simplistic application of directed shocks, the sort of thing which even common eels and rays might manage in the wild. Her Grace might suspect—surely did suspect, after the miracle of the din Hillia girls becoming competent—but in this era of abominations and rebellion, none would speak of suspicion when success was at hand.

  Oh, this was a wonderful time to be alive, as wonderful as any other and yet more so.

  She did allow herself a beat to regret the need to use Marai so, but the results were a marked improvement over the weak-spined little thing living in the princess's wake. That was an image in need of correction, and so like any good mother, she had corrected. The occasional lapses were to be expected, but it would not do to push too hard, too fast, lest the greater plan be compromised.

  Marilis and Martella, now... The ministra ran her gaze across her two new daughters as they smartly and efficiently concluded the loading and directed the float to the launch point. In many ways, those two had been simpler to work on, though not easier. Marhyd simply had less concern about the material cost of the outcomes she sought. Still, it had worked out well. The former din Hillia girls were focused and dedicated, loving daughters and deadly warriors, but they required a proper test of their mettle to make sure that her efforts were not in vain.

  And if any place under the firmament could test one's resolve, it was the tent city of Mezzegheb.

  Marhyd smiled and waved with Marai as the float cast off and her adopted duo began their swift trip to the sea of sands. If Marai heard the rough, staccato chuckle to rumble in her breast, the girl was too well trained to take notice.

  Verse V

  Watch-with-Clicks sang sad notes to herself as she roamed through the waters-above-sand. This was a lonely place, a quiet place with neither the clicks and calls of the delphin pods nor the immense volume of joyous noise from the rorqual. Not enough fish, and thus not many of her kind would come to this sea. Not many of the wicked mers, either; those ones stayed close to the rocky and weedy patches, as they always would. The little pink delphin was not concerned with them.

  But her mers, the ones-to-guide? Where had they gone? The question was important; the question was terrible. She did not know the answer.

  Querulous, questioning clicks. Echoes under the firmament with no response of note. The circuits around the smaller great rock, wherein the little wicked mers sheltered. Their laughter and trills were no delphin song, but their emotions were a calming sort of happiness.

  But they could not answer the question, and without an answer Watch-with-Clicks knew not where to watch to fulfill her duty. She could only swim to the far distance, away from the little great rock and the big great rock with its funny covering and sour tastes, and trust in the guidance of Gentleness-of-Tide and Strength-of-Waves.

  A click returned to her, and with it the sense of something large in the distance. Larger than a rorqual or a cachalot, and those were the only things which Watch-with-Clicks knew to compare. Lone did she swim before this something became more than a shadow on the senses, abut when she knew she had found it, still she did not know its naming.

  It was kelp. And sargo. And weeds of every sort, all floating high over the sands, all growing downwards—and never was there a thing she had seen like it! This new thing bobbed in the flow of the current, kissing the firmament as a delphin might for the breath of life, while a long strand of kelp reached down to touch a rock below.

  And then, the strand did break! It quit the rock and floated free. Her forehead felt the sounds of mer-song as the entire mass of green did shiver and shift, and all was caught in a current like none Watch-with-Clicks had felt upon the water-above-sand.

  Wicked mers, tricky merrs, moving the green like this. Watch-with-Clicks kept her distance as she followed. Her mers, her stubborn and strange mers, would doubtless be upon this mass, for that was how the currents flowed these days.

  *

  As Ardenne lay upon a bed of foliage, so green as to match her hair, she could feel the subtle shifts as Morag Head left its mooring and went adrift upon the currents. There was little for any of them to see, snugly bundled as they were, but plenty to hear and feel through the waters.

  The song began immediately, a deep crooning as the equmara of Morag Head made love in their voices and gave power to the flow of water around them. There was a gentle push of acceleration, such as she had felt before on their little float, but stronger, more immense, as if the sea itself were in motion. At the heart of the song, Ardenne thought she heard the voices of the three capetas come together in a harmony which all others followed.

  "The Mere Almezzeb's a lot wider 'n most mers think," Sera was explaining to the others. "Got a huge expanse of nothing but sand—no rocks, no grass, nothing—before you get anywhere worth talking about. But over that way you get these huge mats of sargo what break off and float freely a while, like sargo does, only..."

  "It's stupidly humongous, it what'cher gonna say?" Rook guessed.

  "The way the equmara grow 'em, yeah." Ardenne could not see the red mer, but she could hear the grin on her face. "Let 'em roam the firmament, grow, get big and full of food for the main settlement. Ride 'em around, and the guards in the tent city never realize what they're looking at."

  "And they just trust us enough to show all of this?" The princess had a fair point, Ardenne could admit. A new worry floated into her heart to join the rest.

  "Trusting me, at least, and you lot are with me. And where we're goin'..." Sera drew quiet for a beat. "If'n they don't think you're trusty, they just won't let you leave. Simple as that. So be good."

  One of the twins rumbled—Jumie, from the serious tones: "And where is it we are going?"

  "To Mezzeret, true capital of the Almezzeb Sands and a sight better place to visit than the city of tents. Gonna love it, really."