Canticle V

  In subtle seas, distant as dream

  The Weaver of Light surveys

  Her work, incomplete

  Her threads, sorted

  Her thoughts, unsettled

  The pattern, formed

  The pattern, grown

  New things, included

  Old things, excluded

  But...

  But...

  Nothing forgotten

  Remembrance is nigh

  Revival is nigh

  One of six, fallen

  Five of six, remaining

  None of six, known

  All of six, alert

  Threads flow

  Patterns weave

  Singing promise

  Bringing threat

  Changing currents

  To the life of the world to come

  Canto V: Seas of Hospitality

  Verse I

  When night came to the Mere Kazahn, it was with the sudden sweep of an ambush predator, pouncing upon the waters of the city's deep crater and engulfing them in the dusky murk. The mer galda who called this sea their home had long since learned how to fight back, how to drive the darkness out with well-crafted lamps and the steady glow of moss and worm. Beyond even those shone the light of the rune lanterns, enspelled by the crafters of generations past to be bright so that others could be guided through the tricky mountain currents.

  To Ser Gillian, Voice of the Galda and overseer of all that flowed in the caldera of Valden, those magic lanterns were a source of both pride and of shame. Once, in the murky waters of the past, her people had crafted wonders. They had made things of beauty for themselves and for their daughters to come. Now... her eyes focused down the length of her beaky face, picking details out of the dusk in the same way she had picked stones of value out of the dross as a child. The city of Valden, nestled in its caldera, never truly slept. Day in and day out, mers were hard at work, carrying or crafting for the benefit of a distant sea.

  Upon the rim, the shell-work homes of the manoa glimmered with the final warmth of the day's light, and then a little longer after that, grace of the lamps kept within them. Soon, however, the manoa would retire. They would dim the lights and sleep in blissful ignorance of the industry continuing on in the depths below them.

  Here in the privacy of her loft upon the caldera's central spire, Gillian could let her hackles rise, could feel the fibrous scales along her neck and back spread in a display of anger like nothing most manoa had ever seen. The waters wuthered with the sound of her hiss of distaste.

  Shells clattered at the door to the chamber, disrupting the hiss and breaking it into little wavelets, to bounce off of walls and into nothingness. "I hope I am not interrupting anything important," came the voice of Elshia, liaison between the galda and those who lived high on the ridge.

  "Nothing of import," Gillian confirmed with a sigh. "Nothing but the usual. My apologies."

  "Nothing to apologize for as well," Elshia said in return. The manoa with the pale yellow hair and light green scales swam around her, smoothing down those ruffled hackles with a delicate hand. The liaison was a daughter of the Mere Tessra?, and shared the brighter coloration and disposition common among those of Le?si descent. Sometimes, Gillian could envy the mer for both. The fathoms of the galda were too dim and dour at times.

  "What news from the palace?" she asked. "Anything of interest?"

  "Plenty, all of it confused and muddy," said Elshia. "Something has happened at Bryndoon, and the viceroy is not happy, but neither is she talking. The heads of the Houses are gossiping like old crabs, though if they know anything for certain then they're keeping it close to their breast. The ladies din Hillia and din Hatara are scheming, as per usual, so I am to assume that their sisters in Bryndoon have passed some word to them." The blonde mer sighed, releasing a flurry of tired bubbles. "I would rather be swimming with the sharks tonight, in all honesty."

  "Is there opportunity to be had?" That was always the question, and one that Gillian could ask no other mer.

  "Of course there is, but opportunity for what? None can say for sure." Elshia waved the galda down. "I know, I know. You have a singular flow to your mind, dear, but I would still advise you to wait until after the festival of the blessed sacrament has passed. Ensure your next generation before all else."

  It was sound advice, even if Gillian hated the truth behind it. "The mer equmara found a way around that issue," she complained, not for the first time. "Why can we not as well?"

  "Because the mer galda are not the mer equmara," Elshia replied, also not for the first time. "The soldiers come, and the the equmara swim away. Their lives have no obvious anchorage, and that is by their own choice. It came with a price, and do you think the galda could pay the same?"

  Now it was Gillian's turn to blow bubbles out her nose half-heartedly. "...no. We galda must find our own way, craft our own tools if we are to be free. But to leave our very future held hostage in this manner... it is hard to accept, even after so many generations have swept into obscurity."

  "Join the chorus," said Elshia. "The Le?si may be treated better, may act like we're better at times, but we're no happier about the seas we swim than you. A little more time, that is all we need. My sisters in Tessra? promise that they're close to a breakthrough, but the current is against them at all times. Perhaps with this chaotic mess now flowing through Bryndoon, they can finish their work."

  "One can hope."

  To decipher the runes and grammar of the blessed sacrament, that dearest and most precious treasure of the mer leondra... that was a prize, indeed. It was possible, she knew; it had been done before in an earlier age. The ruins of the Mere Le?si lay as testament to the wrath of the leondra and their allies in Bryndoon when their hold over the seas was threatened.

  But that was then, when the legions of Bryndoon were strong and proud. In the now, with the maelstrom stirring in the distance, perhaps the outcome would be different. Ser Gillian could only hope, and such hope was a fragile thing upon which to hang the fate and future of her sisters.

  A pale, slender finger ran down the length of her nose and across the rigid lines of her mouth, eliciting a ticklish snort from her and a giggle from Elshia. "Worry about the future tomorrow," said the blonde mer. "When its time is come closer. It's too late in the evening for such a heavy heart."

  "So it is," Gillian agreed. "What of yourself? The open waters and their currents are treacherous at this hour."

  Elshia fluttered her gills and held a hand to her heart in mock surprise. "You don't say? Why then, I suppose I simply must ask for a space to rest for the night. Some may gossip, as they always will, but as liaison it is my job to communicate with you, after all, and such things take time."

  "Time, yes." Gillian's arms were strong, as befitted a hard-working galda. Elshia fit within them easily, body and tail. The blonde mer kept her arms encircled around the galda's ruffed neck, smoothing down the fringed scales with a touch. A sharp kick of the tail propelled them both to someplace more private.

  Tomorrow belonged to the future, but the night was theirs.

  Verse II

  It was sometimes said that all currents flowed in their own time to the sands of the Mere Almezzeb. Sera had heard this many a time in her twenty years under the firmament, from those who said it as a blessing or a curse for the sea to deal with. The great expanse of Almezzeb, fine sand stretched broad and pale beneath the silvered waves above, rested near to the center of any map ever drawn by the hand of mer, and the great flows passed by it to either side, north to Bryndoon, Tessra?, and Arkhala, or south to Kazahn and Kamazon.

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  Going against the flow was a difficult proposition, and for caravans which needed to change their tack, it had proven simpler to cut across the open waters of the Almezzeb to reach an opposite flow rather than to fight the one they were riding.

  All of which she could have explained to her companions as their float was carried along by the great eastern flow. Could have, but did not. Sera the Red was not in the mood for conversation, and the others soon let her be.

  "It certainly is empty out here," the princess opined after half a morning over the sands.

  What did the palace brat know... A practiced eye could look out upon the vastness and notice all manner of things, from mooring rocks to sand-pod patches, diggerfish to flat-traps. But what the princess meant was that there was no sign of anyone living anywhere. To a Bryndoon mer, the lack of a city around them must be strange. Little Rook was often caught staring towards the far reaches, where the details of the waters faded into obscurity, with an uncomfortable look upon her face.

  "How... how much farther to Mezzegheb?" the speckled orange mer asked. In her hands, a string of cowrie shells clattered from nerves. "I, I think I should rest inside the float for a while..."

  Sera did not answer the question, but only nodded as Rook retreated to a space of safety. The princess followed soon after. The Almezzeb did that to some mers; she'd seen it in the past. The broad expanse stretched out below the firmament, so vast that it faded into the reaches in all directions, and it left in a mer the mad need for anchorage and walls to ward off the feeling that they might all wash away in a strong current.

  She was honest when she said she preferred it out here, but few ever believed her. Ardenne did, she knew. The green-haired mer swam calmly alongside the float, turning her head from time to time as more of the expanse revealed itself in the distance. It was a scale's flip to determine which of them sighted their destination first.

  "Half a degree to the left," the hunter called to the twins. "Mezzegheb is an hour distant."

  "Hour and a half!" Sera corrected. Distances were a funny thing, a truly tricky thing to tell out on the sands. As keen as Ardenne's sight might be, her own blue eyes had the experience here.

  At their posts, the twins had matching shrugs roll down their shoulders. "Whichever it is, it won't be soon enough," grumbled Jumilla. The billows of the float answered to her direction and tacked to the left, putting them on a straight course for the blot of color in the distance. As the light of day continued to shift across the firmament, that blot grew and gained definition, until the city of Mezzegheb beckoned them in.

  They were not going to avoid the customs check. Sera had already advised them of as much. The float was swift for its size, and nimble like few she'd ever seen, but there was no point in playing the smuggler with what experience they had at handling it. Her knowledge of the back currents was tattered at best. In no way were they equipped to slip past the viceroy's patrols without notice, and so they would not bother with the attempt. A story had been concocted, of a band of friends on the current to the Mere Tessra?, and the sights of Mezzegheb were but one more item on their youthful adventure.

  Sera kept her mouth shut and let Jumilla do the talking, once the float was moored at the city's second anchorage. The old rock stood out of the sands a good ten tail-lengths, and a dozen small floats were moored there. Most were local, little caravans and traders who made their business amid the far-flung settlements of the sands. She knew some of them, and was known. All the more reason for her to keep her head down and her hair covered.

  The viceroy's guards were not local; when they spoke it was with the accents of Tessra? or the manoa of Valden. Sera hid a grin as well. The Crown never sent its best mers here, or so she had always heard, and nothing had ever proven it to be otherwise. Certainly this bunch were not pearls hidden in the shell.

  "And what is your business in the city?" one guard was asking in bored tones. She was the third to ask them that same question so far.

  Jumilla smiled and said, "Just passinng through on the way to the Mere Tessra? and we thought we'd stop by for a little fun," also for the third time. The guard showed no more sign of listening than the previous two had. After the quota of prodding and poking had satisfied the guards that there was nothing overtly suspicious about the little float, their group was given permission to continue on -- though not before Jumilla showed the appreciation of herself and her friends with a small bundle of pearl roots. Those had been Sera's suggestion; good snacks often went further than good pearl where bribery was concerned. The guards would eat well for the next few days.

  So far, so good. She was not sure just what trouble awaited them, but she was not going to be optimistic about it. This was Mezzegheb they were swimming into, after all. If ever there was a place for trouble to await discovery, it was here.

  *

  Growing up in the lee of Bryndoon, within the greatest community of mers to exist under the firmament, Rook had thought herself pretty well learned in how a city worked. The manoa capital was formed from cluster after cluster of shell-work homes tied together with kelpen cables, and the broad avenues between them were filled with swimmers and floats. To her this had always been the definition of industry, of business and busyness.

  No place could be more different from that image than Mezzegheb.

  It was not just the physical differences, though they might matter still. The Harbor of Bryndoon was tucked into a natural curve of its surrounding cliffs, and there was always the sense that the world sort of turned upwards at the far reaches. The city of Mezzegheb was an outie to Bryndoon's innie, planting itself on the biggest lump of rock in the middle of the Almezzeb Sands and sticking there like a brightly colored patch of sargo and barnacles. Everything stuck out and and stuck together, from the tent poles of carved whale bone and walls of woven kelp fabric to the funny little pennants rising above the mess of color. The currents above the city whisked the pennants this way and that until they swam like schools of fish.

  Rook giggled as they passed one such school of colorful fabric, but then Sera motioned them along, and she found herself inside Mezzegheb.

  From the outside, the city had looked like one big tent cobbled together from a bunch of smaller tents, their woven walls encircling the rocky base with only a few flaps scattered around for entrances. On the inside, there were no walls. Or at least, she corrected herself as her eyes adjusted to the murk, inner walls were low and carefully placed, dividing the innards of the city into smaller chunks of chaos. Mers were everywhere, dashing through the waters at odd angles and at speeds that would never have been allowed back home. She heard a nearby collision better than she saw it, and the sharp cry of pain and surprise made her wince.

  "It's certainly... lively?" said Jumie. The twin was a solid presence in the middle of the thrumming waters, and Rook was behind her in an instant. She held on gently as she peeked over broad shoulders.

  "You get used to it," Red told them. "This here is the open area. Everything, anything for sale. Keep a hand on your purses. Go up that way..." The red mer pointed left. "... and you find the games area. Wouldn't recommend. No time, less pearl. Lots less, after you visit there. Along the other way, there's the hospitality area. Hammocks for sleep, tuli if that's your thing..."

  "It's not," Millie said in distaste.

  "... and whatever companionship you might desire, for a modest fee," the red mer finished.

  It took a moment for Rook to figure out exactly what was meant by that, and when the realization came crackling through, her face felt the color of Red's hair. What could she say to that? What could anyone say?

  Leave it to the princess to speak for the rest of them: "The reputation of this place precedes it." Rook could hear the bubbles of derision pass through the mer's nose, so distinctly that she might've seen them with her own eyes. "Every vice to be found under the firmament, gathered beneath one large tent."

  "Gotta keep it somewhere, little chum. This is as good a place as any. Unless you're volunteering your rooms back home?"

  Rhiela's hair, now a darker, mellowed brown for most of its length, whipped around as the princess huffed her indignation. "I would never--"

  "A pity." Red interrupted with a poke of a finger at the princess's chest. "You'd make pretty good pearl at it."

  Yikes, that was harsh. Probably true, Rook was willing to admit, but harsh. The princess was about ready to launch at Red's throat, only Millie had an arm around the royal waist and Ardy had calm hands on her shoulders. "What are we doing here then?" asked the hunter. "I doubt that there's anything here to interest us."

  "Wouldn't mind looking, though..." Millie mumbled to herself. If anyone besides Rook noticed Jumie's glare at her twin, no one gave a sign.

  By now their eyes had adapted to the murk, but they would have seen the rogue's shrug easily enough anyway. Of all the colors in the depths, red was the most visible, for reasons that old Baba had tried to explain to Rook at one point. It hadn't made much sense then, but it was still true.

  "Need to find a few mers," Red told them. "See what's floating, what's sinking, and it's better if'n you all aren't riding my flukes while I do it.

  So go, see the city, have a taste of all the worst the nine seas have to offer. Might even enjoy some of it." The rogue had her back to them now, waving offhandedly as she swam away. "Find you later."

  Rook stared over Jumie's shoulder at the stir of activity all around. "So... where do we start?" she asked.