Verse VIII

  Dawn came much too soon in these waters, in the learned opinion of Sera the Red. She had set her nest high on an old mass of coral, one that had died out years ago from a black sargo infestation. The dark green weed preferred a particular fathom with slow currents, and when one of its tumbling masses came upon an appropriate anchor point it would readily branch out into a great, flat mat of vegetation that smothered the local coral and blocked the light for anything else that grew there. An infestation of this size would never have happened in more civilized seas, in the Crown waters of the Mere Le?na or the broad farms of the Mere Tessra?, but here was a wilder sort of place. Nestled within the thick fronds of sargo, Sera was not complaining. A better hiding spot she could not have asked for. Unlike the small caves and crevices that could be found around the reef, there were no unpleasant neighbors such as octopodes to disturb her.

  She had arranged her nest so that morning's first light would flow across her face. Light, and the inquisitive snouts of the little drakkies that made the sargo their home. The bony swimmers, no longer than her first finger, were early risers, and curious as well. Stunted fins fluttered against their bellies as they poked her face a few times before flitting off to find the tiny shrimps they usually ate. Now quite awake, Sera wriggled around until she lay face down, and through the gaps in the weed she observed the Bryndoon camp in its valley below. There were enough fathoms between them that the morning light had found her several full measures before the soldiers.

  Last night, the pod camp had been the picture of tranquility, their mystery prisoner notwithstanding. This morning it was half-hidden in swirling clouds of silt as the soldiers packed their things in haste. So much disturbance, such great billows of sand and silt meant that the soldiers had been at it since well before the dawn, and exhausted glow-lamps littered the rocks.

  As she watched on, two soldiers made their way to the pod floats. They were dragging Emera's corpse between them.

  Depths. The word was all the more forceful for the silence she maintained. Sera pushed herself up and out of the black sargo, where none would see. A quick check of the belts crossing her chest confirmed that nothing was missing. The sargo covered her movements as she bolted from the dead reef, swimming as quickly as her flukes would carry her. The soldiers of Bryndoon could be nasty when threatened, and time would not be on her side. The one thing she might have going in her favor was that she knew where they'd be going before they did.

  What good that would do her, she was not yet sure.

  *

  All was not right in Ardenne's world. She hung from her hammock in the little grotto she shared with her mother. Her head still pained her, but her mind was free of the muddy confusion that had plagued it. This did not make it any easier to grasp the events of the day. The details of that morning had been pieced together through a night's worth of slow and steady headaches, so that she now knew the what, the where, and the how of her mother's disappearance. The why of it was the mystery. Diana was a reef huntress: a good one, perhaps even one of the best, but no one of concern to the soldiers of Bryndoon.

  The mers in red and gold came every year to the Grandest Reef to collect the tributes, and in all her seventeen years in those waters, Ardenne had never seen one of the soldiers up close before now. And that one was now dead. If the Elder Raqua had not heard the story first from the mouths of her favorite granddaughters, then Ardenne would already have been turned over to the Bryndoon mers. She might still yet be.

  A large square of skin, scraped leather taken from a delphin her mother had caught years before, separated her little space from the outside waters. Within the grotto, all remained still, with only the occasional current to curl and play around the edges. Still waters, turbid depths. A favorite saying of her mother's, made real in her absence.

  The interior was dark, without even a small glow-lamp, but Ardenne knew the position of each item within, each decoration, knickknack, and trophy to adorn its crevices. Diana was a collector, a habit which her daughter had picked up readily. Every shell to be found on the reef, every fish's scale or whale's tooth that she could acquire had its own little spot carved for it in the walls of the grotto. As a hunter, Ardenne's education had come largely from this collection: what to hunt, what to avoid, and what to do in any situation.

  But... the question thrashed through the still waters of her mind. But, what was she to do now? The night spent in her hammock, worrying over things until late into night's sole hour before slipping in and out of shadowy dreams. Even when the first faint stirrings of morning had made themselves heard through the leather curtain, the bright darkness of her dreams pulled at her heart and tried to keep her in slumber.

  Awake though she now was, the question continued to bother her, and so she posed another to herself: What would her mother do in her place? The answer came more readily. Without a doubt, Diana would identify those responsible, figure where they would go next, and be there waiting for them.

  All of that was easier said than swum. Ardenne could already sense that she would have a busy day ahead of her.

  That busy day began with the rattle of shells just outside her curtain. After taking a moment to wrap a roll of fabric around her lean torso, she pushed the skin aside. Lyrika, wide-eyed and serious, peered in.

  "Gran'mama's asking for you," the speckled mer whispered.

  "Depths." Ardenne rubbed her eyes. "Any way to... no," she stopped herself, seeing Lyrika's face tighten. She might be the biggest mess on the reef, but that still would not let her dodge a meeting with the village elder. "Could you tie my straps for me, at least?"

  Her top, a soft banded weave, was not the easiest thing to lace up blindly in the dark. Already it was threatening to detach in the morning currents. The length of fabric, about three arm-spans in all, was padded with leather where it fit against the nape of the neck. It went once around the collar, crossing the clavicle, then broadened to cover Ardenne's chest. Strips of shark cartilage had been fitted in to make it stronger around her ribs, and a leather thong threaded the ends together behind her back. Pads of soft silt-grass kept it from pressing too tight and flat against her chest.

  Ardenne's grandmother had been the local weaver, and the wrap had held up well in the years since the old mer's soul had returned to Cythera. The pattern of red and yellow patches on dark green complemented her natural coloring well.

  With the help of the early morning light from the firmament, Lyrika's fingers made short work of the lacings, and then the mer moved to Ardenne's spine to adjest the leather pad along her neck. Thick green hair was pulled back into a queue, tied three times around with a cord of sinew. The speckled russet mer swam a tight circle around the hunter, checking for any problems in the garment. The wrap fluttered as dark pink flukes passed within a whisper's flow, but the lacing held strong. Lyrika floated up face to face with Ardenne, so close that the freckles seemed to disappear from her face, leaving only a pair of warm brown eyes.

  Slender fingers took hold of Ardenne's head and pulled her into the warmest kiss she had ever experienced. It was also the first kiss to grace her lips, though she'd never have owned up to that. The hunter wrapped her arms around the smaller mer and discovered that the gentle pressure of Lyrika's chest against her own was every bit as pleasant. But to her disappointment, the kiss did not last nearly as long as it should have. Lyrika was the one to break the spell, though not without a wistful look of her own.

  "Gran'mama is still waiting," the mer said by way of an apology, plainly wishing it weren't so. "And I have to go tend the renky-root patches with Lyra." A flick of the tail pushed her up and away towards the morning current. "Thank you again for yesterday. And if Gran'mama doesn't strangle you, then perhaps I might see you tonight?" There was a knowing wink, and then Lyrika was away.

  Ardenne stared on as Lyrika disappeared into the distance. She brushed the back of her hand against her lips, but the tingling did not fade. The busy day had begun on a high note, at least.

  Verse IX

  The hut of Elder Raqua was one of the few real structures in this part of the Grandest Reef. Most families made do with grottoes hollowed out of the coral or rooms intentionally grown in place by patient hands and skilled rune-craft. The elder's hut was more on a current with the styles of Bryndoon: careful shell-work held together by treated cords of long kelp. The shells gave it structure, forming the planes of a twelve-sided ball. The ropes gave it flexibility, allowing the currents to push at it gently without setting the plates against one another. Cables of long kelp as thick as Ardenne's arm kept it suspended roughly in the center of a large hollow in the surface of the reef. The hunter had been inside but once, many years before, but the hut seemed bigger now than it had when she was a child. It was a place for official business, and half a dozen large mers could have fit inside it comfortably.

  The entrance was on the bottom, one shell-work plate fixed with a hinge to let it swing out. Ardenne fumbled with the latches for a moment before someone inside opened it for her. Sticking her head through, she was prompted to revise her estimates. There were more than six mers in there, and three of them looked quite comfortable in their red and gold carapaces.

  "What am I to do?" Elder Raqua shook her head, sending wisps of silver to curl above her old bonnet. "Orcs and cachalot sighted on the heights, talk of blood-red phantoms haunting the edges of the reef, and now this." The eldest mer in the room turned slowly in place while keeping her position at the center of the hut. Behind her now were the seniors of this ridge on the reef: Maris the stock-keeper, whose daughters had been assaulted the day before; Illina the merchant, a fat old mer who managed trade with neighboring villages; Nessine with her grizzled head, serving as the region's rune-keeper.

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  Four young mers floated before her, three of them in Bryndoon armor. The final youth, the hunter Ardenne, had taken a spot as far from them as the limited space of the hut would allow.

  "We have one young mer dead. That cannot be argued. The lieutenant asserts that she was lost and probably asking for directions. My granddaughters," the elder said with no small eddy of emphasis, "assert otherwise. What say you, Lieutenant Grett?"

  "Dead is dead." The lieutenant had doffed her helmet. Tightly coiled brown hair bounced as she looked each of the seniors in turn. It did nothing to soften her expression. "And while I acknowledge that Emera was not the most even-tempered of my cohorts, I do not believe that she would ever harm a civilian in her own time of need. Her death was unjustifiable, and it was murder. You tell me that she," a nod of the head to Ardenne, "put that spear point in Emera's throat. I tell you she must pay for that."

  "And what do you say, Ardenne born of Diana?" asked the elder.

  Her mother's name, floating on the still waters of the hut, stirred something deep within Ardenne. A feeling of stress, pulling ever tighter as this meeting had continued, now threatened to snap. The memories of the morning before, difficult as they had been to call from the darkness, proved even harder to push away in this moment. They attacked, the memories cried out. They beat me and took her.

  Ardenne could feel the red wash rising behind her eyes, and the few simple words she spat out now took every scale of willpower she had.

  "Do you know where my mother is, Elder Raqua?"

  Her voice was chilled, cold, biting. It was not a tone she had ever used before. She had not known that she could. Strange as it was from her throat, it was the only one to match the words. This was the sort of question that existed to be asked, not answered. The elder could feel this, just as she could feel the venom behind the words well enough to flinch as they flowed her way.

  "I know that she did not return with you in the evening. She hasn't come back yet?"

  "No." She floated still in the water. Too still. There was a force welling up inside of her. Ardenne could feel it pulsing through her heart, squeezing her air bladdrs, pushing this way and that as it sought a means to escape. Her body should have sent the nearby waters to trembling from the sheer strength of emotion, but... nothing. To outside eyes she appeared calm. Only the elder seemed to sense that something else was stirring in the depths. Without breaking eye contact with Raqua, she let one arm rise, one finger uncurl into a spear of intent, stabbing in the direction of the lieutenant. "Ask her."

  "I'm afraid I don't know what..." Lieutenant Grett managed to say before being cut off.

  "Yesterday. Saya's Canyon. Near the pearl root patches. We met a group of five mers dressed like them," said Ardenne, stabbing her finger repeatedly at the soldiers. "We greeted them and learned that they had lost their bearings on the back currents. Then we led them back to the main channels through the plume grass fields. When our backs were turned, they beat us over the head. I have not seen my mother since."

  She looked the lieutenant in the face for the first time. In a perfect sea, Grett would have died then and there from the intensity of hatred found in those green eyes. "My mother is tall, thin, with brown-on-burnish scales and hair slightly greyed. If you do not know of her, then one of your cohorts does. My mother Diana was taken and as far as I am concerned, your soldier's life was not a fair trade for that."

  Her words spent, she settled back into furious stillness. Elder Raqua let the silence reign for a full verse of beats before turning to the soldiers. "From the sound of things," the old mer began, "I would be well within my rights to demand remuneration returned from this year's tribute. I doubt that this would sit well with your superiors. You still say that you know nothing of Diana or her whereabouts?"

  "No," came the reply, clipped and cold.

  "Then you will investigate this matter." The old mer's tone left no room for refusal. The councils of elders held the fullest authority in the Mere Sangolia, where the Crown kept no officials in residence. Among them, the Elder Raqua placed high in the respect of all. A superior grade of officer might be able to refuse an order from her, but Lieutenant Grett could not have risked it.

  "Yes, elder." Curled brown hair shook in acceptance.

  "I'm going, too." The words were out of Ardenne's mouth before she realized that she had anything more to say. "You will take me to her. Wait while I get my things." She slipped down through the entrance of the hut before anyone could respond.

  Verse X

  The rolling hills of the Grandest Reef held no lack of hiding spots, and Sera had scouted a dozen and more over the past week. There was one in particular with a perfect view of the hunter's village and its main approaches, so she cleared out the urchins and the starfies, nervously prodded a stray octopod with a coral branch till it relocated itself, and then settled below the shelf of branching coral.

  Hurry as she could, the morning currents had been against her. She had not been able to beat the soldiers of Bryndoon to the village, much less send warning to the green-haired mer that trouble was coming. Sera could only hope the hunter did not do anything stupid.

  In the distance, the three soldiers were readily visible in their red and gold. A fourth figure, from her coloration almost certainly Ardenne, joined them. Together the four set out upon the waters.

  Like that. Stupid like that.

  The current they were riding would take them up to the heights, the weathered mounts upon whose base the reef had grown. But to get there, they would need to pass by Sera's position. True, they could swim across currents, but that was tiring. They could also cross the open waters away from the reef, but that would mean facing sharks or worse. Soldiers could be relied upon to take the easiest and safest of routes.

  Strapped to one of her belts were several long, fluted shells. Sera readied one now, plugging the larger end with a wad of purplish weed mixed with clay. Her pouch held only six such balls, each wrapped carefully in broad-leaf kelp to prevent accidental contact with the skin. Before the plug could become watertight, she blew through a hole on the narrow end. A string of bubbles forced most of the water out, leaving empty space behind the plug. The narrow end, she sealed with a special cap.

  Useful as they were, the shells were not quick to load. She had only two ready by the time Ardenne and her escort came into range. Sera took one in hand, replacing the cap with the pad of her thumb. Raising it to her lips, she swallowed once to clear the way, relaxed the muscles in the back of her throat, and allowed her air bladdrs to slowly empty into the space provided by her mouth and cheeks. When she sensed that the pressure was right, she took aim and directed a mouthful of air through the shell as forcefully as possible.

  Sfft.

  There was scarcely a ripple as the ball of clay and weed sped through the water. A second ball followed a beat later. The little projectiles did not have much in the way of range, even in waters as calm as these, and their paths were laughably slow. Had the soldiers been paying attention, they might have dodged the two balls entirely. But they were not, they did not, and the wads of weed and clay had the impact she intended.

  The first shot hit one soldier on the right shoulder. The second got the bareheaded officer in the back of the neck. The soft clay spread on impact, exposing more of the purple weed to bare skin. Her suppliers called it Ferga's Rest, and it cost more than a few pretty pearls to have it brought in from the Mere Hetropa.

  The effect it had on a mer was worth it, though.

  *

  Even with a spear on her back and a knife at her flank, Ardenne was nervous. The mad rush of emotion from the elder's hut had since faded, and in its place was a simple, "What have I gotten myself into?" Things had felt so straightforward when the red wash took her: go to the camp, find mother, leave. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd be putting herself in the soldier's power, armed though she was.

  What did she know about these mers, even? The soldiers had been in the area for a week now, and Ardenne wasn't even sure where they had set up camp. She and her mother were rarely involved with village affairs, and the most she could say was that the camp was not in any of her usual hunting waters.

  By the time she'd met up with the soldiers at the village's edge, her stomach felt like a whole school of flutterby snails had migrated into it. Before them, the plume-grass spread for leagues, covering the flat shelflands and spreading up the sides of the mounts. The morning currents created rolling waves as the tips of the grass flashed light and dark green. From here she could see the tell-tale signs of grazing fishes moving through the mass of foligage and her hand itched with the desire to take up her spear and put it through something that would not be able to complain afterwad.

  The lieutenant said nothing as Ardenne swam up, only giving a curt nod. The brown-curled mer held her arm up vertically, palm flat, and jerked it in a gesture of summoning. That was all Grett did to acknowledge the hunter's existence. Turning about-face, the lieutenant set out. The soldiers and Ardenne followed silently.

  They were not on the current Ardenne would have expected. Instead of going into the plume-grass, they were skirting it entirely, heading along the verge of the reef towards the shallower waters of the heights. That area would not have been her first choice for camp, Ardenne thought to herself, but these were mers from Bryndoon. She'd heard that the Great Harbor was set into a cliff, so it wouldn't have surprised her to learn that these soldier mers had done something similar here.

  Grett had set the stroke, a strong one that kept the flukes pumping up and down. It was fast, but not sustainable over any great distance. Either the camp was closer than she thought, or there was a current leading to it nearby. There was nothing to do but follow on.

  Sfft. A slight vibration in the water rippled through the water. Sfft. Another followed.

  Then the lieutenant and the solider to her right began convulsing.

  The soldier was first, for what it mattered. Her body arched and bowed, bending the mer in half. Lieutenant Grett followed right after, leaving Ardenne and the third soldier gaping in shock. The two afflicted mers screamed, emptying their air bladders as the sound flew out in waves of bubbles. Then, limp and no longer buoyant, they settled to the silt below.

  What had just happened? The question echoed across Ardenne's mind. Grett and her cohort were not dead; their gill flaps still fluttered lightly and their fins twitched. Looking but not coming too close in, Ardenne could see a splotch of purple-veined mud on the nape of the lieutenant's neck. How it had gotten there was one more thing to worry about. She was about to ask the remaining soldier if she too had heard the odd little noise from a moment before when a flash of red slammed into the Bryndoon mer from behind. Knocked off balance, the soldier was thrown to the silt.

  For a moment, all Ardenne could see of this new attacker was red. Dark red scales caked with mud. Bright red hair that had been loosed from its braid by the force of impact. Long, pale hands gripped into the soldier's neck, palms pushing at the nape as fingertips dug into the soft tissue. The soldier quickly joined her comrades in unconsciousness.

  Her business complete, the red mer straightened and pushed away from her victim. Blue eyes flashed as she looked Ardenne straight in the face and said, "We should go. Now."

  "What..." the green-haired mer began, still taking in the scene before her. Then her eyes locked onto the newcomer, and the shock that she felt found a voice. "What in the darkest depths of the indigo hell do you think you're doing? I needed them to lead me to my mother!"

  "The indigo hell is exactly where you'd end up, swimming with them. Got their camp on the other side of the reef from here. Had got. Probably pulled all stakes and left by now."

  "But..."

  "Funged in the brain? Bryndoons here, rather kill you and blame it on the orcs." The red-haired mer paused a moment as a low grown made it out of Grett's throat. "Name of Sera, by the way. Look, discussions later? Rather be gone before they recover."

  She needed time to think, a verse or two to consider. All she had was a beat. The strange mer's hair drifted in a loose cloud, like a mass of wispy red weed. The frills around Sera's neck fluttered rapidly from exertion. Seeing this mer just now in action, seeing what she was capable of, that should have been enough to make Ardenne turn her down. But...

  There was a sincerity in those blue eyes, a feeling of concern that Grett and her cohorts had all lacked. Diana's daughter considered this, weighed her options for just a beat longer, and then nodded.

  "If you know the right current to find my mother," she said, "then let's go."