Verse V

  The longer the current, the straighter the flow. An old pearl of wisdom, passed from generation to generation. Yesca, mitera of the Temple in Bryndoon and member of the Royal Council, had come to appreciate the words more as she grew in experience. No mer liked change, deep within her heart, and would cling to what seemed normal for far longer than was sane. It was the duty of herself and her prestra sisters of the Temple to guide the spiritual currents and keep the flow of society in a positive direction. That was especially relevant in this season of the blessed sacrament. The procession of the sacrament would leave at first light, and by her estimation they would arrive at their assigned seas in but a few days' time. There would be exceptions: The Mere Hetropa was quite distant, and the Mere Arkhala inhospitable, but the middle seas would all be graced by the hymns of the blessed sacrament, and the festivals of life and love would commence. For a while, happiness and joy would float upon the waters, to the contentment of all.

  Mitera Yesca wished only for a measure of that joy and contentment for now, here in the chambers of the inner council. Rather, it was her duty to lie in the hollowed seat in her capacity of spiritual advisor, and listen to Ministra Marhyd's eloquent explanation of just how muddy the situation in Mezzegheb had become.

  To the side, in one of the hollows reserved for guests and witnesses to the proceedings, the Lady Calla din Casima twitched from nerves. The occasional legate from the Mere Almezzeb had answered the summons to this august chamber with proud eyes and her head held high, as her rival of the House of Saekra had not received such an invitation. The mer's demeanor had lasted all of five beats into the report from the ministry.

  It took effort not to bare her claws as Yesca waved to speak. "Forgive me, ministra, but did you not instruct your, ah, 'daughters' to practice subtlety and tact in this endeavor?"

  "Quite, Your Holiness." The ministra fit her hollow snuggly, though the rolls of her flesh no longer threatened to flow over its edges. "I also sent them with the most advanced runework weapons I had, as well as a general directive to accept orders from the viceroy, since it was assumed that Lady Lanita din Casima would be better aware of the situation in her own waters. Mardith and Martella simply executed the orders from Her Elegance faithfully."

  "And three dozen mers, directly." Duchess Aysmin had her head turned, so that only her abalone eyepatch might watch the fat mer with its rough and blind surface. The face of her fated sister was lost to Yesca as well, which was its own little sadness, lost in school with the rest.

  "To their credit," observed the ministra, "the Free Flow has been eviscerated in the tent city, and my ministry has the details needed to comb the caravans for further sympathizers."

  "If any dare show their faces for a generation to come." When din Casima spoke, it was in pinched tones to match her expression, and with her hands folded up to her chest and her reddish hair floating free, the resemblance to a prawn was never more pronounced. "Most will have gone to hide with those beasts in their weed patches, I am sure. Your Grace, is it not time we dealt with the mer equmara, once and for all time?"

  Aysmin did not reply for a beat, then two, and on the third the duchess slowly turned to stare at the legate of the Mere Almezzeb. The gleam of her good eye was as sharp as the metal blade whose color it shared. "It has been attempted before. Many times, in fact. None have ever succeeded." The grey glinted with the light of the lamps above. "I see no good to come of it now."

  "They are a threat to the continued operation of Mezzegheb!" pressed din Casima.

  "No more so than your own niece, I would wager." Marhyd chortled at her own wit. "Even if but a third of the tent collapsed, that is still a project of many months to set aright. I shall send some of my better engineers to assist in the planning and organization. With stricter directives, this time."

  "And I shall release the Almezzeb regiment from their assignments here in Bryndoon," said Aysmin. "They shall be needed at home. If you would send word to your daughters that they are to return for a proper debriefing and investigation, ministra?"

  "Do we have to..." The look on the ministra's face was not one which Yesca could ever trust. "Those kidnappers are still at large, the scoundrels. Should we not continue the chase?"

  "To the equmara?" The duchess remained displeased.

  "To wherever they may be. My sources—"

  "Whatever those might be."

  "—my sources cannot tell me where they have gone," continued the ministra without a beat dropped. "Only that they have gone somewhere."

  In her hollow, Yesca stirred herself once more. "And how shall we find where that place may be? What tricks have you down your blouse this time?"

  "Oh, you have no need of my services in that, Your Holiness." The ministra's grin stretched from cheek to wobbly cheek. "When the search for truth appears fruitless, then the Temple has exactly that which might locate them safely and surely. The answer floats away on a dream."

  The hackles of her shoulders rose. "You know not of which you speak."

  "Rather, I do in fact believe that I do," Marhyd replied. "I shall leave you to consider whether locating the princess is worth the effort." With one final, staccato laugh, the ministra dislodged herself and floated to the hallway. "Whatever is to be done, Your Holiness, it must be that we do it together, as a united council. The abominations care not for our petty squabbles, after all."

  Mitera Yesca wished that she could wave away the words, send them off on the evening currents, but there was no luck to be had there. The ministra's suggestion haunted her thoughts through the night, and by morning she had her solution floating in the waters of her mind.

  Damn the corpulent mer for being right.

  Verse VI

  The morning meal for the equmara was much the same as the mid-day or the evening, though the variety of pods, kelps, and edible tubers made it easy to have a different experience each time. It was a new adventure for Jumella's palate, after a life raised on the mer galda diet of fish, fish, and more fish. What few vegetables grew on the slopes of Valden's spire were chewy and tough, not to mention ill-flavored by the mountain's vents of heated water around which they grew. To eat them was a necessary penance of her childhood.

  But the foods from the equmara fields, these were paradise upon the tongue. Delicate, fresh, or even spicy in the case of one particular variety of grass, all were sampled and found to be good. Jumella settled back in the resting hollow with her sister and enjoyed the sensations upon her tongue.

  They had spent the night alone, if that was the right word when there was in fact the two of them. Without the benefits of extra company, at the least. While Jumella had no problems with interesting conversation or the casual flirtation that underflowed most equmara discourse, she had yet to feel comfortable with taking things further. Jumilla felt the same, much though her sister was embarrassed to admit it.

  Their companions joined the meal in their own time, each coming to the open hall they shared from a different direction. Rhia was first, her hair disheveled and showing its old color only at the tips now. The rest was a lovely and natural shade of brown, like the polished chunks of carving material that sometimes fell from above the firmament. Jumella would tell the princess that the color was good on her, only she feared that the royal response would not be pleased. It made the lass look less like herself, which was the best thing right then, as they chewed tubers and munched fresh kelps in silence.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Ardenne was the next to arrive, from the direction of the fields this time. The hunter had a basket of stoneshells in one hand and Rook's runecrafted cooking pot in the other. With some help from the princess to set the grammar properly, the artifact soon was sputtering from the heated froth within it, and the molluscs were cooked to perfection. The heat dissipated as swiftly as it had appeared, sent away by the runic grammars of heat and chill. Together, they all enjoyed the shell-meat.

  "Save some for me," called Sera, before she even passed between the pillars and into the pavilion hall. "And actually? Mind getting some more in a bit? Mihayela and the rest of the family'd prolly love you for it."

  "Ah, yes?" said the hunter. "I can do that. Are they...?"

  "All fine, for a wonder. Not sure if'n they slept a wink last night, the daughters being all excited, and the mothers, too. Might be needing another story time," Sera told the twins.

  Jumella had assumed that would be the case. "What do you think?" she asked her sister. "Shall we try 'The Urchin's New Hair-Do'?"

  "I was thinking more along the lines of 'The Blue Prawn of Happiness,' sis."

  "I'm not sure we have the time to organize that one. Do we?" she asked the red mer.

  A shrug was the reply, followed with "Not gonna lie, but they'd like us outta the Mere Almezzeb sooner 'n later."

  "Some of us more than others, I am sure," said Rhia. "How soon can we depart for the Mere Kazahn? Assuming that is our next destination."

  "Getting Morag Head prepared for the high current to the Mere Tessra?," Sera reported. "Drop us off at the edge of that sea, near where the flow pivots to Valden. We arrange the rest. You two happy to visit home?"

  She and her twin shared a glance. "For the idea of it, yes. Of course. What good it shall do..."

  "We'll have to see," said Jumilla. "But at least we know who to ask to tell us who to talk to, if that makes sense."

  "Clear as the mid-day waters," said Ardenne. "Over the Mires. Hmph. That sounds practically normal by now."

  The princess patted the green-topped head. "It's all relative. We can at the least see the distance, if not the depth. Now, speaking of the unseen, where is Rook this morning?"

  "With her friends, still?" suggested Jumilla. "If they got any sleep last night—"

  "It's none of our business," Jumella snapped.

  "Spare me, sis."

  The reddish rogue chuckled over her shell-meat. "Our little rune-warrior had a special visitor last night," she told them all. "And's been working hard this morning. Ah, might be this visitor wants to see the rest of us, too." Blue eyes were up and staring through the wall-less pillars of the pavilion, and after a beat, Jumella turned her head to follow the line of her sight.

  A familiar orange form swam their way, without the expected companions, but with one unexpected companion who was also familiar.

  To most of them, at least. "Who is that?" asked Rhia.

  Where to begin? The old mer known as Baba Rill did not swim as befit her years, but rather made strong strokes of her flukes and so forced her apprentice to keep up. Jumella and her sister had only met her twice before, once in the runeworker's hollow in the harbor of Bryndoon and then once more on their way out of the city on swift currents, but there was no forgetting that hard face with its sharpened edges and orange hair gone to grey. The madam had been a haggler as well, making every deal with her hard-won.

  "Ah, greetings, Messra Rill," she called.

  A harrumph answered.

  Ah, that was her mistake. Jumilla fixed it for her: "Good morning to you, Baba Rill. It is an honor to see you again."

  "Thanks for the help in Bryndoon," Sera added.

  "Ain't worth a mention," said the old mer as she settled in. "So if'n I hear yer mention it, not gonna hear of it. 'Specially not after how muddy yer exit was. This's her, huh?" Hard eyes fixed upon Rhia. "Ain't gonna lie, but sorta 'spected more to yer."

  The princess tugged at a lock of brown hair. "Things may change swiftly in unfamiliar waters."

  Baba's laugh was as sharp as her nose. "Heh, ain't that the truth. Well, my Rook speaks highly of yer, of all yer, yeah, and sounds like yer've all had a happing like I hain't ever heard. Found your mum?" asked the madam of Ardenne.

  "Yes." The hunter could not sound happy about how that had turned out. "You were wrong about the ministra's timing."

  "My condolences." The formal word rolled out Baba's mouth just ahead of something cruder and more indicative of the ministra's personal hygiene. "Now, seems we's got a lot to talk about, so let's get to the business first. The two of yer, which's Jumella?"

  "Ah, that would be me." She raised her hand.

  "An' the other's Jumilla, right." The old mer examined their faces carefully as she accepted a bowl of shells and tubers from Rook, her eyes noting the differences that were more obvious to manoa than to galda or equmara. That she and her sister were not truly identical of face and form was one of the first surprises the seas had held for them when they had set out on their journey-year, and Jumella was still not certain she was comfortable with that.

  "Have you found anything?" asked Jumilla. A sisterly ear could catch the note of nervousness in the words.

  A stoneshell paused before Baba's mouth. "No, actually, and that be the odd thing. A pair such as yers, that gets the attention. Too much baby ain't healthy for the mother, so gots to have a healer or prestra around to assist, an' mers remember a detail like that. Excepting that yers hadda be born in the Mere Tessra?, not long 'fore the first wave 'a monsters what destroyed so much."

  "Like records of birth," grumbled Jumella. They had heard this part before.

  "Again, no," said Baba. "Cuz I went to those destroyed villages to look for yers, and found the record shells in the silt where'n they got dropped in the panic. Four villages, four records, and nothing at all to show." The old mer frowned as she chewed. "Gots to tell yer, that weren't what I was 'specting. Looks 'a like I need to try somethin' more complicated, but for that I'mma need a bit of yer hair. Just a snip."

  "Knife?" Jumella asked Ardenne. The hunter handed a shell blade over. With a few careful draws, she had a clump of hair to give, and soon after that Jumilla had hers as well. The runeworker took each offering separately and with care, tucking them into folds of kelpen fabric.

  "Still can't promise a thing," said she. "But'll keep a-trying. Now, to the new business. My Rook tells me yer found something of in'rest over in the Gardens? More'n one something, even?"

  All eyes went to Ardenne, as it had been her hand upon the spear and her hand to rip the heart from the abomination as well. "Those things are safe in the care of the equmara elders," said the hunter, "though they go with us when we leave for Valden. We would have the galda examine the spear. The other thing, whatever it is, you are free to look at. No one can say what it may be, nor who might know."

  "Except maybe the ministra," said Rhia.

  Baba's growl was low and rippling. "Might be she'd know, yeah. Whether or not she does, the ministra be the last mer to trust with anything at all. Nothing else?"

  "Not from the Flowing Gardens," said Ardenne. "But... my mother had this, and I think it was why the soldiers took her in the first place." From around her throat, hung on a thong of leather, the hunter revealed a ring. The ring, the band of strange black material like nothing the twins had seen, save that the spear from the Gardens was made of the same.

  Baba Rill reached a hand out and cradled the ring in her fingers for a beat, only to jerk her hand back with a hiss. "Oh, that be something, I reckon. No wonder that mer was in'rested. Big wonder yers got it and yer mum outta there all alive."

  "I think we caught her by surprise," said Ardenne. "But what it is..."

  "An arty-fact, yeah?" Rook nodded to her teacher. "Something big, even if yer can't see the runes on it."

  "Yer wouldn't," said Baba Rill. "Ain't no runes to read on it, only force. Can yer feel it?"

  Both the apprentice and the princess shook their heads. "It's like there is, well, a hole in the water," Rhia admitted. "A space where it feels as though something should be present, only it is not."

  "An' yer left wondering if'n yer be imagining it all," Rook added.

  There was a flash of emotion on the old mer's face, a look that reminded Jumella of the galda maestra who taught the youngest apprentices on the spire. A certain pride in the success of the student, no matter how minor. "Be it likely most wouldn't feel tha' much at all," said she. "A rare and fickle thing, this force. Yet... now and again these past few weeks, gotten flashes of it. Shaking the waters within. Not pleasant, not bad, not anything but strange. Everything like this ring. Yes... easy to see why the ministra might 'a wanted it. Do what with it? Dunno if even she knows that, but that mer damn well means to figger it out. An' she will. That's the big worry."

  Of them all, the princess was most familiar with Ministra Marhyd, and the fact that Rhia could not or would not disagree with those words was, well... it did not make Jumella worry any less. The conversation slowly flowed away from the topic of the strange force and onward to what they'd done with those rune-shells. She and her sister focused on their meal as Rook and Rhia sputtered through the runeworker's terse observations and suggestions for improvement.

  It was much as any scene between a maestra of her craft and the apprentices, she thought. The two of them, orange and brown, would come out of it all stronger and more skilled, whether they enjoyed the method or not.

  As for she and her sister, they had a puppet show to organize.