The Mirrored City (28 page)

“Hmm.” The goddess released Jessa and leaned back. “So you’re the new Tempest. Well… we’ve had worse. And you have your mother’s balls coming down here to parlay with the coelacanth yourself. They wouldn’t have thrown you into the maw if they weren’t pissed.”

Jessa didn’t know what to say.

“Yes. I know who all my children are,” Kultea said flatly. “I can also guess why you came down here.”

“The coelacanth are pledging their allegiance to my aunt Nasara. I came to ask them to stop.”

She smiled. “You
threatened
them, didn’t you?”

“That was never my intent—”

Kultea cut Jessa off. “I don’t care if you did. What’s this boon you would so brazenly ask of your dear Mother Kraken?”

“Support my claim to the Coral Throne,” Jessa said.

“I already do.” Kultea patted Jessa on the head, hand making a wet squishing sound. “You’re the Tempest. It’s yours by right to do with as you see fit. Just as it’s Nasara’s right to try to take it from you and the coelacanth’s right to support her. This is how things have always worked. Surely Satryn taught you this.”

“Satryn taught me much,” Jessa said. “But I prefer to take my throne without needless bloodshed. I know life matters little to you, but it means a great deal to me.”

Kultea splayed her tentacle fingers across her chest and scoffed incredulously. “Life matters little… to
me
? Wherever did you get such a stupid idea? Look around you—the deepest crag of the ocean is teeming with living organisms in every inhospitable crevice. I created this entire ecosystem to function as a perfectly balanced place where all life can flourish in the eternal cycle under the crushing weight of the sea where nothing could disturb it.”

“Yet your servants showed no mercy to those slaves who served them.”

“Do you show mercy to your beef? Do you mourn your lamb pies? They were brought into this world to be eaten. You raise them, feed them, protect them from wolves, and keep them alive long enough to make babies. Why do you think there are more chickens than hawks? They are a successful species because of their nutritional value. It’s the same thing down here.”

“That’s different. The coelacanth killed
sentient
creatures without a thought,” Jessa argued. “That is murder.”

“Ah.” Kultea nodded sagely. “
That’s
where we differ. See, life matters to me. Sentience… it’s overrated. People are animals, the same as fish or bees. The only thing other animals lack is an overweening sense of self-importance. In the grand scheme of things, you aren’t that special or unique. The cycle won’t stop because of your little war. The ones who survive will be stronger and will breed stronger children. There will always be more babies and more humans. As much as you
love
to agonize over the unfairness of adversity, it makes us stronger as a species.”

“Us? You were human once?” Jessa ventured.

“Old habit.” Kultea waved her tentacle hand dismissively. “But yes, I was once like you. Not as pretty, but much smarter than you are. I witnessed firsthand what happens when human populations grow unchecked. It started in the oceans as more and more species became extinct. Soon those ripples worked their way onto land, and entire nations starved. It was a hell worse than you have the capacity to imagine.”

Kultea gazed thoughtfully, lost in a memory. She blinked. “Trust me, the last thing Creation needs is an overabundance of humans. I won’t help you in this, child, and no attempts to play for my sympathies are going to work.”

“What do you want, then?” Jessa asked. “Perhaps we can strike a bargain.”

“I want what all mothers want from their children: more children, better and smarter than their parents before them. And I also want you to prove you’re worthy of the strength I’ve given you.” Kultea smiled.

“My strength comes from Kondole,” Jessa challenged. She immediately regretted this impulsive choice of words. Kondole and Kultea had been mortal enemies since the dawn of history. “Apologies…”

Kultea sighed wistfully. “It comes from both of us. It was never our intent to involve our
entire
lineage in our squabbles. Though you are more like me and your mother than you’re willing to admit.”

Jessa bristled at the mention of Satryn. The woman was a terror of Jessa’s youth and a violent psychopath who killed thousands of innocents in her bid to conquer the Protectorate. Jessa was nothing like her mother but knew Satryn better than anyone. Jessa thought about what Satryn might say if she were dropped into the lightless depths of the Abyss and dragged before Kultea. Satryn would have gotten what she wanted.

“Kultea,” Jessa said in her mother’s imperious tone, “I realize you are immortal and probably starved for conversation in this dismal cavern. But I cannot believe you would deign speak to me if there were not something you wanted to say. If you wanted war to cull the weak from my supporters, then you could have killed me or returned me to the surface empty-handed. In the interest of our respective responsibilities, I humbly ask you to offer me something useful or send me on my way.”

Kultea stroked her chin. “What can I give you? You are more than sufficient for the task before you. Win your little throne, prove that Kondole is my equal in power, and my children in the Abyss will pay you fealty. You will need powerful allies in the days ahead.”

“Why?”

“The Harrowers,” Kultea stated. “They are the enemies of
all
life, not just your fragile civilization. They are mindless, alien entities of incredible power who have been splintered from the Guides by mankind’s fears and cruelty. Men are sometimes cruel because it helps them survive. Cosmic beings were never meant to be imbued with such traits. Their shadows grow long as they close their grip around Creation. To them, we are an unbearable clamor in an otherwise silent universe.”

“We defeated them in Rivern,” Jessa said. “I destroyed the dolmen they used to recruit their disciples.”

Kultea patiently explained, “Yes, you broke one decrepit Macerian relic that was corrupted during the last Incursion. How many more do you think there are? How many of their faithful servants wait in the shadows and listen to the whispers of the nightmares? They will return. And my children, Stormlord and coelacanth alike, are the only ones immune to their terror.”

“How do I stop them?”

Kultea shook her head slowly. “With powerful allies. You may think me a monster, and you are correct, but I am not your enemy. When you face the Harrowers, I will answer your invocation. But for anything less… don’t bother.”

“You honor me, Mother Kraken.” Jessa nodded. She was utterly unsure what to think. She had imagined Kultea as an irrational terror like her mother had been. But like the sea, the most dangerous waters lurked far below the placid surface.

“It is time for you to go. I will return you from the sea. And Jessarayne?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be very disappointed if you die.”

Jessa opened her eyes and blinked against the fiery brilliance of the sun. Waves crashed around her, and seagulls cried overhead. She heard children splashing in the water. It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the light.

Her body was sore, and she was covered in seaweed. All along the beach were washed up bounties of the sea: pearls, intricate corals, barnacle-encrusted treasures, and scores of beautiful swordfish. She stood up, noting her leg was still healed. The silver of her dress reflected the sun, spreading blinding rays of light across the beach.

“She emerges!” a familiar voice exclaimed from down the beach.

She brushed a wet strand of blonde hair off her sand-covered face and saw a man running toward her. An impossibly tall red top hat with a bouquet of flowers stuffed into the crown bobbed on his fish head as he bounded over.

“Pisclatet?” Jessa gasped with disbelief.

The fishman stopped in front of her, grabbing his knees to catch his breath. The tall hat remained firmly fixed on his head, but a white rose fell to the beach. He wheezed. “Yes, yes, your concern is appreciated, but Pisclatet is fine, although my shoes were ruined during my escape.”

“How is that possible?” Jessa asked. On one hand, she was glad to see her subject alive, but on the other… well, he was not the first person she wanted to see after her ordeal. Perhaps the coelacanth had a sense of humor after all.

“Pisclatet cannot die before your coronation!” he proclaimed, dramatically waving his arms. “Who else could conceal the bloated ruin of your child-bearing stomach behind a corset of the finest dolphin leather? Who could lure lustful gazes to your bony, shriveled décolletage but Pisclatet himself? Who would be there to ensure your scandalous feet did not haunt the dreams of your subjects—”

Jessa cut him off. “I’m just grateful you’re alive. What news from the Mirrored City?”

“It is not good, your majesty.” Pisclatet shook his head. “There is a disturbing rumor that fashionable women in Dessim have started to eschew heels in favor of… comfortable footwear. Also, the Grand Patriarch of Baash was assassinated in his sleep, and a crazy person is cutting people up in Dessim.”

“Assassinated?” Jessa asked. “By whom?”

“They do not know but,” Pisclatet hedged, tugging at his collar nervously, “it was us, your majesty.”

Jessa bit her lip. Clouds darkened overhead, and a rumble of thunder shook the beach.

“I need to speak to Sireen
immediately
.”

T
WENTY-
S
IX

Victory Round

M
ADDOX

MADDOX STILL HAD
a hard time breathing. His clothes were charred, and soot covered his hands and face. The smell of singed hair refused to leave. He poured a shot of the most expensive bottle Titus owned, an Archean brandy. Sword, similarly singed, sat next to Maddox at the bar in the Salon of Forgotten Gods, contemplating his own glass.

Surprisingly, Maddox had lived through his first battle and carried his friend clear of the wreckage. Inspector Collette was less than pleased to see him, but Rebekah had made good on her task of explaining why such drastic measures were necessary. Inspector Collette smoked through her entire case of cigarettes as she took their statements, and the fire teams rushed buckets to extinguish the blaze.

The case of criminal arson was closed as “self-defense—other” pending a later investigation. They were given a last warning not to assist and a firm hint that they did not want to be in the city when that investigation started.

“That was a fucking debacle. I don’t know how you do it,” Maddox said as he pounded back the equivalent of an entire village’s life savings. His tongue was burnt to the taste, and it gave him almost no pleasure.

“We did great.” Sword slapped Maddox on the back. “You were literally on fire back there.”

“Do you think we killed all of them at least?”

“Hells no.” Sword sipped his brandy appreciatively. “They’re immortal worm creatures from the dawn of history. Libby’s been trying to take them out since before there was magic. We fucked them up, and we’ll fuck them up again when they rear their nasty orifices in a century or two.”

“Is that what I have to look forward to?” Maddox picked a porcelain statuette of a faceless woman in pink robes off the bar and examined it disinterestedly. Whatever god this was supposed to be, any identifying markings had been rubbed off.

“Immortal rivalries are good for the soul,” Sword casually explained. “The world changes faster than you want it to. In ten years Heath will probably be dead. In a hundred years, Jessa’s son will be dead and her grandkids will have one foot in the grave. Everyone you see in this bar will be gone. Your nemeses give your life consistency.”

“You have
any
immortal friends?” Maddox asked bleakly.

“I have you.” Sword smiled. “We’re going to be together forever and ever.”

“Yeah, we should probably merge before it gets too late,” Maddox said, removing a charred packet from his belt. The euphorium pouch he would have used to kill himself dissolved into ash and sticky green sludge in his fingers. He hurt all over and just wanted to be reborn. Dessim had no healers aside from blood mages, and they were not as effective, or wholesome, as priests.