The Seadragon's Daughter (18 page)

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Authors: Alan F. Troop

BOOK: The Seadragon's Daughter
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“Are we going to Andros?”
I mindspeak.
Lorrel shakes her head.
“We are going to Waylach’s Rock. We will leave your boat there.”
“And then where will we go?”
The Pelk girl hisses.
“You will learn then, Undrae. I would not have come back at all if I had not promised Mowdar I would bring you. Now drive your boat and leave me be.”
 
By the time we reach Waylach’s Rock most of the afternoon has passed. The tiny island seems to consist of nothing but rocks and stones jutting out of the water, far from any other island, Andros just a low shadow rising on the horizon. I circle the island three times without finding either a sandy beach or a protected anchorage.
“We can’t leave the boat here,”
I mindspeak.
“The first storm that comes up will either set it adrift or drive it into the rocks.”
Lorrel shrugs.
“You wanted to bring it.”
But on our next circuit of the island she points to an indentation in the rocks. When I pull the Grady White close to it, I find a narrow channel running between two huge boulders and leading to a small protected cove.
After guiding the boat in, I go up to the bow and drop the anchor. Then I turn to Lorrel.
“And now what?”
I mindspeak.
The Pelk girl stands up, pulls off her bikini top and drops it. Pulling down her bikini bottoms, she steps out of them. Kicking them to the side, she mindspeaks,
“You said you do not want to go to my srrynn until you know I have spoken the truth to you.”
She pirouettes so I can see every bit of her, the flush of her pink nipples, the tight curve of her buttocks.
Lorrel grins at me.
“I know my body makes you uncomfortable, Peter, but I have no more need for human clothes now. We are near my srrynn. If you were not so stubborn, we could be there tonight. I see no reason to sit with you and hold your hand while you wait for the poison’s pain to come.”
Standing by the wheel, she takes off her grandmother’s gold ring and tucks it in her mouth, between her teeth and her right cheek, her body growing and stretching, her pale skin turning dark and forming shallow, smooth scales.
“I do not understand why you like your human form so much,”
she mindspeaks, purring out a groan.
“This feels so good.”
I stare at the Pelk female. Far smaller than an Undrae woman, her form reminds me more of a sea otter’s body—thinner, more elongated, more obviously adapted to the water than an Undrae female. She turns her back to me, showing off her tail, the flared tip at its end.
“We are not like your women, are we, Peter?”
“No,”
I mindspeak, shaking my head.
“I will not force my presence on you any longer. I will return tomorrow after the poison makes itself known.”
She walks to the side of the boat and slips into the water with barely a sound.
 
Alone, with nothing to do but wait, I find it impossible to stay in one place on my small boat. I sit at the stern for a few minutes, then move to the seat at the helm. I wander to the bow to check the anchor line and then rush to the stern to check the motors. I eat the last of the roast beef sandwiches, standing, throwing crumbs from the stale bread into the water, hoping at least to attract a fish.
Nothing comes. No fish. No birds. No signs of boaters on the waters outside the channel. The day drags to an end and I embrace sleep as soon as dark takes over the sky.
 
I wake late in the morning to a cloudy day full of blustery winds. The water in the island’s small cove moves more than I care for, and I dive below to make sure that my anchor has set properly. I find it resting on the rocky bottom, hardly dug in enough to hold the boat fast.
It takes six dives for me to dig enough into the rocks to make the anchor fast. If anything, I wish it would have taken longer. I return to pacing and waiting. I help matters little by constantly glancing at my watch. Finally, when it reads five, I let out a sigh and begin staring at the water, waiting for Lorrel to arrive.
The day finally darkens. The wind shifts directions, turning my boat on its anchor, and yet Lorrel doesn’t appear. A slight tinge of heat starts to burn in my midriff. I rub the place with my right hand and wonder if it’s my imagination. But the burning increases until I wince. It feels like a lit cigarette being pushed into my skin.
“Lorrel!”
I mindspeak.
“Okay. You were right. I’m going to take my antidote. Come back so we can get on with the rest of it.”
The pain diminishes and returns minutes later, more intense, burrowing deeper into me. I groan.
“Lorrel!”
I mindspeak, and still receive no answer.
Getting up from the stern bench, holding my hand to my midriff, I rush forward to the helm, the burning intensifying with each step I take. I reach into the map compartment for the small bottle and gasp when I find it gone.
19
 
“Lorrel!”
I mindspeak.
A rush of pain hits me and I double over, crumpling to my knees.
“Lorrel, god damn it come back!”
I mindspeak.
“Lorrel!”
Fire burns through every centimeter, every cell where the Pelk girl stabbed me. I writhe on the deck, try to heal it away, but nothing I do relieves the pain. I call out to Lorrel again and damn her when she doesn’t reply.
By nightfall the pain has blossomed into a fireball burning in the middle of my body. I alternate from curling in a fetal position to lying stomach-down on the deck. Nothing helps. I think of the pain growing until it burns from my fingertips to my toes, as Lorrel warned, and I groan.
Later—how long I’m not really sure—a large splash erupts from the water on the starboard side of the boat. Something wet thuds down on the deck not far from my feet. Lorrel follows, barely making a sound as she comes over the coaming in her natural form. In the murky moonlight of a cloud-crowded sky, she looks like a black shadow flowing toward me.
“Where’s the damn antidote?”
I mindspeak.
“Quiet, Peter.”
She stands over me, studies me with her emerald-green eyes as I writhe before her.
“Do you believe me now, or would you rather wait until it gets worse?”
“I want the antidote!”
“I could leave and come back in the morning. You would still be alive then.”
If I could I would lash out at her, rip her, leave her bleeding and dying on the boat’s deck, but I can do little more than shift my body in a hopeless search for relief. I draw in a breath, wince and mindspeak,
“I believe you. You were right. Now would you please give me the antidote?”
“Much better,”
Lorrel mindspeaks. She opens her mouth, reaches one claw into it and pulls out the small amber bottle.
“You are a doubter. If I left the bottle where you placed it, you would have taken the antidote before you felt the full force of the poison. I did not want you to underestimate its power later.”
Lorrel crouches next to me, pauses, mindspeaks,
“It will be easier in my human form,”
and shifts to her human shape. She sits beside me on the deck, her legs splayed out and turns me on my back, guiding my head onto her naked lap.
Moving sends new bolts of pain shooting through me. I moan and Lorrel starts to hum, the notes low, vibrating through my body.
“I know. I know how much it hurts.”
She strokes my head with her right hand while she lifts the bottle to her mouth with her left. Pulling the cork with her teeth, she spits it aside.
Cradling my head tight against her flesh just under her small, firm breasts, the Pelk girl puts the bottle to my lips.
“Not too fast, Peter. But remember, you must drink all of it,”
she mindspeaks, pulling the bottle away after I take just a sip.
Greasy, warm liquid, bitter like tea brewed too strong, glides down my throat, heating everything it touches, but somehow cooling the fire inside me by a few degrees—though not enough—and leaving a bitter, lemony aftertaste. I reach for the bottle with my mouth, and Lorrel allows me another sip, her hum lightening, the tune washing over me, soothing me as each subsequent sip quenches the heat just a little more.
A quarter of the bottle still remains when the last vestige of fire disappears. I become aware of the wet touch of Lorrel’s bare skin and the fresh saltwater scent of her aroma. I try to lift my head and sidle away from her. But she holds me down, her hum growing louder, the notes washing over me.
“Be calm,”
she mindspeaks, placing the bottle to my lips.
“You must finish everything in the bottle. Otherwise the pain will come back too soon.”
Her tune reverberates in my head. I find it hard to think or resist, and continue to lie still, drinking from the bottle as long as she places it to my lips. By the time I finish the last drop, the antidote’s warmth and the gentle notes of Lorrel’s song have brought me to the edge of sleep.
“Remember this will only hold off the poison for a few days. You will need more then,”
she mindspeaks.
“Now, rest. I brought something special. I’ll wake you in a little while to share it with me.”
Sleep comes and I allow it to take me. But I remain aware of Lorrel’s humming, the tune keeping me on the edge of consciousness, my subconscious flitting from dream to dream.
 
I wake to the sound of Lorrel dragging something large across the cockpit floor. It lets out a weak, high-pitched whistle, clicking a few times as she pulls on it, and I sit up and stare at it.
The creature reaches hardly a few inches more than three feet, an infant dolphin. I look at the poor thing, blood still seeping from claw gouges beneath its jaw and from a bite taken from the middle of its underside.
“It’s a miracle that it’s still alive,”
I mindspeak.
The Pelk girl grins.
“I was lucky. Its mother and most of its pod were busy feeding on a huge school of fish. I saw it swimming on the edge of the school and took it before any of them noticed. Old Notch Fin and the rest of the males must be furious.”
“Notch Fin?”
I mindspeak.
Shapeshifting one finger into a claw, Lorrel nods, grabs the infant dolphin, holding its mouth closed with one hand as she cuts the beast open from front to rear with the other. It bleats out a shrill, brief whistle, shudders once and goes still.
She leans over the dead beast, mindspeaks,
“Notch Fin is the lead male. You should see him. I do not think I have ever seen a larger dolphin. Mowdar says he leads the gathering of the pods. He has killed his share of Pelk. I have no doubt had he caught me, he would have killed me too.”
Cutting a large chunk from the dead infant’s flank, Lorrel holds it out to me.
I eye the raw meat, saliva flooding my mouth, my empty stomach rumbling.
“I don’t like to eat the young of any kind,”
I mindspeak.
Lorrel laughs.
“Undrae, how many humans have you killed and eaten? Were you so queasy with each of them? You try to take an adult dolphin by yourself! Even two of us sometimes fail at such a task. Now, eat it. We might not have a chance to feed again before we reach my srrynn.”
“My father always said he liked dolphins too much to feed on them. I always agreed with that,”
I mindspeak. Still, the meat tempts me. It smells not much different than dog, which I’ve fed upon, mostly when culling the island’s dog pack. My empty stomach growls, but I still hesitate.
“I’ve never eaten one before.”
“And I had never eaten a beef until you gave it to me.”
Lorrel pushes the meat against my closed lips, and the smell of its fresh blood overwhelms any resistance I have left. Licking my lips, I take the meat from her and swallow a bite.
The taste reminds me of dog or pork, not as lean and slightly fishy, but sweeter too. Lorrel cuts two more pieces, hands me one and takes a bite from the other. We eat in silence, devouring chunks of meat, stopping only when the carcass has been devoured.
Lorrel points at me and laughs.
“Look at yourself!”
she mindspeaks.
I glance down at my blood-streaked chest and shorts, touch my face and feel the grease and other residue from my meal. Looking at Lorrel, I point back at the streaks coating her skin.
“It looks worse on your white skin,”
I mindspeak, laughing as she stares at herself and laughs too.
Shaking my head at the mess our meal has left on the boat’s deck, I stand, pick up the remnants of the poor little dolphin and carry it to the starboard side. Lorrel looks up just as I throw the remains overboard.
“No, Peter! Do not throw that!”
What remains of the dolphin makes a pitiful splash as it hits the water.
“You should have said something earlier. I didn’t think you wanted any of what was left.”
The Pelk girl shakes her head.
“We are not the only creatures with a good sense of smell,”
she mindspeaks.

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