The Tree of Water (14 page)

“‘
Free the only innocent prisoners she ever held
,'” he read.

“It says all
that
?” The merrow let out a low whistle.

“Criminey, whatdaya s'pose
that
means?” Char wondered aloud.

Suddenly, a loud
thud
echoed through the Drowning Cave.

Something large and heavy had fallen from the same hole in the coral ceiling through which they had entered. A few seconds later, the Cormorant entered as well, followed by sea-Lirin soldiers, their gills flapping more shallowly now.

Ven and Char scrambled to their feet. Ven tucked the key and the tiny oilcloth scrap back into the bottle, and the bottle back into his pocket. Char stepped forward and stood in front of Amariel, trying to keep her hidden from the entering Lirin-mer, but the merrow gave him a shove.

“Get out of the way, Chum,” she said impatiently. “I want to see.”

“I was trying to protect you,” Char protested, but the Cormorant was now standing in front of him.

The Cormorant stared at each of them for a moment, the greens of his eyes glistening in the fading light of the lantern. Finally he took in a breath, then exhaled through his gills.

“You wish to go to the Summer Festival?”

The children looked at each other.

“Yes, sir,” Ven said.

“Then you will tell me, as you agreed to, everything that I need to know about the Gated City. It will be easiest if we return to the drift to do this, so that you can picture the streets in a sunshadow so that we may all have an accurate view of the inner workings of the city.”

Ven's stomach turned over. His head felt numb, but he managed to nod.

The Cormorant looked at him sharply.

“But before we return to the drift, I want you to tell me the names of all the good people in the Gated City,” he said. “I need to know where they live, so that we can spare them if possible when the battle begins.”

Ven swallowed hard.

“I—I don't know how to do that,” he said. “I know the names of a few of them, but there are so many—”

“Tell your tale, Ven,” the Cormorant said darkly. “My patience is thin and wanes with the sun—which is beginning to set, in case you are interested.”

So I started talking. I told the Cormorant all the things I could remember about the Gated City.

First I told him about the Outer Market, about the street vendors who roasted meat over open fires and cooked squash soup inside a pumpkin shell the size of a wagon. I told them about the clowns, and the storytellers and jugglers, and all the people selling magical and wondrous wares. I told him about the puppet shows in the streets and the people who had been kind to me there when our friend Saeli was missing.

Next, I told him of the Inner Market, a darker, more evil place, where Felonia, the Queen of Thieves, had held us captive in the labyrinth of the Raven's Guild hall. While I imagine the people of the Outer Market are the descendants of the cutpurses and con artists who first came on the
Athenry
, I suspect the members of the Raven's Guild are probably the great-great-grandchildren of a worse sort of criminal.

But I don't know that for sure.

Finally, I told him about the Downworlders, a ragtag group of outcasts who lived in a vast maze of tunnels beneath the streets of the Gated City, hidden away from the sight of the world. I told them of Macedon, the Rat King, who was their ruler, and how they had helped us when we were lost in the Inner Market, running for our lives from Felonia's goons.

“So you see,” he finished, “there are so many people who are good, or
could
be good, in the Gated City that it would be impossible to name them all.”

The Cormorant watched him a moment longer, then turned and started for the airwheel.

“That's a pity,” he said. “Oh well. I'm sure you tried your best.”

“Wait!” shouted Char. His voice came out louder than he expected, and it echoed through the Drowning Cave. The gills of the merfolk fluttered at the sound. “Madame Sharra—there's a fortune teller, tall and thin and she has golden skin and eyes. She's a good person. She should be saved.”

“And Mr. Coates,” Ven added. “Mynah Coates, I think was his full name. He's a weapons maker, and he has two dogs, Finlay and Munx. He was very kind to us as well.” His voice got quieter as he thought about the last time he had seen the Arms of Coates, the weapons shop, empty, its door ajar, all of the security traps sprung, thin streaks of blood everywhere. “Actually, I'm not sure he's even still alive. He may have paid for helping us with his life.”

In the back of his mind, something Mr. Coates had said to him early in his visit to the Gated City came back to him.

There are many layers within any prison; remember that. It all depends on who's guarding what. Not just anyone can go at will out of the harbor tunnels, believe me. If they could, I—

The weapons maker had never finished his thought.

“Mr. Coates told me that even though everyone in the Gated City knows about the harbor tunnels, not everyone can use them. So some of the people who live there are also prisoners of their fellow prisoners.”

The Cormorant stopped. The children watched as he stood in thought for a long time. Then he returned to where Ven was standing.

“I have never seen a Nain,” he said. “But if you are, in fact, Nain, then you are a son of the Earth. You are out of place in the sea,
Ven
.”

Ven sighed. “So I have been told.”

“Perhaps your connection to the land will help us make sense of the problem with the Gated City,” the Cormorant continued. “I have no desire to slaughter the innocent. But it is my responsibility—my
first
responsibility—to prevent the destruction of the reef and its inhabitants. This riddle is beyond my ability to solve.”

He signaled to the sea-Lirin soldiers. They picked up the heavy object that had fallen before they entered and carried it over to him, depositing it at his feet.

It was what looked like a canvas bag like sailors used to carry their gear in, clearly made at one time by humans, with a series of cords tying it closed.

The Cormorant opened the bag and pulled out three knapsacks, which he placed on the coral cave floor in front of them. Then he drew forth two barbed weapons like the one Coreon was holding, and two short spears.

“I suggest if you meet the Sea King at the Festival, you stay out of any sunshadows near him, especially on Threshold, the last day of summer,” he said. “His power is at its highest on that day, the last day of his reign, and he makes great use of sunshadow then. You would be well advised to stay clear, or you might find yourself transported to another part of the sea on the other side of the world.”

“I don't understand,” Char said.

“I need to send a message to the Sea King,” said the Cormorant. “I need his guidance about who to kill and who to let live within the Gated City. I do not have the ability to send such messages through sunshadow, but he will be able to send one in return to me that way.”

“And you want us to deliver your message to the Sea King?” Ven asked excitedly.

An expression of disbelief crossed the Cormorant's face.

“Hardly,” he said. “I want you to accompany Coreon while
he
does it.”

 

16

Back to the Drift

Coreon's green-tinged eyes opened in surprise. “Me, sir?”

“You may as well go with them,” said the Cormorant. “They already have your name.” He sounded annoyed. “You will take them past the kelp beds to the Underwater Forest, then through the Sea Desert and beyond to the Festival. Deliver this message to whoever has been crowned king of the sea this storm.” He put his webbed-fingered hand on Coreon's forehead. The sea-Lirin boy closed his eyes, as if listening, then nodded. The Cormorant picked up one of the knapsacks and handed it to him, then tossed the other two at Char and Ven.

“You will find dried kelp and the un-salt water humans drink in there,” he said. “There should be enough to get you safely to the Festival. After that, you will have to provide for yourselves.”

“What about Amariel?” Char asked.

“A merrow is more than able to find food and drink in the sea. To laden her with provisions would make her clumsy, endanger her. You may take the weapons—she does not need one of those, either. Her weapons are part of her.”

“Yep—ask any sea lion ya happen to come across,” Char murmured.

The merrow smiled smugly.

The Cormorant signaled to the soldiers again. Different ones stepped forward this time and handed Ven and Char what looked like a piece of cloth from an old sail wrapped around something soft. Ven opened it to find a piece of cooked fish.

“Thank you,” he said.

The Cormorant nodded. “We remember the stories from the Before-Time, when Lirin-mer still lived on the land, about drying fish in fire before eating them,” he said. “It has never made any sense to me, but if it is your tradition, well, then, it is.”

“Thank you,” Ven repeated. “But, er, fish? Isn't this one of your, well, your—”

The Cormorant shrugged.

“Everyone has to eat,” he said. “It's nothing personal.”

“See?” Amariel said. There was a hint of triumph in her voice. “I told you so.”

“Finish it quickly,” said the Cormorant. “The sun is diving, and soon it will be night. You'll want to find shelter in the Deep while you still have a bit of light, and we still need to see your thrum about the inner workings of the Gated City.”

Char was licking his fingers already. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

As soon as Ven had eaten, the Cormorant signaled to one of the soldiers, who hoisted Amariel off the floor, ignoring her protests and squirming. The Cormorant led them to the airwheel, seized one of the giant shells, and held it still, temporarily stopping the wheel while the soldier deposited the merrow into the shell bucket. Streams of seawater immediately began to rain into the cave when the wheel came to a stop.

“It took many storm for the wheel to drain the Drowning Cave and fill it with air,” the Cormorant said as he released the wheel. Amariel's shell began rising toward the ceiling of the cave. “If the airwheel were to stop for more than a few moments, the cave would be completely submerged.”

Ven could hear Char gulp behind him.

“You still have your stone?” he whispered to his best friend. Char nodded.

“You're next, human,” the Cormorant ordered. “Take your time going up from the cave—you should always go slowly toward the surface.” He waited until the merrow had disappeared over the wheel's top, then stopped another shell. Char scrambled inside, and the Cormorant released the wheel again.

“Hold your breath,” Ven advised as the shell headed for the ceiling.

“Believe me, I am,” Char retorted. “I have been all along.” Then the shell disappeared over the top of the airwheel.

Ven watched anxiously as his friends faded into the darkness. Then he grabbed his pack and weapon and hurried to the wheel, knowing the drill.

“When you leave the air, find the nearest patch of sunshadow as soon as you get into the drift,” the Cormorant instructed. “Night is falling, and it may be hard to find one, but the light that breaks the surface at the end of the day is often the most powerful. A storm is coming; it will rain soon, and the morning will be gray. Clear your head and get your thoughts straight.” He turned to the sea-Lirin boy. “Coreon, bid your father goodbye.”

As soon as I got into the shell I could feel the salt in my nose and eyes again. It still stung, harder now, because I had been away from it for a short time. I could feel the weight of the sea above me, and it made my stomach turn flips.

And the curiosity run wild in my veins.

Because we were going to the Summer Festival.

Amariel had told me stories of it, as I lay cold and shivering on the broken piece of driftwood that had once been part of the
Angelia
, a ship that never got a chance to be christened because I blew it up to keep it from the Fire Pirates. Before the driftwood sank I carved what would have been the name into it with the knife in my jack-rule.

It seemed like the story of my life then—too little, too late.

But perhaps now things were changing.

We were about to set forth on an important mission, even if it was Coreon's. Our efforts might lead to the saving of the innocent people of the Gated City, the people Mr. Coates had described as being trapped by the many layers of their prison home.

I hope he's still alive.

I hope the Tree of Water is still alive.

Most of all, when all this is over, I hope Amariel, Char, and I will still be alive.

The shell, which had been tilted at an angle and sealed upright against the inside of the airwheel, rolled up so that it was lying flat. With a sickening rush, the sea grabbed Ven from within the smooth inside and dragged him into the drift again.

Fighting panic, he took a breath.

Instead of choking, as he had prepared for, the sweet elemental air filled his lungs once more.

In the patchy light to the west he saw the merrow and Char waving to him, surrounded by the sea-Lirin soldiers. They looked much more comfortable now that they were away from the air and back in their watery home.

I wonder how they came to be here, away from the Lirin of the upworld,
Ven thought as he watched their gills open and close smoothly in the drift.
Maybe Coreon knows the story. We will certainly have time to trade tales on the way to the Summer Festival
.