“Only in life and death circumstances, self-defense, should it be about control!” Gryshen had to protest his remark.
“But isn’t it all life and death? Leens, we keep close tabs and tight reins on our more dangerous ones—our monsters. Our beastkeeper knows where all twelve of our larger sharks are at any time.” Gryshen knew by “larger sharks,” he was referring to a dozen massive great whites. Many tales had been told at the hub’s circle about the more sinister sorts that Rakor did dealings with.
“I understand you keep a huge net of stingrays sedated, ready to strike.” Gryshen’s curiosity took over, now that it seemed he was happy to offer up information.
“What? You don’t drug your jellyfish? They’re just so docile they let you use them as lanterns?” He was right, of course. Along with their healing abilities, the medicine keepers of all the pods were experts in many everyday uses of sea plant life. A black eel released a venom that poisoned its small prey on direct contact, but when the gland was cut out and a tear was made, it could be released into a vast flock of jellyfish, making them drowsy enough to scoop into nets of metal and sea grass and drop into lanterns. When they came out of it, it was too late.
“But that is for light, not as a threat. Not as some wild expression of power.”
“And what is Gup?” As he spoke, the bowhead let out a belch that pushed the water past the three of them.
By the time lunch was signaled, Gryshen felt starved. She was almost willing to get past the fact that she would not be joining the main pod for this meal, but would instead be expected to share food with Morfal in her father’s chambers. She and Coss had been debating everything from the use of beasts to tribal customs since they left the line that morning. She had shown him the corridor leading to the healers and the rooms that prepare the next generations of chieftains, and had taken him past the great rotunda of rock near the hub that held most of the tribe’s chambers, marked by smaller and larger openings going up the walls like a disjointed reef. They spoke of favorite dishes of the different pods, exchanged tribal lore, and laughed over recollections of the exaggerating heroes who recalled all-too-similar tales. They spoke of quite a lot, but they never spoke about the kiss.
The midday meal was a portion of leopard seal, the larger of which was feeding the rest of the pod in the hub. Ilorays did not eat a lot in one stop typically, because they snacked on plant life and the occasional fish as they swam about, but Gryshen was hungry, and opted to ignore the stares from the rest of their party as she scarfed down three portions of seal flesh and two handfuls of scallops. Bravis kept passing more food to her father like a worried mother, trying to get him to eat, but he waved it away. She felt Bravis’s watchful eye as Coss touched her shoulder to ask her a question, but soon realized his weren’t the only eyes to contend with, as her father’s brow seemed to raise slightly when Coss adjusted the starfish in her hair.
Morfal was oblivious, smacking his lips and eating in the most disgusting way possible.
After Morfal and Coss retired to their quarters to rest, Frall asked Bravis to give him a moment with Gryshen.
Chapter 4
“Gryshie, I wanted to speak with you.” Frall’s words were hesitant.
“Yes, Dad?”
“I understand that you’ve been very cordial, very welcoming to our guests. And I appreciate the effort.”
“Well, I’m trying my best. But it must be nearly impossible for you to have to be civil with Morfal. You’re so kind to him. I have no clue how you do it.”
“Practice, my girl.” He chuckled. “Practice and practice, years of tolerance. There was a time that we didn’t get along so great with the Wanaa, either.”
“Yes, but that was different. Those were old, small quarrels. The difference is that the Wanaa are caring—unlike Morfal. They wanted to forgive. And they wanted Mom to be happy with you.”
He nodded. “I hope she was. I did love her.”
“Of course she was. Of course you did.” Why was her father saying it like that? But before she could ask the question, he brought up a different one.
“You keep mentioning Morfal as the issue here. Why just him?”
“Well, he’s in charge, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and his son is next in line.”
“But you saw how tyrannical his father is! He’s impossible.”
“And you seem to find the young prince quite tolerable.”
Gryshen did not like the direction this was heading at all.
“What are you implying?”
Her father held up a hand. “My little kelp, no one is attacking you. You seem on edge. How long has it been since you’ve visited an air tube?”
It had been awhile.
“Gryshie! I have to trust you to do this. I’d put Jode in charge of you if I thought you would listen to him.”
“Jode has his own priorities—like spearing swordfish and having his hair braided by leens,” she joked.
“This is not a game. You cannot afford to go too long. You don’t have the same tolerance to withstand a lack of oxygen.”
“I know, Dad!” She was exasperated. He spoke about her breathing… situation like it was some sort of handicap.
“I won’t always be here, Gryshie.”
“Just stop it. Please.” Her exasperation turned to fear.
“All right. What were we talking about before? Oh yes. Your tolerance for Coss.”
Gryshen was back to exasperation. “Dad, you said I should make them comfortable. He wanted a tour.”
“And, again, I appreciate that. But I do want you to learn the line between cordiality and unnecessary friendliness. Coss is a very polite lax—he does appear to be nearly an opposite of his father. I am glad he will be the one taking the throne next; it bodes well for our alliances. But for now, he is not in charge. And Gryshie, his father might not take too kindly to your friendship. You can see that there is a bit of a power grab going on here. But now we know more. They have lost something far more important.”
“The Rakor pearl is missing, then?” She spoke in her pod’s signal.
Her father looked steadily at her, and switched over to Rone signal as well. “You didn’t ask the young prince this already?”
“No, Father, I’m not an idiot. I know the one thing we never discuss with other tribes is the condition of their pearl.” It was well she should know this, because it was driven into her mind since she could remember.
“Of course you’re not. I’m sorry.” He looked so tired. “But this information must stay with us.”
A nervous trill sang up Gryshen’s back.
“Their pearl was stolen. Apparently, an aide that had been close to Morfal for many, many seasons made off with it in the hopes of starting his own tribe with a leen from the Calaarns.”
Morfal really was good at keeping secrets. But what about the new pod? Why hadn’t they been in communication with anyone?
“The reason you haven’t heard about this is because the aide only just got to the Calaarns when another leen, who his mate had apparently confided in, went to Gracke.”
Gracke, with a glowing orange beard that came down toward his fin, was the chief of the Calaarn tribe. Gryshen usually could not think of him without smiling. He kept a group of blowfish that he trained to make different sounds when he tickled their belly. He was constantly in the process of starting a band. Jode had turned him down numerous times—not that he could sing or play anything. Gracke didn’t care.
“You’d look cool as a pounder. It’s easy. Just hit rocks together. Leens love you, and you could really help us get a following.”