Bravis, who had been silent for a few minutes while they swam, nodded to one of the guards at the opening of the farthermost chamber. Gryshen had barely noticed the long cavern hall that had led them here, she was so lost in her terrifying thoughts. The icy walls were flanked by what looked like a pair of golden statues, save for their gentle bobbing as they floated, bedecked with bronze breastplates, helmets with face armor, a spear in one hand, a shield in the other. Their faces were covered in masks of abalone shell, so all you could see was the glow of their eyes illuminated by the jellyfish torches overhead.
They had reached the opening of the chamber, covered in a rusted steel door. Gryshen recognized it as one of the doors that laid in the floor in an old sunken mariner’s ship not far from the cavern.
A sharp, barely noticeable nod from Frall, and the two guards turned in a whirl of bubbles, twisting large steel cranks on either side of the doors, creaking them open. All was black in the whirling water, save the soft electric blue glow of one large jellyfish torch above a smaller set of doors, set into the farthermost wall of the room. Steel studs outlined the circular shape, something with markings printed on land, something once used for another purpose by landkeepers. With a flick of his tail, Bravis swam toward it. Gryshen followed, breathless. It was as if she had never seen the pearl before.
In a way, she hadn’t. Not like this. Not with the looming, all-consuming pressure.
Jode, her younger brother, had only seen it once when they were little.
Her eyes watchful, once again she fixed her gaze on Bravis’s smooth gray hand as he pressed his palm against the circular steel doors, and slid the circle clockwise and counterclockwise, back and forth, until they all heard a loud popping sound. It startled Gryshen, and even Frall twitched, but nothing ever seemed to catch Bravis off his guard.
The doors slowly opened on their own, and as they did, a white halo seemed to radiate from within.
The Great Pearl.
Gryshen gasped. Bravis gave her a small smile. She was so young before . . . it was breathtaking, the most exquisite thing that she had ever laid her eyes upon. It shone with a satin-like quality as it rested upon a crescent-shaped pitch-black piece of shale. It glowed a white so brilliant that it almost seemed like there were other colors in the light-blues, purples, pinks. The pearl gleamed its ethereal gleam, and Gryshen felt a blanket of peace surrounding her. Fear flew away and she was left with an exquisite level of contentment:
“This is what it does,” she considered, smiling. “What is it you always say, Dad? Protect the pearl with your life . . .”
“ . . . and it will make life worth protecting,” Frall finished with a smile.
So much had changed since the first time she saw the pearl, and the rumblings of war were growing louder. The Rone preferred to keep the peace, whenever possible, between themselves and the four other pods of Oceas. Most pods felt this way. Their world was vast, and there was plenty of room for all of them. Occasionally ilorays would marry into other pods, or tribes would barter with each other for beautiful or useful objects. Things like shells from different parts of the sea, good nets, woven kelp wraps for leens, jellyfish lanterns, and certainly human treasures. Ornately carved doors and windows from ships that could decorate a cavern chamber, uniquely shaped glass bottles that made lovely tympanic instruments, sparkling gems from trunks on wrecked boats, and fabrics . . . beautiful textures that could not be duplicated on the ocean floor. Gryshen’s mother had given her a silk lavender scarf on her third birthday. She kept it wrapped around the more ornate kelp chest binding she wore on special occasions. The water and salt tore it to bare threads that she wove into the leaves.
Jode brought back a rainbow of ribbons, a small rocking horse, and three green glass bottles for her from his last hunt.
And now, the thought of being the one in charge felt less empowering and more like a massive anchor whose chains had wrapped ’round her tail, pulling her down.
Gryshen saw herself sinking, like a relic in one of the shipwreck yards. She worked guiltily to pull her thoughts back.
“We’ve got to have our security at its tightest, now more than ever.” Bravis spoke earnestly to them both, concern filling his dark eyes. This combination unsettled Gryshen. She nodded repeatedly, feeling her head bob like that of a funny fat little mustached doll she had seen salvaged in the babes’ quarter. Gryshen pondered this as her head still bobbed nervously, looking back into his eyes.
Frall considered something. “I’m going to the air chamber now. Don’t take too long behind me, all right, Gryshen?”
Gryshen broke her gaze with Bravis to nod in reply to her father.
Crazy, she reminded herself. Dad couldn’t be more wrong on this one. Bravis is too mature to consider anything besides his obligations, anyway. He’s old enough to be your, well, your much older brother. He felt old enough to be her great-great-grandfather, even though he was only her senior by twelve seasons—six freezes, six thaws.
Gryshen drew herself away from him by a few inches more, as if by floating too closely he might telepathically pick up on her thoughts.
She shivered again. There were whole stretches of the year when she could swim upward, far above home, and burst through the line between sea and earth. The ice would pull back as the glaciers melted, and she could pull up on the rocky shores, among the seals and egrets. She’d stretch out, lay her whole body on a smooth rock, and let the waves lap over her. This inlet was pretty safe, almost barren of people, save for the old man and younger woman who stayed in the tiny gray house beside a larger structure of weathered wood that her father told her was a place where the landkeepers spoke to their Creator. Gryshen wondered how they could hear Her there, when everyone knew their Mother lived deep in the water. Sometimes the older man would pull the rope on a big bell, the pealing drawing a crowd from around the island, like a warmer current bringing in more life.
She would listen for the singing. It came every time, so different from her music. Gryshen would stare at the sky, allowing the water to blanket her, protect her.
Being alone was one of the only things she could do comfortably.
After the singing, the woman would ring the bell, and they would file into her little house, the scent of food carried to the iloray’s nose on the salty wind.
Gryshen loved to listen to the lady chiming the bell. It gave her comfort, even if it wasn’t meant for her. Anything that welcomed you home had to be a good thing.
Gryshen kept quiet when she heard the tales around Rone. Whenever ilorays from other pods visited, everyone packed into the hub to share the recent news, celebrate important events, and catch up on gossip from all over Oceas. Babes loved to ask guests about landkeeper encounters. Ranging from the mysterious to the funny, to the terrifying, visitors were often all too happy to oblige. So delighted were they to have a rapt audience, the stories occasionally felt recycled.
Gryshen grinned as she recalled one journeying iloray, eyes wild, gestures dramatic, as he told the story of the drunken sea captain who had caught him in a fishing net, hoisted him on deck, and tortured him. “They surrounded me—fifteen, twenty men—shaking their spears and crying out. I tried to reason with them while deflecting their weapons,” he said with more than a little bravado. “They stabbed and they poked, and I think . . . I think they were going to sell me to scientists and have me”—he gazed around the room at the wild-eyed young ones—“cut open! At the very last moment, I managed to wriggle my way out of the net. As I was heaving myself over the prow of the boat, the mad captain roared and lassoed his harpoon, flinging it at my fin. See here.” He gestured sweepingly at his tail while the crowd swam around it and squinted. “Here is my warrior wound. I just barely escaped with my life.” Next, he’d grabbed hold of his fin and was shaking it rather violently for someone who had just undergone such a painful ordeal.