Whatever Coss had said to his father didn’t matter, couldn’t matter.
Her own father was becoming part of the sea, crumbling into the water. Her brother was crumbling, too.
Thank the Mother for Bravis. Gryshen knew he would remain in arm’s reach of Jode, trying to keep him afloat while calming the pod. If only Bravis could be chief. The thought popped in Gryshen’s brain like a spark. Could she pass the crown to him? This question was answered before it could even quite be asked of herself. She could not. He would not take it. And her tribe would not wish it. Oddity though she was, leadership was her birthright. And ceasids lived—and died—by tradition.
No, of course not, he would never allow it, she thought to herself. Bravis would insist upon her rule.
She was her father’s daughter, and her father was everything to Bravis, so to him she must naturally carry some of his blessed being. Some of his leadership, a trace of his magic.
Even if she couldn’t find it anywhere.
But avoiding the crown was not her destiny right now.
Saving the Rone Pearl, and thereby saving the pod, was. Fighting anything in the way of that, especially delusions of Coss, were necessary to her sacred assignment.
“Sweet Gryshen,” a soft voice cooed to her. The picture was fuzzy, but she could recognize a small fin, chubby little fists, black hair too long for the figure. Before the image came more clearly into view, Gryshen knew she was looking at herself and her mother. She reached for the glass charm dangling from her neck, and it felt warm, like Bravis had just put it on her.
“Why did you give this to Bravis?” she signaled aloud, as if the memory might answer. The woman who wouldn’t visit her now seemed perfectly present for the Gryshen babe, this better version of herself, one with greater promise, vivid royal potential.
The little child cooed and giggled in return, then the giggle turned to gasps, and the young iloray began to writhe in her mother’s arms.
“What—what is it? Gree? What’s wrong? Frall!” The blonde ceasid called out to her husband anxiously. “Frall!” She searched around frantically. Little Gryshen was no longer making a sound. “Help!”
“She needs air. Now!” A young male ceasid who looked to be about ten years of age seized the little one and rushed her to the oxygen pipe that swept into the next picture. He put her little lips to it, and as the oxygen rushed to her brain, a faint rush of pink returned to her gray-white skin. Little Gryshen was revived while little Bravis fed her air. Her mother looked on.
“Bravis, thank Mother! I had no idea.”
“No idea?” he asked sharply. She didn’t look offended, but he still caught himself. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s only that I thought that was just a part of her infancy. She looks so normal now.”
“Looks normal. Only appears so.”
Gryshen was mesmerized.
“Yes. Yes, of course, that’s right.” Her mother looked down at the baby version of herself, running a finger from her cheekbone to her chin.
It felt like a hand was squeezing Gryshen’s heart as she watched the woman who had loved her and birthed her and rocked her to sleep in a view that made physical contact almost seem possible. Without thinking, Gryshen reached out to the crystal picture, and away it went, running down like rain against a rock.
And her mother was gone.
Stupid! Gryshen scolded herself for her gesture, certain that she could have captured more time with the woman she never knew—the woman who couldn’t be bothered to reveal herself to her only daughter, if only she hadn’t startled the magical little mirror.
“She would be that way, though.” Gryshen’s words pushed into the black water, a new bitterness upon her. This was a little surprising; she hadn’t realized it was there. Apparently, her sense of betrayal ran deeper than only Coss.
And what was the talk of her “only looking normal”? She’d had a breathing attack. That was clear. And yes, it was unusual. But they spoke about her . . .
“Like I’m some sort of freak. Maybe I don’t know anyone else with this, but does Radepol know anyone else with three fins? I’m sure that he doesn’t. I know I don’t.” She signaled aloud, arguing with the runaway visions. “I have to visit the oxygen chambers more frequently. I only had three or four times where it was a problem.” Before the most recent episode, Gryshen’s only other lack of air scare was on a journey with Jode. He was excited to celebrate after a particularly short but successful hunt, and the pair of them had taken their beasts for a ride. A storm had been sweeping overhead, creating whirlpools in their usual path back to the cavern. Gryshen had already stretched her time away from the tube well past what her father or Bravis would condone, and Jode didn’t think about things like that. Her brother promised a clear route around a reef. It was past familiarity, where they had swum to—only hunters and scavenging makers came this way.
Her recollection swelled up before her, another display in the dark.
“Grysh, what is it? What’s wrong?” There was Jode, riding a small whale, reaching out to touch Misra. Her face took a grayer turn than normal. Her eyes were wide, and she was rocking her head back and forth, one hand touching her gills. So this was what she looked like in a deprived spell.
Images washed up and floated away; some lingering, some flickering past. Emotions rang within Gryshen like the bells on the island, and in a state of hypnosis, she waited as the next came steadily into view.
A woman, seated at the edge of rock, clutching clean white linen from the line.
The face stared back at her. Crystal clear, it shone like sunshine, bright white and yellow hot, deeply into her own eyes. It was like being peeled back by an illusion.
“Why? Why are you here?” Gryshen signaled to it. “Why did you save me? Why were you not afraid of me?”
The image wouldn’t answer. It looked so intently at her that the picture seemed alive, like the woman was able to transfer a part of herself down here to this tomb of a room.
“Why are you in my dreams?” Gryshen shouted. The image stayed unmoving. “Why are you in my dreams?” she repeated, more desperate.
The eyes looked back at her with a soft, searching sadness. Gryshen wanted to reach out so badly, but she didn’t want to frighten the vision away.
The woman shifted, and began to cry. She looked downward, and so did Gryshen. She held a baby in her arms, with little puckered eyes returning her intense gaze. She clutched the baby to her chest, speaking mixed with quiet singing words Gryshen did not know, in a gesture she craved to feel. The ache stirred in her belly, pressed on her heart.