Jode began laughing, and Gryshen’s heart played a little song. The rest of the way to the hub, he did a disgusting impersonation of Apocay sucking the meat out of the claws. Even Bravis laughed.
It was before breakfast for the rest of Rone, and guards waited outside while two head guards helped them plan, as well as Goshen and Timbaray, two of the best hunters next to Jode. Hunters and guards came from the same function, just trained a little differently based on what the pod needed and their own abilities. They could both act as warriors.
Jode was unique in his skills for how young he was. Most hunters didn’t become strong or lead a hunt until they had been through their Forms, but Jode had proven himself long ago. When the time came for him to go on his own journey, it would just be a confirmation of what everyone already knew: he was full of courage, and was the best hunter their pod had seen in many seasons. Goshen and Timbaray, being a little older, had already been through their paces. The two high-ranking guards had been through theirs many seasons back—it was a requirement before you could accept that position.
As they gathered around the table, two leens came from the Food Base, holding clumps of weed and sea berries and carting a net of mussels. After delivering the food, the crowd passed it round, and the hubkeepers swam away. Gryshen looked at Proggunel, the head guard, and then she turned to the hunters. She had not only never planned a battle, she had never seen it done, only knew what her father had told her—and he had never had to plan a war either. The last one her tribe had been in was a brief skirmish with a faction of Rakor that were trying to break away from their main pod and take territory from Rone. This was during her grandfather’s reign, her father’s babehood, and it was short lived.
Proggunel cleared his throat, coughing and gurgling the water, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, as if awaiting orders.
Jode was talking excitedly with Goshen and Timbaray. “It’ll be like going after great whites. Element of surprise. And then . . . pow!” Goshen gestured a spear being thrown as Jode described his vision of the fight. Timbaray wiped his hands in a gesture of easy cleanup.
“Chieftainess, if I may,” Proggunel spoke.
It was beyond bizarre to have this face-lined warrior seeking her permission to speak on the act of battle, but Gryshen played along.
“Yes. Please.” She shot Jode a look, but he was too busy reenacting the time he fought off two squids to see it, so Hena hissed and punched his arm.
“Ouch! Why . . . ? Oh, right.” He stopped to see what was happening.
“We’ve studied the insides of caves—it’s part of a guard’s training—”
“Hunter’s, too,” Jode cut in. “We know all the good hiding places from here to the Mediterranean.”
Proggunel raised his eyebrows at such a claim, and Jode corrected himself. “Okay, we know a lot, all right.”
“I’m sure you do, but hunting and battle strategy are not the same thing,” Proggunel said.
“I have been in more near-death situations than I can count.”
“And I have spent two of your lifetimes studying successful-and-unsuccessful war strategies.”
“Yeah, studying.” Jode snorted.
Hena could have knocked anyone else over with the snarl she let out, but Jode stubbornly crossed his arms, challenging the guard.
“Enough,” Gryshen signaled in a lower tone, but they both turned to her. “You think our father would have accepted this?” she scolded her brother.
He bowed his head. The tense pair of laxes behind him backed away slightly.
“He trusted our head guard with his life. And Elder”—Proggunel gave a quick nod, listening to her, watching her brother—“my brother is not a guard but he is quick, and clever, and his ideas are invaluable to this pod, to this battle plan.”
“Yes, Chieftainess.”
Hena practically beamed at her, and the pride in Bravis’s face was unmistakable.
Gryshen straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and faced the ilorays who counted on her to take them through this like she had a clue as to what she was doing. “Let’s begin. Elder, I’d like to hear your ideas, and then we can go around the table.”
Proggunel loosened a cove shell from the broad strap of woven eel skins from his chest, and dipped his finger in it. It was holding the same ink they used to mark themselves, garments, and cavern walls, sticking in thick putty to his fingertips. He began drawing curvy lines and scratching symbols across the stone canvass of a feasting table. The rest of the crew pulled the net of mussels farther back to make room. They all leaned in.
“So here”—Proggunel pointed a short, wide finger at a familiar etching—“is, of course, Rone and our surrounding waters.” He drew his fingers back, tapping at points around, rubbing small dots on the surface as he did so. “And here are the surrounding islands. They are directly across a wide stretch of open sea. It shifts into a tropical climate, with warmer waters and the Great Reef here . . . ”
“But, Proggunel, won’t they be waiting? Won’t they be expecting us to come just such a route? Their fighters at the ready?” Jode had already forgotten, or was now ignoring, the taking-turns plan.
“He has a point. Maybe we just go back and forth in a civilized way. Everyone knows how to be respectful here.” Gryshen gave a knowing look to Jode. “Elder, what about that?”
“It’s true. They will be. No matter which way we go, they’ll be expecting us.”
“But we have a benefit. We have the Wanaa coming. They won’t be expecting that at all,” Jode said, sharing a grin with Hena. Goshen raised up a hand to clap hers, but she didn’t notice. Instead, his friend mocked him while they floated behind the distracted pair.
“We do. And we have something else. We visit other pods more frequently. We have a more extensive knowledge of traveling Oceas than they,” said Proggunel.
“Both of our pods do. Wanaa are some of the best at camouflage, too,” Hena said.
Gryshen knew this. Hena’s tribe was well-reputed for their ability to wrap their hair in reeds, and the colorful inks they had access to allowed them to paint themselves up like coral or seagrasses—long enough to hide a bit for a big hunt. They had used the techniques in water games with other pods, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt in life-or-death battle. Gryshen was again sickened at the thought of the Wanaa getting involved in this.
It affects us all, she reminded herself. Respect for each other’s safety and survival and mutual trust is what binds us, is what makes us who we are.
A signal came through the hall, pounding through the water like fists against sheets of maker metal.
“Did I miss breakfast?” Gracke, his vast bush of a forked fiery beard, bellowed as two guards tried to move ahead of him. “Your guards asked me to wait, but I’m already late. I told them—”
“Please, leave us, thank you,” Gryshen told the guards, a smile taking over the faces of their group.
“I spotted Theus and Tollo on my way in. They were distracted. Something about Great Mother intending for some of her children to leave the sea. A debate about destiny.” He rolled his eyes, and Jode and Hena chuckled.
The Nereids, ilorays from the Mediterranean waters, were usually more preoccupied with philosophy than reality, and preparing for battle proved no different. Jode and the other laxes moved aside to make room for Gracke’s hulking figure and stubby dark blue tail that seemed to whip around on its own. Gryshen returned his grin with a small smile of her own.
“That’s an excellent point, Hena,” Gryshen continued. “So how do we begin?” She shook a little as she asked this, partly because she was officially opening a war, and partly because she felt as if she was supposed to know this sort of thing. But she didn’t, so she looked to Proggunel, to Jode, to Hena, and finally to Gracke.