“Well, Chieftainess, I first wanted to wish your father a safe journey, a peaceful journey,” he signaled in a gurgled tone. “I wish I could have made it in time to send him off.”
“Thank you, Gracke.” She had always referred to him as Elder, but it suddenly occurred to Gryshen that if she wanted to convey authority she might want to start using names.
Gracke bowed his head for a moment, his beard taking over the rest of his face. “I heard about the theft through hunters on my way here. I think the Nereids know, too. We all suspected, before the council meeting. Knew Morfal was up to nothing good.”
Gryshen tried not to wince as Gracke squeezed her and Jode’s shoulders with a grip that was sure to leave a mark. She heard her brother let out a sigh of relief when the large iloray released them.
“A couple of my pod came with me—decent fighters in their own right.” Gracke drew himself up, extending his chest as he signaled, and it was clear that “decent” meant “excellent.”
Gryshen again felt the strange sensation of relief and guilt, like floating with a rock tied around her. “I—thank you.”
“But was the gift the choice to decide? Is that really freedom?” Tollo’s feminine, melodic signal rang softly outside the room.
“Wait, we’re here,” answered her twin brother, as if they both had just remembered where they were and what they were doing.
A few snickers spurted through the group, and then silenced as the pair swam in. With almost white tails, chiseled forms, and cropped curls, the twins looked like something scavenged from a ship and polished to a glow.
Theus paused and bowed in an exaggeratedly slow motion, with Tollo moving only milliseconds quicker. The water scarcely swayed as they inched through it, like flipping through landkeeper pictures frame by frame, when they were still perfect, before the salt and sea warped them.
Jode nodded approvingly at the army that was assembling.
Hena looked annoyed over the time it took for Tollo and Theus to swim up beside Gracke, but Gryshen remembered what her father had told her about the Nereids, particularly Theus and Tollo.
“They’re brilliant. So brilliant, they appear almost stupid.”
“We are grateful to have you here,” Gryshen said with a slight bow of her head.
“We came as quickly as we could,” Theus said.
Gracke covered his mouth with a broad paw. Hena snorted audibly, and both Jode and Gryshen flicked her with the tips of their fins. She winced and drew up quickly.
“Yes, well, we’re glad to have all of you here,” Gryshen continued. “This is going to be extremely dangerous. The Rakor are . . . ruthless.” She stifled the flashbacks of Coss covering her gills, suffocating her, moments after her father’s death, the day they were to marry.
“They have no concern for another’s heart—another’s life,” she corrected herself, and even though she had to close her eyes to push down the visions of Coss expressing feelings for her to his father, she couldn’t ignore Bravis’s worried gaze. It seemed to move past all of it, straight to the place she was fighting to keep safe and covered, the place that couldn’t take any more injury. “I don’t want anyone to assume that this will be a smooth task,” Gryshen held up a hand to silence Jode and his overly confident companions from arguing. “Of course we have the brightest, the best, but we are missing something.”
“What? Our weapons are just as good. Our warriors are just as skilled.” Jode offered a complimentary gesture toward Proggunel, who seemed to respond with one of the most uncomfortable smiles Gryshen had ever seen.
Proggunel signaled low. “Of course, I will be happy to serve in any capacity.” He looked to Gryshen, and she realized that he had to be almost as old as Apocay.
“We will need your services here. At home, protecting our pod,” she said, looking to Bravis for a reassuring nod.
Proggunel bowed his head, so she couldn’t see his expression. “Yes. It will be my honor.”
“And we have a variety of abilities,” Hena added, switching back to the subject at hand. “They have just one pod fighting, just a small skill set. What could we possibly be missing that they have?”
Gryshen pressed her eyelids together, as she felt the sting that summoned the inky black well from the back of her brain.
As if knowing, Bravis finally spoke.
“Evil,” he signaled. “They do not care about anything. Evil. This gives them the ability to always do worse. They will always be willing to commit darker deeds than us because they are soulless.”
“Strange. You actually believe they were created without souls? The Mother made them dark?” Theus asked curiously, stiffly.
“Sometimes that dark allows light to shine brighter,” Tollo said.
“Would Mother have made them that way, though?”
“If Mother was made that way, she may.”
Gracke, having been hunched down on a stone, listening, lifted his head to boom out a signal. “We don’t have time for this! The Rakor have been made of bad stuff since I can remember. Since our mothers and fathers can remember. Bravis is right. They are evil. Who cares where it came from?” His beard wove and danced in the water, like an impossible fire.
“We just need to make them go away,” Jode growled, and Bravis gave a tight nod. Gryshen could have sworn she tasted blood in her mouth, and she wasn’t sure if it was from biting into her tongue to distract from tears, or if it was the fact that somewhere between the cracked places in her heart, she longed to snuff out the life that had essentially ended hers.
Perhaps there was something to fear about X, after all.
In between altruistic questions from the twins, and platters full of mussel nets being shoveled into Gracke’s gaping mouth, plans were made. Plans that were as good as battle plans can be for a group of leaders who had never seen real war.
“It’s time we meet with the makers. Some of my warriors—your warriors”—Proggunel corrected himself as he turned to Gryshen—“have been preparing since yesterday. A couple of our more gifted ilorays already have a small collection.”
“Of what?” Gryshen didn’t even feel self-conscious in not knowing. There was too much going on to be embarrassed for ignorance.
“Armor,” Jode and Hena replied in unison. Jode’s crew grinned and began whispering excitedly.
“Oh, right. Ceremonial things? Or . . . ?”
“Oh, we’ll have supplements for protection along with spears,” Proggunel assured the group. “And yes, as I’m sure Apocay could tell you, those ceremonial masks serve a greater purpose than just looking impressive.” He shot a stern look at Jode and company, quieting their chatter. They all folded their hands and bowed their heads like scolded babes.
“Supplements?” Gryshen asked for more.
“Well, my pod fighters are bringing shark tooth grips. They’ve been good for protection in a hunt; I’m sure they’ll be useful,” Hena said.
Gryshen had heard of these: skeleton, metal, shell, and a set of jagged teeth facing outward made frightening gloves.
“Good.” Proggunel nodded in approval. “And the others?” He looked to Gracke and the twins.
“My laxes are wearing rock fittings. We’ve used them in game fights.” Gracke’s pod liked to work out struggles with the occasional fin whacking, and some of the huskier laxes would fit rocks to their fins and knock into each other until they both were so beaten up they were best friends again. “Choice picks of sharp blacks and grays, smoothed on the bottom to fit the wearer comfortably enough.” He paused for the benefit of his rapt audience. “But Boom!” He pounded his great fist against the rock table, sending bubbles to blind the crowd.