She felt a brush on her shoulder.
“I am so sorry. I don’t know what else to do.” Coss’s fingers lingered against her skin for a few moments, holding her in place ever so gently.
“What else?” she asked.
He searched her face.
“Ah, Gryshen. I’ve just been to see your father.” Bravis seemed to swim up out of nowhere. He gave a nod to Coss, then turned back to her. “He’s looking better, Princess.”
“Better than bleeding from his organs?” The flames were spreading onto Bravis now, too.
“Right. Better.” Only his hair moved in the water, the rest of him stayed still like a hunk of rock. “So will you be joining him and the Rakor chief when they dine later?” His tone suggested that he wasn’t really asking.
“Yes. Later. But now I am giving our guest a tour. Father wanted me to help them get the lay of the land.”
“Oh, shall I send for your father to accompany you, Prince?” Bravis asked.
“That won’t be necessary. He’s very busy this morning. I’ll report back to him.”
“And I’m sure Father will want you in charge of making sure everything is going smoothly with our other guests,” Gryshen said.
“Certainly.” Bravis raised an eyebrow in one stiff motion and flicked away.
“Shall we, then?” Gryshen led the way in her best effort to conjure confidence. “Have you had air yet this morning, Prince?”
“Oh, please don’t go back to that on me. Just Coss. Please. And yes. Early. My pod is very practiced in using up small amounts of oxygen. I can last longer than most laxes of other tribes.”
“Is that so? It must be nice to have such fantastic health. I suppose you naturally feel entitled to ours.”
“What do you mean?”
They were back down the corridor that led to the bone pit.
“Nothing.” You know better than to pry into another pod’s affairs, Gryshen. She waited until he wasn’t looking at her to take a peek at him. The natural light was nonexistent at this point. They relied on the lanterns, now spaced feet apart on the walls and hanging in clusters above their heads, to even see paces ahead.
The lights always stayed lit in the passages to the hub, and openings in the cavern allowed for sunlight and drop-ins from schools of fish or a stray crab. There were the same torches, and often holes in the ceilings of all the sleeping chambers, as well.
There were a few places where no light was kept, where ilorays relied completely on signal. One of these was just before finding the opening out of the cavern leading to the bone pit. The Old Ones said this was to symbolize the darkness when one closes their eyes before being reborn to another part of the sea. They said it was like the darkness of a mother’s womb before you come into the light of the world.
Jode’s suspicions had stuck to Gryshen as she slept, and had kept her on guard all morning.
And yet there was something about Coss that made her want to apologize, made her want to keep his hand on her, made her want to sink into him.
The lights were getting dimmer, and his eyes glowed as they stared in her direction.
“We’re approaching one of the darkest parts of our home.” Gryshen crackled into the blackness with these words, unsure if she wanted to break the spell or not.
She let out a call that bounced around the sea, guiding them, narrowing their path in her mind.
“But you know your way well through all this, don’t you?” Those eyes were growing dimmer, too, yet somehow it was as if his gaze remained like a spotlight.
“I’m sure you know much more than I. I’m sure you know all about how to navigate in the darkness.” She looked straight ahead as she spoke.
“We have many pitch-black portions of our own cavern, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course it’s what I mean.”
“Well then. Yes, I do.”
Gryshen had no handle on this conversation anymore. She couldn’t be quite sure whether she wanted to, either. Little by little, it was as if the sun was slowly, slowly rising. They swam around corners and bends, moving quickly toward the end of Rone.
The bone pit marked the border; it was the last stop at this part of the cavern before reaching open sea. When the season was brighter, the landscape almost glittered. Now, it still wore a dull polish. The sand was littered with bones of ceasids, but also whales, dolphins, even the exoskeletons of crabs lined the rusted metal entrance.
Over time ilorays had learned methods of preservation: They could slow down decay of many retrieved items by first bringing them above surface to dry, then rubbing them with plant oils. The makers gave new life this way.
Still, nothing could stop Oceas from bringing everything through a cycle of death and rebirth. Eventually, a ship’s anchor would become bits of sand on the ground, and sand, as Gryshen understood, could be made into glass by landkeepers. And glass was a coveted item to ilorays—especially if it was thick.
Sea glass adorned their bodies and their chambers. Jars and lanterns and diver’s helmets were all used to contain the jellyfish that lit the way. Miles from where Gryshen liked to lay ashore was an aboveground cavern where the makers worked. It had remained far enough from humans to stay a safe place for everything from cataloging new discoveries, to preservation, to construction and repairs.
Of all ceasids, the Rone pod was in the least danger of landkeeper discovery or interference. Living near the coldest part of the world kept things that way.
Now, here, was the safest place of all. The light was blinding as they swam out to open space to meet a wall of ice. The glacier acted like a great tomb, holding the dead close in its crevices. It was a rare place, a place that stayed put in the sea, a place that was close to their Rone Cavern but apart enough to make clear that this was a transition: darkness to light to darkness, death to birth to death.
Some of the graves were easy to see; tucked just behind a seat of stone you’d find a metal box, or a glass jar, holding the bones of the dead. Sometimes a large glass case or wire cage would hold a full skeleton, or sometimes just a skull or a tail. Perhaps there’d be a piece of jewelry tied to them, or a special shell tucked inside.
Most of the graves were far back, so one had to reach in and feel around, or swim around rocks and a wall of ice that seemed to grow out of the water. Some bones or baubles of the dead remained well preserved, beautifully entombed, but most decayed and eventually faded away to become a part of where they began. Ceasids did not usually grieve this. In fact, the more preserved graves were usually that way for teaching purposes, so that the next generation could have a visual image, a tangible view of a great chieftain or shaman who had long since transitioned.
The important part that remained, only to be recognized by a deeply connected loved one, were the whispers of their soul.
Sea magic stayed preserved in its salty brine, and long after they had been separated from their landkeeper cousins, the ceasids had remained connected to it. They did not really have the option to forget their original power, as they did not have the same distractions that had accosted the landkeepers.
So, the question was never “if” they could talk to the dead, but more like “how much would it help to do so?” or “Do the dead care to share?”
Gryshen’s mother’s grave had become nearly empty. She did not want an elaborate preservation process, and so all that remained was a brilliant blue bottle. Gryshen remembered it from her childhood. This bottle had kept a post near the entrance to their cave. It sat atop a metal pipe that acted as a welcome, and it was in such a position that it could catch shafts of sunlight filtering down, and send a spray of sparkling blue dancing on the cavern door. When Athela, her mother, came back as Frall’s bride, she said the light brought her home. Frall had courted her after having met her at a feast with the Wanaa pod, the tribe who lived a world away in the Pacific. It didn’t happen often, interpod bonds, but this time it helped link them further as an ally.