Jasper reached in the sack, handing the scepter to Usha. She ran her thin fingers over its wooden surface, tracing the gems with her thumbs. “You really want to try again? You’ve been doing this every day,” he said.
“I know.”
“Ever think that maybe you can’t remember because there is nothing to remember?”
“You’re sounding like Blister,” she teased him. “No. The elves made me forget because they were worried the scepter might fall into the wrong hands, and they didn’t want it used for evil. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Palin and I. And they didn’t think we’d voluntarily tell someone of its powers. They just didn’t want to take any chances.”
Jasper sat next to her, looked between a gap in the railing at the waves, and held his stomach. Usha would never remember, he decided. Just as he would never get over being seasick.
The sea floor dropped off and the current became much stronger. Feril continued in the same direction, following the Master’s instructions. The water was even darker now, both because she was deeper and because it was evening. She knew several hours had passed, but felt no fatigue.
She wouldn’t have had to swim so far if they had taken the Narwhal closer. But neither she nor Rig wanted that. They didn’t want to risk losing everyone on the ship to a dragon that, according to Silvara, liked to sink anything that came too close to Dimernesti.
Her eyes picked through the murky shades, separating rocks from shadows from plants from...
She stopped, her tentacles waving gently over the sand to keep her in place. A few dozen yards ahead, strange shapes rose from the sea floor. Black and angular, they weren’t rocks.
Dimernesti? she wondered. Feril crept closer, squeezing herself through a pair of coral spires, and jetted toward a bulky shadow. A shipwreck, she realized a moment later. A large three-masted carrack lay on the sea floor, its masts stretching futilely toward the surface. Bits of sail and long sections of rope flapped in the current, making the whole thing look like the underside of a giant jellyfish.
Her tentacles touched the hull, feeling the smoothness of the wood and the rough barnacles that dotted its surface. She moved to a gaping hole in the side and slipped inside. It was dark as midnight in the cargo hold. She made out crates, coils of rope, and barrels labeled in a tongue she couldn’t read. A body, completely covered with tiny red crabs, thumped against the hull’s interior. She spotted other sailors, or rather what was left of them, mostly picked clean by the local denizens.
Shuddering, she scooted out of the wreck and continued on. Several dozen broken ships littered the sea floor: massive whalers, four-and five-masted galleons, caravels, cogs, merchant vessels and traders. All had become home to thousands of fish, lobsters, and crabs. As she threaded her way through the wreckage, she noted that some of the ships had been down here for decades, the largest of them claimed by sharks and squid. The algae was thick on the older wrecks, like blue-green carpets covering every inch.
Buntlines wagged in the water like tethered sea snakes. Crow’s nests were canted at crazy angles, some still affixed to masts, others caught up in seaweed-draped rigging. The place was eerily peaceful. Small sharks skimmed over the decks, and a school of a yellow tang darted inside a three-masted caravel. Feril spied another octopus, not so large as herself. Its tentacles curled and uncurled through a gash in a small galley’s hull.
There were more recent wrecks, too, and Feril could make out names along their hulls: Seawind, Balifor’s Darling, Blood Sea Bounty, Sanguine Lady, and Cuda’s Gem. Feril paid closer attention. Her tentacles carried her across their decks and into their holds, while her senses shut out the bodies trapped there.
All of the ships had one thing in common—holes gaped in their hulls, as if they’d run aground on dangerous shoals. But there were no shoals in this deep water, no coral spikes hiding just below the surface. The dragon must have done this, she realized.
Feril moved more quickly now. She had visions of the Narwhal joining this graveyard. She passed beyond the wrecks and followed the still sloping sea floor. Life here was sparse in comparison to what thrived elsewhere.
Finally, she spotted the glimmering lights of what she was certain was an underwater kingdom. A school of palm-size triggerfish—bluechins, half-moons, clowns, and pinktails swam into view. Fish darted toward and away from a city that surpassed the coral reef in beauty. Feril’s eyes focused on spires and domes that looked as if they had been sculpted by an artist. The colors were dazzling oranges and greens, shimmering whites, pale blues and yellows. Along the buildings’ surfaces were windows. Light spilled from them, illuminating the city and making it look like a jeweled brooch.
The city was at the edge of an underwater continent, nestled amid hills. It reminded Feril of Palanthas, held in cupped lands ringed by finger hills and mountains. White sand stretched beyond it.
As she moved closer, she concentrated on the triggerfish. Within a few heartbeats, she felt her body shrinking, folding in upon itself. Her brown rubbery skin was replaced by scales, pale yellow along her sides, green atop her back, and white along her belly. Her limbs dissolved, becoming gills. A tail appeared, and her eyes moved atop her head, giving her a disconcertingly wide range of vision. Her new body was angular, a diamond shape with a tail, and it weighed no more than a few pounds. Her lips were bulbous and bright yellow, like the yellow band that shot just below her eyes.
She joined the school of triggerfish and swam toward the city. The fish fed on the small coral growths that sprouted here and there along the mountains and near the base of the buildings. Feril saw shapes passing by the windows, manlike, some pausing to look out before moving away.
Part of the triggerfish school darted toward a dome, and she followed. The buildings toward the center of the city were smaller. Some buildings were curved, sweeping like a horn from the ground. Others looked like overturned vases, and a few resembled lobster tails and conch shells. There were no people outside the buildings. She continued to swim with the fish, giving herself a tour of the city, and wondering if all the elven cities in Dimernesti looked like this.
Toward the south was what looked like a park. There were coral spires artfully arranged, as a gardener might purposefully plant trees and bushes. There were statues, too, though only one was intact: a tall sea elf with a trident clutched to his chest.
Beyond the park stretched other evidence of destruction, a row of once-tall buildings that were now nothing more than rubble. The triggerfish swam toward this, spotting coral and algae growing on a collapsed wall. They feasted on the algae and on tiny animals that looked like lace floating just above it.
Feril considered staying with the fish, hoping they would lead her around the city until she found a likely place where the crown might be. But the triggerfish showed no interest in leaving their algae snack, and Feril was in a hurry. She swam past the rubble to a smaller dome with a single light toward the roof. She darted in a window and found herself in a bedroom illuminated by a glowing shell on the wall. A net hammock fluttered between two poles. Cabinets lined one wall. An oval doorway led from this room, and Feril swam through it. Beyond was a room filled with benches and chairs, lit by more of the shells. Sculptures of sea creatures were arranged on low tables. The furniture was white, edged in pearls.
Her heart leaped in surprise as something touched her. Fingers. She pumped her fins and turned about, stared face to face with a young pale blue elf. Long silvery-white hair streamed behind her, silver like the tunic she wore. At first, Feril thought the elf had no eyebrows, but then she saw they were so pale as to seem invisible.