Выбрать главу

She cocks her head, confused.

“I’m Tristan Hart. My grandfather is the Sea King.”

“ Was the Sea King.” Her voice fills the cave, but her lips don’t

move. “You are here because you want to take his place.”

“And who the hell are you? You didn’t mind us so much when you

came to get me at the tavern.”

Her pale eyebrow arcs. “You have a foolish tongue.”

“At least I have a tongue.”

The spear digs into my skin a little bit more.

“You are the laria, aren’t you?” Kurt says quickly. “We are here

for the oracle.”

The voice laughs. “He is. But why are you here, Kurtomathetis?”

“How did you know his name? What the hell is a laria?”

In unison their harmony fills my head. “We are the laria, maidens

of the oracle, protectors of the Well of Memories.”

“I’ve been here before,” Kurt says, “and I didn’t see any of you.”

“She did not want us to be seen,” the girl says.

“Okay, then. You came to get me. So why won’t you let me pass?”

Their laughter is a chorus. The girl with the torch steps closer

to me. Unmoving, endless black eyes. “I wasn’t there to find you. I

was fetching our supper.”

My fingers itch for my dagger. If I’m fast enough, I can pull the

spear poking me and knock her back with a hit in the chest. If I’m not

fast enough, I’ll be a sashimi kabob.

“Prove to me you are the king’s heir,” she says.

“Call off your girls and I’ll show you.”

They step back in their lithe ballet movements. I reach behind my

shoulder and draw the quartz scepter. Now would be a really good time

for it to spark or light up or do anything. And it does. Its soft glow

is too bright for some of their eyes and they look away. Except the

girl with the torch. She isn’t afraid of me. I think she wants to eat

me.

In a swift movement, she draws out a tiny blade and takes a swipe

at my belt. The bag of jewels falls to the ground and into the stream

where they wink as they get carried downstream. Some of the girls

cluster to pick them up, smiling at the precious things in their

palms. The girl with the torch stares at the other girls with

distaste, but she lets them.

Kurt scratches his head. He picks up a ruby from the stream and

squeezes it in his palm.

I ask the question I read on his scrunched-up merman face. “Why’d

you do that?”

“You won’t be needing them.” She points her torch south into the

blackest part of the cave, and we follow her deeper and deeper into

the dark.

The cave is smooth rose stone. Round pools light the entire

ground. Down here, the energy crackles in and around me. Traces of

others who’ve passed through here linger in the air. But the emotion

is a fraction of what I felt coming down the well. Kurt whispers,

“According to legend, the laria feed on the memories of men.” I wonder

which of my memories are mingled in with the others.

“Mind the floors,” Kurt says. “The pools are chambers of eternal

sleep. Only the oracle can release you once you’ve plunged in.”

In one of the occupied pools, a girl’s hair floats up to the

surface like weeds. I wonder why she’s down there. What is she running

from that would make her want to do this? I tell myself that I want to

remember all of my life, no matter what happens.

At the end of the cave is a great basin made of polished

moonstone. A tiny waterfall fills it, and the runoff trickles into

skinny rivers that line the grounds. “Pretty sweet Jacuzzi.”

Kurt elbows me in the ribs. “ Shh. ”

I want to tell him to chill out, though my insides are as uneasy

as the tremble in my legs. I miss Shelly’s pond in Central Park. The

bright Thumbelina-sized fairy maidens that blew me kisses. Even

Shelly’s kind, wrinkly face.

Then, she emerges.

Her movements are slow and delicate, like a doll coming to life.

Wondrous and strange, from the belly up she’s so pink . Her eyes are

like the blush of new roses. Her smooth, naked torso is obscured by

powder-pink hair tumbling down to the water. At her hips, she

disappears into a giant, golden nautilus shell. I wonder how she bends

her legs to fit. Maybe she doesn’t have any legs.

“Surely you’ve seen creatures more wondrous than me on your

travels, Tristan Hart.” Her voice… Her voice is achingly lovely. Every

word fills me with a peace I haven’t felt in so long. I want to put a

smile on her sad face.

“No, ma’am.” I know I sound dreamy, but I feel very, very good.

She turns a fraction, setting pink jeweled eyes on Kurt, and I

suddenly hate it. I want her to keep looking at me. “Surprised to see

me, Kurtomathetis?”

“You’re not Lucine.” His words are steeped in disappointment and

hurt, but when I wait for him to turn to me and explain, all he can do

is stare at the nautilus maid.

“Come forward,” she tells him.

And he does it. Kurt, the most logical guy I’ve ever met, goes to

her without even thinking. It happens slowly, the brush of his feet on

the ground, then all at once, into a memory pool with a heavy splash.

The space is narrow but he manages to lift one hand to punch against

the force containing him until he stops moving and finally sleeps.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I don’t need him, that’s why.”

Somewhere in my mind I know she’s wrong. But here I am, agreeing

with everything she says.

“Your girl,” I say. My tongue is like wet cotton in my mouth. “I

had something for you and she took it.”

“I’ve no use for trinkets.”

“But I have nothing else.” I sound whiny. I don’t want to sound

whiny, but I do. It’s like I’m complaining to my mom. I miss my mom.

My bed. My friends. I want to sleep like Kurt. Then the cave whispers,

and I snap awake.

Her voice is like a trail, and I follow it around the danger of

the sleeping chambers and right up to her basin where she finger-combs

her hair. “I know something you can give me.”

The cave dims. We’re alone. She dips her fingers in the water

around her. There’s that smile, brilliant as dawn. When she looks back

up at me, her eyes glow with eager newness. I wonder what happened to

her legs, then I study her face-the slope of her nose, the bow of her

mouth-she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Second. Second most beautiful-but I can’t remember who the first

is.

“Why was he surprised to see you?” I ask.

“You mean why am I here?” Her smile is strained. I can tell she

doesn’t do that very often. “You mean how could I possibly be stuck in

this cave on an island full of degenerates? I don’t belong here. I

belong in Eternity. Eternity is my home. But my sisters and I, we are

all shifting, moving, breaking, like the plates beneath us. We’re

moving like we’re intended to. I must be here and now for you. In the

Well of Memories.”

I rub my face. Wake up, Tristan . “I saw things that weren’t mine

to remember.”

“When you go down the well, you leave traces of yourself behind.

Don’t make that face. You aren’t losing anything. Only now I know your

mind as well. From kings and heroes to lost boys and girls, they all

leave their memories here. The water is impregnated with the past. The

oracle is the keeper of the well.”

“What do they get in return?”

“Unburdening of the soul. Reflection. If they’re lucky, perhaps

insight to the future.”

“And what do you want from me?”

She sets her delicate hands on the smooth gold shell. Moves her

hair all to one side, exposing herself to me. “I want you to come

closer.”

“So you can stick me in a memory hole?”