Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel Page 6

  “Astrid, would you mind cleaning the silt away?” Becca asked. “Otherwise it’ll get into our lunch.”

  “Sure,” Astrid said, and she started sweeping the silt away with her tail fins.

  That’s odd, Becca thought. Most mer would toss off a quick canta prax spell to whirl the silt away. Astrid’s method was time-consuming and made the water in the cave cloudy. When it finally cleared, Becca spread her blanket out.

  Astrid dug in her pack and set out the food she’d bought. In addition to the squid eggs, she had a ripe marsh melon, oysters, and some silt cherries. Then she sat down.

  Becca awkwardly pulled the water apples and crab eggs she’d bought out of her own pack and placed them on the blanket, embarrassed that they were all she had to contribute.

  “Oh, wow, water apples. My favorite,” Astrid said, picking one up and biting into it.

  Becca knew it wasn’t true. If they were Astrid’s favorite, she would’ve bought some. But still, it was a nice thing to say. And—coming from Astrid—a surprising one.

  “Have some squid eggs,” Astrid said, offering a clump to Becca.

  Becca broke off an egg sac and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. So good,” she said, sitting down across from Astrid.

  “Eat tons. I bought too much and don’t want to carry it. I shouldn’t shop when I’m hungry,” said Astrid, still munching on the apple.

  Becca doubted that was true, either. She had the feeling that Astrid knew she didn’t have much money and was being careful not to make her feel bad about it.

  Becca frowned, perplexed. This considerate Astrid and the Astrid who’d risked her own safety to rescue Becca from the death riders didn’t square with the Astrid whom Becca had met in the Iele’s caves. Becca wondered if she’d misjudged her. Well, whether she had or hadn’t, she definitely owed her a thank-you.

  “Hey, Astrid…”

  “Mmm?” Astrid replied, swallowing a bite of apple.

  “Thanks for getting me out of the market. I’m really grateful to you.”

  Astrid gave her a rueful smile. “You shouldn’t be. I nearly got you captured.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Becca, puzzled.

  “If it wasn’t for me, you could’ve gotten out right away. All you had to do was cast your transparensea pebble.”

  Becca remembered how Astrid had refused the pebble. “I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t.”

  Astrid looked away. “Like I said, they don’t work on me.” Her brusque tone was back.

  “But—”

  “Tell me about the Iele,” said Astrid, changing the subject. “What happened? Why aren’t you still with them?”

  Becca saw that Astrid wasn’t going to answer her question, so she answered Astrid’s instead. She told her how Markus Traho and his troops had found the Iele’s cave, and that she, Sera, Ling, Ava, and Neela had narrowly escaped by diving into a mirror that Vrăja kept in the Incantarium.

  “So that’s how you ended up in North Atlantica so quickly,” Astrid said. “I was wondering how you caught up. It’s taken me weeks to swim this far.”

  “Vadus was a creepy place. I was scared I’d run into the mirror lord the whole time, but he must’ve been busy elsewhere. A couple of vitrina showed me a way out…after I gave them about a thousand compliments,” Becca said, shivering at the memory of the quicksilver world.

  “What about Vrăja? Did she escape, too?” Astrid asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Becca replied. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since I left. I hope to gods she’s all right. The others, too. I haven’t heard anything for so long. I’ve tried to convoca them, but I haven’t had any luck. Which is really worrying. My magic’s grown stronger so I ought to be able to do it.”

  Astrid had picked up an egg sac. She lowered it again. “Your magic grew stronger? Really? How?” she asked, clearly curious.

  “We did a bloodbind before we escaped,” Becca explained. “Ever since, I’ve been able to understand languages I’ve never been able to speak, cast awesome illuminatas, and do lots of other spells, too. I think it’s because I have some of the others’ blood in me now.”

  “Wow. That’s really cool,” Astrid said, a wistful note in her voice.

  “Yeah, it is. But if my magic’s strong enough to do a decent convoca, why can’t I reach the others? What if it’s because they can’t be reached? Because they’ve been captured or…or worse,” Becca said, her voice fraught with concern.

  “Lots of things affect songcasting, Becca. The tides. The moon. The presence or absence of whales. Everyone knows that.”

  Becca nodded, unconvinced. She worried about her four friends constantly.

  Astrid must’ve seen her feelings on her face, because she said, “They’re smart, Becca. Tough, too. They made it all the way to the River Olt. They can make it home.”

  “You almost sound as if you like them,” Becca said, a reproachful note in her voice. She still didn’t understand why Astrid had left the Iele’s caves, and she still felt angry about it.

  “I do like them,” Astrid replied. “I like you, too.”

  “Then why didn’t you stay with us?” Becca demanded.

  “Because.”

  Becca snorted. “Because? That’s so weak, Astrid. What’s the real reason?”

  “Because I couldn’t, all right? Because things are really complicated,” Astrid said testily.

  Becca held her hands up. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. I really don’t care.”

  Only a few minutes ago she thought she might’ve misjudged Astrid. Now she saw that she hadn’t. The merl was just as obnoxious as ever.

  An awkward silence descended. Becca reached for a cherry. As she did, she saw something crawling on the marsh melon.

  “Ugh. Crabs. They’ve smelled the food,” she said.

  A small army of the creatures had invaded the cave. Some were attacking the squid eggs. Others were carrying off a water apple. Becca scolded them, but they paid no attention. She brushed the one crab off the melon, but a dozen more were scuttling toward the cherries.

  “They’re getting everywhere!” she exclaimed, picking up the cherries. “Astrid, can you help me shoo them away?”

  Astrid reached for her scabbard, took her sword out, and brandished it. “I think I’ll have some nice, fresh crabmeat with my melon,” she said loudly. The creatures must’ve understood Mermish, for they scattered.

  Again, Becca was puzzled by Astrid’s decision not to use magic. Why didn’t she cast a commoveo spell? she wondered as she put the cherries back down on the blanket. She didn’t understand Astrid’s weirdness at all.

  Then suddenly she did.

  Oh, wow, she thought. That explains everything! Astrid’s unwillingness to songcast…her interest when I talked about my magic growing stronger…her defensiveness…They’re all part of the same problem.

  Becca reached for her traveling case and started to dig through it, pretending that she was looking for something. She was pretty certain she’d figured out the reason behind Astrid’s eccentricity, but she wanted to confirm her suspicions before confronting her.

  “I, uh, I just remembered I have some, um…candied mussels in my bag. They’d make a nice dessert, don’t you think? Could you cast an illuminata for me?” she asked lightly. “The one I cast earlier isn’t strong enough to light up this mess.”

  “An illuminata? Um, well, I really shouldn’t,” Astrid said. “I’ve got a cold and my voice is raspy. It would go way wrong.”

  But Astrid’s voice wasn’t raspy. And Becca hadn’t heard her sniffle once.

  I am right, she thought. She closed her case and put it aside. “Astrid…” she said gently.

  Astrid quickly looked away, but not before Becca glimpsed the desperation in her eyes, and the fear. Becca recognized those emotions. She knew them well. She reached for Astrid’s hand.

  “What, Becca? For gods’ sake, what?” Astrid said, knotting her hand into a fist.

 
“You don’t really have a cold, do you?” Becca asked.

  Astrid didn’t reply, but her eyes filled with tears.

  This was bad. Very bad. This was about the worst.

  “Oh, Astrid,” she said, her heart aching for this tough, sad, misunderstood mermaid. “You can’t sing.”

  ASTRID QUICKLY BLINKED away her tears and tried to recover her cool.

  “Of course I can sing,” she said.

  Becca shook her head. “No, you can’t. That’s why you left us. Because you wanted to keep it a secret and were afraid we’d find out. Afraid we wouldn’t accept you.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Spare me the amateur psych session, would you?” She rose and started stuffing the leftover food into her backpack.

  “What are you doing?” asked Becca.

  “Packing up. I’ve got to get going. I’ve wasted enough time here already.”

  Becca was stung by the insult, but she didn’t give up. “So I’m a waste of time, huh? Nice, Astrid. Is that how you cope? By pushing mer away when they come too close? By swimming off when you get scared?”

  Astrid snorted. “I’m not scared of much, Becca. Certainly not of you,” she said.

  “You’re scared of the truth, though.”

  Astrid finished packing. She cinched her backpack. “It’s been real,” she said, turning to swim away. “Happy travels.”

  Becca tried one last time. “Hey, Astrid? This isn’t an attack, okay?” she said. “It’s me being a friend. Or trying to.”

  Astrid stopped. Her shoulders sagged. She looked like a puffer fish that had suddenly deflated.

  “I understand. I really do,” Becca said softly.

  Astrid whirled around. “No, you don’t,” she said hotly. “How could you? You’re normal, Becca. Your whole life is normal. You have parents who aren’t disappointed in you. You go to school and no one makes fun of you. No one talks behind your back. No one thinks you’re a joke.”

  “Yep,” Becca said brightly. “That’s me, little Miss Normal.”

  “How did you know, anyway?” Astrid asked.

  “Well, the fact that you never songcast kind of gave me a clue. And…”

  “And what?”

  “And I always know when someone’s hiding something,” Becca said.

  “Yeah? How?” Astrid asked skeptically.

  “Because I usually am that someone,” Becca replied.

  “You? What are you hiding? A to-do conch? An ebb-and-flow chart?” Astrid joked, poking fun at Becca’s tendency to be hyperorganized.

  Becca didn’t laugh. “I haven’t been straight with you, either,” she admitted, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “Or with the others. I’m not in school. I left a year ago to get a job. And I’m not heading home to a nice house with two doting parents.”

  “I don’t understand,” Astrid said, setting her backpack down. “At the Iele’s you said—”

  “I told you a story. About the happy life I wish I had,” Becca confessed, forcing herself to meet Astrid’s searching gaze. “I’m an orphan. My father died of mercury poisoning when I was four. The waters where he grew up were full of it. His health was always bad, and it got worse as he got older. A year after I lost him, I lost my mother to longline hooks. Her body was recovered before the lines were reeled in. That’s something, I guess.”

  “Becca, I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” Astrid said, sitting back down.

  “I didn’t have any relatives able to take me in, so I was put in a foster home. It was pretty chaotic. Bigger merkids stole my food, and my stuff. Nobody really cared how I did in school, or if I even went.” She laughed sadly. “I think that’s why I’m so off-the-charts organized. I always had to have a plan—a plan to get to the table first so I’d get something to eat. A plan for avoiding barracudas. A plan for getting myself to school on time. I do work at Baudel’s as a spellbinder—that much is true. The owners are good to me; they let me live in an apartment over the shop. It’s small but it’s all mine. It has a bedroom, a sitting room, and the tiniest kitchen you’ve ever seen. But I love it for what it doesn’t have…barracudas.”

  Astrid nodded. Barracudas were killer fish with sharp teeth, but the word was also mer slang for what the terragoggs called bullies. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Barracudas don’t steal my lunch—they wouldn’t dare, me being the admiral’s daughter—but they still have their weapons: the jokes, the whispers, the snide remarks.”

  “At least you have a family,” Becca said wistfully. “It must be nice to have parents to turn to.”

  Astrid shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. My parents are ashamed of me,” she said miserably. “No one in the admiral’s family is supposed to be anything less than perfect. My parents have tried to keep my problem a secret. Most Ondalinians don’t know, but some inside the Citadel do.”

  “The what?”

  “The Citadel,” Astrid replied. “That’s where Ondalina’s admirals live. With their families and the top members of government.”

  Becca tilted her head. “How did it happen?” she asked.

  A mermaid who couldn’t sing was rare; she’d never met one before.

  “I don’t know,” Astrid replied. “I had a singing voice when I was little, but I lost it. It was right after Månenhonnør—Ondalina’s moon festival. I was having such a good time—dancing and singing, and eating too many slices of Månenkager. It’s a cake made of pressed krill and iced with ground mother-of-pearl. It shines like the moon.”

  Becca nodded. She’d heard of Månenkager and knew that right before the cake went into the lava ovens, the baker dropped a silver drupe into the batter. Whoever got the coin in her piece would have good luck for the coming year.

  “A few days after the festival, I started losing my ability to sing. Two months later, it was gone completely. My father called in the best doctors in Ondalina. None of them could figure out what had happened, but they all said I was lucky not to have lost my speaking voice, too.” Astrid went silent for a bit, then said, “I don’t feel lucky. What good is a mermaid without magic?”

  “A lot of good,” Becca said fiercely. “Who saved us from Abbadon, hmm? Wait, I’ll give you a hint—it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Sera, Ling, Ava, or Neela, either. It was you. You took it straight to that monster.”

  Becca vividly remembered when Vrăja had given them a glimpse of the horrible monster Abbadon. It was so strong and vicious that it had broken through Vrăja’s ochi spell—even through waterfire—and attacked them. Astrid had rushed straight at the creature with her sword and had cut off one of its hands, forcing it to retreat.

  “Thanks, Becca. That’s a nice thing to say. I did help you, but I also left you. Because I was afraid my secret would make me a liability. Like I was today in the market hall,” Astrid said. “You need more than a good swordsmer to fight Abbadon. You need a sixth songcaster with some seriously strong magic. I don’t have any to give you, and nothing can be done about it.”

  How Becca hated those words: nothing can be done about it. She’d heard them her entire life.

  You’re an orphan now, Rebecca, and nothing can be done about it.

  It’s too bad your doll was stolen, but it’s gone. Nothing can be done about it.

  I’m sorry you don’t have money to go to the kolegio, but you can’t go unless you do. That’s just the way it is. Nothing can be done about it.

  Astrid sat, shoulders slumped, drawing in the silt with her finger. Becca’s green eyes narrowed as she watched her. Astrid had magic inside her—dormant, maybe—but it was there. Becca was sure of it. She could see it sparking in the merl’s intense ice-blue eyes. She could feel it in her sure, powerful movements. The question was how to get it out of her.

  Becca immediately went into problem-solving mode, as she always did when confronted with a challenge. An idea started to form in her mind. Becca was an expert at coming up with strategies. Life was often messy and unpredictable, but a good plan could make it neat and or
derly. She would need a few things to carry out this particular plan: a length of bamboo or some sort of water reed. Better yet, whalebone. Some pretty shells, too.

  Becca was not only good at making things, she was good at making things better. Life in foster homes had taught her that if she waited for someone else to make things better, she’d be waiting a very long time.

  “Hey, we’d better get going,” Becca said. “Sitting here all day isn’t going to get us home.”

  Astrid raised an eyebrow. “That was sudden,” she said.

  “Yeah, well. I, um, just realized…that we probably shouldn’t hang out here all day,” Becca said. “You know, death riders and all.”

  She rose and grabbed her travel case. Astrid slung her backpack over her shoulder. As they swam out of the cave, Becca spotted something glinting from the seafloor, half in and half out of the silt. She bent down to pick it up.

  “What is it?” Astrid asked.

  “A piece of sea glass,” Becca replied, showing her her find. It was cobalt blue, polished by sand and surf to a milky opaqueness. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Dreaming up a new shade for your Whirlpearl Glitterbombs?” Astrid teased, referring to the line of songpearl cosmetics Becca had mentioned on their way to the Iele’s caves.

  “No, I just like bright, shiny things,” Becca said airily. “They inspire me, you know? You never know where your next big idea will come from.”

  “For an eyeshadow,” Astrid said. “Or a lipstick.”

  “Or something that just might save the world,” Becca said, pocketing the sea glass.

  Astrid laughed.

  Becca didn’t.

  “GET UP!” the death rider shouted, slapping an elderly merman with his powerful tail fins.

  A dozen soldiers—spearguns drawn—had swum into the Bedrieër’s hold. They were herding frightened prisoners out of the ship’s containment area and into the water lock.

  Ling rose in the water, straining against her chain, trying to see what was happening. She glimpsed a large cage. Prisoners were being forced into it. When the cage was full, a hatch was opened and the cage was lowered into a chamber underneath the ship’s hull.