If they’re still here, that is.
“Ready when you are,” Galen tells his sister.
At this, Rayna opens her big fat mouth and screams. The result is instantaneous and huge. It looks like a wall of sound rushing away from them toward the shallow water. Galen swims faster, clutching his sister in his arms. Together, with the combination of speed and sound, they make their way around the island, producing baby-sized waves at first. When they gain momentum, the waves get bigger, travel faster, and pull some of the shallow water into the deep. I wasn’t there to see Triton destroy Tartessos all those years ago. These waves cannot possibly be as big as Triton’s were. I can only imagine what it would be like to stand on shore and see literal waves of destruction speeding toward you.
It would be incredible. And excessively scary.
Once the waves get into a rhythm, smacking against shore and raising the sea level, it’s time for my Gift to come into play. I circle the island, making a larger ring than Galen and Rayna had made, to stay outside their range of destruction. Thankfully, the waters surrounding Kanton are a seafood buffet waiting to happen. I can definitely see why commercial fishermen would risk their licenses or arrest to get in on this. I find dolphins, whales, sharks, eels, and gigantic tuna. As I pass, I gather the larger fish to my forces. The smaller ones I send out to recruit more help, including some dolphins, since they are best at communicating with one another, and can bring friends in quickly.
“Come with me,” I tell them, just like I did when I gathered my army on the way to the Boundary. “Stay close to shore and watch for humans,” I keep repeating. “When the land becomes water, help the humans stay at the surface.”
Gradually, the deep becomes the shallow and the shallow the deep, as the waves pummel the island. Galen and Rayna keep passing by me in a blur. Soon enough, there is no shore. There is no island. And I begin to see human legs strike the water.
“Go, go, go!” I tell my fish friends. “Guide them to the colorful things floating at the surface.”
At first there are not many. It occurs to me that we could be on the wrong side of the island. I instruct the Trackers to split up, and gauge the need on the opposite side. We find the most humans on the north side, a bit more inland than I’d thought. The Trackers and I supplement the efforts of the dolphins and sharks.
I realize belatedly that sending sharks to the aid of humans is a stupid idea. When one of the men tries to kick a tiger shark in the eye—and how could I blame him?—I tell the sharks to retreat. They’ve done all they can do, and I won’t let them be abused for their efforts.
After a few more minutes, I see a small, chubby pair of legs struggling nearby. The owner of the legs can’t be older than a toddler. I scoop him up and keep him at the surface. He’s adorable really, with rounded cheeks and a snotty nose and brown eyes with lashes that would make a supermodel jealous. Close to us, a woman who I assume is his mother is crying frantically and calling out to the empty waves around her. I swim him over to her and deliver the little guy into her arms. “He swallowed a good part of the ocean, but otherwise he’ll be fine,” I tell her, knowing that she doesn’t understand.
She clutches him to her and trembles. I swim two life jackets over to her and help her strap them on to her and the baby boy. She nods, and despite the language barrier, I can tell that she’s thanking me. Which makes me feel like zoo dirt, since I helped put her and her child in this predicament. If she knew that, she would probably be trying to choke the life from me. And I would probably let her.
Rachel and I didn’t anticipate any children here. We were under the impression it was strictly a government facility. After all, an island isolated from the rest of the world isn’t a safe place to bring your family, right? But what if we underestimated the population? What if there are more children? If any of them die, or even get injured, I’m going to hate myself. I should have thought this through better. Panic begins to settle in.
I dive under and try not to think about it, try to convince myself we’re still doing the right thing. I pull Kana aside. “How are we doing? Any sign of Jagen or Musa? Are all the humans okay?”
That’s when I realize that there aren’t just Trackers around us. There are other Syrena, too. A dozen, at least. I watch in awe as they swim to the surface, find themselves a human, and keep them afloat. For every human, there is at least two watchful Syrena here to help. And there are no more pairs of stubby toddler legs.
My conscience feels rinsed with relief. I cover my mouth to stifle the overwhelming urge to bawl my eyes out.
Kana clasps my shoulder, smiling kindly. “It is not in our nature to harm humans,” she explains. “We are respectful of all life, no matter to whom the life belongs. You have proven to us that you feel the same. We will help you, Emma the Half-Breed.”
The number of Syrena swells beyond one hundred. We all surround the island, which is now about ten feet under water, taking turns holding humans up. Most of the humans can swim, but some of the men have on heavy boots and we have to fight with them to remove them. But a lost boot is a good trade for a saved life; some of the men see our logic, others don’t.
When I’m starting to feel overconfident about our position, I take a sudden kick to the back. Which is completely my fault; I wasn’t watching where I was going and got within swimming distance of a human pair of legs. It’s much easier to keep your bearings when you can sense others around you. Humans don’t have that luxury.
Accident or not, it feels like I’ve been stabbed all over again. I cry out, and swim to the surface. Kana joins me. “You’re hurt?” she says.
Gritting my teeth, I nod. “It’s where Jagen speared me in the back.” I’m teetering on the verge of tears and I feel like such a wuss. Who am I to be crying when all these people just got displaced from their homes? No one. That’s who.
I wave Kana away. “Go. Help the humans. I’ll be fine.” And I will be. The pain subsides and I get back to work—more carefully this time. My movements are more delicate and precise now. I’m not unaware that the tape on my bandage has come loose, that blood has started seeping out of my freshly torn wound. I’m hoping the sharks I sent away care more about my instructions than they do about the stimulating scent lingering around me.
It sucks to be a klutz on land and a klutz in the water.
For all our hard work, there is still no sign of Jagen or Musa. Galen glides to my side. “We think they’re locked inside one of the buildings. Trackers can sense them, but we can’t see them. I’m going in to get them.”
“I’m coming, too.”
“No, you’re not. Jagen already tried to kill you once. I won’t be giving him a second opportunity. Besides, we need you out here to control the marine life.” Galen eyes the thin cloud of blood hovering around me like some creepy aura. Really, the blood itself is hardly visible. But I’m hyperaware of it because the water carries a faint metallic taste. I wonder how much stronger it is to Galen’s full Syrena senses. I can tell he’s reliving the moment I got stabbed.
He needs to snap out of it.
“I’ve already sent most of the fish away, what with the help of all the Syrena volunteers. The fish aren’t much of a factor to our mission anymore.” But I can tell by his clenched jaw and the hard look in his eyes that he’s not going to budge. I am staying behind. “Take others with you, then,” I say. “Jagen isn’t your best friend, either.”
“No, but I am,” Toraf says, swimming up to us. “What are we doing?” Mom and Grom follow close behind him. I guess this is a family affair after all.
Galen shifts his glare from me to Toraf. “We’re going inside the building to find Jagen and Musa. Do you sense them?”
Toraf nods. “I know exactly where they are. Follow me.”
Galen presses a quick kiss to my forehead then swims after Toraf. Mom slips behind me. “Your bandage is gone. Looks like your wound might have reopened a bit.”
I try to shrug casually, but wince at the shooting pa
in. Mom releases a sigh full of have-it-your-way. I ignore it and the tenderness in my back and the tension building in my shoulders as I watch Galen and Toraf and three other Trackers approach the submerged island.
For a government facility, the dwellings here are little more than white shacks with blinds. Which means they’ll probably have to rebuild everything. I make a mental note to have Rachel send them some relief supplies when this is over.
Rachel. Ohmysweetgoodness, where is Rachel?
22
TORAF CIRCLES the building, alert, wary, and something else Galen can’t quite place. “They’re both still in there,” Toraf says. By now, even Galen can sense the pulses of Jagen and Musa. Which means they’re still alive. So why haven’t they come out yet?
Woden, a Poseidon Tracker, slips up next to Galen. “It’s been very quiet in there since the flooding started.”
Toraf nods. “They can sense us as well as we can sense them. They know we’re here.” He turns to Galen. “What do you think?”
Galen scratches the back of his neck. “It’s a trap.”
Toraf rolls his eyes. “Oh, you think so?” He shakes his head. “I’m asking if you think Musa is in on it.”
Galen is not very familiar with Musa. He’s only talked to her a handful of times, and that was when he was very young. Still, out of all the Archives who seemed to support Jagen and his monumental act of treason, Musa’s face does not come to mind. “Would she be?”
Toraf shrugs. Woden scowls. “With much respect, Highness, Musa is an Archive. She will not forsake her vows to remain neutral.”
It takes all of Galen’s willpower to bite his tongue. Woden is still naive enough to believe that all the Archives are of a pure and unbiased mind. That they do not get tangled up in emotions such as greed, ambition, and envy. Did Woden attend the same tribunal I did?
Toraf slaps Woden on the back. “Then you don’t mind going first?”
The Poseidon Tracker visibly swallows. “Oh. Of course not. I’m happy to—”
“Oh, let’s get on with this,” Galen says, snatching the spear from Woden’s unsuspecting grasp. This seems to embarrass the young Tracker. Galen doesn’t have time for embarrassment.
“Yes, let’s,” Toraf says. “Before the humans get those disgusting wrinkles on their skin.” He nudges Woden. “It’s probably the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen lots of things.”
It’s the first time Galen realizes that Woden’s nervous demeanor and over-respectful attitude is not out of reverence for his own Royal status, but out of reverence for Toraf. It seems Toraf has a fan. And why wouldn’t he? He’s the best Tracker in the history of both territories. Any Tracker should feel humbled in his presence.
Galen is not any Tracker. He grunts. “Shut up, idiot. Get behind me.”
Toraf speeds ahead. “No, you get behind me, minnow.”
Despite their grand words, they creep to the door together. Toraf presses his ear against the crackled white paint. He signals to Galen that each pulse is on opposite sides of the building. If Musa really is in on a trap, this would be a good strategy. To come at them from both sides.
They wait several more seconds, listening for any small sound, any echo of movement inside. Toraf shakes his head.
Galen nods to Woden. The young Tracker rears back and throws his weight behind his shoulder as he rams into the door. It gives immediately.
Galen’s instinct is that Jagen made it too easy to enter. Not locking the door is practically an invitation. Sure, it’s unlikely Jagen would even have experience with using a human lock. But given the circumstances—that Jagen’s rescue is more of a capture and by now he probably knows it—Galen is sure he would have at least blocked the entrance. He isn’t foolish enough to flee; he obviously accepts that Galen would catch him within seconds. But that he’s desperate enough to stay, to take his chances with whoever comes through the door … Not good.
“Get down!” Galen yells. But Woden is already down.
So the harpoon meant for Woden hits Toraf instead. It catches his side and tears through it, almost turning him around in place. Jagen has planned well; he has obviously scavenged for as many weapons as he could find. The old harpoon gun is replaced by another one—and it’s aimed to strike Galen through the heart. The close range guarantees instant death.
That is, if Jagen had time to release it. Galen slams into him, the harpoon shooting with a pft into the thatch roof. Together, they crash into the back wall of the building as one mass. The wood creaks, flimsy against the blunt force. All around them the frame of the building moans, threatening to collapse on them. It has already taken a battering from the waves Galen and Rayna made. It won’t last much longer.
But Galen doesn’t care.
Jagen almost succeeds in wresting control of the harpoon, but Galen gives it a vicious twist and presses the rod to the traitor’s throat. If Jagen were human, it would cut off his air.
And Jagen’s age is already telling. Galen is able to hold the harpoon rod against him with one hand. With the other, he reaches for the human utility belt strapped around Jagen’s waist. Jagen squirms away, but Galen is able to grab the knife from its Velcro holster.
Jagen’s eyes go wide as oysters. “You wouldn’t. The law—”
“The law?” Galen snarls. “Now you want to hide behind the law? You must be joking.” Out of the corner of his eye, Galen catches a glimpse of a human man tied to a chair behind the desk. Long dead. Guilt picks at his conscience like scavengers on a carcass. Did the waves kill him? Or did Jagen? But he won’t—can’t—give Jagen the luxury of a second glance. The human is already dead. There is nothing he can do about it now. Except …
Galen raises the blade above him.
Jagen closes his eyes. His trembling body suddenly sags, the harpoon the only thing holding his chin up.
The knife comes down, swift and sure and angry. With decisive, fluid movements, the human belt is off Jagen’s waist, and tied around his wrists. The blade clinks to the floor with finality. If only it really were over. “If Toraf dies,” Galen growls, cinching the belt to a painful tight, “I swear I’ll drag your body to the Tomb Chamber myself.”
Jagen nearly crumbles with relief. He doesn’t deserve relief. He deserves to be afraid. He deserves to pay for all the pain he’s caused me and my family. Galen is startled from his fury by Grom’s pulse. His brother is on the other side of the room, helping Woden untie Musa from some netting. In all truthfulness, Galen had forgotten about her. He’d been so focused on Jagen and Toraf that—
“Toraf,” Galen blurts.
Grom nods. “He’ll be fine. Rayna is tending to him. Nalia said his organs weren’t hit, but he’s in and out of consciousness because he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s in good spirits.”
Of course he is. He’s probably in a state of glee right now, hoarding all of Rayna’s attention to himself. Galen almost cracks a grin, but something about Grom’s expression is not right. Securing the building is not the job of a Triton king. There are plenty of Trackers and hunters who can just as easily—and with less risk—help Musa from her bindings. Why is Grom here?
Galen swallows the bile as Woden tugs Jagen from his grasp. “Emma? Is she—”
Grom tucks his hands behind his back. “Emma is uninjured, Galen.” The delicate way he swims toward Galen. As if Galen is a bubble and Grom is a lionfish. The way his mouth pulls down, as if fishing weights were hooked to each corner, tugging his mouth into a grimace. The tortured way his eyes search Galen’s. As if he’s asking Galen to say the words so that he doesn’t have to.
“Tell me,” Galen says, breathless.
Grom clasps Galen on the shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Galen. We didn’t realize they brought her back to the island. We thought she was safe on the boat.”
“No,” Galen whispers, backing away from the stricken Triton king. “No.”
“We found her a few buildings over. The humans locked her i
n a room with bars. She couldn’t…”
Galen clenches his teeth. “Not Rachel. Not Rachel.” The room seems to cave in on him, or at least that’s how it feels. No, not the room. Not this insignificant room with its fragile, exhausted frame. The whole world. The whole world, with its life cycles and seasons and tides, is caving in. The whole world is pressing in on me. All of it. On my chest. So heavy.
“The boat was headed in the opposite direction. Away from the island. I saw it myself.”
Grom sighs. “It must have returned during all the confusion. Maybe they came back to help and didn’t know what to do with her?”
Galen nods, closing his eyes. He will probably never have the answer. He will never know how Rachel came to be imprisoned on the island while he and his sister flooded it. While he and his sister sent wave after wave to drown her.
He shoves his fist in his mouth and screams into it. Then he screams again. And again. Grom keeps his distance, his hands laced together in front of him, useless in so many ways. Galen stops, holds his own hands in front of them. He examines them, scrutinizes them. It’s not fair that I call Grom’s hands useless when these hands did nothing to save Rachel. They couldn’t even prevent Toraf from getting hurt. Or Emma.
“Don’t do that, little brother. Don’t blame yourself.”
Galen’s laugh is sharp, bitter. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”
Grom shakes his head almost indiscernibly.
“I saved her,” Galen says, nearly choking on the words. “From drowning. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Calling it ironic is like saying she was always meant to drown. Don’t read too much into it, Galen. Be kind to yourself.”
“What does that even mean, Grom? Do you even know? What, I should try not to think about her if the memory is too painful? Is that how you survived all these years without Nalia?” As soon as he says the words he wants to snatch them back, to hide them back in his heart, in his serrated heart where vicious things like that shouldn’t even exist. “I’m sorry, Grom. I—”