The Tree of Water

  “I will,” Ven said. “Do you know if Frothta, the Tree of Water, is still alive, and if so, where it may be?”

  The Sea King shook his head.

  “I have always been told that it is a myth,” he said. “And if the sea had a real king, instead of just one for the duration of a festival, perhaps he would know the answer. But I do not. I do know, however, where you could find the answer.”

  “Where?”

  The expression on the king’s face grew solemn.

  “The only beings that know anything about Old Magic, those things that are from the Before-Time, are the ones that were alive during those days, or their descendants,” he said. “That means if you want to know what happened to Frothta, you need to find a dragon to ask.”

  “How did I know you were gonna say that?” Char asked. He looked pleadingly at Ven.

  Amariel turned and looked at him also. Ven felt like the water around him was suddenly in danger of freezing.

  “Is there no one else who might know, Your Majesty?”

  The king shrugged.

  “Dragons really are the ones to ask about ancient magic from the Before-Time, because they are the only ones still left from that time. Well, there are others, like the Mythlin, but they are even harder to find.”

  Ven avoided both Char’s and Amariel’s threatening glances.

  “And—do you know where a dragon might be, Your Majesty?”

  The Sea King inhaled, his gills moving stiffly.

  “I do. And I suggest you stay far from that place. You would need to leave the Sunlit Realm to find him, anyway, because he lives at the edge of Twilight.”

  Ven looked at the merrow, whose face was stony.

  “What does that mean, sire?”

  The Sea King waved his hand in the sunwater. A hazy picture appeared, a map of the ocean, with layers of depth marked on it.

  “All natural sea life exists here, at depths that do not go below one hundred fathoms, in the Sunlit Realm,” he said. “It is only above one hundred fathoms that the light can naturally reach, where plants can grow. The beast that you seek lives here, in the place known as the Twilight Realm. It is a place of mystery and almost total darkness. The creatures that live there often carry their own lights in order to find their way about in the dark. An evil place, to be certain, but not as evil as that which lies even deeper.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Char said. “But I will anyway. What would that be, er, Your Majesty?”

  The Sea King smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression.

  “The vast majority of the sea is beyond the Twilight Realm, in the Realm of Midnight,” he said, pointing to the chart. “The weight of the water there is immense and terrible. There are ghosts in that world, lads, and spirits that walk the Deep. You would be well advised to keep far away from those lands. Even deeper lies the Abyss, where the cracks in the world’s skin give birth to volcanoes and islands of hot lava, even though the water is all but ice. And deepest still are the Trenches. There is life there, though nothing you would recognize as life. But you would have no way of getting there, no ability to survive there, and no way to see, so there’s no point in discussing it further.”

  “This dragon you mention,” said Amariel. “How big is it?”

  The Sea King shuddered. “Big as a mountain, it is said. He rules a terrible reef of death and broken dreams in the Realm of Twilight, not very far from this place.”

  “Are you sure? Because the last sea dragon I met looked like floating vegetables.”

  “He’s very nice,” said Coreon defensively. “And a lot smarter than you think.”

  “This dragon is no joke,” said the Sea King. “He could set the sea on fire if he chose to.”

  “Can you tell us where his lair is?” Ven asked.

  “So you can avoid it?”

  “Perhaps.” Ven didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to argue, either.

  The Sea King extended his hands. He put one palm on Coreon’s forehead, and the other on Ven’s.

  Ven closed his eyes.

  His whole skull began to vibrate with warmth a moment later. He could feel his brain dancing inside its cave of bone, filling with map pictures so quickly that he could not even make note of what they contained. But when the Sea King removed his hand, he was certain he could follow the maps to where the dragon’s lair lay.

  “I advise you again, steer clear,” the Sea King said. “All are welcome at the Summer Festival, even land-livers—we actually have had a few in storms past. But you are out of place in the sea, boys.”

  He looked particularly at Ven. “I know your head is on fire with curiosity, lad. I am told in the upworld curiosity is considered a good thing, a gift of a sort. But curiosity has no place in the sea. It is like a sickness to female merrows, as you may well know, something they often cannot overcome. And when a female’s desire to explore the human world becomes so great that she can no longer resist it, well, it is the ruin of her life.”

  “You can say that again,” Amariel muttered.

  “The greatest secret to surviving and living happily in the sea is to mind your own business,” the Sea King said. “That, and watch your back. I know you each had your reasons for coming here.” He looked at Coreon. “Yours is now successfully completed, Lirin-mer. After the Grand Derby is over, I will see to it that the Cormorant knows my will. The Summer Festival has a no-eating-the-other-guests rule for the duration of the festivities, but once Threshold is over, the law of the sea returns.”

  “Let me guess,” Char said. “‘Everythin’ in the sea is food to somethin’ else.’”

  “And the sea is always hungry,” Amariel finished.

  “Exactly. I can arrange escort for you back to the coral reef, but after that you are on your own. I suggest you go home, remember what you learned here, and forget what you were lucky enough to avoid.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ven replied.

  Just as the king had finished, one of the hippocampus reeve’s men arrived behind Amariel. He slipped a bridle around the head of the blue-green hippocampus.

  “Wait!” she protested as he began to lead the beast away. “Where are you taking him?”

  “To the kelp pens,” the male merrow answered. “Where they all go.”

  “Why?” Amariel said as she followed him. “Isn’t he mine now?”

  “No,” said the male merrow, swimming away. “He and his like will be assessed by the reeve, and the reeve will decide which to keep for the next Festival. The rest, well, since many of them are barely fit to swim, will be divided up, some of them for work, some for food.”

  “Food? No!” Amariel swam after him.

  “Thank you again,” Ven said quickly to the king as a group of male merrows appeared, wearing the reeve’s uniforms, leading a squad of glossy hippocampi in glorious racing colors to the starting gate. “Enjoy the race, and the rest of your reign. And please don’t forget to send that message to the Cormorant.”

  “I won’t,” said the king. “Good seas to you.”

  The boys turned and swam as fast as they could to catch up with Amariel. She was following the reeve’s man, nagging him all the way, until he finally stopped in the drift.

  “Be on your way,” he said sternly. “The Grand Derby is about to start.”

  He swam away with the blue-green hippocampus.

  “Don’t worry, Amariel,” Ven said comfortingly. “I’m sure he will find a nice owner.”

  “What do you know, Ven?” The merrow looked like she was ready to cry. “He was pathetic, but he was mine. And if they are judging them by their potential as racing hippocampi, he’s sure to end up as seafood.”

  A blast of the shell-horn vibrated through the drift.

  “Attention, all riders to the gate,” the thrum-voice announced.

  “Come on, Amariel,” Coreon said. “Let’s get back to the racetrack. You don’t want to miss the start of the Grand Derby, especially after all you’ve been through to ge
t here.”

  “I couldn’t care less about the Grand Derby now,” said the merrow sadly. “I don’t want to see it.”

  The boys looked at each other.

  “You don’t?” Ven asked. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been surer,” the merrow said.

  “Do ya wanna go back to Kingston, then?” asked Char hopefully.

  “Yes. But first I want to go find the kelp pens and say goodbye to my hippocampus. His name is Teel, by the way. He told me while we were in the Roundup race.”

  “All right, if you want to,” said Ven. “I think I saw where the reeve’s man went.”

  They followed the male merrow’s trail away from the racetrack to a far part of the Festival grounds where a small kelp forest stood. Inside the waving towers of seaweed, the raggedy losers from the Roundup race were floating, tethered to kelp trees with strong seaweed vines.

  The blue-green hippocampus was in a small pen at the end, looking forlorn.

  “Poor Teel!” said the merrow, swimming quickly over to him. She threw her arms around his neck. “Look how sad he is.”

  “He doesn’t look like he feels well, Amariel,” said Coreon. “Maybe he’s sick.”

  “I’d be sick if I ran the race he did,” said Char.

  In the distance, the shell-horn blasted, and the thrum-voice started the Derby.

  “And they’re off!”

  A huge roar of thrum rose from the crowd, echoing through the drift.

  The sky above seemed to grow a little darker, and Ven could see rain begin to dance on the surface high above.

  “Don’t worry,” said Amariel to the dejected hippocampus. “When the Derby is over, I’ll speak to the queen. She likes me—I gave her a human gift. I bet she’ll let me have you.”

  The eyes on each side of the hippocampus’s head rolled to look at her, then rolled back again.

  The thrum of the massive crowd was so strong now that it shook the ocean floor. Far as they were from the racetrack, Ven could almost tell when the racing hippocampi rounded the first turn, just by the sound of the crowd.

  Then it changed.

  The thrum grew louder, and flatter, as if the excitement had been stripped from it.

  “What’s that?” Coreon asked. “What’s going on?”

  “What?” Char demanded. “I don’t hear anythin’.”

  Ven tried to clear his mind to concentrate on the change in the thrum. At first all he heard was pounding noise.

  Then, an instant later, a word became clearer.

  Storm.

  Storm storm storm storm storm.

  Suddenly, the drift turned gray and dark as the sky above the surface went black.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Char looked around the kelp pens at the hippocampi. The giant sea horses were panicking, bucking and kicking within their tethers, whining in fear.

  “I—I don’t know,” Ven stammered. “I can’t believe a thunderstorm is scaring the hippocampi this much. Usually it only makes waves near the surface. Down this far, they should barely feel it.”

  The thrum from the Festival grounds had also changed. It was higher, louder.

  More terrified.

  And Ven caught the word it was repeating over and over. It was a word he had only heard once before, in the dark of night, on board the Serelinda, when the sailors told tales of storms at sea, and the shipwrecks that followed them. It was a word that was only spoken in a hushed whisper, or in prayer.

  Or, below the surface, in a scream.

  Waterspout!

  29

  The Waterspout

  * * *

  At first, there was nothing more than rain on the surface of the ocean and black clouds rolling above, something we had seen with each rainstorm since we came into the Deep.

  Then, as we watched, a circular, light-colored disk appeared on the surface above us, surrounded by a large dark area that looked like a giant ink stain in the sea. The dark spot seemed to stretch into a pattern of light- and dark-colored spiral bands, a little like a giant pinwheel.

  Below the surface, the drift began to churn violently.

  A rumble went through the ocean.

  * * *

  “By the Blowhole,” Amariel whispered.

  In a twinkling, the entire population of the Summer Festival streamed out of the Festival grounds and vanished into the drift, swimming for their lives. The sleek Grand Derby hippocampi and their riders split apart from the racetrack and streaked off in many different directions, while the sea Lirin and other merfolk dove deeper, speeding away from the spinning circle above them.

  Ven and the others watched, stunned, as a dense column of sea spray began to rise from the water, sucking upward into a thin, enormously tall funnel.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” Coreon shouted. “The winds above are like a tornado—we’ll get sucked up into the waterspout if we’re anywhere near it.”

  Amariel grabbed for the blue-green hippocampus as she began being pulled by the churning water up toward the surface.

  “We’ve got to get them loose!” she shouted through her flying hair, which was flapping all around her in the water. “They’re tied up—they don’t stand a chance!”

  Char was already working at the kelp-rope knots.

  “No good,” he said, his fingers desperately pulling at the tangle. “They don’ use regular sailor’s knots. I have no idea how to untie this.”

  Ven patted around in his vest pocket. He could feel the jack-rule of his great-grandfather, Magnus Polypheme, beneath the fabric, and the round bubble of elemental air beside it. I hope it doesn’t slip out in the churning of the water, he thought as he unbuttoned the pocket. Well, I guess if it does I can undo that moment with the Time Scissors. That would be a good use of the power.

  He slid the prized tool into his palm and rebuttoned the vest, then opened the knife, remembering the way it had felt the first time his father had put it into his hand.

  It was the last time he had seen his father.

  Magnus was the youngest in his family, you know, Pepin Polypheme had said. As was my da, as am I. So it’s only right that his jack-rule go to you now, Ven. The youngest may be at the end of the line for everything from shoes to supper, but often we are at the head of it for curiosity and common sense. Use it well—it was calibrated precisely to the Great Dial in the Nain kingdom of Castenen, and so it will always measure truer than any other instrument could. It also contains a small knife, a glass that both magnifies and sees afar, and a few other surprises—you will just have to discover those for yourself. Happy birthday, son.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ven whispered, just as he had on his birthday.

  Quickly he opened the knife.

  “Hold the tether taut,” he said to Amariel. She pulled the seaweed rope as tight as she could, and Ven began sawing through it with his knife.

  The waterspout now towered above them in the center of black storm clouds. Below the surface, the sea was spinning madly. The coral throne stand ripped from its coral bed and hurtled through the drift, narrowly missing the kelp pens. The beautiful thrones tumbled past, breaking into smaller and smaller pieces as they went by.

  With a snap, Teel’s tether broke free.

  “He’s loose!” Amariel cried. “Thank you!”

  “Let’s get the others,” Ven said to Coreon and Char. “Amariel, hold on to Teel. Now that he’s no longer tied, he may go flying.”

  “Or you may.” Char pulled another kelp rope straight. “If you cut this one, Ven, I think it’ll turn all the others loose—they’re tied together.”

  A strong underwater wave blasted over them, pulling them up toward the surface. Ven struggled not to drop the jack-rule as he was dragged toward the rising funnel. The wave rolled over completely, returning them to the bottom as it made a full spiral.

  “That’ll happen again—hurry up!” Coreon was trying to turn the wild hippocampi right side up again as they flailed around, helpless in the boiling foam. br />
  The seat of the Sea King’s throne suddenly shot up toward the surface and into the black air above, sucked up into the waterspout. The giant water tornado began moving east, tearing the ocean floor up below it as it went, filling the drift with blinding sand.

  Ven felt the seaweed snap beneath his hands as the tether broke free.

  “Quick—get on and ride as fast as you can,” he thought to the others. “Ride west if you can, away from the funnel.” He grabbed Amariel’s hand. “Hold on to me. I’m not sure Teel is going to be fast enough.”

  “We’ll just have to help him, then,” she thought back at him.

  Char pulled himself awkwardly up onto the orange hippocampus with the sunflower mane, while Coreon mounted the blue one with black spots. Ven climbed on the yellow and gray sea horse that had stopped for lunch in the middle of the race.

  “Go on,” he thought to the other hippocampi. “Save yourselves.”

  Then he wrapped one arm clumsily around the neck of the yellow hippocampus.

  “Get us out of here,” he said. The thought burned in his head.

  The sea creatures obeyed, dashing off to the west, then veering into several different directions.

  Another undersea wave swept past, spinning the mounts around.

  Ven lost his grip on the merrow’s hand as he and his mount were swung around in a fast circle.

  Amariel, on Teel, looked over Ven’s shoulder and gasped.

  Ven turned.

  The waterspout was coming, ripping up the ocean floor as it approached. A swirling wall of black water swept across what was left of the Festival grounds, driving debris in front of it.

  Heading straight for them.

  “Go!” Ven shouted in his head. “Keep going! Go!”

  Char’s orange hippocampus, along with Coreon’s blue sea horse and the yellow one Ven was riding, tore off toward the west, swimming as fast as they could. Only Amariel’s mount lagged behind, puffing and panting, struggling to keep up. Ven kept squeezing the yellow sea horse’s neck, trying not to get too far ahead of the merrow and her blue-green friend, but it was no use.

  Over his shoulder he could see her falling farther and farther behind.