The Tree of Water

  The statue of the woman had its eyes closed, unlike the others he could see in the halo of light. The figurehead had been damaged, as if it had been in a great fire or explosion, but was still intact enough for Ven to tell that it had once been of a dark-haired woman in what had been a flowing blue gown. She was smiling, her arms stretched out behind her, with watery-looking wings dripping from them. The statue looked as if she had once been enjoying the sun and the wind on her face.

  Then, in a sickening rush of memory, he recalled where he had seen her before.

  It was on the morning of his last birthday, the day of his first Inspection. He had admired her from the pier. He was watching Old Max, his father’s master painter, apply the finishing touches to her, just before he painted the name of the ship on the bow above her. The name of a ship was a secret before it was officially launched, but as a special treat, Max had allowed him to look at the oilcloth from which he was copying that name, not knowing what it was himself, because Max couldn’t read.

  Ven could almost hear his father’s voice in his head again, just as he had that morning.

  No one hears a ship’s name until she is christened. It’s bad luck.

  And now, the figurehead of that ship was here, lying on the ocean floor in the dark Realm of Twilight.

  Beautifully maintained.

  Carefully collected.

  Along with hundreds of others.

  In the cold depths of the black water, the enormity of their situation was beginning to dawn on him.

  “By the Blowhole,” he whispered. He had no idea what the expression meant, but every sailor or merrow he had ever met had used it when they sensed trouble.

  And trouble was looming from all around them.

  “Char—do you know what this is?”

  His best friend was ghostly pale. He could only nod.

  Ven replied to his own question.

  “We’ve stumbled into a sea dragon’s lair.”

  All around them, like a great clap of evil thunder, the drift itself seemed to answer them. There was an acid in the thrum that stung the insides of Ven’s ears and head.

  Indeed you have. How unfortunate for you.

  Then, like a giant fireball a thousand times brighter and hotter than the explosion that had blown up his father’s ship and that of the Fire Pirates attacking it, the sea lit up around them.

  Blinding them.

  31

  Lancel

  “Please,” Ven thought desperately at the dragon. “If you’re going to blast me, please spare my friends. The merrow is unconscious, and had no idea we were bringing her here. If she had, she would never have allowed it. Cor—I mean, the sea Lirin and the human were forced to come along. And the hippocampus as well. Please don’t flame them.”

  Don’t be ridiculous, the hideous thrum-voice answered. It sounded sickly amused. It was so powerful that it shook the drift around them. The hippocampus, like all of his kind, is a distant cousin of mine, and feeling ill. I would never harm a relative in his condition. The rest of you are another matter, however. You are trespassers, interlopers. Kindly move away from the hippocampus, please.

  Trembling, the three boys started to swim away from the reef of treasure.

  Teel’s round eyes rolled nervously, and he shook his head. He swam after Ven, dragging Amariel, still curled in the spiral of his tail, with him.

  Teel. The thrum-voice was disapproving, and it rattled the inside of Ven’s skull. You know better than that. Don’t get in the way.

  Ven stopped in the drift. “You know the hippocampus’s name?”

  I know your name too, Ven, you fool. The thrum of the wicked voice felt proud, as if it were bragging. Each of your names has been spoken in my realm—so I have them all.

  “Wonderful,” muttered Coreon.

  That’s not a bad thing, Coreon. It’s so impersonal to be devoured by a stranger. Now, move aside, Teel.

  “With due respect, we don’t know your name,” said Ven. “That makes you a stranger still.”

  Good point. A massive wave of sand rolled up from the ocean floor, blasting between the ship bones and adding sting to the underwater light that was blinding their eyes.

  Behind the wave of sand an enormous head emerged, dwarfing the massive broken ships. It was serpentine in nature, with powerful jaws from which gleaming, sword-like teeth protruded. Its hide was green black, and its eyes burned with a light as intensely blue as the one from the stones of elemental air. Kelp-like structures hung between its teeth and from the pointed horns on its head, and it seemed to slither as it rose from the ocean floor, until it towered in the drift high above them. Its eyes cast a cold blue light over them all.

  “I am Lancel,” the beast said proudly. “It is a name feared throughout the Deep, which you would discover if you weren’t about to be eaten. And I hope you all feel suitably honored. While I have feasted on many humans, merrow, and Lirin-mer in my time, you are the first son of Earth that has had the privilege of being my supper. Congratulations. Now, Teel, drop the merrow and get out of the way.”

  “That seems a waste,” Ven said, thinking as quickly as he could in the heavy pressure of the Deep. His brain was struggling with a memory, and he could feel it rising to the surface, but it was still not within his recollection yet. “I thought dragons were curious to know everything about the world. Do you not want to at least see if there is something I might know that you do not?”

  A blast of acid smoke rolled forth from the beast’s nostrils. The boys and Teel darted out of the way just as the sand beneath them exploded in fire that burned bright as daylight, even in the depths of the sea.

  “Arrogant boy. You have nothing that interests me,” the beast replied haughtily. “I am the keeper of the secrets of the Deep. In my collection are more than a thousand human ships, each of them full of the stories, songs, dreams, and fears of the men who sailed them—it’s a library of the greatest information ever to pass from continent to continent in the upworld. I know the names of each and every one of those ships. What could you possibly know that I do not already know, or have that I do not already own the story of?” The searing blue eyes turned on Char, making him tremble violently. “You do not even know your own name, human. What do you think you could possibly tell me that has any value to me?”

  * * *

  I looked at Char.

  He was already white in the bright glare that had lit up the sea when the dragon appeared.

  But now he was almost colorless.

  All the pressure of the salt water had made my brain slow. I had forgotten until that moment what I had known almost as long as I had known Char himself—that he was an orphan, a child with no past, not even the memory of his real name.

  Once, within the Gated City, in a place called the Stolen Alleyway, a sweet-voiced woman had offered him the chance to see a memory of his childhood in exchange for a gold coin. Char had not been able to explain to us what exactly he had gotten in return for his money, but it was more important to him than anything. The name Char was a joking one, a reference to his tendency to burn the food he cooked. It had been given to him when he was little more than a baby by sailors who knew him as a fellow member of the crew, a cook’s mate, but who had no idea where he had come from. He believed that someone had really named him once, long ago, but he had no idea what that name had been.

  So in mentioning his lack of one now, I knew the dragon was speaking to his deepest and ugliest fear.

  And I finally understood what it meant to have power over someone by having possession of his name.

  Because at that moment, if Lancel had told Char’s heart to stop beating, it would have.

  * * *

  Ven.

  A tickle of thrum vibrated on his forehead, almost too weak to have noticed.

  But Ven recognized it immediately.

  Amariel? He turned to the shaking sea horse. Neither of the other boys appeared to have heard it. The merrow remained broken and motionless in the
curl of Teel’s tail.

  You’ve—forgotten. The words formed with painful slowness in his head. Don’t—forget.

  What? Ven asked as quietly as he could. What have I forgotten?

  The thrum seemed to puff against his brain like the tiny seeds of a dandelion caught by the wind, then dissolved in the vastness of the sea.

  Black—Ivory.

  It took a long moment for Ven to catch the words in the drift. Then his head began to burn, not with curiosity, but with memory.

  The scale, he thought. The scale!

  The reason he had thought to seek out a sea dragon in the first place.

  Lancel was growing impatient with the hippocampus, who was hovering as close as he could to Ven and Char.

  “For badness’ sake, Teel, get out of the way,” he demanded. “You are not an actual dragon, you know. Sparing you is my custom and a courtesy, not a requirement. We may be distantly related, but that won’t keep even you safe if you continue to defy me. Family connections never win out over supper. Now, last chance. Move, or you’ll be the salad course of my meal.”

  The blue-green hippocampus stopped shaking. He hung in the drift, motionless. A little of his color drained from his hide, but otherwise he did not move.

  The great beast sighed. More steam rushed forth out of his nose, making them scurry out of the way again.

  “Very well,” Lancel said. “Hold still, please. I like it when my food is evenly done. And a nice, crispy skin is a rare delicacy in the Deep.”

  Ven was fumbling around in his pocket. He ran his finger over the sharp edge of the dragon scale in the Black Ivory sleeve.

  “Wait one moment, if you please,” he thought desperately. “I believe you will want to see this.”

  “I doubt it.” The sea dragon inhaled, sucking a great deal of the drift in as he did.

  Ven struggled to remain upright and to hold on to the Black Ivory sleeve as his feet, like those of Coreon and Char, were pulled forward in the drift.

  With shaking hands, he pulled out the scale on which the image and runes of Frothta had been inscribed.

  The card from Madame Sharra’s deck glowed with an eerie light similar to that of the stone of elemental air.

  Only golden.

  The sea dragon stopped. He held his breath.

  “I’ve come all this way to return this to you,” Ven said.

  Lancel turned his head to the side. “Hold it up so I can see it better,” he said.

  Ven held the scale aloft, his fingers clenched tightly.

  The beast’s blazing blue eyes narrowed. He stared at the ancient dragon scale while the boys held their breath.

  Then he chuckled.

  It was an ugly laugh, a laugh that rumbled through the sea, shaking the ships in his collection until the sails and flags on their masts flapped as if in a high wind and causing the ships’ wheels to spin violently.

  “You think that interests me?” he said, a nasty note creeping into his thrum. “A fortune teller’s scale? I gave one just like it to your ancestors ages ago. There are five of them in my collection, rescued from the sea into which they had fallen. I have no need of that. It’s like, well, like the clipping from one of your toenails, Son of Earth.”

  Ven could only remain frozen, his hand aloft in the drift, stunned.

  “Well, this has all been very amusing, but my stomach is growling,” the dragon said. “If it’s of any comfort to you, Ven, your race would be glad to know that you ended your days as fuel for the fire gems in my belly. Your life would not have been a total waste, at least in the eyes of the Nain, if they knew what had happened to you. Your friends, on the other hand, will disappear into the ashes, and no one will remember their names—especially you, Char. It’s ironic that what you were called in life describes your death perfectly. Farewell.”

  The drift shook as he inhaled again.

  Ven’s eyes darted about as he tried desperately to pry loose the memory that had been looming near the edge of his consciousness.

  Finally, just as the dragon reared back, it was there.

  “Wait!” he shouted. “Wait! I do know something you don’t—something about your collection. And I’m the only person in the whole world who knows it!”

  32

  A Risky Negotiation

  The sea dragon drew himself up to an even greater height. His horned head was crowned in the darkness of the Twilight Realm above him.

  “That’s a lie,” he said, but his tone was uncertain, as if he could feel the truth in Ven’s thrum. “I know the name of every ship, and have counted every coin, every shiny pebble in my hoard. It’s my life’s work. To suggest you know anything about it that I do not is insulting. I think I will eat you raw instead of roasting you first.”

  “You know I am telling the truth, because you have my name,” Ven said. He was guessing, but something in the dragon’s eyes made him believe he was right. “You can feel the truth in my thrum, or you would not have stopped your fiery breath. You know I do not lie, and it worries you. It should worry you, because if you kill me, you will never know what I know.”

  “And what is it you claim to know?”

  Ven pointed at the row of figureheads, to the bruised statue of the smiling woman with the dark hair and the flowing blue sleeves.

  “I know her name,” he said.

  The dragon smirked.

  “She has no name,” he said. “She is like your friend Char in that regard, unnamed. Everything in my hoard speaks to me—and when I asked her name, she did not know it. It was sad.”

  “That’s because her ship was never christened,” Ven continued. “It was being inspected when Fire Pirates attacked, and then, well, I did something foolish to drive them away, and blew up their ship, and hers, in the process.” He could feel the dragon’s eyes upon him, and it made him shiver. “But I know what the ship was to be named—I even carved the name into a piece of driftwood from the wreck before it sank. But she has a name, even if she doesn’t know it. And if you kill me, well, I will take the knowledge of that name with me. So you will never completely own your collection, because there will be one small piece that I had, that you never will.”

  The eyes in the head atop the towering green-black neck gleamed at him for a moment, considering. Then the neck descended, swinging the immense head down until it was directly in front of Ven.

  “All right,” Lancel said quietly, but with deadly threat. “I’ll bite. What is it?”

  The smell of acrid smoke filled Ven’s lungs, making them burn. Though it took every ounce of his courage, he managed to shake his head.

  “With respect. Lancel, I have a friend who is a dragon, and though you may think me a fool, I know at least a little bit of dragons’ ways. I need to have your word that you agree to my terms first.”

  The glowing eyes glared at him, the brightness making his own sting with pain.

  “What are your terms?” the dragon asked. Each word had a bite to it.

  Ven steadied himself. He looked at the vast hoard of treasure and broken ships rotting quietly on the ocean floor. It seemed to stretch on for miles. Keep your head about you, he thought to himself. “Well, first, obviously, you need to agree to grant us safe passage out of your realm.”

  “That’s easy enough,” said Lancel. His thrum was smooth and agreeable. “Tell me her name.”

  Ven shook his head.

  “Not yet. I know how dragons can twist words to mean what they want them to mean. So it would have to be more than just a casual agreement, but an ironclad oath to the Earth that you will never do anything to harm me and these friends of mine—including the hippocampus—in any way, ever. I need to be sure you are agreeing to let us go and never try to take revenge on us in the future—which to a dragon can mean a heartbeat after you have what you want.”

  The dragon’s eyes narrowed to glowing slits.

  “Don’t toy with me,” the beast said. The threat in the pounding thrum was unmistakable.

  “B
elieve me, I’m not,” said Ven. “I just want to make certain we have a clear understanding.”

  “Hmm. In that case, how’s this?”

  The drift around them swirled violently as an immense claw, a talon as black as the sea had been, swept out from behind the reef of ship bones and, before any of them could breathe, pinned Char to the sandy bottom of the sea by the throat.

  “Let me be clear, Ven,” said Lancel. “You will tell me the name, or you will watch your unnamed friend be run through with my talon and bleed to death before your next breath. Is that clear enough?”

  Ven exhaled, willing himself to be calm.

  * * *

  On board the Serelinda, the sailors are always busy by day. There is a shift that is busy all night as well. But when the wind dies down for a while and there is little to do, they often turn to games of cards.

  There is one game in particular that they like to play, a game called by many inappropriate names, but Char and I call it Malarkey, a human word for nonsense. It’s a game where the players do not show their cards until the end, but tell the other players what they have in their hands—sometimes it’s true, sometimes it’s not, but you have to be able to bluff convincingly when you’re not holding many good cards.

  I’d say at this moment I am only holding one.

  * * *

  “That’s malarkey,” Ven said. His thrum was steady. “If I tell you without your oath, he’s dead anyway, as we all are. Do you want to hear the rest of my terms?”

  From beneath the sea dragon’s enormous talon, Char shuddered but said nothing.

  The cold eyes stared at him in silence. Then, finally, the beast spoke again.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want you to answer three questions, truthfully and completely. They will not compromise your power, or harm you in any way. Since dragons know things no one else does, I don’t want to miss this chance to satisfy my curiosity.”

  The sea was filled with a harsh, chuckling thrum.