Hydra (10 page)

*

By the next afternoon, I’m starting to feel revived. Maybe not fly-another-two-thousand-miles sort of revived, but I can at least make it through a meal without falling asleep.

Ed is still concerned about our plans. I think part of his apprehension stems from a feeling of guilt that I’ve been carrying him. But he’s also focused on making sure I don’t overdo it. And maybe there’s something to that.

So I listen, open-minded, as he presents a possible plan.

“If ye can fly us to the Black Sea and put down in the water, we can switch places. I can swim with ye on my back. I’m a very fast swimmer.”

I can’t argue with that. I’d read up on the Loch Ness Monster in preparation for our vacation, so I’m familiar with the accounts of the speed at which the monster was said to swim—faster than the cars on the road, faster than boats with motors. And I was planning on flying across the Black Sea anyway. Ed’s plan won’t take us out of our way. In so many ways, his idea is brilliant, a perfect solution to the impediments that have stalled our progress. It would give me a chance to rest a bit, and even allow us an opportunity to travel by day, since we’ll be not nearly so visible in the vast sea as we’d be up in the wide open sky.

There’s just one problem.

“I’m afraid of deep water.”

Ed’s hand closes over mine, the look in his green eyes assuring me that he knows—that he’s thought of that, he remembers my trouble on Loch Ness, whose cold waters aren’t nearly as reminiscent of the Caspian Sea as its neighboring Black Sea will be. “I promise I’ll keep ye safe. Can ye trust me?”

Ed’s crazy. He’s a crazy old monster on a lunatic mission to save me from my own irrational fears.

And as my mother could probably attest, I am just insane enough to go along with him.

“It would save us a lot of time, and allow us to travel by day.” I acknowledge, not mentioning I’m reluctant to attempt another marathon flight so soon after the last one. The reasons I mentioned are enough on their own.

“It gives me a chance to share the work a bit, too.” Ed looks at me with pleading in his eyes, and I realize this is about more than just getting to the Caspian Sea in the next day or two. As he’d mentioned before, there’s no real hurry. If there’s something down there, we’re as likely to find it a week from now as we are tomorrow.

But there’s more at stake here, isn’t there? From the beginning, Ed’s mission has been two-fold: partly for him, and partly for me. For him, he wants to see these other sea creatures and learn if they’re anything like him. He’s been alone in this world for centuries. Being an oddball myself, I understand his desire to investigate.

But for me, he wants to find what attacked me so I don’t have to fear it any longer. Part of that goal—maybe a large part, I realize now—is about helping me to not be afraid anymore, regardless of what’s under the surface. Getting over that fear means going back in the water.

And this proposal is part of his plan to help me with that.

He’s still got hold of my hand, and I link my supple fingers through his gnarled digits. “Ed?” I give his hand a squeeze.

“Aye?”

“Remember how scared I was to get into the boat on Loch Ness?”

“Aye. But ye did it anyhow.”

“I’m going to be that scared again. Maybe even more scared. I might hold tight to your arm again, like I did before.”

“I can handle yer fear.” He grins suddenly, out of nowhere, in spite of the seriousness of our conversation. “I rather like it when ye hold tight to me.”

Blame it on the fact that I’m still a little groggy from sleep, but for the next little who-knows-how-long, I just sit there looking at Ed and thinking about how lovely his eyes are without the dusky contacts, and how nice he’s been to me, and what a pity it is he’s been all alone in the Scottish Highlands for so many centuries.

But after however many minutes of eye-gazing, something turns over among my jumbled thoughts and sticks out above the rest, demanding to be acknowledged. I’ve pushed this thought away before.

Ed can breathe fire.

The fact taunts me a bit longer while I consider its significance.

Ed is a hydra, a
sea
dragon.

But he can breathe fire.

I have assumed, from the moment I learned Ed is capable of changing into a scaled reptile, that the reptile he can change into is distinctly different from the kind of reptile I am. And because of that assumption, I’ve reached the very safe conclusion that there can’t be anything romantic between us.

But the way he’s grinning at me now, and the way I’m gazing back with my heart feeling light and hopeful in spite of the danger that awaits us, I realize that assumption has led me to become far more familiar with him than I would have otherwise.

That’s not a problem…so long as Ed’s a sea dragon, and I’m a regular old dragon, and those are two completely different things, the end.

But it occurs to me, in a dreadful sinking-feeling sort of way, like maybe I’ve gotten into far deeper water than I’d realized, that maybe Ed and I aren’t so different.

No sooner have I realized that, then I make up my mind, quite firmly, that I don’t want to know. We still have a long road ahead of us and I need to cling to Ed, and I can’t imagine doing that if he and I—

Nope.

Not going to think about it.

“Okay.” I agree, perhaps a little too breathlessly, as though I’ve just fought a battle which I’m still not sure I’ve won. “Let’s plan on that, then. Tonight I’ll fly us to the Black Sea. And when we get there, I’ll land on the water. You’ll turn into a hydra and I’ll turn back into a human, and you can take me to shore. We can fly tonight, float tomorrow, and then fly that last little bit the next night. That puts us two days behind schedule, but I won’t have to fly so hard or so fast, so I won’t sap my strength, or anything.” Which seems prudent since there’s every likelihood I might have to fight these water yagi creatures, if they do exist, which I believe they do. But I don’t mention that, either.

That much decided, I stand, partly because I’ve been sitting so much for the past day-and-a-half, so standing feels good for a change.

And partly because I’ve been spending a lot of time close to Ed, and it occurs to me that maybe I need to put a little space between us. This will be my only chance for a while, since we’ll be clinging to one another for the next day and a half.

“All right, then. Sounds good.” Ed agrees. He stands as well. I half expect him to question whether I’ve made up my mind too quickly, or if I know what I’m getting into, but he doesn’t. Instead he carries the bones from our meal out of the room.

I watch him go. He sounded as relieved to be done with the conversation as I felt.

Maybe these feelings between us are new and scary for him, too.

*

I’m no sooner in the air that night than I realize it’s a good thing Ed and I already made plans to land on the Black Sea, because the wind is against me, pushing me back, and I have to fight it hard to make any progress. It takes me several hours to complete the trip across Romania, and then to reach a point far enough out to sea that we won’t be seen by anyone on shore.

By then I’m feeling weak and trembly, even though the night is only half gone.

Fortunately I’m not as completely exhausted as I was when we landed two days ago. For one thing, I think that journey made me stronger, at least once I’d finally rested up from it. And for another, I simply haven’t been flying for as many non-stop hours as I did that night.

So though I’m weak and winded, I still have the strength to float on my back on my dragon-wings, so reminiscent of that night when I was attacked. I keep my tail up out of the water, telling myself repeatedly that this is the Black Sea, not the Caspian Sea. Ed is with me and will keep me safe, no matter what.

Perhaps it’s because I’m too tired to be terrified, or maybe it’s because I’ve stuck close to Ed in spite of my fear of my growing feelings, which has somehow made me stronger in the battle against my fears. Or maybe simply being near Ed is a comfort. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I manage to float on my back long enough for Ed to hand over the backpacks and his broadsword before he changes into a hydra.

I’ve only seen him in this form once before, and then only for a few seconds. And to be perfectly honest, I was so surprised by what he’d become that I didn’t pay much attention to the details.

But I realize now, as he floats in front of me all green and glowing in the darkness, that he is beautiful, too. It’s weird to think of him in those terms, because in human form he’s sort of misshapen and wild. But he is a beautiful sea serpent, or hydra, or whatever.

By this point I’m at my limit of floating without freaking out, so I clamber onto his back while still in dragon form, and I situate the backpacks on my back and secure Ed’s broadsword with the scabbard strap crossways over my chest so it won’t fall off, because if I lose hold of it in the Black Sea it’s going to sink like a rock and I am personally
not
going down after it.

And then I turn into a human being, which is a huge relief, and I slump across Ed’s shoulders and hold on as he starts to move through the water. At first, he doesn’t go very fast, maybe because he’s worried about my ability to hold on. Or possibly he’s trying to find some fish to catch, because after a while he dips his head down into the water and flings a brown trout back my way, which is particularly thoughtful of him because not only was I hungry, but trout are one of my most favorite kinds of fish. And if you’re familiar with the variety of fish that live in the Black Sea—sturgeons and scorpionfish and dogfish and lampreys—then you know he could have easily flung me a creepy breakfast instead.

So I cling to him with one arm and eat the fish with the other, and I don’t feel guilty about it because Ed catches some fish for himself, as well. And when I’m done with that fish he catches me two more, and then I sag against his neck to rest, and he swims a little faster, but not so fast that I lose my hug-like grasp around his shoulders.

Morning dawns while I’m holding on, mostly oblivious and resting, and the sun rises and we’re splashing and wet like a water ride at an amusement park, and I’m almost having enough fun to forget that I’m scared.

In fact, I’m trying to talk myself out of my fear as I cling there. I mean, I really don’t have anything to be afraid of, certainly not here in the Black Sea, where I’m not even technically in the water except for my feet mostly, and the dips of the undulating motion Ed makes as he jets through the water, which sinks me in spray past my knees, dousing me sometimes up to my face if we hit a high wave just right.

Besides which, I need to learn to come to terms with this fear and move past it before we get to the Caspian Sea.

So I’m thinking these things, and breathing evenly, telling myself to enjoy this crazy ride, when I feel a tremor quake through Ed’s body.

The first tremor is like a startle, a sort of what-was-that kind of jolt. The second tremor is bigger, a more sincere kind of fear, accompanied by a rearing up in the water that prompts me to wrap my arms and legs more tightly around Ed’s shoulders.

And then I feel it, too—the reason for the tremors.

Something touched my leg. Something grasping, like a hand.

It was a brief instant of contact, and I’m not going to lie, it brought back a deluge of memories from last summer which I’m sure are influencing my perception of what’s happening now, but what does that matter, really, in the face of the unrelenting truth?

That was
not
seaweed.

Ed picks up his speed and I bury my face against his neck, wincing and even kicking as mysterious underwater beings grasp my ankles, threatening to pull me off Ed’s back. We jet through the water, faster, faster, so fast I’m sure we’ve got to leave whatever-it-is behind.

And then Ed rears up high and I look down into the blue-black waters of this enormous sea, and I see what I couldn’t see that night when I was attacked and the glare of the sun seared the water.

Heads.

The same domed heads I only felt before as I wrestled with them in the water.

For an instant panic grips me and I want to scream, but Ed, perhaps realizing that he can’t outrun them after all, whips about a quarter turn, striking the water with his spiked tail, knocking two heads together, dousing the sea with a cloud of red.

He swims on, faster again, whipping around once more and striking with his tail, so whatever it is under the surface gives an inhuman cry and rises partway above the surface, and I get the clearest glimpse I’ve had yet of this enemy that haunts my nightmares.

It’s a human form, plus a couple sets of arms. A stiff, shiny, semi-human form. The creature attacking us is part human, part cockroach, part…fish? Shark? Squid? Eel? Or maybe an alligator or some type of crustacean, given the exoskeleton.

I don’t know. I can only guess Eudora’s black magic was behind this bastard spawn of mad science. And while it might be helpful to know what the beasts were bred from in order to best fight them, right now my biggest concern is getting rid of them, or getting away from them, at least. After all, I’m in human form right now. These things (they’ve got to be the same type of foe that attacked me last summer) nearly killed me when I was a dragon. I’m infinitely more vulnerable as a human.

But it’s broad daylight out. I can’t risk being seen.

I glance around the lake, trying to determine how much of a risk I’d be taking if I switch into dragon form.

Keep in mind, the Black Sea is huge. Its surface area is slightly larger than the entire state of California (I did a report on the Black Sea once for school in case you’re wondering how I know this), so even though it’s host to some pretty massive shipping vessels, they’re few and far between given the size of the sea.

Not that I dare disregard their presence—the higher I fly, the more visible I’d be, no matter how far away the ship. And since I’m bright red as a dragon, I’d be vastly easier to spot than Ed’s almost-sea-colored scales. But to my relief, I can’t see any boats from where we are right now.

So in spite of those risks, I waste no more time in turning into a dragon and rising up off Ed’s back, mostly because I cannot stand being so close to the nasty beasties a second longer. Everything inside me is screaming
get away
!

But also for two rational reasons. One: I need to escape from the sea beasties before they pull me under. And two: Ed’s going to have a much better shot at effectively fighting them if he doesn’t have to worry about me on his back.

Ed looks up at me and winks, then dives under the water.

I’m immediately concerned for his safety, never mind that he’s a big bad sea dragon who can hold his breath infinitely longer than I can hold mine. I’m also worried about my own ability to keep him in my sight.