IGMS Issue 9 (20 page)

Before Benjamin could object again, Francis strode off into the wastes. Benjamin stared after him, then sat down in the grass.

Night came on quickly. Thick pale mist rose up to shroud that gloomy, barren land. Benjamin felt anxious and uncertain. He wondered if he should go after Francis.

Benjamin had been ordered to stay here. But normally he would never bow to the will of a king. Then again, normally he would never risk his life to help a king either. Benjamin felt adrift. The ideologies that had guided him all his life now seemed as vague and insubstantial as the fog. The only thing he was certain of now was that Francis was in danger.

Benjamin stood. He took a deep breath, then stepped onto the black ground.

He tried to follow in the direction that Francis had gone, but the mists were dense and swirling, and Benjamin soon lost his way. For a time he stumbled on aimlessly. Finally he halted, panting.

Then he heard something -- a rumble, a growl, an endless, breathless roar. A beast with a voice like thunder. Benjamin ran toward the sound, which grew closer and louder. Out in the fog there appeared two patches of light that Benjamin knew were the beast's burning eyes. Those eyes shone impossibly bright, and cast before them great white beams.

A breeze parted the fog. Away across the plain, Francis stood with his feet planted and his sword held ready.

Benjamin yelled, "Francis!"

If Francis heard, he gave no sign. His gaze was fixed on the rapid approach of the monster. Francis called to it, "Hear me, fiend. I am Francis -- son of Michael, whom you slew. I have come to exact vengeance for my father. Look upon my sword and tremble, for I have never been defeated by mouse or beast. Now, face my wrath!" He charged, his sword held high as he screamed, "For Michael! Michael and Kingsburrow!"

The beast drew nearer. It was gigantic, bigger than an owl, a hundred times bigger, bigger than anything Benjamin could have ever imagined. It bore down on Francis. Then the mists rolled in again and smothered Benjamin. For a time he saw nothing. Finally, he spotted two blurry red lights that faded in the distance as the beast sped away.

Benjamin dashed to where Francis had stood, but Francis was gone, vanished. Benjamin staggered in circles, seeking him.

It wasn't until much later, when the fog melted to nothing, and the clouds blew away from the moon, and the moon shone down on the earth, that Benjamin slowly realized, with an uncomprehending horror, that the ground beneath his feet was red.

Benjamin, desolate, dazed, wandered away, only vaguely aware of the soft squelching that his boots made each time he took a step, and of the bloody footprints he left behind him. He thought: Francis. Oh, Francis, why? You were a great mouse. You would have been a good king. I would have followed you.

Finally Benjamin halted. A familiar object lay just before his toes, though his confused mind took a moment to grasp what he was seeing.

A sword. Francis' sword, yet unbroken.

From somewhere behind Benjamin, there arose a low roar. Benjamin knelt quickly and snatched up the sword, then whirled, terrified, clutching the hilt to his chest. His breath came fast and shallow.

But he saw no blazing eyes, no beams of light. There was only the wind, picking up now, gusting across the plain.

The monster was gone. But the fear remained, and would remain, Benjamin knew, for so long as that beast was out there. That ghastly and unnatural thing that could crush a mouse flat.

Benjamin studied the sword -- the sword of Francis, that had vanquished the terrible owl, and had brought ruin upon the vile rats of Westburrow. Then Benjamin knew what he must do. He could not let Francis' death be for nothing.

Benjamin was the only mouse around for a hundred miles. He raised the sword above him and said, "Francis . . . I . . . I'll go back to Kingsburrow. I'll tell them what happened here, how heroic you were. I'll make them see. I will raise up such an army of mice as this world has never seen, and I will return here, and find some way to destroy that beast forever. I . . . I am Sir Benjamin, knight of Kingsburrow . . . and I have sworn."

Love.

Love is the reason for many a wonderful and horrible thing.

It was the reason I lived, there in the Deep, in the warm embrace of the ocean where Mother Earth's crust spread and gave molten birth to the world. Its soul was my soul.

Love is the reason she came to me in the darkness, that brave sea maiden. I remember the taste of her bravery, the euphoric sweetness of her fear. It came to me on wisps of current past the scattered glows of the predators.

The other predators.

Her chest contracted and I felt the sound waves cross the water, heard them with an organ so long unused I had thought it dead.

Help me
, she said.
I love him
.

The white stalks of the bloodworms curled about her tail. We had a common purpose, the worms and I. We were both barnacles seeking the same fix, clinging desperately to the soul of the world. Their crimson tips brushed her stomach, her shoulders. They could feel it in her, feel her soul in the blood that coursed through her veins. I felt it too. I yearned for it. A quiet memory waved in the tide. I was a maiden, too. Once.

Patience.

My answer was slow, deliberate.
How much do you love him, little anemone
?

More than life itself
, she answered.

She had said the words.

I had not asked her to bring the memories, the pain. There is no time in the Deep, only darkness. I could but guess at how much had passed since those words had been uttered this far down. Until that moment, I had never been sure if the magic would come to me. Those words were the catalyst, the spark that lit the flame.

Flame. Another ancient memory.

The hollow vessel that was my body emptied even further, pulling me to her. I held my hands out to her breast, and there was light.

I resisted the urge to shut my inner eyelids to it and reveled in the light's painful beauty. It shone beneath her flawless skin like a small sun, bringing me colors . . . perceptions I had never dared hope to experience again. Slivers of illumination escaped through her gills and glittered down the abalone-lustered scales of her fins. Her hair blossomed in a golden cloud around an innocent face, a face I remembered. And her eyes . . . her eyes were the blue of a sky I had not seen for a very, very long time.

She tilted her head back in surrender and the ball of light floated out of her and into my fingers, thin, white and red-tipped, much as the worms themselves. I cupped her brilliant soul in my palms and felt its power gush through me. So long. So long I had waited for this escape. I had stopped wondering what answer I would give if I should ever hear the words again, ever summon the magic. When the vessel was full, when my dead heart beat again, would I remember? Would I feel remorse? Would I have the strength of will to save her, to turn her away? Would I choose the path of the good and brave or the path of desperation and escape?

She smiled at me over the pure flame of her soul.

I was a coward.
You will see him
, I told her.

I pressed her soul into my breast. The moment the light filled me I became her. I could see my body through her eyes - translucent white torso marred by jagged tears, blood red hair tossed up by the smoky vents and tangling about the worms, black eyes wide, lips parted in ecstasy.

I could see him in the back of her mind, the object of her affection. He was tall and angular, with sealskin hair. There had been a storm and a wreck, and she had saved him. She had dragged him onto a beach and fallen in love with him as she waited for him to open his eyes. She had run her fingers through his hair, touched his face, traced the lines of the crest upon his clothes. He was handsome and different and beautiful. When he awoke, he took her hand in his and smiled with all his heart. And when he kissed her, she knew she would never be able to live a life without him.

In that small moment, as the glow of her soul dimmed into me, her thoughts echoed inside me.

She told herself it was worth it.

Once the transformation began, the pain pushed all other thoughts out of her head. Water left her as suddenly as her soul had left her, her gills closing up after it. The pressure that filled her chest made her eyes want to pop out. She clamped her mouth shut, instinct telling her that she could no longer breathe her native water. She beat furiously with her tail, fleeing for the surface.

Halfway there, the other pain began. It started at the ends of her fin and spread upwards, like bathing in an oyster garden. The sharpness bit into her, skinning her, slicing her to her very core. Paralyzed, she let her momentum and the pressure in her chest pull her closer to the sky. Part of her hoped she could trust the magic enough to see her to the surface alive. Part of her didn't care. It wished to die, and knew it could not.

That price had already been paid.

Her head burst above the waves and she opened her mouth, letting the rest of the water inside her escape. Her first deep breath of insubstantial air was like a lungful of jellyfish. It was different from the shallow amphibious breathing she had done before, different when this was her only option. She coughed, her upper half now as much in agony as her lower half, not wanting to take that next breath and knowing that she had to.

She lay there on the undulating bed that was once her home and let it heal her. She stared up at the sky until it didn't hurt so much to breathe, until her eyes adjusted, until rough hands plucked her out of the sea.

She was dragged across the deck of a ship much like the one from which she had rescued her lover, right before it had been crushed between the rocks and the sea. The man who had pulled her up clasped her tightly to him. He was covered in hair, more hair than she had ever seen in her life, and in the strangest places. It did not reach the top of his head, but spread down his face and neck and onto his chest. Perhaps it liked this upper world as little as she did and sought a safer, darker haven beneath his clothes. She reached out a hand to touch it, and he spoke to her. The sounds were too high, too light, too short, too loud. She did not understand them. His breath smelled of sardines. She ran a finger through the hair on his face, and he dropped her.