Sunborn Rising (20 page)

His words stymied Barra, but only for a moment. She matched his serious calm. “What do you know?” she asked. “You haven’t really cared about anything since your mom died.”

Plicks finally stepped between them, “Whoa whoa. You don’t mean that.”

Barra was feverish, confused, and she snarled at Plicks, “Stay out of this!”

Her words hit Plicks hard in the gut, and knocked the wind out of him. His face burned with hurt. He didn’t know what to say or do.

Tory put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Come on, story-time’s over. Sorry, Venress Lootrinea. We need a little break.” The Rugosic turned his back on Barra and walked Plicks to the other side of the chamber.

Lootrinea said, “It’s just Loo-tri-nea. And, no need to apologize.”

Heaving out a tremendous sigh, Barra sagged like a wilting flower. Red floated in close, rubbed up against her cheek, and coiled a tentacle around her arm. The Nebule held her for several moments, and then shimmered something to Lootrinea. The Aetherial nodded.

Barra raised her head and opened her eyes, and said, “I’m sorry, too. I think… I think I’m… I don’t know.” Some instinct held her tongue. She didn’t want to share more.

Lootrinea nodded, and vibrated, “You’ve been through a lot. Here.” She reached into the shallow water and came up with several tiny yellow stones. “Tuck a few of these in your cheeks. They’ll help you feel better, maybe even well enough to eat.”

Barra accepted the little stones graciously enough, but didn’t like that Lootrinea had noticed her lack of appetite. Putting it out of her mind, Barra tucked the stones into her cheek, and sat down on a thick lily pad.

The Aetherial splayed her arms. She tilted her head like she was listening to something far away. Casting her words out to her divided guests, she said, “Will you excuse me? I need to check on an old friend who’s also recently come for a visit. You’ll be safe here. I’ll not be long.”

Without a delay for objections, Lootrinea slid into the water and disappeared.

21. Corresponding Shapes

Lootrinea swam through the channels of the Drift. The few Abyssals she passed kept their distance, but whether it was out of deference or distaste was unclear. Her journey ended at a room similar to her personal chamber, except that it was smaller. Tentacles pushed up against the short ceiling, she bellowed, and the whole room vibrated-fuzzy. Part of the wall seemed to bulge and flex, and then warped into the shape that Lootrinea knew well. Fizzit leaned against the curve of the wall as casual as picking flowers.

“They’re so young, Fizzit. How can they save us?” Lootrinea seemed sad.

“Loo, Loo, who else? It’s not just chance—although circumstance, perchance?—that found them circling the cirque, circumspect. I
may
purport to compose, but I maintain the composition positioned them! And, I propose that—though I was poised to impose my proposition—given their condition, I merely acted to expedite their expedition home. They were already on their way, Loo!” He stopped and braided his tails.

Lootrinea was unimpressed with his excuses. “Well, you orchestrated all of this. What shall we do next?”

“Take them the rest of the way home, of course! So few confronted with the crossroads ever leave. We have to help them. Take them to the Roedtaw. He knows the way. The way it has to be… this way or that way…” he said. His multiple voices diverged, taking different words at the end of his thought. He stared, perplexed, at the knotted mess that his tail had become.

“But what about the bups? The Arboreals were never supposed to return to the sea. We made decisions... you were there,” Lootrinea swayed as she spoke. Her hypnotic movement had no effect on Fizzit.

“I don’t have to remember, Loo, I’m
still
there,” he said with a hint of resentment. Then he added gravely, “The Great Trees are dying. When they’re gone, the sea will follow. And all our homes will be gone.” His eyes flashed as his tails untangled, and he smiled. “Well, there’ll still be an
ocean
, of course. That’s certain. That’s a lot of water. I think that’s nice, don’t you?”

“Bups,” Lootrinea didn’t bother forming the word with her mouth. The word lingered between them, echoing off the water and the walls.

“Them? They certainly don’t have any other agenda. They’re untainted,” Fizzit declared boldly.

Stabbing forward, Lootrinea put her snout a whisker’s width from Fizzit’s, and said, “One is infected!”

Unflappable, he responded, “That? That’s nothing. A scratch.”

“This is exactly the kind of thing we sought to protect ourselves from. If Argus finds a bridge into the ocean, the whole world is his. Is she part of your plan too? What’s your game? Playing both sides?”

“
Both
sides? There are only two? That’s a relief,” Fizzit said. Though little space existed between them, Fizzit somehow managed to push even closer to Lootrinea and she retreated ever so slightly. All three of his eyes focused on her and he spoke without humor, “I’ll do whatever I have to do, with or without your help. That scratch is compelling. It binds her to
her
. It may be the end of her… or her. I don’t know…”

Lootrinea eased farther back from the three-eyed, three-tailed wonder and seemed to consult the room for answers. But it offered nothing more than the comforting sound of water licking at the walls. Fizzit was busy braiding and unbraiding his tails again, like he was solving a puzzle. She asked him, “The Roedtaw?”

“Yes,” he shrugged.

She was skeptical. “He won’t take the bups.”

“He’ll take them.” Fizzit was confident.

“The golden kiss? But the gilded krill are so few. You’d kill them for your dimensionally challenged dreams?” Lootrinea asked, although it was clear she already knew the answer.

Fizzit blinked in a circular wave. “They won’t be the only sacrifices.”

22. Legend

The wading pool lapped gently against the walls. The seagrasses swayed. The kelp stirred. Silent, tiny Abyssals appeared among the polyps and salty mosses only to disappear again without a trace. In a pocket of damp space, somewhere near the bottom of the Cerulean Ocean, three close and lonesome friends were lost.

Plicks was the first to wonder-wander away from the discomfort. Long ropes of light rolled and crisscrossed over the domed ceiling distracting him from the tension. Barra wasn’t acting herself, but he knew she’d never admit to whatever was wrong. Instead of pressing her—and because he was nervous to disturb her—he studied the wall and its many bands of color. He stroked Blue who was floating close, half-in and half-out of the pool. Running a talon over the surface of the water, Plicks made thin waves and watched them travel all the way to Barra. The ripples broke against Tory too, and Plicks noticed an unusual color in the Rugosic’s reflection. Veins of some fire-orange mineral had bonded to Tory’s body. The veins were dull, but they were unmistakable. Startled by the change, Plicks tried to find the right words to ask Tory about it.

Seeing the perplexed expression directed at him, Tory guessed Plicks was about to suggest an apology. No way did
Tory think he should be the one apologizing. Irritated, he asked, “What?”

Plicks’ mouth hung open and he pointed at Tory. Again, Tory misunderstood. “Fine. You’re right. I’ll say something.” Under his breath, he added, “It’s not like she’s gonna say anything.” Before Plicks could stop him, Tory splashed over to Barra.

Barra stepped back, self-conscious that he’d see her arm or feel the heat of illness radiating from her. Tory stopped short, respecting what he interpreted as her need for space, and said, “You shouldn’t have yelled at him. You can be angry with me all you want, but you crossed a line when you snapped at Plicks.”

She thought he was accusing her, like all of this was her fault. Tears pushed into her eyes, but she dammed them back. The pressure built in her head, and made it hard for her to respond. Barra would have apologized if she’d known how to say,
I’m sorry we might all die because of me.
The weight of it was too great for her to say out loud. The words plodded around stupidly in her head until she finally pushed them out. “I’m sorry.” She kept her distance and turned away.

“This is our first spark of hope!” Tory said. “We shouldn’t be barking at each other. We’ve just met an Aetherial! And she’s gonna help us get home, right?” Char bobbed in agreement. Barra though, didn’t seem to share their enthusiasm. Tory realized he’d forgotten something, and said, “I’m sorry, too.”

Plicks had waded in closer. Happy his friends were sorting things out, he was still concerned about the new mineral deposits on Tory’s skin. As he heard the apologies though, he became caught up in them. He reached out to offer his own, and unwittingly caused Barra to flinch away again. This time he didn’t flinch back. He said, “My sisters and brothers are gonna be so jealous! An Aetherial, right? An Aetherial!”

Tory splashed, and Char darted around, excited. Tory said, “She’s amazing! Almost makes this whole crazy adventure worth it!” Still, Barra appeared reserved.

“Come AWWNNN, Barra,” Plicks pleaded. He slapped the water. “Tell me she isn’t the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen!”

Barra didn’t like the attention. The fever—if it was a fever—crawled beneath her fur, poking at her skin. Digging down deep into herself, she decided she had to show them—tell them. But just then, the water garden swelled, and Lootrinea swam back into the chamber, rising up majestically.

“Good news,” said the Aetherial, shaking the room. “The Roedtaw will take you to the Root. There is a detour first, to the Boil, but nothing to worry about.” The Nebules lit up, and Barra thought they recognized the name.

Gathering up his courage, Plicks asked, “What’s a Roedtaw?”

Lootrinea said, “Some say he is a legend, but that word has many meanings. Perhaps, if you look at it from far away, there is only one meaning that matters; a legend is a key for understanding. If you see it that way, then yes, the Roedtaw is a legend, indeed.”