The Seadragon's Daughter (22 page)

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Authors: Alan F. Troop

BOOK: The Seadragon's Daughter
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“So we are going to Andros after all, aren’t we?”
I mindspeak.
“My srrynn has made a safehold there,”
Lorrel mindspeaks.
“We will soon reach a blue hole. We can wait until it sighs, the way it did in the safehold in Bimini, and dive into it and let its current carry us underground to my srrynn. Or we can swim to the south tip of the island and follow Lusca Creek until it disappears into the mangroves.”
“All things being equal,”
I mindspeak.
“I could do without being sucked down a hole again. As long as we don’t have to worry about humans. . . .”
“Where we are going is wilderness. No humans live near it. No fishing boats or kayaks can penetrate the mangroves. Few natives would care to go there anyway. They have a legend about a sea monster they call a Lusca. It is supposed to lurk in blue holes and kill humans. Mowdar said the Indians gave our kind that name hundreds of years ago.”
 
Close up, the south end of Andros Island looks like nothing but a jungle of mangrove trees slashed open occasionally by a narrow creek or indented by a small bay. No landmark differentiates Lusca Creek from all the others, still Lorrel leads me into it without hesitation.
Within minutes we’ve lost all sight of the open water. We take so many turns and pass so many false passages that I doubt I could ever swim my way out. The waterway narrows and soon we find ourselves swimming under a canopy of mangrove branches.
“In a few minutes we will reach a small lagoon. It is another blue hole. I am afraid you will have to dive with me again,”
Lorrel mindspeaks, slowing, waiting for me to swim by her side.
“I will be glad to rejoin my srrynn, but sorry for this to end. I hope you do not think me too terrible. I have only done what I must.”
She presses a little more against me and then shoots forward, toward a solid wall of mangroves, diving under the largest one. I follow, passing under its roots, emerging into a small, circular lagoon.
Lorrel dives and I follow again, shooting down, descending forty or fifty feet until a dark hole shows in the far wall of the lagoon. The Pelk girl races toward it and I speed after her.
We swim through the black darkness of the underwater passageway and then up, emerging into another lagoon, this one larger, surrounded on all sides by a huge cavern, green lights glowing from dozens of glowpools scattered on the ground beyond the sandy shore.
The Pelk girl swims to a sloping, sandy beach and walks up onto dry land. She waits there for me, other Pelk emerging from the shadows, dozens of them, male, female, young, old—all in their natural forms, most as dark and sleek as Lorrel, a few lighter and tending toward gray, none anywhere as large as me. I walk up to her.
“This is my srrynn, Peter,”
she mindspeaks.
I nod, mindspeak.
“And Mowdar?”
“He does not come to others. We must go to him.”
We push through the crowd, Lorrel mindspeaking to each one as they greet her, telling each one’s name to me. After the first few, I give up trying to remember any of their names or appearances.
Some of the Pelk follow us as we make our way through their safehold. Others fall away, wandering off to nests of seaweed—some tented tepee-style with woven seaweed supported by irregular branches of driftwood, and some open to view. Other Pelk gather together in small groups around the dull green light of their small glowpools. We pass them and piles of what look like, at best, the flotsam and jetsam one would find on the beach. We pass other stacks too, made of nautical and fishing gear obviously salvaged from the sea.
 
Mowdar sits on one haunch on a nest of seaweed, his back against the wall of an alcove cut out of the cave’s stone wall. Drapes woven from seaweed hang on either side of the alcove’s opening, like curtains at a theater. Piles of seaweed form seating areas in a semicircle facing the alcove with a large, bright glowpool between the seats and Mowdar.
A few Pelk have already seated themselves, waiting along with the Pelk leader for our arrival. I stare at their backs, frowning at that of a large one, the creature shaped and colored far more like one of my own kind than a Pelk.
Mowdar stands on his rear legs. At most he may be a few inches taller than Lorrel. His scales have turned irregular with age, and his color lightened to an ashen gray. Picking up a trident, a three-pointed spear, with his right claw, he motions with it for Lorrel and me to take the center seats facing him.
“You have taken a long time to arrive,”
he mindspeaks.
Lorrel bows her head ever so slightly.
“It was unavoidable, Father. The Undrae did not come willingly.”
The creature coughs out a laugh.
“He is his father’s son.”
“And he wants to know why you sent your daughter to poison him,”
I mindspeak.
“If you truly knew anything about my father, then you should know better than to make an enemy of a DelaSangre.”
“Well said, old man. Well said. Does the old bugger good to have someone put him in his place.”
I turn and stare at the large creature seated just a few feet from me, and my jaw drops open.
My brother-in-law, Derek Blood, returns my stare.
“Sorry about all this, old man. I didn’t mean to get you involved.”
23
 
Mowdar hisses, slashes his trident in a short arc in front of him.
“Enough!”
he mindspeaks.
He stares at me, making a show of examining every inch of my body.
“Undrae,”
he mindspeaks.
“You are not the only one here who has DelaSangre blood running in his veins. I am Mowdar, son of Gedalia, the only child from the union of my grandmother, Dalhanna, and my grandfather, Don Henri DelaSangre.”
I shake my head.
“My father made no secret of his history. He told me about the wives he had before my mother and about his other sons and daughters. He never once mentioned the Pelk or a Pelk mate.”
The Pelk leader turns his gaze on Lorrel.
“Daughter, did you bring it?”
She nods, gets up and walks to Mowdar, the small package she brought from Dryndl’s Tomb held in her outstretched claws. He takes it from her and then stares at her throat. Touching near the partially healed puncture wounds with his trident, he mindspeaks,
“You have been much injured?”
“Not terribly so. It is just a dolphin bite. . . .”
“Just?”
The Pelk shakes his head.
“We have lost others to such wounds. I will have a healing circle come to you later. They will help you become whole again.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Lorrel nods and backs away.
Mowdar looks at me again.
“Your father, my grandfather, did much harm to my people. I cannot say just why he kept you in ignorance, but I would think he did not want you to know you had relatives among the Pelk. I doubt he wanted you to go searching for us.”
I frown.
“At least I’d think he’d want me to know that your srrynn was living so close to our island—in case I needed to defend myself.”
“He would have been sure there were no such need. By the time you were born we had been gone for centuries. Your father attacked us with his ships and cannons, at night when we were asleep in this safehold. He killed most of us in the attack, sparing Dalhanna and my father, and allowing the twelve others who survived to leave with them—as long as they swore to go far south and to never return.
“Our people have long mourned that exile. We had lived in these waters since before the rule of Atala. You cannot imagine the joy that went through our srrynn when that one”
—Mowdar points his trident toward Derek
—“told us that Don Henri no longer lived.”
I turn and glare at my brother-in-law.
Derek shrugs and mindspeaks,
“Look, old man, I told you it was unintentional. I was in the same fix as you are now and just making conversation . . .”
“You,”
Mowdar mindspeaks, pointing his trident at Derek, glaring.
“You will have much time to talk later—if he cares to listen.”
The Pelk leader looks at me again.
“Because of that wonderful news, Gedalia decided to send part of his srrynn to reestablish our home here. He also instructed me to find you and bring you into our family.”
Mowdar turns his attention to the package, slitting it open with a pass of his claw. He lets the dolphin skin drop to the ground and holds up the slim, ancient book that had been inside.
“We do share a common blood. You already saw my grandmother’s ring. This was your father’s,”
he mindspeaks, holding it out to me.
Taking the old manuscript from him, I examine its cracked leather binding, find no sign of words ever having been printed on either the front or rear cover.
“It’s not one of his log books,”
I mindspeak, opening it, small flakes of brittle paper crumbling and falling as I leaf through the pages. Squinting at the handwritten words, I struggle to make out what they say, wish I had more to read by than the green light of the nearby glowpool. Still, it takes only a moment for me to realize that the words have been written in my father’s hand, and to regret that he chose to write each one
in Spanish.
“My father wrote this,”
I mindspeak.
“I know. My grandmother said he wrote in it every day he was among us. She hid this in Dryndl’s Tomb when she left. It was a safehold your father had never been shown.”
“I don’t understand. If he married your grandmother, why would he turn on her?”
The Pelk sighs.
“Like you, Undrae, we are not a numerous people. But we also suffer having mostly female offspring. Without occasionally adding outside male blood we would become too ingrown and wither away in only a few generations. It is our tradition to get that blood by luring others in—the way Lorrel has done with you and the way Dalhanna did with your father.”
“But I’m already mated,”
I mindspeak.
“True,”
Mowdar mindspeaks.
“Your father was not. Gedalia said that Dalhanna told him Don Henri’s first wife had died and he was lonely. He came here willingly with her and laid with her without protest. It was only after he was told that he could not leave that his anger grew.”
“My father was very powerful. How did they think they could hold him?”
Mowdar looks to his daughter.
“Lorrel, has he felt the poison?”
Lorrel nods.
He stares directly into my eyes.
“Then you know how we were certain we could hold him.”
A chill goes through me. I look around the semicircle. More Pelk have drifted over, some taking up all the remaining sitting space, and the rest standing behind. Glancing back, I see that two males have taken positions behind me. Both hold tridents like Mowdar’s.
“But either you neutralized the poison and let him leave or my father found a way to do it himself,”
I mindspeak.
“No one knows how Don Henri overcame the poison. Certainly no Pelk helped him.”
I attempt to stand up, but tridents are pushed against my sides, just hard enough to let me know how sharp they are.
“Relax, Peter. You are our guest. Life can be very pleasant among the Pelk. Can it not, Derek?”
Mowdar mindspeaks.
Derek nods.
“I’ve no complaints. Really, Peter . . . except for having to eat all the bloody fish. I’d do almost anything for a bite of fresh meat again. . . . But besides that, things couldn’t be much better. No one expects me to do anything but boff their women. I’ve three mates now, each one sweeter and more willing than the next. They might not be Undrae, but so what? It beats mucking about with human females and searching all over hell and gone for a mate.”
Shaking my head, I mindspeak,
“If that’s all you want, then good for you, Derek. But don’t forget I’m married to your sister. We have two kids.”
I look at Mowdar.
“My wife will be in Miami in a few days. I need to be there.”
“We all have needs,”
Mowdar mindspeaks.
“I need to eat soon. Lorrel needs to heal. You will be needing another sip of antidote soon, won’t you?”
I turn to Lorrel and she mindspeaks,
“Tomorrow night.”
Looking back to Mowdar, I mindspeak,
“Not until then.”
“Good,”
Mowdar mindspeaks.
“So for tonight, let us tend to our immediate needs. We can all worry about our futures later.”
“I have a wife and children!”
I jump up and remain standing, ignoring the two Pelk males, their tridents pressed against my scales.
Mowdar walks forward, until he stands within a trident’s distance from me. He thrusts his at me, stopping just centimeters from my chest.
“My people found during the Great War that we could not prevail against Undrae without weapons. We learned to make these from ironwood. We found tiger shark’s teeth to be especially hard. We inset them at each point. They are most sharp.”

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