The Vast and Brutal Sea: A Vicious Deep novel (The Vicious Deep) (9 page)

“What happened to your face?” Kai shrieks.

Not the usual response I get when girls see me. After days of rock climbing with Grumble—I throw myself off now—and hand to hand with Yara, my face has taken a good beating. I’ve gotten so good at disarming her that she smashed my face into a tree again. I have a new cut on my eyebrow.

“Good thing they don’t have mirrors,” I say, throwing myself on the furs beside Kai. She has taken the river people’s history scrolls and has been reading them nonstop.

I press my finger on the sensitive bruise on the bridge of my nose and wince.

“This is strange,” Kai says. She retraces the lines she just read.

“What is?” I press my hands on my face. “Is it that bad?”

“In the records of the clan’s people, there is mention of Amada, daughter of the leader Isi. But we haven’t met her. And she isn’t on the list of the daughters sent to court.”

“Maybe she died?”

Kai shakes her head. “They keep records of their dead as well as their living. Their numbers are less than ours.”

“I thought they were part of ours.”

But I’ve stopped listening. The ache of my body, the adrenaline buzzing through me, is strong. I know I’m ready to fight the Naga. I know it in my bones. As if sensing my thoughts, Kai says, “You’re in no shape to fight anyone, Tristan. Least of all the Naga.”

“They’re stalling,” I say. I can lift a whole tree pole with my bare hands and throw it. I can do handstands for hours without toppling over. I can run across a field with stones draped over my shoulders. I’ve wrestled their best warriors and won. “Why are they stalling?”

I shake my head. “They haven’t even gone hunting since we got here.”

My stomach twists into knots. They remind me that we’re outside of time, but I still feel like I’m missing it. Like I’m going to return home and it won’t be there.

Brendan sticks his head through the tent door. “Come, you two. The feast is about to start. The daughters of the tribe are putting on a dance in our honor.”

Kai arches her eyebrow. “Our?”

“Fine.” Brendan sighs, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Tristan’s honor. Dylan’s already there.”

“We’re having a debate,” I say. “Come in here.”

Brendan looks over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear then joins us. “Do tell.”

“I think the clan is stalling my fight with the beast. Kai thinks I’m not prepared.”

“I didn’t say that!” She shuffles her papers so hard that she nearly rips one in half.

Brendan smiles easily. He reminds me of me three weeks ago. “Do you feel ready?”

“A hundred percent. A hundred and ten percent.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Brendan smirks. “Then do it.”

“But Isi said—” Kai argues.

Brendan holds up a finger. “Isi left us a basket of goddess fruit, which makes the children here happy and carefree and forgetful.”

We sit in silence. I realize Brendan might act the fool sometimes, but he never stops observing people.

“If you feel ready, then go. You are a prince of the Sea Court. Besides, with me around, no one will be looking for you. That’s a promise.” He winks.

Kai shakes her head. “Tristan, be careful. We still don’t have a way out of here.”

“One thing at a time,” I say. “Let’s go pay me some honor.”

Kai and I follow Brendan to where the whole village is gathered around a tall fire. Old men blow on wooden pipes that remind me of the pan flutes Layla’s dad brought back from Ecuador. After weeks of trying to learn—poor Mrs. Santos—he finally hung it on his kitchen wall along with his Panama hat. The river people’s music sounds like mountains whistling down their valleys, along with the rustle of rainstick and tambourines. Instead of metal, the cymbals are made of hard shells and rocks that tinkle like wind chimes.

Isi stands over the fire. Her long, violet hair is braided down to her hips on either side. She looks like a phoenix in her long, feathery robes. Beside her, Yara wears an intricate leather dress. Her brown skin shimmers like light on water. Beside her is the veiled woman I have only seen once in the tent of council elders. The oracle. Standing up, she is hunched like a question mark, with long hair the color of moss peeking through the bottom of her black veil.

“Land Prince, Tristan Hart,” Isi speaks to me. “You honor us here. By taking strength from us, you have accepted the challenge of the Naga who roams the outer circle of our plane. Her talons have ripped our children to shreds. Her teeth have devoured generations of our warriors.”

I swallow my drink down the wrong hole and cough-choke. Brendan punches it out of me.

“That’s comforting,” Dylan mutters beside me, adjusting the platinum band around his head.

“Tonight, we gift you and yours with the symbol of the river goddess, who refused the salt gifts of Poseidon and chose the shade of trees.”

I look at Kai. “Gift?”

Kai shrugs then turns her back to me, showing where her trident tattoo is located between her shoulder blades. Yara lifts a copper branding iron, and the oracle holds a jar filled with some red stuff. I think of the time I first met Kurt. He showed up in my bathtub. He held a slender vial of ink between his fingers and said some magic words. Then blam! The tattoo was burned into my skin to help me control my shifting.

The iron is held over the fire. It lights red like the end of a cigarette. Kai takes my hand eagerly. Brendan hesitates but tries hard to maintain his smile. Dylan fidgets but won’t back out. The four of us approach in a line.

I should go first. I bite down hard, preparing myself for it—the music gets louder, thickened by the voices of the clan.

“Tristan Hart,” Yara says. “Your honor, strength, and valor are admired by our people. Come what may, you always have a place here.”

She looks at me the entire time she says that, and I believe her. Her words are so nice that I stop clenching my teeth. The iron digs into my skin. I whimper but stare straight into the brown and gold swirls of her eyes. Burning skin smells like bacon, and then I remember that’s me.

There’s nothing quite as gratifying as someone listing your good qualities and having the end of it be a poker to the chest. She pulls it back, cool wind kissing the sting off my skin. And then comes the pain.

Oh.

I shake so hard that I take a knee. The old woman is unveiled, a face like tree bark staring right at me with pitch-black eyes reflecting the fire pit behind me. Her hand is on my chest, patting red powder into the outline of the iron burn. The stuff cools the burn, and then I stand back up.

Next in line is Kai. She concentrates on a spot on Yara’s forehead and tenses for the iron. Her face is serene, probably way more than mine must have been. Then she moves on to the old woman, who presses the red powder into her shoulder. When it comes away, I can see the design. It’s the same as Yara’s—a circle with an undulating line going through it. At first I think it’s a snake, but on second thought, I realize it’s a river.

Then it’s Brendan’s turn. He doesn’t even flinch! His red hair is tied back at his nape. He winks a turquoise eye at me. Show-off.

Finally Dylan, who cries out once, then falls on his knee at the oracle’s feet. His golden hair sweeps across his face. The mark burns just above the pearly scar left by the Naga’s claw.

The four of us stand shoulder to shoulder. Isi talks about how brave we are, how much she’s seen all four of us grow and become part of their people. I’ll never graduate at the top of my class, and I might not know much about the world I’ve become part of, but I’d like to think I know how to read people. And as much as Isi means some of what she says, I can’t shake the thought that she’s doing it to keep me at ease.

The training, the tattoo, everything they’ve done to accommodate us—it’s not working on me. My eyes keep wandering to the black outline of the forest. The guards aren’t in their usual formation. They’re scattered around the feast, their weapons leaning against the wooden dais, but their attention is on the clan’s daughters who form a circle around the fire. Their faces shimmer in the reflection of the flames, their hair as green as the forest, white as the river, purple as the apples on the goddess tree, black as the shadow of the woods. They dance the song of the river, a movement that mimics the stream, and their bodies flow, translucent, then fluid, then solid.

Brendan holds the purple apple between his hands and smells it. He looks at me and tucks it under his seat.

“This is kind of them,” Brendan says, “to take the time to honor us.”

“Honor me,” I correct him.

His turquoise eyes dance with the kind of happiness that comes from timeless days of swimming and eating and kissing girls. But still, his shoulders are tense because no matter what face this paradise shows us, he has to be ready in case it changes. Even though my time with Brendan has been short, we really get each other, like we’ve been swimming side by side our whole lives.

“You can have the honor,” Brendan says. “We both know I’m more irresistible. All eyes will be on me. You can count on that.”

A sound I haven’t heard before in the Vale joins the music. Laughter.

Yara was right—the kids do eat the goddess fruit. They gobble it up, the sticky, sweet liquid dripping from the corners of their mouths.

Sure, I’ve seen the river kids laugh. But not like this—it’s full of happiness, like there is no darkness in the woods, no monster on the outside. They dance around the fire. They grab Kai and Brendan and Dylan into their circle. They try to pull me up. “Join, Tristan. Come on.” But I’ve never been much of a dancer. Kai shoots me a glare that says, “Get up.” So I do, but I’m going through the motions.

My eyes keep going to the edge of the forest where a shadow is bothering me. Everyone is so wrapped up in the dancing and welcoming us into the tribe. But I’m not here to dance.

Brendan catches my eye and holds it. He’s smiling, but it’s a show, and he’s the star of it—dancing and singing along to words he doesn’t know the meaning of. Then he nods at me once and turns his back. He goes into a freestyle break dance, challenging the guys to join him. As promised, all eyes are on him.

I keep along the shadows and return to my tent. I wash my face in the basin of cool water. I strap on my weapons and look at my elongated reflection. There I am. I can wait until Isi decides to let me go, or I can take matters into my own hands. As crazy as it sounds, I don’t think she wants me to go out there.

And so I slink through the trees, stopping at the edge of the forest where I’ve seen Isi stand once everyone’s gone to sleep. I look over my shoulder at the feast. They’re still reveling in the night, the music, the sizzle of branded skin.

Then I see her, the veiled oracle. She stares at me from the distance. I feel caught, so I freeze. But she lifts the veil over her face, uncovering those endless black eyes. She turns away, like she understands what I’m doing. Like she’s sending me along when the others were pulling me back. I face the forest again and step onto the path.

In the dark, there isn’t a path.

I trip and bang into the black tree trunks like a pinball. Each time we’ve come into the forest, Grumble has been careful to lead me west. So I go east. On the way here, the first time when Yara blindfolded us, I smelled the temperature shift, the dew in the air, and the sweet bioluminescent blooms. The water is a thin stream with glass lizards clinging to the rocks. Lights pop up like tiny eyes blinking. Wings flap, tongues hiss, and beaks caw in a chattering that would rival Times Square.

And then it stops, leaving my loud steps bumping in the dark. I see the mouth of a cave, and by the way my skin crawls, I know this is the Naga’s home. Fireflies hover above the entrance, and the purple moon is a fat bulb behind the silhouettes of branches that remind me of bones. My heart races as adrenaline rushes through me. The sweet stink of decaying flesh is too familiar, and I take a step back.

Rule number six: There is no going back.

I think about calling the beast out. Throwing some rocks in there like I’m Romeo and she’s a hairy Juliet. That plan still ends with someone getting stabbed.

I don’t hear the groan behind me until the Naga leaps at me and I run right into the cave.

Rule number seven: Don’t run into caves.

There is no exit that I can see. The creature is bigger than I remember. Its snout snarls hot breath.

Rule number eight: Don’t get bitten.

The B flat of the dragon-bird rings out from the cave ceiling. It swoops down and tries to peck at my hand.

“No one said anything about a tag team,” I say.

I’ve made a mistake in coming here. Maybe Isi was right. Maybe she wasn’t stalling. Maybe I’m just not ready.

I turn around to face the Naga and she moves back, crouched down to the ground. I see her eyes glowing in the dark. The rough reptilian skin. The powerful claws. The seaserpent tail undulating behind it. The Naga opens her mouth and roars, a great scream that carries the lives the beast has taken. The force pushes me against the wall. I roll to the side and pull myself up, shaking the headache away.

I jump on the boulders, using them as a ladder to get to a flat platform where the cave expands like a great dome. I can’t see the Naga, but I can hear the talons scratching the stone as she climbs. Nobody said she could do that.

I picture those talons digging inside me, swirling my guts around like a cherry in a cocktail. She jumps at me and I roll to the side, a move I learned from watching Dylan. It takes a lot of patience to wait for the perfect moment to get out of the way, knowing that if it’s too soon, she’ll have time to recover. If it’s too late, then she gets me. It feels like an out-of-body experience, but that’s what Karel taught me, wasn’t it? To push all of my doubts out of my head. Doubts gets me killed.

The Naga lands in the empty space I just occupied.

“Sorry, beastie—but I need your head.” I don’t sound as confident as I would’ve liked.

I jump on her back, grabbing the rough ridges of her neck like reins. I dig my knees into her furry flanks and raise my dagger over her head.

But the Naga lurches and throws me off, and I fall hard on my side. A hot, burning sensation hits my side where something feels broken. My dagger is gone. Panic shoots through me as the Naga breaks into a sprint. No matter how many walls I’ve climbed, how many pull-ups I’ve done, watching this thing run at me still freezes my joints. It’s massive, with a mouth open to swallow me. But it’s the thing that stands between the Sleeping Giants and me, so I push myself to move.

The Naga lands to my side, talons digging into the rock. I see something glint behind her. My dagger! I take a stone the size of a football and slam it into her face. She whimpers and covers her eyes. The dragon-bird swoops down as I run for my weapon. It draws blood from my forearm. I slide on the ground and take my dagger. The Naga shakes her head, a rumble stirring deep inside her belly. She’s pissed.

Know what? So am I.

I roll out my shoulders, the adrenaline dulling the pain in my ribs.

No beast is going to eat me. It’s just bones and flesh, same as every merrow I’ve gutted.

I find the spark inside me that needs this more than anything. The part that’s been burned and cut open. The bits that had never seen the face of real evil until I watched her take away the people I love.

I hold on to that spark.

The Naga sees the change. She gets up on her hind legs and scratches at the space between us, landing with heavy thuds. She makes the walls tremble. Pieces of the cave come down. The B flat of the dragon-bird echoes. It cries and cries as I charge at the Naga.

She runs at me.

My thighs burn as I run, run, run, and jump. I swipe, and the black stone of Triton’s dagger pulses with a dark light. The ancient symbols light up like they’re on fire.

I punch the Naga’s exposed long neck and she cries out. I hit her cheek with the hilt of my dagger and she slumps forward, dazed. When I hit her, I cringe. This is why I’m here. This is what I’ve been training for, but I can’t shake the feeling that hurting her is wrong. I shouldn’t do this. But if I don’t, I won’t get the clan’s help and then I’ll never see Layla again.

The Naga recovers, growling at me. Something is different. It’s her eyes. I see something so human in the swirl of her eyes, black and brown like melting stone. Something familiar.

The moment of hesitation is going to cost me. The Naga reaches out her claw. I move out of its reach and strike with my dagger, too late. I skim to the right. The blade digs into the flank of her skin until the resistance stops and I’m slicing through air.

At the same time, her talons dig into my chest.

Warm blood trickles from my wound. A numb prickle blooms around the cuts.

A scream.

A groan.

We fall into each other.

Prickly numbness spreads through me. My vision goes blurry.

Beneath the rapid pulse of my heart in my eardrums is the cry of the dragon-bird, like a child after its mother. I roll over and I see her. The Naga, eyes wide open. Mouth drawing in shaky breaths. But the beast’s face is changing. Fingers, slender human fingers touching the blackening skin around the cut beneath her ribs. She turns on her side, changing the way the river people do. She closes her eyes—the eyes, lips, face of a teenage girl.

Bloody and cut open and pressed against me so I can feel the cold sweat of her skin. She tries to lift her head but can’t, raven hair spilling on the ground.

Sharp pain snakes all over my body and gathers in my head.

When I close my eyes, she says, “Thank you.”