The Wealding Word (20 page)
Authors: A C Gogolski
By now, the vast expanse of yellow cords covered the sea clear to the horizon. Occasionally a long, leafy tendril rose up like a charmed snake as the boat pushed past. They sailed on, and more sinuous arms swayed above the water, as though they had eyes to see.
It was then that Nell caught an echo of life beneath the boat. She was playing at her game, clearing a space in herself as open as the sky, when
something
echoed in her chest. It was a faint sound, but it grew as she listened. A song began to form, trilling high and falling deeper than her ear could ever follow. The wordless melody filled her with a reverence for the water, supporter of all life, and for the great drum of the moon that stirred the heart of the sea.
As the sailors shouted, Nell surrendered to the sound: the song of the kelp. And suddenly, the strangleweed was aware of her too. Her eyes blinked open, wondering what it could mean.
The boat made slow progress through the seaweed. Large, mottled gulls started circling above. Known as yeffel gulls, people said the birds were a bad omen. Nell had seen them fly about the castle on the hill, though there were few of them at home. As the ship sailed on, the gulls began diving down at the oarsmen. Men roared at the brazen creatures, but with the kelp threatening to overrun the ship, none of the rowers could be spared to keep the birds at bay.
The man in the red cloak paced back and forth, alert to every omen from above, and every thump from below. Strangleweed grew thick all around, and he knew he was sailing in perilous waters. For the first time in days, he stopped to look at Nell. The song of the water fled her mind beneath his cold stare. It was as though he sensed something about her, and she feared his anger. Quickly she averted her eyes, studying the shore in hopes that he’d leave her be.
The coast far away to the right was still a wall of pointy rocks and steep cliffs, but now on the highest of them a dark, fearsome structure sat. Judging from the hermit’s description, Nell guessed it must be Rhiannon’s keep. Ahead in the middle of the kelp sea she saw a small island as well. A shattered ruin was silhouetted upon it in the gray afternoon light – something Ward and Peter had not mentioned in their tales.
Just then the boat bucked violently. The man in the cloak shouted orders, and Nell shivered. Men struggled hard to rip their oars from the entangling kelp, splashing and tearing at the water. One of the rowers cried out as his oar was wrenched from his hands. Nell looked over the side and saw a jumble of sea-vines quickly twining around the wooden shaft, pulling it under.
More tendrils rose up high around them, and soon they were sailing through a thicket of tall, ominous weeds. The waving strands wrapped about the stern ladder, the head rails, the figurehead – anything within reach. Another rower screamed as a thick vine yanked him from his seat. Men clutched his arms, and someone raced over with a sword, hacking at the kelp. In a matter of moments the cog ship lurched to a stop, held fast by the strangleweed. The sound of snapping vines and creaking wood drowned the hushed curses of the brutes on board.
Nell cowered in the stern, gripping the blanket around her should the kelp try to pull her overboard. Inside, she felt the giant creature’s anger, but there was curiosity as well. Somehow she knew that she was the cause of its vexation: someone had heard its song, and it wanted to know who. Suddenly a wild idea hit Nell like a blast of cold sea spray. Without thinking it through, she dropped the coarse blanket and stepped to the kelp-tangled rail. Why hide? She had nothing to lose but a life of slavery.
A dripping tendril snaked up to her but Nell remained still and unafraid. She listened deeply to its call. The sound of it was light now, cheerful even, and made her want to sway in time with the wavering strands before her. The creature had made an invitation. She could read it in the curl of the leaves, could hear it in the gentle pitch of the melody.
Let me see you
, it said.
I’ll keep you safe
.
While the men fought the entangling vines with swords and oars, Nell placed her foot on the upper gang rail. Using a rope secured nearby, she slowly pulled herself to stand on the very brink of the
ship. An endless swell of thick yellow vegetation filled her vision, rocking the vessel from below.
It was then that the man in the red cloak caught sight of her. “No!” he shouted, racing toward the quarterdeck where she was perched. “Stupid girl! You’ll drown for sure!”
The boat groaned and rocked violently, hit once again by something from below. Nell teetered on the rail, long tendrils snaking up to caress her boots and legs. The call of the kelp soothed her ear even as she swayed precipitously over the water. It was the music of the sea, sweeter than a spring chorus. She turned to see the cloaked man coming quick, his face red and terrible.
Just as he was about to reach for her, Nell took a deep breath… and jumped. Surrender felt so good. She braced for the shock of cold water, but instead of plunging in, she landed with a wet SPLURCH. Opening her eyes, she found she was on her hands and knees, bobbing on a tangled mat of kelp.
“You fool!” the cloaked man shouted. “You’re as good as dead! We’re not coming for you!” Only then did he notice that the girl never went
below
the water. “What?” He staggered back a step, and the barbarians rushed forward to look.
Nell rose to her feet, arms outstretched to steady herself. She found the twining carpet of vegetation supported her weight easily. Its song was a part of her now, and she could not help but sway in time with the snaking kelp around her.
“It was you! Witch!” the man hissed from the vessel. “You brought the wrath of this creature upon us!”
The sudden fury in his voice startled Nell, and she withdrew a few steps from the cog-ship, not considering that she could plunge into the sea at any moment. The barbarians quickly caught the cloaked man’s meaning and began shouting their own word at her:
Maerfrood
. A spear flew from the ship toward Nell, but all at once a dozen slimy tendrils whipped up to snatch it in mid-flight. The
boat sustained another mighty jolt from below, and two men were knocked overboard. Their screams turned to bubbles as hungry yellow vines lurched them beneath the water, mere feet from where Nell stood. The rest of the men on board shouted curses, but none dared cast another spear. “Maerfrood! Maerfrood!”
Witch!
She turned her back on the shouting men and saw the small island waiting in the distance. Seeming to intuit her intent, the kelp knitted a springy causeway beneath her feet. She took a cautious step in the direction of the ruins, and then another. Soon she was laughing despite herself, her body moving with the rhythm of the water. It wasn’t merely the pliant mass of seaweed, but rather the song of the sea itself that lifted her. Rising tendrils brushed her arms and fingers as she danced, ran, and splashed her way to the island.
Only then did something from the old tales return to her memory. She recalled stories her father used to tell, wherein the spirits of forest and sea were always dancing, dancing in the silence. For that brief moment she understood the melody that called their movements. It was something the storytellers never spoke of, never suspected: a beautiful, hidden, ever-present song that filled the world with life. A song which men could no longer hear. She skipped on, supported by the massive creature as sure and stable as the sea floor.
It was a relatively short run over the living walkway to the rocks of the island. When she was almost to solid land, several leafy arms rose up before her, blocking the way. She felt a warning conveyed in the sway of the strands.
It is not safe
, they seemed to say.
She peered past the kelp to the ruin dominating the island. It looked abandoned, except for the yeffel gulls crowding the toothy battlements. “I need to go there,” she said out loud, hoping the strangleweed could hear. “I want to be on the ground again. Just for a little bit. I’ll be careful.” After a moment’s hesitation, the tendrils splooped back into the sea, and Nell sprinted the last hundred paces.
At last she climbed onto a long flat stone, half submerged in the kelp. It was part of a slain tower mounting up toward the ruin. As she stood upon it she heard a low rumble, followed by the echo of distant splashing behind her. She turned to see the raiders’ boat still mired by vines. But the ship was small now, no longer a threat. Just barely could she make out a speck of red cloak flying among the figures on the deck. Another explosion sent water splattering around the boat again.
Nell felt no pity for the barbarians fighting to free their vessel. If they ever did get free, she doubted the ship would come any closer. She was a witch, a
maerfrood
, and that alone was enough to keep them away. Besides, the kelp forest did not want them sailing upon it. An incredible effort and a lot more explosives would be needed for the cog-ship to cross to where she now stood.
One last, lone strand of kelp snaked up from the sea toward her. Nell put her hand out to touch it, feeling its waxy leaves strong and flexible between her fingers. She gave a shaky smile, letting a wave of gratitude flow through her. In another moment the cord withdrew, and Nell was alone on the desolate isle.
Nell climbed the ponderous tumble of stones that was once the western tower of the fortress. Hundreds of sharp-beaked yeffel gulls perched on the battlements above, watching her every move. She remembered how the birds attacked the raiders on the ship, and suddenly felt as vulnerable as a snail on a rock. She crept into the courtyard, gazing at the dark doorways and window openings for signs of life. The place was clearly deserted, but at least there were spaces to hide in if she needed.
She looked again at one of the archways.
Just inside the ruin stood a round-faced girl, about the same age as Nell. She wore a tidy white skirt covered in bows, with lace about her wrists. Her braided hair was tied with a pretty pink ribbon, and around her neck she wore a chain with a pearl. The girl’s beauty was marred only by the ashen circles beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept for days. She gave Nell an uncertain smile and they stared at each other, neither quite trusting her eyes.
At last, the sunken-eyed girl called in a sweet, hesitant voice: “Are you a mermaid?”
Nell shook her head. “No. I just escaped from a ship. Do you live here?”
“Yes, it’s all mine – I’m the princess of the island. Mummy Ann says.”
Nell looked about. A crowd of mottled gulls landed a few steps away. They scampered closer, and there was a hungry look about them. “Oh,” said Nell. One of the birds tried to nip at the hem of her dress. She kicked it away, edging toward the girl beneath the arch. “Do you have another home too, I mean, on the coast? I need to get back there.”
“No, I lived here all my life. You better come in, or else the birds will get you. Look who’s here everyone!” she called. At her feet a number of cats purred and meowed, but Nell could see no one else around. “I’m Evelyn. This is my castle and these are my vassals,” she said.
“Thanks, I’m Nell,” Nell said, hurrying through the opening, “is your… Mum here?”
“Mummy Ann? She’s away right now, but she comes to see me just about every day. Maybe tomorrow you can meet her. Come on!” Evelyn shook with excitement. “I never had a friend before. Mummy will be so proud I made a real friend!”
“Sure.” Nell followed Evelyn into the ruin but froze only a few steps inside. Rather than a cold, deserted shell, she found golden door handles, stained glass windows and handsome marble floors within. “Like Lady Zel’s tower,” she breathed, awed by the splendor.
“What’s that? You want to see my bell tower? Alright, let’s go!” The girl scooped up a kitten and threw it into Nell’s arms. “That can be your baby, and this will be my baby.” She kissed the struggling cat on its nose.
Along the way they walked from room to room, with Evelyn pointing out one extraordinary detail after another. “There are fifteen thousand, six hundred and seventy eight books in the main library. I’ve read eight thousand, one hundred and forty of them. Have
you
read eight thousand, one hundred and forty books?”
“No.”
Evelyn chattered on blithely. “Mummy Ann always brings me presents. She brought me a skein of thread made from a chimera’s mane just yesterday, I’m going to make a new pillow from it,” or “This vase was presented to her by King Horace, and she says I can have it someday,” or “Whenever I want something to eat, I just say ‘pretty please’ and Gadnik brings me it. I can have cake whenever I wish!”
The longer Nell spent touring the palace with Evelyn, the less she liked her new companion. Aside from ceaseless boasts about her treasures, the “princess” couldn’t go more than three minutes without nearly killing one of her cats in a death-cuddle.
The two girls passed a set of huge metal doors, seeming rather out of place with the rest of the sparkling palace. The strange symbols worked along their borders had a sinister aspect, accenting the serpentine coils in the middle. Cold air from the other side whistled through a black, empty keyhole. “Where do these doors go?” Nell asked.
