The Poisoned Crown (18 page)

A
NNIE WALKED
home. Bartlemy had tried to call a taxi for her but there was none available for more than an hour and after a couple of drinks his alcohol level was too high to drive.

“I could cheat the Breathalyzer,” he pointed out with a twinkle in his eyes. “I am a wizard, after all—in a small way.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t,” she replied. “It’s dangerous to drive even a little bit drunk, and we’ve had enough danger for one night. The gnomons are gone; I’ll be fine.”

It was cold, and she wound her scarf around her neck up to her chin. Her coat was several winters old and growing shabby but it never bothered her; fashion was not one of Annie’s priorities. She walked down the road in the dark, knowing her way, no longer the wild strange Annie of earlier that evening but herself again, quiet and sure. Somewhere
inside her a decision had been made, without conscious reflection, a result or side effect of all the questions, the riddles, the inadequate answers—a result that had less to do with what was said than what was not.
I’ll tell Nathan
, she resolved,
on his sixteenth birthday. I’ll tell him everything I know, and everything I don’t know. The rest he can work out for himself. At sixteen, he can handle it.

It was time to be done with childhood fairy tales and let him grow up on his own.

I don’t believe all that stuff about doom
, she concluded.
That’s seer-talk. They would probably say we’re all doomed, given half a chance
—
and they’d be right. We’re all going to die. What of it? That really is yesterday’s news.
And she smiled to herself on the dark lonely road, a little smile making curvy lines in her cheek, indifferent to the rush-and-tumble of the wind as it worried at the treetops.

It was then she heard the footfalls.

For a second her heart jumped into her throat—but no, the gnomons were gone, and anyhow their footsteps were many and light, whereas these belonged to a much larger creature, soft-shod or barefoot, two-legged, human or nearly so. And her imagination pictured a following shape blacker than the shadows, watching her with ruby eyes.

She swung around but did not call out. She couldn’t see it, though she knew it was there. Then she strode off, quickening her pace, hearing the soft, heavy footfalls some distance behind her, neither too fast nor too slow, pursuing her like an echo all the way back to Eade.

t was Friday night before Nathan found himself back on Widewater. He was at home—sometimes his mother picked him up on Friday evening, sometimes Saturday morning, depending on his school commitments—and as things turned out, that was a relief. In the other-world, flying with the albatross over the endless curve of the sea, he realized very quickly that hardly any time had passed since they’d left Denaero. Increasingly he thought of himself and Ezroc as a single unit,
we
, a kind of gestalt, rather than two separate entities. Time in different universes does not run concurrently; although there was in every cosmos a period to which Nathan returned most frequently, and which he thought of as “the present,” he might find himself turning up a couple of millennia too early, or a day too late, and a week, a year, or a minute might pass in a few hours of earth time. Now he sensed they were going back to find the mermaid, keeping a promise. The sun was setting, and the reflected light stretched across the water like a track of beaten gold, rippling with countless waves. Nathan was beginning to find the vast sameness of the seascape wearying, with not even a rock to break the monotony, nothing but the empty ocean from sky to sky. He found himself thinking wistfully, not of green shores and white beaches, but
the Ice Cliffs of home, and knew his emotions were melding with the bird’s until he had trouble recollecting which was whom, and whom was which.

Dusk was almost welcome, softening the vacancy, wrapping the vastness in twilight and stars. A thin moon floated away westward (Nathan had lost his sense of direction, but the albatross never did); beyond, a few long strands of cloud cruised like basking sharks above the horizon. Soon they saw the gleam of whitecaps along the spine of the reef, and as Ezroc dipped low Nathan made out the pallor of Denaero’s head and shoulders rising from the water, and the dark pool of her hair.

“You’re late,” she accused as the great bird settled on the sea swell. “We said sunset.”

“We said after dark. At sunset we could be seen too easily.”

“No one is watching me,” Denaero said. “In my father’s hall they are banqueting by the light of electric eels and sea stars that glow in the deep, eating a whole coelacanth that Uraki and his sharkriders caught two days ago. There is the music of tritons and conch shells, aqualyres and terpsichords, and my sisters wear garlands of pearls and glitter-worms and will dance till dawn. My favorite brother is there nursing his sore tattoo, trying not to look bored, but I told them I had a headache and would eat balmweed and sleep the night away. In the caverns below the shaman-priestesses chant their dreary chants while their gardens flower with living eyes and tiny mouths that open and close, open and close as the tide flows over them. One brought me the balmweed to chew, but I tucked it into my cheek and spat it out when she had gone. Who cares for dancing and feasts and shaman-cures? I’m going to fly—to fly—to fly—”

She flung her arms around the bird’s neck, and he laughed his croaking laugh and told her to climb up, and as she did so Nathan felt her tail change, dividing into soft slim legs that curled around his body.

“Hold on tight!” Ezroc said, and reared up, wings pounding, skidding across the water in a trail of spray. Denaero shrieked with glee, clutching his neck feathers, and then they were rising up … and up … wheeling into a great spiral that left the sea far below and bore them ever higher toward the stars. The mermaid seemed to be leaning forward
to gaze down at the moonglimmer on the distant water, and Nathan found himself wanting to share her experience, to feel what she felt, to see what she saw. Somehow he wrenched his mind free of the albatross and then he, too, was straddling the bird’s back, just behind Denaero, ducking to one side to avoid the web of her hair, which whipped in long wet strands across his face. He was so eager to be part of it— the flight, the stars, Denaero’s excitement and happiness—that he forgot all caution, pouring himself into the moment as he had done in other dreamworlds when the thrill of
being
lured him on.

And suddenly, he was solid.

Ezroc felt the extra weight and his ascent faltered; he tilted and reeled. Denaero looked around and screamed. Nathan didn’t know quite how it happened, but in that instant of panic she lost her balance. His thighs gripped the albatross’s body as Ezroc lurched to the left, but Denaero, unfamiliar with legs, had no grip, or none that she knew how to use. She keeled over, snatching at air—and then she was gone. Nathan flung himself forward onto the bird’s neck, staring after her— saw her limbs flailing as she plunged headfirst toward the sea, the streaming plume of her hair. The drop was a hundred feet or more. Ezroc swooped after her, but he could not match the speed of her fall. And then somehow her body streamlined—even in the growing dark Nathan could make it out—arms outstretched, legs flowing together into a tail—and she was an arrow-shape streaking smoothly downward, cleaving the water in a perfect dive. Nathan caught his breath at the transformation, at her grace and instinctive skill. And Ezroc, relieved of anxiety for her, terrified by the sudden stranger on his back, folded his wings and plummeted seaward. Nathan tried to hang on but the bird shook himself, rolling sideways—and he dropped like a stone into the water.

There was no time to dematerialize—even if he had known how— no time to correct his position. The impact stung like a whole-body slap, then the sea opened and swallowed him. He was sinking, struggling, drowning in the choking horror of the water—it was his every nightmare revisited. He tried to swim, to kickback toward the surface, but he seemed to have no control over body or mind, and in the frenzy
of the moment all he knew was panic and the dark. He felt something tugging him—felt small strong hands under his arms—he lashed out in confusion but whoever it was didn’t let go. He was already gulping water, fighting not to breathe while his chest tightened into a fist—

Then he broke the surface, gasped thankfully at the rush of air into his lungs. Denaero released him; the albatross paddled on a ripple close by. He was treading water but felt that any second he might sink. He said: “Don’t let go. Please—”

Denaero caught him underarm again, supporting him with little effort. “Why don’t you change?” she said.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m not merfolk—not seafolk. My legs don’t—”

“What are you?” the albatross demanded. “Where did you come from?”

And Denaero, doubtfully: “You must be … some kind of selkie …”

Her night vision was far better than his and she could see the unfamiliar darkness of his skin against her own pale hands.

“No,” Nathan said. “I’m human. I came”—he looked at Ezroc— “from your head.”

“It
was you
…”

“You were in his head—in his thought—and now you’re
solid?”
Denaero was trying to work it out. “That’s serious magic. Even the shamans can’t do anything like that.”

“Were you spying on us?” Ezroc asked.

“Of course not. At least, not in a bad way.”

“Who sent you?”

“No one.”
Possibly the supreme ruler of another universe, but lets not complicate things.
“It’s a bit difficult to explain. I come from—from a different world …”

He had had these conversations before, but never while trying to keep his head above water. He thought now would be a good time to wake up, but of course he couldn’t.

“What world?” Ezroc said with evident skepticism.

Nathan spoke the thought foremost in his mind. “One with land.”

“Land!”
said Denaero. “You mean—you’re a legwalker? A
real
legwalker?”

“Yes.”

“You get up and walk about—on legs?”

“Yes.”

“But how do you stay up without the water to support you?”

“It isn’t that hard,” Ezroc said. “Selkies do it sometimes. And snowbears—but they have four legs. Birds do it, too, when we land on the Great Ice.”

“Yes, but he’s so
tall.
And he has no wings. How can you balance?”

“Practice,” Nathan said. “Firm ground is a big help.” In the north, he reflected, he could have climbed out onto the ice, but he would probably have died of hypothermia. Here in the tropics, the sea was as warm as a bath.

“Why don’t you stay still?” Denaero asked, as he accidentally kicked her tail.

“Because I’ll sink.”

“I don’t sink. Unless I want to.”

“You’re a mermaid.”

“You don’t belong here,” Ezroc said slowly. “I’ve flown all over Widewater, and I’ve never seen anything like you. Why is your skin that color?”

“My ancestors lived in the sun a lot. It’s the practical color for people who live in the sun. In my world some people are much darker, almost black.”

“And they don’t dry up?” Denaero said. “Walking around—on legs—in the sun … How much time do they spend out of the water?”

“All the time,” Nathan said.

“I don’t believe you!”

“I do,” Ezroc said unexpectedly. “You were in my head—I felt you. I’d have known if you were evil, or a liar. But I don’t understand
how
— or why—”

“I’ll try to explain,” Nathan said. “But it may take some time. Couldn’t we go somewhere—rest—?”

“We are resting,” said Denaero, puzzled. “If you’d only stop fidgeting …”

“I don’t
fidget!
”

Eventually, they decided Nathan could climb onto Ezroc’s back and sit there while they talked—Denaero complained she was bored trying to support him—though it meant the bird had to turn his head right around in order to see whom he was talking to. For all the avian suppleness of his neck, it was not a comfortable solution. “You’re twice as heavy as Denaero,” he objected. “It was easier when you were in my mind.”