Shadowfall

9

“Are we still supposed to be panicking?” Rogger asked. “Because I’m getting sores on my arse from all this waiting.”

Tylar shrugged. He had no idea why they hadn’t been attacked yet. He and the thief, along with Delia, sat on a shadowed bench under a fold of sail and watched the seas.

The Grim Wash lay mired in the tangleweed, like a bottle-fly in a spider’s web. The slack sails fluttered weakly with the occasional gust of wind, as if trying to fly free. But escape was impossible.

Tylar stared at the entwining growth. The field of tangleweed undulated with the ocean swells, surrounding the ship in all directions. It took a spyglass to see the open water now.

Earlier in the day, they had crashed broadside into the edge of the choked patch. While they foundered there, the tangleweed flowed past the ship’s flanks, encircling the boat, its passage marked by a ghostly scritch-scratching against the planks, like drowning men clawing to board the ship. Captain Grayl had attempted to keep at least the keel clear by lowering a man on ropes with an ax, but with every chop, more weed writhed up from below. It was futile. The weed was relentless. Even the galley cook reported tendrils sprouting through the boards of the galley, twining inside.

With the ship mired, there was nothing the crew could do but watch the sun crest the sky and begin its slow fall toward the western horizon, baking the ship beneath it.

Eyes narrowed at Tylar. “We should just throw his arse over the rail,” he heard a sailor mumble to another. “Give the watery god what she wants.”

Tylar had heard similar rumblings all day. Only the captain’s goodwill protected him from attack. But how long would it last? Gold bought only so much loyalty, especially among the ilk that bartered with the Black Flaggers.

As the day wore on, the heat continued to rise, damp and salty, smelling of wet weed. It didn’t help the crew’s temperament. The occasional gusts brought a bit of movement to the air, stemming the heavy heat and wafting upon them a sweetness from the fields of blooming spore heads. The thorny flowered stalks pushed above the roll of weed, jostled sluggishly by the current. They looked like white-haired old men, skeletally thin, shaking their heads at the sorry state of the wooden intruder into their midst. But these flower-headed men remained their only companions. The weed hid all else below.

“Are you certain this is Tangle Reef?” Tylar asked for the hundredth time.

Captain Grayl spoke behind them, where he oversaw the repair crews. “It be the Reef, surely. I’ve never spotted a patch of tangle so large. It can be no other.”

As confirmation, Rogger tapped the brand on the underside of his right forearm, reminding everyone that he had been here before. “The good captain is correct.”

Tylar motioned to the spread of weed. “Then where are all the trading barges, the supply ships, the floating dockworks that service the city below the waves?”

Delia answered, waving a small silk fan before her face. “The Reef is as changing as the seas it rides on. It is a living creature whose heart is Fyla.” She touched her chin with the back of her thumb, respect for letting a god’s name pass from her lips. Though the young woman had nailed her fate to theirs, she was still a handmaiden and would not speak harshly of another god, even one meant on capturing them, most likely killing them.

Delia continued. “The weed moves through the Deep by Fyla’s will, but it still requires preparation. Once the hunt began, she would have no choice but to unfetter the Reef’s support ships, to withdraw her surface docks below. There are limits even to the tangle’s reach.”

“It reached us fair enough,” Rogger grumbled, glaring down the length of the Grim Wash.

The wavecrasher listed about four hands to port, tilting the crowded decks. Most of the ship’s crew had come topside, standing, sitting, pacing, all eyes on the horizons. Some attempted to keep busy under the baleful eye of Captain Grayl. Others stood by the rails in supplication, rubbing prayer beads between palms, spitting into the sea to add their waters to the Deep. But most, like Tylar, Rogger, and Delia, stared listlessly at the weed, awaiting certain doom.

“So why isn’t Fyla attacking?” Rogger asked, keeping his voice low. “She must know you’re here.”

Tylar shook his head. “Perhaps she’s consulting with the other gods.”

Rogger spat over the rail in irritation. “It’s not like our watery mistress of the weed doesn’t have the time to dally. We’re certainly not going anywhere. There’s no swimming to freedom, not through this snarl. It’ll pull you under before you’re past the ship’s shadow.”

The chief mate crossed by them, headed for his captain. He had come up from below. His leggings were soaked from the knees down. Not a good tiding. He tapped Grayl’s shoulder.

“Captain, we’re taking on water in the bilge. I have men working the bellows pumps, but it’s a lost battle.”

“Maybe Fyla means to sink us,” Rogger said, leaning back and stretching. “Why dirty her hands with air breathers when she can drown the lot of us?”

Delia stirred. “No. Fyla would want to face Tylar at the very least.”

“Face a godslayer?” Rogger asked doubtfully. “Would she take such a risk?”

“For Meeryn, she would,” Delia answered. “Fyla and Meeryn were close. Both were water gods of the warm seas. Once a decade, the Reef would sweep into the Summering Isles. And though Meeryn could never leave the islands to which she was bonded, the two gods would meet near the Tumbledown Beaches. Fyla would ride in upon a woven carpet of weed, pulled by a pair of silverback dolphins. I saw such a meeting once with my own eyes. Two gods within arm’s reach of each other.”

Tylar could only imagine such a sight. As the Hundred were bound by blood to the lands they settled, it was rare for one god to meet another. Occasionally those who shared neighboring realms would meet at the borders, but even that was rare.

“Some say,” Rogger began, lasciviously cocking up an eyebrow, “that the two were once lovers. Before the Sundering. Now I’d slap down a silver yoke or two to see those two together.”

Color rose darkly to Delia’s cheeks, but before she could reprimand him, shouts burst from the port side.

“The weed is opening!” a man in the high riggings called down. He pointed an arm.

Those gathered atop the deck rushed to the port rail. Tylar was pulled along with them, trailed by Rogger and Delia.

A lone sailor left on the starboard side rubbed prayer beads together. “Everyone on your knees!” he yelled to his ship-mates. “Beg forgiveness from she who moves beneath! Cast the blasphemer from our sight!”

A few glanced to the crazed supplicant until someone in the rigging threw a tin cup at the man’s head. He cried out and went silent.

Captain Grayl stepped to Tylar’s side, plainly worried the tense crew might mutiny against his sworn charge. “Stay close,” he warned. “No telling when the lot of ’em might forget how you fought off the jelly shark and saved their filthy hides.”

Grayl cleared a way to the port rail. Tylar stared at the rolling spread of weed. Its sweet scent wafted stronger now.

“Something’s rising!” the crewman in the nest yelled.

They all saw it a moment later. Through the gap in the weed, a huge black bubble rose from below. It surfaced, sluicing water from its iridescent smooth sides.

“A deepwater pod,” Rogger said.

The top of the bubble peeled open like the petals of a nightshade. Cupped within the center were six men, tall, muscled, hairless from crown to heel. They were naked, except for snug loincloths that blended with their skin, a fish-belly paleness striped in swatches of gray, brown, and ebony.

In their right hands, they carried spears that glinted in the sun. Traceries of green phosphorous crackled along the shafts. Weapons blessed with Grace.

Tylar knew who stood before the ship. The elite guard of Fyla. The Hunters of the Deep. The Shadowknights of the seas.

Their leader stepped forward onto the closest edge of the folded petal of the pod. “Tylar de Noche!” he called to the ship. His voice was oddly nasal, but still rich with authority. “You are ordered by she who moves below to present yourself to her court, to address the heinous acts of which you are accused.”

Captain Grayl gripped Tylar’s elbow and whispered fiercely. “It is certain doom.”

“No doubt, but we have no choice here.”

“We can still fight. I have archers in the riggings, ready on my word. I owe you my ship, my life.”

“And I would have you lose neither defending me.” Tylar freed himself from the captain’s grip.

“Then what will you do?”

Tylar found Rogger and Delia staring at him. “I will go. Once you’re all safely out of harm’s reach, I’ll seek another way to escape.” He had little hope for such a possibility. He barely understood the Graces that ran through his blood and bile, let alone how to use them. And the daemon inside could not save him from drowning.

Delia shook her head. “I’m going with you. I can speak on your behalf. Fyla might listen to words coming from Meeryn’s blood servant.”

“And where you go, I go,” Rogger added.

Tylar sought words to argue. He wanted to bravely cast aside their loyalties, but in his heart, he found strength in their companionship.

Before he could settle the matter, a shudder passed through the ship. Sails shook, ropes rattled in their stanchions, planks trembled underfoot. Cries arose throughout the ship.

“What’s happening?” Delia squeaked.

Captain Grayl answered, “We’re sinking!”

Leaning over the rail, Tylar saw the waterline climb the flanks of the ship. “It’s the skagging tangleweed!” Grayl spat. “It’s pulling us under!”

The leader of the Hunters called out again. “Tylar de Noche! Show yourself or the ship and all aboard will be drowned!”

The Grim Wash continued its shuddering descent into the choked seas, pulled from below. There was no more time for discussion or debate.

Tylar raised an arm high. “I am here! Spare the ship and I will come freely!”

With his words, the tremble in the ship stopped.

The eyes of the Hunters narrowed on him. The Grim Wash remained half-submerged, awaiting his cooperation.

“I must go,” Tylar said.

Captain Grayl wore a determined but resigned expression. “I’ll drop a rope ladder.”

It was all done hastily. The crew was anxious for Tylar to abandon the ship. A few looked ready to simply push him overboard. As he swung a leg over the rail, Grayl grabbed his arm and twisted his wrist.

“What-?”

“Here,” Grayl said. “A return for the remainder of the journey not sailed.” Three gold marches were dropped into his palm.

Tylar shoved them back. “Where I go, I have no need for coin.”

The captain refused to accept them, and the marches fell between their fingers and bounced on the planks.

Rogger set upon them in an instant. “Who says we won’t need coins? You sound like a man heading to the gallows.”

Tylar frowned at him.

“Trust me,” the thief continued. “I’ve lived enough lives to know that the future is never fixed to one path. And no matter which course opens, a bit of gold never hurt.” He jangled his pocket and waved Tylar over the rail. “Now get going before I change my mind about following someone so lacking in good sense.”

Tylar mounted the ladder and descended while Rogger helped Delia over the rail. They didn’t have far to climb. The water’s edge was three-quarters of the way up the ship’s side.

Tylar reached the last rung, ready to jump into the seas and swim to the awaiting Hunters. He turned to get his bearings and found the deepwater pod floating toward the boat, petals extended toward Tylar’s group. The weeds parted before its path.

After a moment, the lead petal’s edge bumped against the ship. Tylar stepped out onto it, wary of his footing. He needn’t have worried. What appeared delicate was firm and steady. Thick veins ran through the leafy petal, supporting it. It was a living thing, a part of the mass of tangleweed.

He stepped away, allowing room for Delia and Rogger. Up at the rail, Captain Grayl raised a hand in sad farewell.

Tylar nodded, mystified by the simple nobility of someone tied to the notorious Flaggers. He had always known that the world was more gray than black and white, but he had never imagined that gray came in so many shades.

Rogger spoke as he stepped onto the petal, his eyes focused on the pod’s center. “Let’s hope these Hunters are half as hospitable as our good captain has been.”

Tylar turned to face the gathered guards. Closer now, he spotted the ribbed lines that shadowed either side of the Hunters’ throats. Gill breathers, like all who lived in Tangle Reef. They could live for short spells above the waters, but it was uncomfortable, and after a day’s time, they would sicken and die unless they returned to the seas.

Tylar led Delia and Rogger forward. The points of five spears tracked them. Only the leader kept his weapon by his side.

“I am Kreel,” he said when they were a step away from him. “Know that you will die on my spear if you attempt any misdeed. She who we serve has blessed me with the sight to see any flows of Grace, whether dark or bright. Cast any charms or summon your daemon and I will know it within a breath, and you will die on the next.”

Tylar noted a glint in the other’s eyes that had nothing to do with the sun overhead. He spoke the truth. There was power hidden there. Tylar refused to flinch from his gaze. “I swear that I will bring no harm to anyone in Tangle Reef unless provoked. As you protect your god and people, so I will my friends here.”

Kreel nodded and stepped back, opening the way to the pod.

They gathered into the center of the pod. The Hunters stood at the edges, spears pointing at them like the spokes of a wheel.

“What about the ship?” Tylar asked.

Kreel nodded. “They will leave unharmed.”

As proof of his word, the Grim Wash suddenly bobbed up amid small cries of distress from the crew. The boat had been set free. Tylar watched as a lane opened in the weed behind the ship’s stern. He heard Grayl’s gruff voice bark orders. Sails climbed up the masts. Even before they could be unfurled, the ship began to move, gliding down the open space in the tangle.

“The weed’s pushing ’em,” Rogger said. “Shoving them out of here.”

Tylar watched. “At least they’re honoring their word in this regard.”

“I suspect it’s not so much honor that grants this boon.”

Tylar glanced to the thief.

He nodded to the retreating ship. “There goes all hope of ever escaping Tangle Reef.”

With those words, the petals of the pod folded up and over their heads, forming a seamless seal. Instead of darkness, the space glowed with a soft green luminescence, filtered sunlight through leaf.

As they began their descent, Tylar was reminded again that the pod was a living part of the weed… and they’d just been swallowed up.

For a long silent stretch, they continued blindly into the depths, pulled smoothly by a stalk underneath the pod. Tylar, standing in the center, sensed tiny vibrations through his boots.

“Look,” Delia whispered, drawing his attention to the walls.

When they had first begun their descent, filtered sunlight from the surface had slowly faded to eternal darkness. A small glass lamp-a fire lantern blessed with a single drop of blood from a fire god-had been shaken and bloomed with a tiny flame to light the darkening space.

Now, like an onion peeling, the outermost layer of the pod’s walls had begun to fold back. Translucent walls transformed to fine crystal, opening a clear view to the seas beyond the pod.

Tylar gaped.

All around, a vast forest spread through the dark waters, lit by glowing globes that hung from arched branches. Slender trunks rose in fanciful spirals, while giant fronded leaves waved everywhere. Currents wafted entire sections in slow, undulating dances, moving to a music beyond their hearing.

Rogger spoke. “Who would’ve guessed that snarl topside would look so handsome from down here?”

“I thought you’d been here before?” Tylar said.

He hitched a thumb upward. “Only to the surface docks. I was branded under the sun. To travel down more than a handful of fathoms is forbidden to all but a select few. The mistress here likes to keep the true face of Tangle Reef turned away from sunlight and wind.”

A sudden storm of luminous pinpricks swept up the pod, swirled in eddies like a snowstorm, then rolled away.

“Sea sprites,” Delia said, amazed, following their flight as they fluttered away. “They’re the tiniest bits of sea life, more energy than substance.”

Other larger denizens came swimming up with flicks of tails or writhes of bodies: sharkrays, nibblecray, mantai, and a monstrously large gobdasher. This last curious visitor dwarfed the pod and stared in at them with one baleful yellow eye, then the other. Its mouth cracked enough to reveal three rows of palm-sized teeth, razor edged. But a school of puffer crabs chased it off, jetting through the water with little bursts and nipping claws at the gobdasher’s tail.

Tylar watched it flee through the forest. Farther away, movement caught his eye. Something shifted as the gobdasher passed. It made their recent visitor look like a minnowette. Tylar caught a brief glimpse of flailing tentacles, falling upon the gobdasher; then the sight vanished away as their pod descended farther into the depths.

Tylar knew what he had seen.

A miiodon… very likely the same one that had attacked the Grim Wash.

Kreel stirred from his place by the fire lamp. “The Reef,” he announced.

Tylar turned. A starscape sprawled below. Glow globes, fire lanterns, and natural phosphorescence mapped out small homes, towering villas, terraces, and courts. Crowning it all, a vast castillion blazed, appearing on fire from the number of lamps lining its parapets and towers.

Their pod dropped toward the tallest tower, dragged by a winding stalk that disappeared down its open throat.

As they drew nearer, figures appeared, limned in the city’s glow. They swam or floated among the buildings, which seemed to be constructed of the same sturdy material as their pod. A lone girl, arms laden with an empty net, glided through the waters with small flicks of her ankles and twists of her torso. She swept up to the pod.

Kreel noted her approach and made a keening sound that set Tylar’s teeth to throbbing. In response, the girl spun in place and with a swift kick of her legs sped away.

The pod reached the tower’s top and continued down its throat. All sight vanished to the sides. Overhead, the glowing opening retreated as they dropped into the depths of the castillion.

Heading to the dungeons, Tylar thought sourly.

After another moment, a rough bump shook the pod and almost knocked him on his backside. They had stopped. He glanced to his companions but found only worry in their expressions.

Tylar searched upward. The tiny circle of light vanished as a hatch pinched closed just overhead. Once sealed, a gurgling vibrated through the pod.

“They’re draining the water,” Delia whispered.

Bubbles danced all around the pod. In only a few breaths, the waterline trembled down the sides and disappeared away. As the gurgling ceased, a light bloomed to the right, outlining an open doorway. One of the pod’s petals peeled toward the new glow.

An empty passage awaited them.

Two of the Hunters hurried ahead and flanked the entry.

Kreel pointed his spear. “She awaits in the grotto.”

Tylar stepped out of the pod, leading his companions. The low passage was tubular with curving walls, lit by a vein of phosphorescence that ran along the ceiling. The air was damp but surprisingly warm, smelling of salt crust and algae.

They proceeded down the passage. Kreel kept a step behind them. Tylar felt his eyes on him, a dagger tickling his neck. He studied the pair of Hunters ahead of him.

One Hunter scratched a finger along his gill flaps, fluttering them, clearly dry and irritated. Their escorts had been out of the water a fair amount of time.

Tylar could not fathom why someone would choose this life for a child. The denizens of the Reef drank a special elixir when heavy with child, an alchemy of Graces from Fyla herself. It touched the growing babe in the womb, blessed its development. And though there were other folk that chose similar paths by imbibing godly elixirs when with child-producing loam-giants, fire walkers, and wind wraiths-at least these offspring still lived in the world of land and air. Why abandon the world above for such an isolated life below?

The passage ended at a translucent door. Brighter light from beyond set it aglow, but details remained murky. As they neared, the door parted, splitting in a perfect star pattern and withdrawing away in five sections.

A sweet billow washed over them. Tylar recognized it immediately.

The aroma of the tangleweed flower.

The two Hunters stepped through the open portal first, dropping to their knees just past the threshold. Kreel nudged Tylar with the tip of his spear.

Tylar entered a grotto of breathtaking beauty.

The space opened under an arched dome, large enough to hold all of Summer Mount and festooned with hanging plants, vines, and bright flowers. Light blazed from a single colossal fire lantern as wide as a man’s outstretched arms. It floated in the center of the dome’s space, unsupported, rolling and drifting gently over the landscape below.

Lit beneath it, pools and waterfalls graced walkways lined with flowers unlike any seen under the sun. Rather than growing from soil, their beds were streams and sculpted puddles. Flowers of every hue grew riotous among trees and leafy bushes. Some he recognized: honeybloom, jasper’s heart, wyldpetal, sea-dandle, and ghost palm. Most were unknown. Strange fruit hung from one fronded tree, appearing like yellow vipers, twisting and hanging from branches. Another tree’s leaves twinkled with a soft violet radiance.

Every glance held a new wonder.

Delia spoke at his shoulder, a whisper of a whisper. “The Sacred Grotto. It is said Fyla collects her botanicals from all over Myrillia, some even from the hinterlands.”

Tylar simply stared. He had never imagined such beauty under the seas.

Kreel waved them forward, never taking his eyes from Tylar.

They were led down the central path that wound into the heart of the grotto. The guards maintained a ring around them, Kreel at their backs.

All about, the babble and tinkle of water echoed. Passing over one bridge, Tylar happened to glance down and saw another of the Reef’s Hunters glide along the channel below. The spear in his hand was plain to see.

Rogger noted the same. “I have read of this place.” He waved an arm over his head. “This is but half of the garden. The other half lies beneath our feet, a maze of waterways and flooded caves. She could hide an entire army down there and we’d never know it.”

Tylar’s sense of wonder dimmed as his anxiety rose again.

They mounted a long bridge, one that arched in a graceful curve over a wide pond. The waters below teemed with sea life: from tiny tick eels to the sweep of giant mantai. Schools of fish silvered the waters as they shimmered and danced.

In the center of the pond rose a tall island surrounded by a white sand beach. The fire lantern hovered directly over its peak, shining upon the rich flora flowing over the cliffs and slopes. From its very top, a frothing spring jetted high into the air, then raced down its sides in rivulets and cascades back to the pond. The most dramatic course was a wide waterfall in front: a flow of molten silver fell sheer from the peak’s top into a small rocky basin at its base.

As they reached the bridge’s end, the two lead Hunters crossed their spears, barring the way onto the island. The green phosphorescence of their blessed weapons flared brighter.

Kreel called out, “We have done your duty, Mistress of the Reef. He who has been named Godslayer stands before you for judgment.”

The island remained quiet, except for the chatter of falling water. After several breaths, a voice finally answered, “Let him come forward.”

Delia dropped to her knees. “Fyla…”

The guards uncrossed their weapons.

Tylar stepped from the bridge to the sandy beach. Rogger moved to follow.

The voice stopped them both. “Only the godslayer.”

Tylar glanced to the thief. He saw Rogger’s hesitation and waved him back. “I’ll be fine.” He even felt a bit of confidence in this statement. He didn’t feel like he was going to die.

Still, a finger of dread traced his spine. He had met only two gods face-to-face in his short life: Jessup of Oldenbrook, to whom he had bent a knee in service as a Shadowknight, and Meeryn, who had died in his arms. But he had heard stories of various gods. Shadowknights talked among themselves after a few cups, sharing tales and stories. The personalities of the Hundred were as varied as their number. Some were reclusive, others gregarious, most were benevolent, a few iron fisted. Yet one fact remained consistent: They were not to be crossed.

Tylar stepped onto the sandy strand. “I am here. Not as a godslayer as I’ve been falsely accused, but as a man.”

Behind the sheer screen of the silvery waterfall, movement met his words. A figure stepped forward through the fall. The cascade of waters fell about her: over her head, past her shoulders, along the swell of her breasts, through the flat hollow of her belly, and down her long legs.

She was naked, yet somehow carried a fold of the cascade along with her. Shimmers of water coursed over her body, forming a gown and cloak. She stepped into the pool at the peak’s base. She was hairless, smooth as her Hunters, her skin pale white with a single black spiral from neck to right ankle. Her eyes were limpid pools of ocean blue.

Tylar could not meet her gaze and bowed his head.

She crossed over to him, stepping free of the pond and onto the sand.

“Mistress…” Kreel whispered, warning in his strained voice.

“Silence, Kreel.” She continued toward Tylar.

He began to tremble, unable to stop. He could have been blind and still known she approached. Her Grace sang to his blood. Something stirred deep inside him, and he began to fall to his knees in the sand.

But a hand touched his cheek, freezing him in place. Fingers traced the three black stripes on his face.

“A Shadowknight… so it is true.”

A finger lifted his chin. He found eyes blazing with Grace. Her two hands slipped to either side of his face. He sensed her strength. She could easily crush his skull, yank his head from his neck.

Instead, she pulled him up to her and kissed him deeply.

For a moment, Tylar felt himself falling into darkness, but a strong tide drew him back. Lips pressed his; breaths were shared. Strange memories flooded through him, warming him. A moan arose between his lips and Fyla’s, a mix of sadness and loss. Then after an untold time, he was released.

He dropped to his knees, gasping, all strength gone.

Fyla lowered to him, cupping his cheek with a palm. “It is truly you, Meeryn, my love.”

Before another word could be spoken, a violent tremor shook through the grotto. Sand danced on the beach. The sheer waterfall trembled and sprayed. The wide pond sloshed far up its banks, while cries of surprise arose from Tylar’s companions.

Fyla straightened.

Tylar still knelt.

More Hunters swept up out of waterways, rising with spears at ready.

Kreel hurried over from his station by the bridge. “Mistress.. ”

“A naether-quake,” she said, her voice going cold. Her eyes, still ablaze with Grace, turned upon Tylar-not with accusation, but concern. “You must leave. As I had feared, it is not safe for you… even here.” She motioned him to stand.

“What’s happening?” Tylar asked.

Rogger and Delia were led to his side.

Fyla lifted her arms high, then brought them down in a sweeping gesture. Similar to the deepwater pod, the outer layer of the arched dome crinkled back, revealing the open ocean beyond.

Tangle Reef glowed on all sides, but now it appeared as a living organism. The entire city writhed in the quake, thrashing along with the weeds, as if a storm raged through the forest. Schools of fish darted in maddened patterns, flashing through the waters.

Yet more disturbing, throughout the Reef, strange clouds billowed up from below, blacker than the dark water. Lances of brilliance flashed among them like undersea lightning. Where they touched weed, green life charred into black death. Frightened fish entered clouds and tumbled back out as white bone.

“They sent a Gloom,” Fyla said hotly.

“A Gloom?” Tylar asked, sickened by the sight.

“A bloom of the naether into this world. Deadly to all in its path.” She crossed to Kreel. “I must protect the Reef.”

Kreel bowed on a knee, holding forth his spear. She gripped its bare blade. With a nod from his mistress, Kreel drew the spear from the sheath of her fingers. Blood followed, flowing from her sliced palm.

She turned to the basin at the foot of the waterfall and allowed her blood to run into the crystalline waters. The stain swirled down and away. “This should ward the Reef against the Gloom for now. But I cannot say for how long. As long as you are here, all are at risk.”

A sudden crash drew all their attention to the far side. A creature had latched on to the dome. Tentacles writhed against the surface.

“The jelly shark,” Rogger gasped.

“It’s gone mad again,” Fyla said. “I’d thought my blood brought it back under control.”

“Mad again?” Tylar asked.

Her gaze remained on the miiodon as its venoms attacked the dome’s clarity, trying to eat through. “It was never supposed to have boarded your ship, only driven you to me, so I could see you for myself. But something broke my control, allowing it to attack your ship.”

Delia grabbed Tylar’s arm and pointed at the jelly shark. It slid down the side of the dome, leaving behind a trail of acid-etched marks.

“That’s ancient Littick,” Delia said.

Rogger nodded. “She’s right.”

“What does it say?”

Delia glanced to Tylar, her eyes frightened. “It says give us the godslayer.”

“They know you’re here.” Fyla waved them all to follow. “Hurry.” She led them around the rocky basin and through the shaking waterfall to a cavern hidden behind it. At the back, a smaller pod awaited, tucked in an alcove. “We must get you down to the wetdocks.”

Tylar stood his ground beside the pod. “What is going on?”

Fyla stared hard at him, eyes aglow. “The naether is searching for you. I was foolish to bring you so deep. But…” Her bloody hand rose and touched his cheek, a loving gesture. A tingle ran along his skin. “I had to know the truth, to touch you myself, to feel her in your blood. All that is left of my Meeryn. The naether must sense it, too…”

“I don’t understand,” Tylar said, stepping back. “The naether? It hunts me?”

The naether was a place meant to scare children, an underworld of eternal darkness and damnation, plagued by daemons and monsters. It was no more real than the aether, a bright land of ethereal spirits, those unseen beings worshipped by the faithful throughout Myrillia.

Fyla waved them to the pod. “I’ll tell you what I know, but not here. We must go.”

Tylar allowed himself to be herded inside the pod, along with Rogger and Delia. Fyla joined them, accompanied by Kreel with a fire lantern. It was tight quarters as the pod closed.

Fyla touched the wall and the pod dropped, falling swiftly away through tunnels. The descent was rough, bobbled by the shaking.

Rogger held to the walls for balance. “What is this naether-quake?”

Fyla stared overhead. “In a few places in the world, where sunlight never reaches-deep underground, in the midnight depths of the sea, in tombs sealed for millennia-the walls between Myrillia and the naether grow thin. It can be breached, allowing the naether to influence our world for a short time. I felt such a rupture on the eve that Meeryn was slain. Nothing escapes my notice in the seas of Myrillia. I followed it to its source, off the coastlines of the Summering Isles. I am certain something came through.”

“The black beast,” Tylar said, remembering the lizard creature ripe with Dark Graces that had attacked Meeryn.

“A naethryn,” she said with a nod.

Delia gasped at this name. “Impossible. How…?”

Fyla seemed to finally notice her. “I’m not sure. Such a thing has never happened.”

“A naethryn?” Rogger asked, parroting the question in Tylar’s own mind.

Fyla sighed. “What do you know of the great Sundering?”

“What all know,” Tylar said. “How the kingdom whence the gods came had been shattered, bringing you to Myrillia.”

She nodded. “But it was not just our kingdom that was shattered.” She glanced to Delia. “We were shattered ourselves. Into three parts. That which you see here, gods made flesh, but also two others. A part of us was thrust into darkness, into the land you call the naether, and another into brightness.”

“The aether,” Delia whispered.

“Correct. What was once one became three, separate yet still weakly connected. I can sense my other selves, in the other planes. The dark and the light. But only here do we have substance. Or so we thought.” Her eyes flashed with fear, a sight that would chill the stoutest man.

What could scare a god?

Fyla answered his silent question. “The naethryn are the undergods, our counterparts in the naether realm, dark shadows of ourselves.”

Silence settled over the pod as it glided through the heart of Tangle Reef. The tremors of the quake continued.

“One of these naethryn came to slay Meeryn?” Tylar mumbled. “Why?”

“I had hoped you knew.” Her face creased with worry. “For the past decade, there have been stirrings in the deep, strange creatures found rotting on ocean beds. I shared knowledge of these disturbances with Meeryn when last we met. She promised to speak to others across the Nine Lands, to consult with the masters at Tashijan.”

“She must’ve learned something,” Rogger said. “Something she wasn’t supposed to know.”

Fyla shook her head, unsure. “The last message I received from her was cryptic. She had great trepidation about something and wanted to consult with the Court of Tashijan before speaking of it.”

“She had called for a blessed courier,” Tylar said, recalling Perryl’s summons to the Summering Isles. “She was slain before he reached her.”

“Which is cause for more worry,” Rogger said. “She was slain after she contacted Tashijan-it makes one wonder if someone betrayed her.”

“Someone at Tashijan?” Tylar could not hide his disbelief.

“You of all people should not place so much confidence on the folk that banished you into slavery.”

Tylar shook his head, deeply troubled. Though he had been sourly treated, a part of him knew his punishment had not been unwarranted. He had bargained with the Gray Traders… and it had cost the life of an innocent family. Though it wasn’t his sword that slew them, he was still to blame.

“There are black tidings all across the Nine Lands,” Fyla said. “Corruptions and bouts of madness. Who can say if Tashijan has been spared?”

“That was where we were heading,” Tylar grumbled.

Fyla glanced at him. “Why journey there?”

“To seek answers from its libraries.”

Rogger nodded. “And now we have another reason to continue there. If someone at Tashijan betrayed Meeryn, then therein may lay your salvation, Tylar. Expose the scabber and prove your innocence.”

The pod shook more vigorously, striking the sides of the tunnel. Everyone fell against the walls.

“Before any journey can be undertaken,” Fyla said, “I must get you safely away. The naether is too strong down in these dark depths. You must escape to the sun, back to land.”

The pod bobbled again. Tylar sensed they were corkscrewing through a winding tunnel. “Where are we heading?”

“Even deeper,” Fyla answered. “To the bottom of the Reef.”

They continued their descent to untold depths, each lost to their own thoughts. But at least the quakes seemed to have subsided for the moment. Tylar finally spoke. “There’s a question I must ask you.”

“I will answer if I can,” Fyla said.

Before he could speak, the pod halted with a final shudder. A petal peeled open on to a curving hall, flooded to the level of their knees. Water rushed in-cold, but not icy.

“The wetdocks,” Fyla announced.

“Well named,” Rogger said glumly as Kreel waded into the water. The others splashed after him.

One side of the passage was honeycombed with large half-submerged alcoves. Some were empty, but most sprouted tails of strange-looking craft.

Fyla waved to one of the nearest occupied alcoves. “Here we dock the Fins, the bloodships of the Reef.”

The Fins appeared to be made of the same ubiquitous dark green material as the pods, but in this case, it was elongated and pinched at either end, surmounted by a prominent fin. Along the belly ran a pair of smaller fins, like runners on an ice sled.

Kreel showed them how to open the top hatch and climb inside.

“Looks like the inside of a tiny flippercraft,” Tylar noted, inspecting the four seats: two in front, under a crystalline dome, and two in back. The inside walls were lined with mica tubes, all leading to a central crystal sphere full of gently glowing crimson liquid.

“It’s fueled by a similar alchemy as the flippercraft,” Fyla conceded, still standing in the outer passage. “But rather than the Grace of an air god, this is fueled by my own blood. It will speed you through the seas faster than any ship.”

Kreel checked the levels. “There should be enough blood to reach Fitz Crossing.”

Tylar nodded. Fitz Crossing was a rim island in the middle of the Meerashe Deep, a god-realm of Dain, the domain of orphans and runaways.

Rogger sighed. “I know some folk in Scree, on the far side of the island from Dain’s castillion. From there, we should be able to book passage to the First Land.” He jangled a pocket. “I guess it’s lucky we still have Captain Grayl’s gold marches.”

“But the island is still a far ways off,” Fyla warned. “You must be wary of the Gloom. It will sap the ship’s reserves if you travel through the naether bloom for very long. Flee upward as soon as you leave, away from the deep.”

Tylar nodded. Kreel gave them a fast lesson on the Fin’s controls. They were simple enough. Tylar took the captain’s seat. Delia took the neighboring chair, guarding the spherical tank of alchemies. Rogger sat behind her. The Fin rested at a slight angle, nose aimed down a short flooded tube to the open sea.

Kreel climbed back out and prepared to seal the Fin’s upper hatch. Before he could lock it down, the Reef shook with a new quake, more violent than the others. Tylar was thrown from his seat. He stared back up at the hatch. A wall of water swept along the hall outside.

Kreel clung to the Fin’s tail. “We’re breached!”

Fyla stood on the far side, water climbing her form. “Be off! I must see to my city!”

“I’ll get the hatch,” Rogger said, swinging back to the stern.

Tylar remembered the question he had meant to ask before landing at the docks. “Wait! Fyla! Does the word Rivenscryr mean anything to you?”

She froze, half-turned. Her eyes flared with Grace, her whole manner hardened with fury. Ice formed over her body.

Before she could answer, seawater began to pour into the cabin from the flooding docks.

Delia opened the flow of alchemies. “We must go!”

“Fyla!”

She stirred. “It is a forbidden name, one known only to the gods.”

“What does it mean?” he asked frantically. “What is it?”

Rogger sputtered under the hatch, seawater flooding over him.

“Your people gave it a different name.” She stared through the rushing water.

“I must close the hatch!” Rogger choked, pulling it down.

Tylar pleaded with his eyes.

As the hatch clanged shut over the flood, her words reached him, “Though it is neither, you call it the Godsword.”

More confused than before, Tylar fell back to his seat. The water sloshed over his ankles. The only light came from the glow of the mica tubes as the alchemies raced through them.

Delia twisted the valves that controlled the flows. “Now, Tylar!”

He grabbed the wheel with one hand and pushed the plunger with the other. Grace surged out into the fins and the ship jetted forward, flying down the dark chute and out into the bright sea.

Once free, he concentrated on using the foot pedals and wheel to control the craft. The Fin raced through the water, carving a path beneath the Reef above. Against the city’s glow, the patches of Gloom were easy to spot as steaming columns of blackness. Scintillations of lightning crackled through their hearts.

Tylar sped around the trunks of tangleweed, many now blackened and leafless from the touch of the naether.

“Once we’re clear of the Reef,” Rogger said, “we should angle both up and away, make for the open water beyond the weed. We don’t want to get snarled up in the surface tangle.”

Tylar nodded. They were almost at the city’s edge, where the central corona cast off spiraling arms leading to sea plantations and hatcheries. Tylar aimed between two such arms.

As they shot upward, water sloshed to the back of the cabin. The shift threw off Tylar’s balancing of the controls. The Fin spun in a fast spiral as he struggled to rein it in. They crashed through some branches of tangleweed, jarring their ship.

“Maybe you should slow,” Delia suggested.

“Watch your starboard!” Rogger yelled from the back.

Tylar spotted it too late. What had first appeared to be shadow was a smoking column of Gloom. He slammed the right rudder. It was too much. The Fin spun completely around, sweeping through the cloud of Gloom. All the mica tubes flared to a bright fire, protecting the ship. Then they were clear of the Gloom.

Tylar straightened the Fin, raised its nose toward the sky, and sped away. The glow of the Reef slowly faded below them, disappearing amid the thickening forest. Soon, only the luminescent globes that dotted the tangleweed’s branches lit their path. Somewhere far above, the sun waited for them.

“How are the reserves?” Tylar asked shakily.

Delia measured the tank with her palm. “That single brush cost us a good fifth of our alchemies.”

“Let’s not do that again,” Rogger suggested.

“I wasn’t planning-”

The miiodon attacked from above, dropping upon them like a fisherfolk’s net. Tentacles swallowed the Fin completely. The weight of the jelly shark rolled the ship. They were tossed about the cabin. Tylar sensed them dropping, tumbling back into the inky depths, to where the naether waited. The rolling stopped as the Fin stabilized, upside down in the clutches of the jelly shark. Tylar and the others lay sprawled upon the cabin’s roof, the controls overhead.

Delia spoke near the bow. She crouched with her face pressed to the crystalline dome. “There’s a space here between two tentacles. You can see through a bit.”

Tylar joined her. The Reef glowed nearby. They had fallen back to where they had started. He rested his forehead against the dome. A column of Gloom roiled off to the port side. Death lay all around.

“What about loosing your daemon?” Rogger asked. “Maybe it could slay the beastie before we’re crushed.”

Tylar shook his head. He remembered how back at Summer Mount the dred ghawl had turned the guard’s arrows to ash. He feared what it would do to their Fin if it tried to pass through the walls to the seas beyond.

“Then charm the miiodon again,” Rogger persisted. “With blood and piss like before.”

Delia leaned back. “We need to be able to touch it to charm it.”

“Maybe not…” Tylar had a sudden idea and swung around. “Delia, I need you to man the wheel and rudder. Hurry!”

She knit her brow, but climbed to her feet under the controls, arms raised in hesitation. “Someone has to push the rudder pedals by hand. I can’t man the wheel at the same time.”

“I’ll help,” Rogger said.

Tylar pressed his face to the dome, studying the landscape. “When I say now, I need you to burn as much alchemy as you can while pulling hard on the wheel and left rudder.”

“What are you-?”

“Get ready!” His target came into view. He held his breath. “Now!”

Rogger and Delia worked the controls. A vigorous trembling shook the ship. The mica tubes grew bright and hot as the craft fought the miiodon’s bulk. It proved too heavy. Nothing happened. They continued to drop into the depths, unimpeded.

“More power!” Tyler scolded.

“Hang on,” Delia gasped. “I’ll break the damper valve.”

Glass shattered with a small pop. The Fin jolted as if kicked by a loam-giant. The mica tubes flared with intense heat. Slowly the miiodon’s bulk, clasped around the Fin, began to slide horizontally through the water, dragged by the sputtering ship.

“A little farther…” Tylar begged.

As he held his breath, the edge of the jelly shark brushed into a neighboring column of Gloom. The reaction was immediate. Tentacles spasmed, fonts of venom spewed into the surrounding seas. Like the weed and the schools of fish, the miiodon was a creature of this world, not the naether. The Gloom ate through its bulk as it fell farther into the heart of the naether bloom, feeding its substance to the void.

The Fin was dragged with it.

Again the mica tubes blazed sun bright with protective alchemies. Tylar’s right hand brushed a cross tube, singeing his skin.

But they were free.

“Release the rudder!” he cried.

The Fin jumped forward, passing out of the Gloom and into clear waters. Shoving to his feet, Tylar took Delia’s place at the controls and rolled the ship back into proper position. They regained their seats, and he fought the Fin up at a steep angle.

“With the damper broken,” Delia said, “we can’t slow her down.”

They shot between the spiraling trunks of tangleweed, racing out of the depths, going faster and faster, cleaving through snarls and branches. No one spoke until the midnight waters lightened to twilight.

“The sun,” Rogger gasped.

High above, a pool of watery brightness promised fresh air and escape. As the waters brightened to aquamarine, they shot free of the tangleweed forest and into the clear seas. Tylar held white-knuckled to the controls, keeping the ship angled upward.

“Hold tight!” he called.

They breached the ocean, bursting forth from the waves like a monstrous fish leaping into the air. The Fin sailed high for an endless breath, then crashed back to the seas with a jarring splash. For a moment they sank again, but the Fin bobbed quickly back up, jostling and rolling in the swells.

The sunlight through the dome was blinding, even with the sun close to setting by now.

“We made it!” Rogger cheered. “Not that I didn’t think we would, mind you.” He clapped Tylar on the back.

Delia sighed, not as pleased. She pointed to the spherical tank of bloody alchemies. It was empty. “We ran dry a few fathoms ago. We were climbing on buoyancy alone.”

“Let’s worry about that later.” Rogger crossed to the stern, cracked the hatch, and threw it wide. A clean breeze swept into the cabin. “For the moment, at least we’re still breathing.” To demonstrate, he took a dramatic chestful of fresh air.

Tylar joined him, glad to face the sun. Still, a dark shadow remained around his heart. He considered what Fyla had given him, a name that revealed nothing but dread and mystery. “The Godsword,” he mumbled aloud to the setting sun.

Rogger grunted. “An ominous epitaph indeed.”

“Could it be real?” Tylar asked. “I’d thought the sword a fable.”

Rogger shrugged. “Maybe it is. But fables often have some seed of truth.”

Tylar still found it hard to believe. According to black myths told throughout the ages, the dreaded Godsword harkened back to the lost past of Myrillia, to the time of the Sundering itself, when the home of the gods was shattered. No one knew the true form of this dread weapon, though artists and storytellers dwelled upon this mystery, while philosophers debated its very existence. Only one detail was shared by all the tales: the Godsword was the weapon that shattered the gods’ realm and brought about the Sundering.

But what did Meeryn mean by uttering it in her last breath?

He remembered Fyla’s cryptic final words. Though it is neither, you call it the Godsword. He rubbed at the ache between his eyes. Though it is neither… What did that mean?

Rogger sighed, sensing Tylar’s internal turmoil. “There is only one way to find out more about this Godsword, Rivenscryr, and that’s in the libraries of Tashijan, where we are already headed.”

“And where, if you are right, Meeryn’s trust was betrayed.”

Delia called up from the cabin. “I see sails on the horizon!”

Tylar and Rogger swung around to stare across the bow. Off to the west, limned against the setting sun, a cluster of full sails climbed into the sky.

Tylar ducked down. “A spyglass!”

Delia found one secured in a cubby. She passed it to him.

Tylar popped back up and pointed the glass toward the ships. The horizon sprang closer. He read the flags at the top of a center mast. A black castle against a silver background. The flag of the Shadowknights. And beneath it flapped a blue flag with a yellow sun emblazoned on it. He had lived under that flag for the past year.

It was the fleet of corsairs out of the Summering Isles.

He shifted the spyglass lower. At the ship’s prow stood a figure draped in black. The distance was far, but Tylar knew who watched there.

“Darjon ser Hightower.”

Rogger groaned. “And we’re sitting in a floating milkweed pod. I don’t suppose we can hope for rescue from the Grim Wash?”

Tylar focused on something hanging below the corsair’s prow. “No,” he said with pained sorrow.

Dangling there, hung by his neck, was Captain Grayl.