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--DRAMATIS PERSONAE—
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, choosing carefully
Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, not keeping count of his kills
The Symbologist, attendant of the gods, keeper of the symbols, a worm
The surviving champions of The Reef and their Quill, coming together or splitting apart
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23 New Summer, 61 AW
An unremarkable beach on the North Continent
277 days until the next Granting
This time, the ge’oca did not greet her. There were no grateful leviathans or blessings of the ocean. Red Tide blinked her eyes and she was simply somewhere else.
A cave. Dimly glowing growths of azure moss lit the subterranean space. The air felt refreshingly cool against Red Tide’s skin which, moments ago, had been dappled by sweat and blood. The grinding ache across her ribs faded as did the tightness in her muscles. She let loose a ragged sigh, safe inside this illusion for a few moments at least.
Up ahead, the symbologist waited in his tattered robes, seated behind the same desk as the last time Red Tide met him. The glowing moss stretched across the stone floor in parallel lines creating a path to the creature’s desk. On the vast wall behind the symbologist, Red Tide recognized the concentric circles of symbols for [Enchantress], [Oca’Em], and [Mortal]. Strangely, the layout of the [Skulker] class was also visible. Red Tide cocked her head, trying to take in all the possibilities that the gods would tattoo upon her—she searched for something in particular.
“My offer to swim south and wash this damn stuff off still stands,” said a voice to Red Tide’s right.
She hadn’t noticed Cuda Bite sitting on the floor, his bare back pressed against the stone. His knees were pulled up to his chest and he flashed Red Tide a shaky smile.
“You got a line building up back here, worm,” Red Tide called to the symbologist. “Can we get some service?”
“By all means,” the symbologist answered, its voice like crumpling parchment. “I told your colleague this is not a place to linger, but he insisted on waiting for you.”
Red Tide crouched down to get a better look at Cuda Bite. All the injuries they’d sustained at the beach were back with their physical bodies, but he’d brought the haunted expression with him.
“You good?” Red Tide asked.
Cuda Bite shook his head. “That was some nasty work, Red.”
“First time?”
He raised an eyebrow. “First time for what?”
“For killing.”
Cuda Bite snorted. “Now that you mention it, yeah. But it’s not that. Fuck those guys. It was them or us.”
“And that’s how it’s going to stay,” she replied. “Them or us.”
He wagged a finger like she wasn’t getting it. “Turtle Jaw’s got us in a mess. Bad enough when it was just go to the island and survive for a week. I’m no fighter, but I can run and hide with the best of them. He’s got us tied up in some politics now, Red. I didn’t sign up to play revolutionary.”
“I know.”
“The queen’s hunting us. We were supposed to have a year to get ready, or at least a year to fall madly in lust and get drunk a lot.” Red Tide laughed softly at that, but Cuda Bite kept going. “We’re already running for our lives and the Granting hasn’t even kicked off.”
“I mean to have a word with the warden about all that,” Red Tide said evenly.
“Turtle Jaw ain’t even pulling the strings, Red! That’s Throne Gazer whose nuts you kicked in. His sea witch mother is still floating around somewhere. They got pods of loyal warriors still stewing from the last coup.”
“Funny,” Red Tide said. “I didn’t see any of them coming to help.”
“Sure, but what happens when they do show up? You think that pompous asshole wants to work with some outlaws when he could install his old bodyguards?”
“He said he respects me,” Red Tide said, stroking her chin. “But that he wasn’t so sure about you.”
“Aw, come on, Red! Fuck me.” Cuda Bite rubbed his hands across his face. “I’m going to end up dead as poor Salt Wall.”
“Yeah? Well, cheer up, she’s alive.”
Cuda Bite peeked through his fingers. “Say what?”
“Oh, she’s dying,” Red Tide clarified. She hooked her thumb in the direction of the symbologist. “But I mean to do something about that.”
“Shit, Red, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“You were busy crying.”
Cuda Bite winced. “I’m done.”
Red Tide stood up and offered Cuda Bite her hand, lifting him swiftly to his feet. Together, the two of them followed the trail of glowing moss toward the symbologist. The creature lightly drummed dozens of stubby fingers on its desk.
“Ah,” the thing said. “Ready, at last?”
“Where are we, worm, your bedroom?” Red Tide asked. “I thought you lived on Armistice.”
“The catacombs are but another form of the island,” the symbologist said. “I thought the two of you might have had your fill of beaches on this day.”
“Nice of you,” Cuda Bite said. He put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the symbols surrounding the [Skulker] rune. “What’ve you got that will keep me alive?”
“Many, many things.”
“And what about healing?” Red Tide asked. She pointed to one of the runes that spun off from [Hypnotic Object]. “That my best choice?”
[Healing Song] – Your song mends the physical body of all who hear it. Must be activated in conjunction with the [Hypnotic Object].
“I cannot pass judgment on what is best,” the symbologist replied. “However, if your goal is to restore the bodies of your injured fellows, that would suit your purpose.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Red Tide made a yapping gesture with her hand. “Why are you so scared of giving a straight answer, worm?”
“The gods have not given me capacity for fear.”
“Lucky you,” Cuda Bite said. He shuffled his feet as he eyed the wall of symbols. “You’re going to make me look bad, Red. You come back with the gift of healing for our mutilated friends, and I’m over here trying to pick the best tattoo to keep me alive.”
Red Tide clapped his shoulder. “Alive is good, Cuda Bite. No shame in that.”
“You might find this hard to believe given my impressive stature, but I got kicked around a lot in my younger days,” the lithe skulker said dryly.
“Younger days.” Red Tide sized him up. “How old are you, Cuda Bite?”
“Twenty-one. That’s beside the point. Now, I brought a lot of that treatment on myself. Being a filcher around the Reef and the southern ports, well, you’re going to catch some beatings. But I truly hate it, Red. I truly hate even a scraped knee.”
“You fishing for an apology because we broke your nose?”
“That was a trap well set, I’m not holding a grudge,” Cuda Bite replied, raising his hands. “I’m saying that I hate pain. I’m not like Salt Wall, feeding off every cut and looking to return it double. I’m a jellyfish. And here I am committed to a life of people trying to stab me.”
Dragging her tongue against her top row of teeth, Red Tide reached over to scratch Cuda Bite’s neck with her nails. “You saying you’d like to work on your pain tolerance?”
“No! Except, I mean, when you put it like that…”
The symbologist shifted around in its chair, the dry rustling of its natty robes echoing off the cavern walls. “Champions,” the creature intoned, “this visitation is not intended for small talk.”
Cuda Bite scowled at the symbologist, then drew Red Tide’s attention to one of the runes in the second ring of [Skulker] abilities, this one attached to the symbol for [Shadow Step].
[Dark Reflex] – When you would suffer a grievous injury, your body will instead vaporize and reconstitute at a safe distance.
“What do you think of that one, Red?”
“Sounds ideal for a man who don’t want to get stabbed,” she replied. “Except, what the fuck is vaporize?”
“Like a mist, right?” Cuda Bite looked to the symbologist.
“Like a vapor,” the worm said.
“What’s the difference?”
“Primarily density and visibility.”
Cuda Bite looked at Red Tide. She shrugged.
“Does that hurt?” he asked. “Vaporizing?”
“Not in this case, no.”
“I think that’s the one, then.”
The symbologist shuffled around in its chair, drawing itself upright. Red Tide hadn’t noticed that the creature had, at some point, begun to slouch.
“Have you reached your decisions?” the symbologist asked.
“Yeah,” the two said in unison.
“Good,” the symbologist replied. “Done.”
And just like that, Red Tide was back in her aching body, staring down at Salt Wall’s gruesome injuries. Turtle Jaw still knelt beside the wounded berserker, although he’d stopped fumbling with the trinkets tied around his neck and instead peered hopefully up at Red Tide.
“The symbologist?”
She nodded. “I just need my—”
“Harp!”
Red Tide spun around in time to see her instrument arcing through the air toward her, courtesy of Cuda Bite. She caught the harp by its strap and slung it over her shoulder. As her fingers brushed across the strings, Red Tide sensed new power flowing from her Ink. A warm energy gathered inside her, building in her throat and at the tips of her fingers. She needed only to release it.
The blood pouring from Salt Wall’s chest wound had slowed and become frighteningly dark. Red Tide understood how little the other woman had left.
Red Tide began to play.
She did not have any particular tune in mind as she started the [Healing Song]. The notes came naturally. Red Tide plucked strings that sounded like a beating heart. Her melody felt like a night’s restful sleep, like a cool breeze carried in from the ocean. When she opened her mouth to sing, the words that came out surprised her--not words at all, actually, more like tones. These sounds belonged to the gods and she let them pour out from her. They exerted change upon the world. They coaxed mending from the bodies of all who could listen.
There was a beauty in this that Red Tide had never encountered before. Her eyes began to water, but she couldn’t stop the song to wipe away the tears. She sensed someone standing beside her, realized it was Turtle Jaw, and felt grateful for the warden’s rough thumb against her cheek and his hand against her back.
The process was not a quick one. Red Tide felt herself get lost in the music. She sensed the lightening of pressure at her ribs as her own bruises faded. She caught a glimpse of the gashes across Turtle Jaw’s torso, how they narrowed and knitted, and soon became scars. The sun sunk lower in the sky. Her fingertips became raw, her skin burning; she surely would’ve bled if not for her own healing. Her throat felt chapped, like she’d been screaming.
Red Tide couldn’t stop playing. She knew, if she did, that she would not be able to start again. The Ink would’ve faded.
Salt Wall’s injuries were grievous, but Red Tide’s music refused to let the berserker die. Slowly, her face slid back into its proper alignment, her cheekbone melting back behind a curtain of new skin. Bones and muscle and finally flesh funneled upward from her chest wound, until at last Salt Wall’s breathing turned regular. Her blueish gray skin was still pale, but her eyes finally fluttered open. The berserker stared up at Red Tide in disbelief.
At last, Red Tide let her song end.
Salt Wall sat up tentatively, first touching her face, then poking gingerly at the hole in her armor. “I owe you,” she said to Red Tide. “I owe you big.”
Red Tide’s forearms burned. She felt dizzy.
“Yeah,” Red Tide croaked, her voice scratchy. “You can start by carrying me wherever we’re going next.”
And with that, Red Tide blacked out.
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26 New Summer, 61 AW
The North Continent, somewhere south of Besaden
274 days until the next Granting
They hiked north for three days, across rocky lowlands that slowly gave way to sparse forest. This was not an environment familiar or pleasant for the oca’em, but Turtle Jaw knew how to build a fire and where to forage as if he’d researched for this journey, and Salt Wall proved more than capable of fishing the small streams they came across. They were exhausted for those first two days, wrung out from the battle. Red Tide’s skin itched as they put the ocean at their backs. The air here was too dry.
By the third night, Red Tide decided she had waited long enough for answers.
“I need to know if it works,” Cuda Bite said, bouncing from foot-to-foot. “Just do it.”
Salt Wall had donned her hook. She tapped the sharpened point lightly against the skulker’s sternum. “I could hurt you.”
“Only if it doesn’t work,” Cuda Bite replied. “Only if that symbologist thing lied to me.”
The two of them stood in a small clearing, a few feet away from the fire. Sitting on an overturned log, Red Tide had turned to watch Cuda Bite test out his new Ink. Across from her, Turtle Jaw and Throne Gazer watched as well. Over the last couple days, she had caught moments of argument between the warden and the trident master. Throne Gazer had nothing to say to the rest of them.
“I accept no responsibility for any pain you suffer,” Salt Wall pronounced.
“Wait, wait, I’m having second thou--!”
Salt Wall swung her hook in an upward arc that should’ve gored through Cuda Bite’s abdomen and dug under his ribs. Instead, [Dark Reflex] triggered. Cuda Bite’s body became like a shadowy fog, the cloud rolling through the space above the fire. The skulker manifested standing behind Throne Gazer, patting his perfectly healthy torso.
“Oh, that’s a rush!” Cuda Bite yelled.
Then, he bent down, and snatched Throne Gazer’s trident, backpedaling quickly to a safe distance. At the same moment, Salt Wall circled around to stand behind Turtle Jaw.
Sneering, Throne Gazer flinched toward Cuda Bite, but went still as Turtle Jaw put a hand on his shoulder. The warden stared across the fire at Red Tide, a companionable smile on his square face. Red Tide smiled back, all teeth.
“A few questions that will decide how the next few minutes go,” Red Tide said.
“Of course,” Turtle Jaw responded.
“Where are we going?”
“Besaden.”
Red Tide cocked her head. The great forest set aside for the beastlords. They worshipped the ge’besa there, the gods of animal kind, and there were stories that some of them could transform into four-legged creatures. Red Tide wondered if that was true, or if that was like the tales the sailors told about the oca’em.
“What do we want with the beastlords?” she asked.
“An alliance,” Turtle Jaw said. “We believe they might be convinced to help us in the Granting.”
Red Tide nodded. “And all this is for him?” She jerked her chin toward Throne Gazer. “You meant to put him on the Coralline Throne?”
“No.”
She was surprised that it was Throne Gazer who answered. He did not bother drawing himself up or puffing out his chest as he sometimes did when he spoke to them. Throne Gazer instead seemed happy to have some of his braids partly obscuring his face as he stared into the fire.
“My mother, Deep Dweller, she no longer thinks I am suited to be king,” he continued. “Not after the calamity of our last attempt. She does not feel that I’m suited for leadership. She feels I lack charm.”
“Your mother sounds cruel and accurate,” Cuda Bite said.
Throne Gazer slowly nodded at the insult, like he couldn’t dispute it.
When it became clear that Throne Gazer would say no more, Turtle Jaw picked up the thread. “Deep Dweller believes, and I agree, that our people will die out if forced to live much longer in the queen’s choking peace. The Reef needs change but whoever sits the throne cannot do it alone. We need a coalition.” He looked at each of them in turn. “A royal blood, a warrior from the cold northern waters, a scrapper from the Reef’s lower classes, and an outlaw with a growing legend. These are who the oca’em will look to for inspiration.”
“Which one am I?” Cuda Bite asked, smirking. “The legend, right?”
Red Tide shushed him. “What do you mean inspiration?”
“Our people must know that the seas are ours,” Turtle Jaw said firmly. “They must remember our glories of times passed.”
“And we’re meant to do that?” Red Tide asked.
“Yes, you,” Turtle Jaw said. “You and the great leviathans that we wish back into existence.”
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