Cove sent the thought: Keeva, girls, can you understand me?

Bree reached back, her thoughts full of fear: Daddy... It's dark. I can't see… my ears hurt, and I can’t hear.

I am working on the problem. Hold still.

Gloom and deafness will be common challenges. How can I get everyone to one spot? What do we have?

Cove: Lyra, where are you and Penny?

Penny timidly whispered in his mind: We’re with Mommy and Jacob by the water.

Pipster, where are you and your flock?

We hide.

Where?

We are in the empty eye.

Can you see Keeva?

I have the scent of your mate and nestlings.

Can you help us get to the sea?

A moment later, Pipster's nose nudged his ankle, turning him around and urging him to press on into a cool breeze. Cove walked, testing each step. As he advanced into the mud, the ground cooled, moistened, and softened. Cold water lapped at his feet.

Pipster leaped onto Cove’s shoulder, climbed to his head, and clung to his hair as he thought: Pipster-Tiria flock stay with Cove-Kee flock.

Thank you, Pipster.

A thin flame danced two meters to Cove's left, illuminating Keekee's face before going out. He raced forward, legs plowing into the deepening until his hips sank beneath the waves.

Where are you Kee?

The fire glowed again, lighting the bobbing faces of his family and friends, enticing him into deeper water. The light vanished. A wave splashed into Cove, pushing him back, but Cove had his destination. He kicked and stroked, his eyes fixed upon where the glow had been. Pipster clung to his head, claws shivering as they dug through his hair and into his skin. The surf grew as he left the cavern, and stars filled the sky.

Once more, a flame danced above the sea, and Cove raced the last few meters into the embrace of his wife and daughters.

He started as huge arms engulfed him and pinned him against a massive chest. Seconds later, two soft hands covered his ears, and with a prick and a pop, waves crashed, voices smashed, thumps, roars, and fighting echoed from the cave, and the sounds of distant cannons crossed the ocean.

“Thank you, Sera,” Cove said as Dax released him. He cast his eyes over the surf, counting bobbing heads, and smiled at seeing a brattiraptor perched on each person. He found his family close to himself, Sera and Dax, his mother, several young priests and acolytes, including Jacob, and hiding behind Dax, his niece.

“Essie,” said Cove, “do your mom and dad know where you are?”

Essie’s eyes looked everywhere but at Cove. “Um… yes… maybe…? I told them I was going back to help.”

The air rumbled, and every eye gazed out to sea. A kilometer away, the Goodwin, the majestic lady, listed seaward, flames licking the center masts. Lifeboats with passengers hung at odd angles from davits.

Cove’s heart thudded in his ears. Uncle Petrov and Aunt Muriel, were they alive? His eyes scanned the water, desperate to find the ship’s boat, but the waves, while not large, were tall enough to hide a tender. He reached out with his soul and found Kee and Sera, but nobody else, not even Lyra and Bree. Gods, were they safe in the lifeboat, drowning with the Goodwin, or—

“No! Mommy, Daddy!” Essie screamed, with heartache and terror, and began to swim.

Dax lunged backward, reaching over his head, splashed to his back, and grunted as he latched onto Essie’s kicking foot. “No woman! Think first.”

The twelve-year-old girl wriggled and kicked as she cried, “Let me go! My mom, dad, and Willick are on that ship!”

Dax’s dark brattiraptor companion surfaced with Essie’s female in tow. He paddled with grim determination, scowling at Essie. He watched as the shivering brown raptor climbed to Essie’s crown and shook out her feathers before swimming back to Dax.

“Bree,” Cove said as he turned with his daughters, “calm your cousin. Lyra, Penny, help her. Sweetheart, tend to our family. Dax and Sera, come with me.”

Without waiting, Cove began to swim with a measured breaststroke. Uncle Petrov, Aunt Muriel, and Willick had to be out there, but where? They hadn't had time to row back to the ship, but if they’d been close, he would have seen their boat, so maybe halfway?

He stopped, turning in the water, getting his bearings, and paused. This wasn't his coast. Clouds obscured the waning halo of Mater as they boiled around the Break, the abrupt end of the Nebelgruft Peaks. Twenty kilometers to the right, the faint lights of Porto and the harbor for Heim’s Southern Navy glowed. On the horizon to his left, beyond the broken mountain, was Sibiu, a fishing village and the nearest port of entry for Milch und Honig. Fathoms below were the fallen Nebelgruft seamounts.

Why had Uncle Petrov anchored the Goodwin here? The return of Elystria and its predatory destruction of electricity had disabled most of the military. Yet the military would have planned for the death of electricity, especially with Heim the Destroyer at the helm. The Goodwin wasn’t the only antique ship; he would bet the army and navy had been fooling with Elystria power plants. Professor Sunge had been picking his brain and brooding over nonbiological Elystria transmission for a decade.

“Holy brattiraptor pellets,” Cove said as he turned back, heading for the Goodwin. “I know why he wants me.”

“Why, who needs you,” asked Dax.

“Heim.”

“He’s a narcissist,” spat Sera. “If you don’t kiss his toes, he’ll enslave you and force you to lick his—” A wave washed out the rest of her tirade.

Cove snickered and began swimming towards the Goodwin as he said, “He needs Takamot Crystals to power his military. The last Stoneshaper died during the war that ended the previous age.”

“I’m sure other Stoneshapers will be born in Heim,” Sera said.

“It takes more than a gift to make a Takamot,” Cove said as he scanned the ocean with his rib droui glands, seeking the signature of Dóiteáin. “It requires knowledge, understanding, and practice. I have the first two, and I am gaining experience.”

Dax stopped, treading water and turning to face Cove. “Why are you swimming in circles?”

“I am utilizing my ability to find… there!” Cove thrust his hand toward the sea west of the Goodwin. His floating ribs hummed. It had to be Dóiteáin and the stacks of Azure.

“There’s nothing,” Dax said.

“Dóiteáin is that way; my aunt, uncle, and nephew will be in the same place.” Cove swam like the son of Gisaluna, kicking, pulling, and breathing in perfect rhythm.

Cove followed the path, yet he began to worry after five minutes. The line split; one ray bobbed on the surface, and the other led down. Had some of Dóiteáin fallen overboard? But, no, the Azure underwater was moving towards him and rising, not falling. Cove only knew of four things under the sea that contained Azure: leviathans, krakens, tidewraiths, and Riddere submarines.

Cove became a human torpedo, creating webbing connecting his fingers and toes and pouring Elystria into his muscles.

A shout came from behind him. “Cove!”

“Shite,” Cove said between breaths. He’d almost abandoned Sera and Dax.

He did a backflip and followed his thread to Sera.

“Pipster cold,” said the tiny brattiraptor from his back.

Cove glanced over his shoulder and saw his faithful companion clinging to the pauldrons on his luminaegis armor. Cove thought: Sorry, Pipster. You were so quiet, I forgot you were there.

Pipster thought: Cove, be a stupid friend. You wear a shiny shell in the ocean. Pipster scared.

Cove slowed and began to tread water beside Dax and Sera. “I may have caused a problem,” he said as he removed his creation.

Sera huffed in disgust, saying, “The son of the Goddess of the Sea wore clothes into the ocean?”

“I thought it was like your Azure underwear,” Cove said. He washed the breastplate and his torso.

Dax rolled his eyes.

Sera said, “There is, what, five thousand times as much Azure in that outfit as there is in this jewelry.”

“Right,” sighed Cove. “What do I do with it? I’d drop it, but this bay is only eighty or ninety meters deep. Heim could send a diver or water mage to retrieve it.”

“Let him,” said Dax.

“Get rid of it,” said Sera, “you can make more.”

“An Earth wizard can study my work and the underlying design of the original Takamot crystal.”

Sera shared a look with Dax before saying, “Having Takamot crystals would allow Heim to build advanced weapons.”

Cove held his breath as a wave crashed over his head, and then he said, “Tanks, ships, aircraft, satellites, and everything he would need to rule the world.”

“Shite,” said Sera, “we can’t permit anyone in the Northern Arc Alliance to have that technology.”

“Give me the armor,” said Dax.

“No,” said Cove and Sera.

Sera slapped Dax as she said, “I will not let you sacrifice yourself… I… I love you!”

Dax turned to Sera and caressed her cheeks as he continued, “I will not wear it. Cove will swim to his family and come back for us with the tender.”

As Sera and Dax bickered, Cove began to stroke, moving as fast as possible without dislodging Pipster from his hair. Dax’s idea made sense, though not the way Dax thought. Whatever contained the Azure undersea was following him, not his armor.

A tubular shadow darkened the water, blotting out the seamounts far below. It moved slowly, deliberately, passing beneath and vanishing between Cove’s breaths. Moments later, a pressure wave, an underwater wake, lifted him, and a faint thudding sound rumbled in his ears, dropping in pitch and volume.

Cove’s bowels and bladder loosed as a new silhouette appeared. It was enormous, more than ten times larger than the first. It undulated up and down, propelling itself with four arms, two legs, and a long horizontal tail fin. He didn’t need to see the head. He’d seen a statue of this creature every week of his youth, standing atop the Temple of Gisaluna in Clover. His soul shivered as the bright green eyes of the adult Tidewraith fixed on him and then dismissed him. One flick of the tail propelled the wraith out of sight.

Arm over arm, Cove pulled himself through the wake of the Tidewraith and dashed along the line to Dóiteáin and his Uncle’s family. He ignored the complaints from Pipster as he plowed through the waves.

Uncle Petrov’s voice rose over the storm, saying, “Cove? Is that you, boy? Get out of that water before you freeze!”

Aunt Muriel wiped moisture from her face, which could have been sea spray or tears, as she asked, “Did Essie make it to you?”

Cove nodded. He kicked, lunged, grabbed the gunnel, and pulled himself into the boat. “Turn around!”

“The Goodwin, son! People are going to drown if we don’t help!”

“There is a Tidewraith—”

“Nine Hells!”

“Nine Hells, Nine Hells,” Pipster mimicked.

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Aunt Muriel. She dug into a pack, withdrew a towel, and held it open. “Come here.”

Pipster jumped into the cloth. He cooed and nuzzled Aunt Muriel as she dried the little dinosaur.

“You saw a Tidewraith?”

Cove nodded to his Uncle.

“At least you’re naked as a sailor.”

“We need to go back. Dax and Sera are in the water.”

“Damn fools!”

“Turn us around, Petrov,” Aunt Muriel said.

His Uncle growled, but the boat heeled hard to port, riding up the side of a wave and descending into its wake. “Pull, men! Our family bobs on the deep blue.”

“Mr. Nocht,” said one of the four oarsmen, “our families are on the Goodwin.”

“I know. I know. But the Goodwin is still above the surface. There are plenty of lifeboats, and everyone has life belts. Dax and Sera are naked in the cold blue.”

“Yes, sir.”

The crew leaned into the oars, pulling with practiced synchronicity, and sang:

We sail the waves, oh mighty and free,

To Gisaluna, our praises we decree!

In the salt-kissed spray, she dances with glee,

Her trident raised high, ruling tides and sea.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

From coral-crowned throne, she commands the deep,

Gisaluna, our protector, our secrets she'll keep.

We sail the waves, oh mighty and free,

To Gisaluna, our praises we decree!

“Over here,” called Dax and Sera.

Uncle Petrov adjusted the course as he shouted, “Stow the starboard oars. Get those two aboard!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Two burley men heaved Dax into the boat as Cove lifted Sera, wrapped her in a blanket, and set her on a seat facing Dax.

He handed an oar to Dax, pointed to the oarlock, and said, “Join me?”

Dax nodded, and together, they joined the other men as they sang:

We sail the waves, oh mighty and free,

To Gisaluna, our praises we decree!

Her eyes like sapphire, her hair seaweed green,

She weaves storms and calms, a tempest unseen.

When sailors are lost, their ships tossed astray,

Gisaluna guides them, lighting their way.

We sail the waves, oh mighty and free,

To Gisaluna, our praises we decree!

Her laughter echoes in seashell's embrace,

Her wrath, a maelstrom, a furious chase.

We hoist our sails, sing her name to the breeze,

Gisaluna, our guardian, queen of the seas.

We sail the waves, oh mighty and free,

To Gisaluna, our praises we decree!

As moonlight bathes the ocean, her presence we feel,

In every cresting wave, her magic concealed.

So raise your voices, sailors, bold and true,

To Gisaluna, our devotion forever renewed!

Automatic gunfire drew their attention beyond the Goodwin to a larger wooden sailing vessel. Six masts, square sails, four decks, each with twenty-five cannons, and uniformed soldiers with machine guns lining the rails.

Uncle Petrov gasped and said, “What ship is that?”

“The Henson,” said Cove, both awe and terror in his words.

An oarsman said, “Help us! They’re killing our families!”

“The men on the Henson,” said Cove, “are dressed.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“There is a Tidewraith in the depths,” said Cove.

Whispered words, half-prayers, and pleas came from the oarsmen, “Gisaluna save us…”

“Mother,” said Cove, “spare my family and the souls on the Goodwin.”

The sea beneath the Henson boiled, almost capsizing their boat. A dark stain spread like spilled paint across the waves, followed by the scent of oil and fuel. Dozens of bloated bodies bobbled to the surface, clad in Navy submarine uniforms and bright green life vests.

A pregnant silence filled the air; even the lightning feared to speak.

Hail child of the Cliff Wall Daughter. The voice thundered in his mind. Ancient thoughts, emotions schooled with millennia of experience, and hunger tempered by wisdom flowed with every vowel.

Cove thought: Hello? I am Coveland Nocht, son of Andrew Nocht and Gisaluna Leibide. Who are you?

Two clawed, six-fingered hands erupted from the water beside the Henson. Bullets sparked against the scales and claws, ricocheting across the deck of the Henson. Each hand grabbed a sailor from the rail and pulled the squirming, screaming person under the sea.

Cove’s stomach turned. He spasmed and vomited. Oh, Gods, it is eating the sailors…

Mouthwatering pleasure filled the alien mind as it sent: Your little mouth cannot say my name. You swam and frolicked with one of my hatchlings when you were but a hatchling. You called her Laghairt Deas. Though she hunts the depths, she liked you and may still like you.

Cove smiled at the memory before thinking: Laghairt Deas. I remember her hatching. I fed her squid every Sabbath until she left the Temple. Then we played in the waves as I learned to swim and surf.

The beautiful memories shattered as clawed hands rose on the far side of the Henson, pinched two more uniformed mariners as they scrambled, and pulled the screeching and begging man and woman below the sea.

The thought of men and women being eaten alive by the mother of his childhood friend turned Cove’s stomach. Do you have to eat the sailors?

I have to feed. These volunteered.

Volunteered? How did they volunteer?

They have entered my territory and enhanced their flavor.

Cove vomited over the gunnels.

Young one, no creature likes to be devoured. Do you think the fish you ate wanted to be your dinner? Their school swam into your nets, and now they feed your kind. We hear their cries and allow them to be taken. We spare the hunters per our Covenant.

You and my mother…?

Yes, the Covenant. We could eat the tasty humans if we left the naked ones alone. In exchange, humans respect our nests.

We used to eat your eggs?

No, your ancestors hunted our eggs to save your sailors. Did your mother not tell you this story?

There are a lot of things my mother did not tell me.

Two more dressed crew disappeared from the Henson, and several began to pull at their clothing, popping buttons and cutting belts and sashes. The Tidewraith sent: Do not be angry with your mother. Most of your people have the lifespan of a shark, barely long enough to glean a little of your history, while our songs fill the Azure caverns of the deep.

Mother of Laghairt Deas, may we help those on the other ship? They obey the Covenant, but their vessel is sinking.

Yes. Beware the sharks. The Kraken waits for me to finish. He does not abide by the Covenant and will harvest any human in the water, living or dead.

Cove thought: Thank you. He said, “Head for the Goodwin. We have permission from the Tidewraith to save the passengers and crew.”

The Tidewraith, with a hint of amusement, sent: Have you considered taking your enemies' craft when I had my fill? I have been careful not to damage it.

The sailor stuttered as he asked, “You… have permission from the monster?”

Cove nodded.

“You can talk to Tidewraiths?”

“Of course he can,” said Uncle Dax, “he’s the son of Gisaluna.”

Cove tried to ignore the whispers and sidelong glances from the men and women. The reverence in their voices made his stomach quiver. He shifted in his seat, eager to be away.

They pulled men, women, children, and pets from the sea. When the tender filled, they transferred the survivors to lifeboats. The original sailors left with family members, trading with others, but not before passing along the growing and evolving legend of Cove’s conversation with the Tidewraith.

Understanding animals was natural, a capability Cove had never questioned and assumed everyone could do, if not as well as himself. Yet listening to the whispered conversations, what little he could hear over the chaos and seas, made it clear that his ability to understand and communicate with creatures was uncommon, rare, the stuff of folklore and legends.

“Uncle Petrov,” Cove asked as they lifted a young woman from the sea, “could my dad talk to fish?”

“Andy,” chuckled Petrov, “was talented. He handled boats and nets more adeptly than any sailor I’ve known. The only thing he did better was keeping Gisa happy.”

“But could he speak with fish or animals?”

Uncle Petrov wrapped a blanket around the shivering teen and showed her to a seat as he said, “No, lad. You get that from yer mother. Probably your grandfather, too; he talked to critters almost as much as your mom did the animals of the sea.”

A touch of disappointment colored Cove’s voice as he said, “So, Dad was just a fisherman.”

Uncle Cove motioned to another bobbing figure, gesturing to encourage the oarsmen, saying, “Just a fisherman? Boy, my brother was incredible. There wasn’t a ship he couldn’t command, no storm he wouldn’t brave, and no creature of the sea he couldn’t catch. He attracted the attention of an immortal goddess, wooed her, and found your granddad to ask for her hand. Then, he risked his health, life, and freedom by accepting a breeding license. You and he are the only two men I know who were that fearless. I was too selfish to take the risk. I love Essie and Willick. I treasure Muriel for having the courage to bear Children of the Temple, but I wish….”

“That you’d been their father?”

Uncle Petrov shook his head, reaching for an exhausted man. “I’m glad to be their dad. No, I know it's forbidden, but I would love to meet the men who sacrificed to give them life.”

Cove’s head jerked up. He lost his grip on the man he was helping and raced to snatch his hand before stuttering, “What?”

“You don’t know, I guess you will never understand, how unique you are. You knew your biological father and grew up with him. I see Andy in your eyes, the shape of your face, the set of your shoulders, and… um… other bits. If lucky, the little man in Keekee’s belly will inherit all those features. I see Muriel in Essie and Willick but not myself.”

Cove wrapped a towel around the shivering man; they were out of dry blankets, and he shrugged as he faced Uncle Petrov. “I see plenty of you in Essie and Willick.”

Petrov rubbed his bald head and cocked an eye.

“Everything that matters,” insisted Cove, “came from you. Essie’s incredible; she is smart, eager, friendly, intuitive, active, and the best student Feardorcha has ever had.”

“I’m no storm dancer.”

“No, but you are the one who urged her to pursue her dream, convinced Feardorcha to teach a four-year-old, made sure she practiced and drove her to every class. You are the one who helped with her homework—”

“Come on, Cove. You make it sound like Muriel had no part in raising Essie!”

“Aunt Muriel did her bit, but so did you. A girl can become a good woman with just her mom, but to develop into an extraordinary person requires a remarkable dad.”

“That’s not true—”

“Would Essie be the best youth Storm Dancer in Heim, the possibly whole world, if you did not support her?”

“Probably, I don’t know.”

“I do. My wife and children would be dead or enslaved if Essie lacked her martial arts skills and your courage, and Essie could not have grown into the young woman she is without you. Period.”

Uncle Petrov rubbed his head before drawing his hand across his face. “I hope you’re right. Gods, I pray you’re right.”

“I am, now let's fish the last few out of the water and get my family.”

“We’re going with the Henson,” said Uncle Petrov.

Cove paused and shook his head as he said, “The Henson? What about Essie?”

“She…,” Aunt Muriel sniffed, and a tear fell from her eye as she continued, “Essie chose to leave and join Dax’s tribe.”

“That’s not something a twelve or even a thirteen-year-old gets to decide.”

“Our little girl is a battle magician; the god's knife in the night, the King's Bane,” said Uncle Petrov. “I thought she’d grow up and open her own martial arts school.”

“She still can—”

“No, she can’t,” said Aunt Muriel. “She’s never truly been ours. My baby girl is a mage. The Riddere will lock her up and harvest her, kill her, or, since she’s an internal magician like you, both.”

“I will bring her back to you,” Cove said as he began to turn.

“Coveland,” Uncle Petrov said, his voice firm, decisive, and sorrowful. “Essie is a young woman. We love her but cannot help her grow into the woman she wants to become; you and Dax can.”

“But—”

“If we force her to change into what we want and not who she is, then whose fault will it be when she grows into a depressed and angry woman?”

Cove paused, his mind frozen as it hunted for a retort. Nothing, he had no ideas, no other arguments.

Dax gripped his shoulder. “Coveland, it is done. The decision was made weeks ago; you were asleep, and your tiny robots were rebuilding your body. Essie is now my adopted daughter, a princess of the Duskfire Brotherhood. She has declared herself a candidate to become a Hero of Castlianova.”

“Shite,” said Cove.

“Cove, Essie idolizes you,” Uncle Dax said before turning his gaze to Dax, “and I trust you. Take care of our girl.” He extended his hand to Aunt Muriel. “You’ll need a few things before returning to that cavern. Wait here.”