Page 12 of Connal

“I see you’re yet angry with me, my king,” Ysal said, gulping the dry, cold air before he added, “Only accept ’tis time to release me.”

“You’re the last of the first of us.” Merrick stopped and faced him. Why the old one had chosen this day to die set a slow-burning anger in his heart, and yet custom forbid ordering him to stop or even wait. “You dinnae only abandon me and our kind. What of Ysala and Freja? Your mate and son shall mourn you forever.”

“While hiding their ease, no doubt. My sadness and longing for the end makes me a burden to them.” The net maker’s eternally young, winsome features lost their melancholy for a moment. “You’re but still a lad, and possess no memories of the first world. No land, only endless seas with crystal reefs and shell forests and wonders beyond words. ’Twas so glorious this realm seems more a mud puddle.”

“’Tis cinders now. Fack Selse.” Because he was the king he could utter such blasphemy, and still half-expected the elder to slap him for it. “If you’re weary of the work, you can teach.”

“I’ve taught. I’ve mated, spawned, and watched our kind flourish. I’ve raised my son to live as a good fellow, and serve you well. For centuries uncounted I’ve run the currents, defended our waters, and danced with the landwalkers. I’ve even protected you as best I could.” Ysal sighed. “When you come to my age––and even you shall someday, my fair king––you long for stillness and silence.” He surveyed the greenery beyond the shore. “I’ve dreamed of death, and such doesnae frighten me. ’Tis as making a swim to join an old and patient friend. Mayhap, if I’m blessed, the many who went before me as well. My good friends. My king.”

A ripple in the waters made Merrick glance back to see the entire garrison surrounding the islet. He had not summoned them; they had come to show their respect to a mentor. It reminded him of just how old Ysal had grown. He had taught them all.

The net maker saw them as well, and touched his chest in a gesture of fond farewell before he made his way on shore.

The islet, where the Selseus had come to die since the Great Journey, had dazzling white and gold sands, thanks to time and weather wearing away at the bones of those who stranded themselves here. Ferns, shrubs and small trees shaded the many spots where Merrick’s sire and every elder but the net maker had gasped the final breath. Here and there some rotted stakes remained in the ground, mute testimony to the very few who had been brought to the place for execution.

Ysal finally eased down by the trunk of a young willow, and reached for the fine silver chain around his neck. The violet-gold pendant, through which he had channeled his power for millennia, glittered as brightly as if it had been water-forged only yesterday. He pressed it in Merrick’s hands, smiling a little.

“I take my leave of you, my king, and return to the sands. Should we meet beyond, I shall greet your sire and bearer with much joy.” The net-maker’s eyes closed. “Beware the dark one of legend. ’Twas ever truth that she shall someday come for the landwalkers, and cut through the Selseus so she may butcher them.”

“I shall keep careful watch.” Merrick’s gut clenched as he crouched down to place a kiss on Ysal’s brow, ritually releasing him from his life pledge. “Find your silent darkness, old friend, and ken there peace.”

He did not linger at the net maker’s side, but returned to the waters. Beneath the waves the garrison parted to permit him pass, and Jamaran joined him to swim back to the settlement. There Merrick ignored the sorrowful looks from the females and young as he made his way into the palace, and took refuge in his evening chamber.

Jamaran stood guard at the door, and watched without a flicker of emotion as Merrick rammed his fists into the tall columns of oysters grown there for his pleasure. Shells fragmented and drifted down to the coral floor, scattering their pearls. Only when his violet blood stained the water did the garrison commander dare to catch his arm.

’Twillnae take long, Jamaran thought to him. By dawn Ysal shall join your ancestors. Release him in truth.

Merrick had always been grateful for the mind link they shared, as it allowed him to issue orders to his most trusted subject without any overhearing them. It also permitted him to know every thought in Jamaran’s mind, which had insured his trust. Now he wished he had never transformed the former enslaved warrior, for the lad could hear everything inside his head as well.

Hit me if you wish. The commander lifted his chin in invitation. My face, ’twillnae make mince of your hands.

Merrick scowled. Why didnae I permit you drown?

I’ve oft wondered. Jamaran fluttered the lashes of his pretty eyes like some flirtatious maid. If ’tis your wish now to make me more than brother, I’m ever willing. Only ken I cannae spawn you a son.

Laughing seemed obscene, and yet it poured out of him endlessly. The commander’s arm came around him, supporting him as his mirth turned to grief. Merrick howled and wept, just as he had a year before, when news of Lady Joana’s death reached them. Unlike his sire, the former king, he had never been skilled with hiding his emotions. He told himself it made him a better ruler, for his people knew him to be as they were, but in truth it was merely another of his faults. At last he regained control of himself, and drew back to look into his friend’s eyes.

I want his bones brought back to me, he told him. He shallnae become dust on that facking mound of death. You must attend to his mate as well. See that she wants for naught.

Jamaran bowed his head. Aye, my king.

Merrick swam out of the settlement, uncaring where the currents took him. The scant light from the smiling moon did not reach far into the dark seas, but the taste of the water and the sounds rippling around him told him where he was. At last he walked up onto the white sands of the bay shore, where he stood and looked up at the monstrosity that housed the MacMar.

He’d visited the inside of the place only once, and thought the landwalkers mad for wishing to entomb themselves in the enormous stone crypt. He doubted the new female would find great comfort within its cold, hard walls. Connal likely had handed off the castaway female to his mortal vassals before retreating to the solitude he preferred to rule. It had been a year since that wretched mate of his had cast herself from a cliff, and if anything the laird had grown even more morose.

At one of the windows a tall red-haired wench appeared, making Merrick scowl as soon as he realized who it was. As soon as Meg saw him she made a flinging gesture and disappeared.

“Fair evening, King.” A dark silhouette emerged from the shadows by the base of the cliff to bow before approaching him. “How may I serve?”

Merrick didn’t have to glance at him to know it was Shaw, Connal’s younger brother. Long ago the chieftain had been captured on the mainland by Pritani raiders, and had spent years first as an enslaved drudge, and then as something unnamed but far more deadly, until the MacMar laird had finally found and rescued him. Since returning to Caladh the chieftain had been strange, always everywhere and nowhere. He’d also grown recklessly insolent, as if the savage skinwork the Pritani had inked on his arm had emboldened him.

Merrick remembered the once happy, harmless lad Shaw had been before his time among the renegades. He’d been very fond of the boy, but enslavement had changed the man who returned to the island. The chieftain made a reputation for himself as a merciless warrior with finely-honed senses, lightning speed, and an eerie ability to accurately predict what others would do. He also carried a darkness within him that most of his brothers could not sense, one that deeply troubled Merrick.

Trading empty niceties with the most dangerous man on the island didn’t interest him at this hour, however. “How fares your laird?”

“As he fared yesterday, today, and shall again on the morrow.” Shaw’s gaze remained wholly guileless. “He’s keeping the woman. What more want you? Or do you over-indulge in pearls tonight?”

First Meg shooing him away, and now this insult. Striding up to loom over Shaw, Merrick saw nothing but cool contempt in the landwalker’s moonlight-silvered eyes. “I’m king of my kind. You shall keep a civil tongue with me, Chieftain.”