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Voices in the mist
The king’s gaze pursued her.
“It is this one!” He was heard to shout. His ringed hand pointed somewhere in the square. Immediately something tore from the towers and rushed after her. Or was it flying on all wings? The rustling of many pairs of wings could be heard from behind.
After running a few meters, Desdemona stopped and turned back. Nothing! No one was flying or even running after her. But the fog had grown thicker. It’s an unusual fog. It’s green, like swamp sludge! Clawed and webbed limbs reached out to the surviving townspeople. She must be seeing double. She’d heard too many horror stories about sacrifices to the sea god. Those who had glimpsed the god himself at rites and sacraments where only a select few were allowed described him as a monster the size of a bastion. He had many eyes and tentacles, they said. He wore on his slimy forehead a chain studded with the crowns of those rulers whom he had drowned with all their armadas. He strangled those he did not want with his slimy limbs right in the temple. And the ancient temple, located on the outskirts of the city, was half sunk. It was dangerous to even be in it.
Desdemona believed all these tales only partially. She was too sensible to believe that a real monster had taken up residence in a temple on the border between Aquilania and the sea. More likely, some priest had deliberately disfigured himself during rituals and staged mysteries to impress the congregation. Priests are always hungry for power. People’s fear of the sea could be well capitalized on. But the sacrifices, even to an imaginary god, were real. Innocent and beautiful girls were said to be consecrated as priestesses in batches every new moon only to be drowned later.
Not long ago, she had trembled at the thought of being consecrated as a priestess to the sea god. But now that the streets were full of corpses, that thought no longer frightened her so much. It was easier to die from the volleys of enemy cannonade, or from the strange green creatures that scurried about in the fog. They bounced hastily into the alleyways if she caught a glimpse of them.
“She is special!” They hissed, pointing their webbed fingers in her direction. “You can’t touch her. Run away from her!”
Desdemona was shocked. Even the creepy freaks were running away from her like a leper. Maybe something happened to her face. But if she’d been hit by shrapnel, she would have felt pain. There was no pain. Could her skin have gotten a rash from the poisonous green mist? She didn’t even have a mirror with her to look. The other ladies had companions who carried hand mirrors, purses, and a whole host of little things they might need to make themselves pretty. But Candida’s extravagance made hiring a companion an unacceptable luxury. Even Desdemona’s governess was dismissed a year ago without references. Stepmother and all hurried to raise a scandal and chase them out of the service. The family estate because of her became increasingly empty, and now the capital of Aquilania was also empty. But the stepmother’s intrigues had nothing to do with it. It was as if a plague from the sea had come to the city, bringing war and horror.
There were corpses and wounded people moaning in the corners of the streets and squares, and the green creatures that had come out of the mist were leaning over them gently, whispering and running their hands into their wounds. She must be dreaming because of the fog. Everything becomes so blurry in its greenish puffs.
It never stopped raining either. Sometimes it alternated with hail, hitting the roofs like a scattering of white pearls. One hard hailstone bounced under her feet. Desdemona stooped, picked it up, and marveled. It was a real pearl! It lay in the palm of her hand like a white tear.
If all hail is made of pearls, then it would be time for children to climb the sidewalk and collect them, but there were no uninjured people around. Who could run away, who could not walk moaned on the sidewalk. Desdemona had to step over the remains of bodies on the road. The cannon volleys dismembered the bodies. Here at her feet was someone’s hand with a precious ring. It could be removed, but it seemed to move and become covered with green scales.
The fog made her eyes water. From the corners came groans, short screams and labored sighs, as if someone was being strangled there.
“It’s chaos out there,” said muffled voices outside the windows of the locked tavern. “The sea is about to overflow. The creatures of the deep are already here.”
“That’s to be expected. If one of them sits on the throne, the others will come to the city and behave like masters. How long has it been since we’ve heard of the Morgens?”
“Since they were given a princess they wanted to sacrifice.”
“Now, we have to find the girl they want, and then they’ll go back to the depths and not come out for the next hundred years.”
Desdemona pressed her ear against the binding of the window. It was still so fogged up that nothing could be seen through it, inside or out. The muffled voices were alarming. What were they talking about? It was some nonsense, but there was some truth in it. Even Candida knew the story of the heiress to the throne. She was forced to marry a sea king. And the stepmother was very sorry that she did not find such a groom. He might be a monster, but he was a king! Desdemona thought otherwise. To be given to a monster, even with good intentions, is the worst thing that can be thought of.
“Princess Lilophea willingly sacrificed herself and saved us from the watermen for over a hundred years. Conclusion: sacrifice must be voluntary. Where to find such a girl, who will be very beautiful and so stupid or selfless that she herself will go into the abyss?”
“It’s a pity that Aquilania doesn’t have another princess. The old king had a niece, but it seems she died without leaving offspring.”
There were several voices talking. They were all nasally, deaf, and obviously drunk. Desdemona could hardly distinguish one from the other.
“This trick won’t work now,” someone intervened next. There was the clatter of a mug placed on a wooden table. “The king himself has come from the sea to rule over us. One girl to go back to the abyss with him will not be enough for him. Even all the maidens of Aquilania won’t be enough for him. Mark my word, he’ll rule us for a while, he’ll get bored, and he’ll flood the whole kingdom.”
“And how can he be the son of the very Lilophea, if so many years have already passed?” asked someone sensible.
“Maybe he is a grandson, not a son. He could even be a great-grandson by counting the years.”
“It is because you are a stranger, did not live near the sea and did not know that all the maidens who survived in the abyss, gain immortality,” said a creaky old voice.
Now that’s interesting! Desdemona wanted to intervene in the conversation. She jerked the handle of the door. Locked on the latch! No one inside had thought to let her in, even after knocking.
“It’s the Morgens fooling around!” Someone spit over their shoulder inside the pub. “They want to kill us, but they can’t get in here. I drew symbols of protection at the door. An old fortune-teller taught me. Aren’t I clever?”
“What if there’s someone in there seeking refuge?”
“All the survivors have already gone home. They’re the only ones roaming the city.”
Who are they? Desdemona listened, but couldn’t figure it out. Who are the Morgens? The word was repeated many times and was clearly associated with creatures that crawled out of the sea. But who but crayfish and crabs could crawl ashore?
There were shouts behind her. Desdemona looked back and could not believe her eyes. The tentacles of fog were really choking people. They clung to the throats of the runners like green twine with claws and webbing, squeezed, and people fell, gasping for breath. Finished with the passersby, they reached for her.
“Unlock it!” Desdemona banged on the door. “I’m a lady here for the coronation from Adar. I have nowhere to go. My home is far away.”
“Don’t believe it,” someone inside said in a monotone. “They can even pretend to be your loved ones if they want to. Morgens are masters of sorcery. If it hadn’t been for my signs under the threshold, that lady would have leaked a torrent of frothy water under the door and drowned us all.”
They are mad! Desdemona kicked the door with her foot in frustration. No one reacted. But the sounds of the same monotonous conversation resumed.
“The rain doesn’t stop for too long. The streets are already turning into channels of sewage. If it lasts more than a day, we’ll be in trouble.”
“We were told that a king from the sea was coming who would turn the country into a sea hell. We didn’t believe it.”
“He’s going to flood the whole place.”
“He’d better find himself another Princess Lilophea like his father did and go away with all his watery hordes.”
“And then who would be king of Aquilania?”
“There will be some. The late king’s distant kin (seventh water on the vine, but still kin) rule Sultanite.”
“But none of them can keep us safe from the creatures of the sea. They will come with the surf if the next king fails to make a treaty with them for the coming century.”
“I heard there was a treaty, but it’s no longer valid because of the passage of time.”
Desdemona was no longer interested in eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. Green tentacles of mist clung to her hair, pulling the curly strands. Something wrapped around her neck like a necklace, squeezed it, and began to choke her. Her eyes rolled back, and her breath was cut off. Desdemona felt weakness in her knees, but the pearl became warm in her hand.
Suddenly the fog let go. Out of the blue! The tentacles darted farther down the street. Why did the creeping fog remind her of monstrous claws? A necklace of bruises remained on her neck.
Knowing that the beer hall patrons would not let her into their unpretentious hiding place, Desdemona wandered forward. The carriage with her stepmother had long since left. She would not make it home on her own. It would take either a swift horse or a rook to reach Adar by water canal. It was only before the water that Desdemona began to feel as much fear as before the fog. From the large puddles in the road voices called out. They called her by name or title. Once it even seemed that her late mother’s voice was calling her.
There were whispers in the fog, too.
“Was it she or was she not?”
“Is it his destiny?”
“Is she surely not the new priestess?”
Desdemona looked around helplessly. In one large puddle that covered half the street, she saw her reflection. There seemed to be nothing wrong with her face. No rash. So why were those creatures looking at her as if she had horns growing out of her head instead of a graceful tiara?
The water rippled in the breeze. Raindrops seemed to be folded on the surface of the puddle into a fanciful inscription. A moment, and instead of her own reflection, Desdemona saw again the face that had already frightened her in the pond. It was entirely green, framed by worms instead of hair. Two pearls grew in the nostrils of the hooked nose and another on the chin. A third yellow eye burned in its forehead. There was no pupil in it, nor were there any in the pair of orange eyes at the bridge of his nose.
The green lips quivered at the sight of Desdemona. The creature in the puddle saw her, and so did she see her. So was the witch in the water just a reflection, or was she really sitting in it? Desdemona made a desperate gesture and dipped her hand into the water. She found no one under the water, but the vile face laughed. The laughter was real. It carried down the street.
“Remember my prophecy!” The witch’s face grinned. “I usually take payment for prophecies in the form of a drop of blood, but I told you in advance. And don’t forget me when you’re visiting powerful people.”
The unpleasant voice cut through her ears like a drumbeat.
Desdemona wanted to go around the puddle, but there was no dry space around her. She had to turn back and walk into the gloomy alley. Green creatures of small stature crawled along the walls there. They resembled toads. Desdemona was not touched by any of them. She slipped past.
The streets ahead were not yet flooded, though even here the rain pounded on the windows, knocking out the shutters. The hail left puncture holes in the mica windows. Not so long ago, Aquilania had been a sunny kingdom. Now darkness was descending.
Desdemona stopped before a turn. There were men armed with sharp sickles. Their intentions were clearly malevolent, and their robes were suspicious. Only priests would wear such robes. Hoods pulled low over their foreheads to hide their faces, but she could see hoops on their hardened foreheads that seemed to have grown into the cracked skin. In the center of each hoop was a sign of some kind.
What the strangers were doing was like a ritual. The disfigured remains of bodies came to life and squirmed at the touch of the tips of their sickles. More than a dozen figures in red capes with brown claws stood in a circle over the body of the drowned woman. At any rate, by the looks of it, the dark-haired woman looked like a drowned woman. Her corpse swelled with water and turned blue. Seaweed dangled around her neck like a ligature, coiled like knots, as if someone had tied them on purpose.
The figures in red were also arguing about something. But their voices, unlike those in the tavern, were somber. The conversation resembled a funeral service.
“Is it she or isn’t she?”
“She’s the one, but it’s all too easy.”
“No hunting! No sacrifice! No magical intervention! If it had been the right one, it would have cost us dearly. This one fell right into our hands. More like a clever ruse to lead us astray.”
“But from the looks of it, this is the one. Even the markings on it are in the shape of the symbol of Darunon.”
“It could be artificially carved, not a birthmark. It’s done with magic or even needles.”
“But how precise the lines are? And the appearance fits, and the age, and the position of the stars, both celestial and nautical. This could be the maiden.”
“Let’s check it out!”
In the ringleader’s hand was a sickle with runes. The blade itself was frighteningly sharp. How well it was sharpened, how ominously it glittered!
Desdemona covered her mouth with the palm of her hand to keep from screaming. But she wanted to scream. The leader whispered something, tracing the wounds on the face and neck of the deceased. Then he swung the sickle as hard as he could.
Did he want to cut the corset of the dead woman’s body with it? But he drove the tip of the sickle into the flesh and cut her open from the genitals to the neck, studying the insides as if they were writing on paper. He is so indifferent, and the female body before him now resembles a gutted fish. From his whispering, something was happening. The corpse was coming to life and moving under the pressure of the sickle.
“It is no marks inside her,” he concluded. “So the external markings were a hoax. Why don’t you tell us yourself!”
Is that what he says to a dead woman? Desdemona was taken aback. She might as well be calling to the wall. But contrary to her expectations, the dead body suddenly opened its pale mouth and spoke, struggling to move a white tongue that resembled a worm that had crawled into the corpse’s lips.
“She is not in the city… somewhere in the province… in Adar.”
The words from the dead lips were jumbled.
“So you were wrong after all?” Several of the red-clad figures turned to the leader at once.
“It’s not that simple,” he watched coldly as the dead woman’s eyelids fluttered open, the empty whites of her eyes peering out at something in the void. The bloodless lips curved, mimicking a fish mouth.
“She wouldn’t say for sure right away. It’s all because she’s dead. Dead people are dull-witted,” the leader explained.
“What does that mean?” Someone asked him timidly.
“That means she’ll talk about the past first, what happened before she died. We don’t have time. I sense the chosen one is in town. But I don’t see her.”
He sniffed as if his eyes were blind. They seemed to be covered by a veil or some kind of white film that had grown between his eyelids. What were these creatures? Were they priests or sorcerers? Is it a secret society of assassins?”
She should run away from them, but her feet felt like they were stuck to the ground. A familiar face still stared back at her from the puddles, framed by seaweed and vipers instead of hair. An eyelid with gills winked at her. And again it seemed like a bottomless pond, and she was standing knee-deep in it, and the lilies were whispering to her.
The rain was ceasing, and it seemed that in its streams instead of hail real pearls were glimmering. It was a rain of pearls. Desdemona put her hand under it, and the pearls settled in her hand. It was a whole handful. They could be sold. Just don’t show them to your stepmother. Candida will want to take them away.
“The Chosen One,” the walls were humming.
Who are they talking about? What does it mean to be chosen? It’s what they usually say about sacrifices to a sea god. Desdemona didn’t want to be chosen, because it meant being a sacrificial lamb on the altar under the priest’s knife. The word “chosen” even frightened her. It echoed in her brain like a monster hand pounding on a door with a fist.
She was lucky that the red-cloaked figures had turned in a different direction. Their footsteps were getting farther away. Ominous voices produced echoes. The sickle-cut corpse left on the sidewalk emitted a foul odor. This corpse was definitely dead now.
Desdemona almost vomited.
Someone tugged at her sleeve. Beneath her feet was a low creature like the ones that climbed the walls. It was as if the rain had bred them.
Desdemona recoiled from the one standing next to her and for nothing. He took off his green beret, like a pageboy’s, and bowed with the mannerism of an experienced servant.
“Are you Lady Desdemona?”
“Yes!” She was surprised to hear human speech from greenish lips. Though maybe she only thought the page had green skin and webbing between his fingers. He crumpled his beret tentatively in his hands.
“I’ve been sent for to escort you to your rented house.”
“They did?”
I couldn’t believe her stepmother had bothered with her. Her father had probably come to his senses.
“You’re not one of our servants, are you?”
“I’m on loan. I was sent from the palace,” he explained with a hitch.
No, his hands are definitely not hands, but paws. Desdemona was wary, but she could not escape him.
“Come on, there’s a gondola waiting on the canal. I’ll take you to your family,” the page held out a webbed hand to her.
He was probably one of the king’s new servants, who had come from across the sea and looked very different from the local people. There was nothing to be done! She must either accept his proposal or wander the deserted streets in the shadows, where many dangers await.
Desdemona nodded reluctantly.
“Lead me to the gondola!”
She hid the pearls she had collected from the rain in her clenched fist. Maybe she could get something for them, unless they melted like rain on the sidewalk at the end of the storm.
Counselor Morgen
Quo crawled from the sea to be his eyes and ears in the huge foreign palace. He had only been at court a few hours, and already people were wondering why the royal counselor had several humps at once and why he limped like a maimed man. His cloak, like a spacious hood, lay over his spiky aquatic body, hiding his tentacles, spikes, and gills. A face with greenish skin, as if covered with warts, could still be tolerated. Quo was not a handsome man. But an advisor is supposed to be wise, not handsome. If some of the courtiers guessed what kind of creature the new counselor was, they didn’t show it. Moran welcomed him into the throne room like an old friend. Quo was exactly a servant.
“Do you want to turn this whole kingdom into a water kingdom?” Quo looked at the arches and columns of the palace with envious eyes. In his opinion, water was definitely lacking here.
“It is not now!”
The counselor was surprised. It seemed the intentions with which they had come to Aquilania had been clear from the start.
“What had gone wrong?”
It was an impertinence to ask the ruler so directly, but Moran condescended to answer.
“The mother wanted to keep this country intact.”
“It will be difficult. Your retinue is already scattered throughout the city.”
“See to it that they behave humanely to the indigenous people of Aquilania for the time being.”
“You mean humans!” Quo was taken aback.
“It is exactly,” Moran nodded. The crown of earth was pressing on his forehead, so he took it off. Let only the crown of the sea remain. You can’t take it off. It’s a privilege to be born with it on your forehead. The wine of the blue fruits of the sea, mixed with the elixirs of the fairy Ariana, was running out. One must send someone trusted to fetch a second keg. Once on land, Moran felt extremely thirsty. What if that thirst proved unsatisfying? His cronies, whom he had brought with him, had already pounced on the court ladies to drink blood. But the blood did not save the thirst either. But the body of a certain Lady Elisandra, with her throat cut by sharp gills, now lay beneath his throne. He could throw the corpse into the sea, but the family would probably want to take the body to the family crypt. The most sensible thing to say in this case is that she was sacrificed to the sea god.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Moran nodded at the corpse by the throne room. The dead girl resembled a broken lily for some reason, but she had certainly not begun to turn. There were no marks on her body: no scales, no growths, no pearls growing straight out of her skin.
“Your father will be displeased that you didn’t flood the entire kingdom at once.”
“My father pleases my mother in every way, and she is against it,” Moran drained the cup. He was thirsty, but he didn’t want to go back to the sea. It was because of someone or something that had flashed across the square recently. It had the same delicate scent as the earthly flower his mother had once brought underwater. It seemed to be called a rose and possessed sharp thorns. Could the same fragrance have come from a girl?
“The brothers said that women always drown underwater, even those who reciprocated their passion.”
Quo remained dutifully silent. His spiky tail peeked out from beneath the austere robe of the counselor.
It was worth searching for the creature that gave off that scent if it was mortal and could not survive underwater. And was it possible to rule here without sending the entire palace underwater?
Moran glanced at the cracks in the ceiling and walls where algae had sprouted. His servants were too fussy.
“Darunon wants to see you, but the situation is delicate.”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t an underwater world, if he crawled into the palace, the building probably wouldn’t accommodate him. Not to mention the terror that would befall the courtiers.”
“Aren’t they the ones who sacrifice their youngest daughters to him?”
“But they themselves have never seen him, or they would have fled from this island where he is lodged like scalded men.”
“So bloody sacrifices suit them, but the sight of someone demanding them might shock them? Funny creatures, people! At odds with themselves in everything they do.”
“They have a weak nature, your naval majesty. They have to adapt to survive. Hence are all their fears, doubts, and inadequate behavior.
Moran grinned crookedly.
“It is a weak, cunning race,” he commented. “No match for us! Then their women are no match for us.”
He should forget about the delicate creature.
It is better to think of the sea monster. He pretended to be a god and began to speculate on people’s fears and ambitions. It was sacrificed to, asked for help and protection, and paid tribute. It was doing a fine job of running the country before Moran came along. You didn’t have to come here. Darunon had already taken control of the minds and feelings of the nobles of Aquilania. And the nobles depended on his will.
The path to the half-sunken ancient temple was paved with the skulls of virgins, golden offerings, blood and bones. A scarlet path stretched to the coast between thorns and mass burial sites. The people of Aquilania were too morally weak to rally and fight back against the bloodthirsty god. They could have killed him with fire, but they took no chances, continuing to nurse the slacker who promised them protection from the floods. He can’t even give them that protection. It was up to the king of the sea, not the monster who not so long ago had dwelt in the pyramid of the underwater kingdom and fawned before its king. Now Darunon has gotten cocky. Soon he will demand that half the country be sacrificed to him. It’s time to nail him. But other matters come first. First he must assert our power in the eyes of a people intimidated by years of sacrifice.
“Where have you been before?” Moran asked the former Viceroy in his thoughts. He was not to be blamed. He didn’t know Moran could read minds. And there was no point in telling him that the period of maturation in higher beings lasts much longer than in humans. Humans were already dying in their first century of life, while Morgens were only gaining strength. In the eyes of the people of Aquilania, an entire era had passed while one of the underwater princes had barely had time to grow up.
“What does Darunon want?”
“He only wishes to pay his respects to you as the long-awaited ruler of an underwater race close to his heart.”
Very high-minded! Moran grinned again.
“Let him wait.”
“Shall I tell him so?” Quo even trembled. He was afraid of being caught like a fly in a spider’s web in a half-flooded temple.
“Tell him I’ll come to him myself when I need him.”
Quo tilted his bald head obediently, fish scales growing on it. The elaborate peacock feather beret barely concealed his terrifying head. Let the courtiers think him an ugly and cunning cripple. It’s better than if they realize that as long as they live near him, they are literally in the claws of an otherworldly being.
“You may depart!”
Quo set aside a folder and a writing case with an inkwell and sharpened quills. There were traces of typhus and water all over it. No one was standing under the windows on the sea side, so they didn’t see the royal counselor crawl over the sill and climb down the arches, coiling his slippery limbs around them. As Quo crawled down the wall toward the sea, Moran played with his empty goblet moodily, wondering how Ariana would soon arrive to supply him with a new batch of the miraculous blue wine without which it was simply impossible to go on living in the lands of mortals.
Outside the throne room, laughing, a procession of maids of honor passed by. The blood flowing through their veins immediately caught Moran’s attention. He mentally beckoned to one of the girls, preparing to slit her throat, but changed his mind, remembering that the blood did not quench his subjects’ thirst. The pretty lady stood at the threshold of the throne room in surprise, not realizing how she had dared to come here uninvited. When the spell is broken, people usually don’t realize what’s wrong.
“Get out!” Moran shouted at the maid of honor.
She immediately realized he was angry and backed away. Her pretty face showed resentment. Better to be offended than to rot in her grave. Unlike his six flighty brothers, Moran respected human life.
The corpse of Lady Elisandra Quo was carried out of the palace on his ridge and dragged to the sunken temple. She would be recorded as another victim of the sea god. The relatives will find that comforting. Nothing can be done against the power of Darunon. If the Aquilanians don’t want to sink, they must pay tribute to him.
