Chapter 8
“You made it.” The words left my lips in a cloud, dispersing into the chill coastal air.
In his all-black ensemble, he could have just been another shadow.
“I’d rather be sleepin’,” Nemuik growled from within the hood of his cloak, “but I had no choice.”
I pulled up my sleeve, the faint lines of my fresh ink glistening in the starlight. “Me, either. Should we get friendship tattoos to match?”
“I been waitin’ ’ere since sundown, I hope ye know. Ye better ’ave come armed wit more than just jokes!”
My brows dipped together. “Armed? As in weapons?”
“Why, why me?” he huffed. Tarnished silver glittered from his pocket, quickly followed by a fractal of crystal. A dagger.
He withdrew it, and I leapt back, scrambling to put some distance between us, nearly tripping over a root. The dwarf flicked the blade forward in quick, stabbing motions, no doubt aiming for my guts.
“What are ye doin’?!” he snapped. “Are ye tryin’ to get us caught?!”
“You’re the one trying to stab me!” The words were muffled behind the shield of my fingers.
“What?!” he whisper-screamed, eyes darting to the park’s entry gate and the small hut that housed the rangers. His hands fisted at his sides, hood rustling with the movement. A sliver of moon danced over his fuming red cheeks. “Why would I be tryin’ to kill ye?!”
“I don’t know. Easy target?” I was too shocked to come up with a reasonable answer, too on edge from the night before.
“Ye may be te one wit te contract, but it’s my arse on te line here,” he snarled, slicing the dagger through the air. “If ye fail, I fail. Listen ’ere, girl… if ye go into that cave without any sort of weapon, yer bones will be just another decoration on te floor. Capiche?”
Nodding in understanding, I gulped down the rising fear.
He spun the blade between his fingers before offering me the pommel. “Now get yer shit together. Failure is not an option t’night.”
“Right. Great pep talk.” I grasped the hilt, the cool metal biting against my skin. The intricate grooves of the steel handle were dotted with specks of clear blue—shards of crystals, the same kind that I had seen covering the dwarfdom, were welded onto the blade. “I’ve got it now.”
It slipped from my grip, landing tip down, nearly impaling my toe.
“For te love of te saints,” he cursed under his breath.
“Sorry, this was probably expensive,” I murmured, stumbling to grab it, a flash of heat searing my temples and neck. “Um, where exactly do I put it?”
The whites of his eyes reflected in the dim light. “Take this.” He passed me a scabbard with runes stitched into the leather.
“Thanks.” My fingers were clammy, even if the coastal air was crisp and chilling, as I attached it to my waistband. It looked ridiculous on me. Like I was playing dress-up.
The last time I’d held a weapon, it was the smooth shaft of an arrow, the curved wood of a bow. Ryder’s.
“Nemuik…” I tried not to let the hesitation seep into my voice, but I had to know, in case I didn’t make it out alive, in case I didn’t get another chance. “This odd obsession I have with the Pearl, does it just… go away once everything’s done?”
Air steamed out of his wiry-haired nostrils, and he waited a beat, as if taking extra time to decipher my words. “Once yer mission is complete, ye don’t ’ave a target, so yer huntin’ instinct naturally fades.”
And there I had it. Ryder and I meant nothing, then.
“Got it.” Even though I didn’t say his name, the way my voice quavered must have made it apparent.
“Te tattoo is what may have brought him to ye, but those feelins’, they belonged to him,” he added, unprompted.
I shook it off, the reality of it already sinking into me like claws. Did he not know Ryder had only pretended to like me to complete his own contract, or did the dwarf just not realize how good the guy was at his job?
“Anyways.” His boot scuffed the dirt. “Ready?”
Pulling on the strings of my hoodie, I gave Nemuik a tense nod, feeling anything but.
“I can only lead ye to te half-mile marker,” he warned. “Too dangerous for me after that.”
“Too dangerous for you?” I raised a brow. “Aren’t you a ruthless killer?”
“Not a great swimmer. And, ye know, te area is spelled.”
“Ok,” I blew out the word, my confidence leaking out with it.
Knees bent, shoulders hunched, he crept down the small hill into the sand dunes below.
I didn’t think, I just went, trailing his silent footsteps, hoping the midnight mist blanketed our silhouettes from any rangers still lingering about.
Once we reached the damp band of water-soaked sand at the foot of the bluffs, he held up a hand in signal, and I froze. Something skittered across the shelf of tide pools above—too big to be a crab.
Back flush against the salt-crusted edge, I leaned just far enough to see onto the ledge.
Round black critters scurried over the small pools, oblivious to the rising tide—and, so far, to us. As often as the ocean swept them out, they crawled back in, no stone or hole or shell left untouched.
More confused than anything, I asked, “What are those?”
“Scuttlers. Scavengers.”
“Should I…” I inched forward, poking my head back out—barely ducking in time as a long-forgotten piece of fishing equipment flew off the cliff and landed in the damp sand. “Be concerned? They look like giant, tailless tadpoles. Angry ones.”
“Nah, jus’ don’t get close.” He didn’t even flinch when a group of them jumped off the rocky shelf and sailed over his head, fighting and spitting like a savage pack of hairless chihuahuas. “Extremely territorial.”
Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a bag.
I eyed the speckled balls within the plastic. “Are those…?”
“Jawbreakers.” After pouring out a palmful and popping a few in his mouth, he stashed the rest. “If one of ’em gets out of line, pop ’em.” He demonstrated with a quick, jabbing motion.
“Is violence the solution to all your problems?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Most of ’em.”
“Wouldn’t a golf ball do more damage?”
“I can’t eat golf balls.”
Rolling my eyes, I fell back into position.
Using my knowledge of the ocean, I listened to the waves as if I was getting ready for a rough paddle out to the surf lineup: memorizing the pattern of the tide, timing the heavy crashes, weighing the icy silence.
Fourteen seconds.
I breathed deep, the Pearl of Truth parting my thoughts like a beacon in the night.
A plan laid out before me, a puzzle unfolding.
I closed my eyes: I’d have fourteen seconds once we got to the half-mile mark to descend the jagged shelf of rock, make it past the rip current, and get inside the cave before the next wave came and swallowed me up.
Water slammed into the rocks. My eyes thrust themselves open. I could do this.
Using the barnacle-studded cavities dimpling the side of the bluff for handholds, we climbed up onto the ledge of tide pools positioned above the raging sea—a natural bridge, of sorts.
A blast of salt water sprayed our clothes. I was already drenched, and we were nowhere near the cave. This was going to be a long, cold night. I should have worn my wetsuit.
Scuttlers scurried towards the end of the reef, growling, snapping at our footsteps.
Nemuik waved them off with an irritable huff. “Oh, quiet, ye good-for-nothin’…” A wave breached the natural bridge, snatching a group of them perched on the edge.
With one arm out for balance, the other skimming the wall of dirt that made up the bluff, I trailed behind the dwarf.
The mist grew thicker the farther we crept, curling around our limbs as if it could drag us out to sea. My pulse sped up, thundering in my ears. I didn’t see Nemuik—I could barely see the brittle rock in front of me.
My next step landed on nothing. I caught air, a sharp scream slipping past my lips.
Without thinking, I threw my arms up until my fingers found purchase on the stone, waist and knees slamming into the jagged edge. The sharp rocks bit into my skin, but at least I was able to drag myself up. I peered over the near-invisible recess into the foamy waters below.
“Tere’s te marker.”
I followed Nemuik’s voice until the outline of his braided black beard and leather jacket broke through the fog.
He stood next to a serpent’s head spray-painted onto the crumbling bluff.
“Te sea cave is tere, down below.”
We turned towards the ocean, the coastal haze dispersing long enough for us to make out the arch of the ancient cavern. Its gaping opening seemed to swallow the waves and even the tiny bit of moonlight, trapping them both in its depths.
I twirled my wrists, flexing the joints.
The thin scabs on my knuckles caught a hint of the moonlight, my hands still raw from many painful, failed attempts at trying to break and enter the Santa Cruz Lighthouse—a place that supposedly belonged to the Angel of Water and bridged Empyrea with Mortal Earth.
If I couldn’t even get in there, how the hell was I supposed to get in here?
A chill raked over my spine. “What are you going to do?”
He plopped a candy in his mouth. “Stand guard and eat jawbreakers.”
A draft tunneled through, nipping at our clothes, its low howl echoing off the walls of the cave.
Words unsteady as my legs, I whispered, “Is it true? What the Wizard said? That it’s”—my jaw clamped down—“haunted?”
“I’ve only made it this far.” Nemuik gripped the sides of his hood, flopping it back over his head. “And ’tis not in yer best interest to hear what happened to te souls who were ordered to come ’ere and fetch te Pearl.”
Fear twisted my stomach. I reached inward for a thread of elemental power—my Source. It skittered deeper, a quiet passenger, watching, waiting, lurking in the silence.
“Ye got a plan?” His gaze remained fixed on the entrance.