Chapter 8 #2
I fidgeted with the cuff of my hoodie, pulling it up my arm.
The orange hues of the butterfly brightened against my skin as I brushed my thumb over the thin, raised lines.
Pain rippled in its wake; I was hit with a vision so hard, my hand shot out and gripped the closest sturdy thing in front of me—which happened to be Nemuik’s shoulder.
There: in a pool, a grotto, near the outer chamber, lay the Pearl of Truth. Wedged in a crevice, partially submerged beneath the silt and sand, shimmering like a tiny moon. Shadows crept in, calling from darker corners, until they whisked away the image of my target.
From what I gleaned, the cave was empty.
Nemuik cleared his throat. “Ye good?”
“Yes,” I said, springing my hand back, those fingers going straight to my mouth. “Any other last-minute advice?”
“Don’t die.”
Rolling my eyes, I spat out a sliver of fingernail. “I’ll try to remember that one.”
I couldn’t make any promises, though.
Carefully, I lowered myself down the craggy ledge to yet another level of tide pools, my shoes skidding on the algae, slipping into puddles deep enough to wade in.
“Ok, Nephilim?” Nemuik’s voice was muffled by the salty gusts of wind, and when I glanced back, he was bracing himself against it, hands in his pockets, shoulders high. “Good luck.”
Water sprayed my sides, the bitter cold of it stinging my cheeks. The swell crashed onto the limpet-covered surface I was standing on, dousing my ankles.
The wind picked up as I treaded farther from the bluffs—closer to the cave. The tug of my tattoo a siren song, pulling me onwards, until I reached a jutting point in the natural bridge.
A cord of intuition banded around my chest. From here, I could make out the notches carved into the stone above the gaping hole of the sea cave’s entrance: the runes that made up the spelled boundary.
Most of the swirling, intricate marks, I couldn’t place. But there was one in the middle I’d recognize anywhere: the teardrop with the two four-pointed stars lining the upper lefthand corner. The Empyrean symbol for water.
My heart leapt and my tattoo pulsed, adrenaline prickling my veins. Instinctively, my hand crept to my collarbone, grasping air instead of my necklace that bore the same symbol.
None speaks to te water like ye do, the Wizard had said. He knew about this. And because it was a symbol that represented the Watchers—the angels—perhaps that was why all those other poor creatures had met their end trying to retrieve the Pearl.
Another breaker smashed into the point, almost knocking me off my feet.
I centered myself, brushing off the stir of hope and focusing on how the hell I was going to get in. The surf was tricky here. It made the entire cave inaccessible, really. But I guessed that was why it was the perfect hiding spot for a magical artifact.
The ocean pummeled every surface, water sloshing against the reef, the current stealing any unanchored object in its path. It wasn’t worth the risk of closing my eyes and trying to channel my Source again when one rogue wave had the strength to sweep me out to sea.
I’d known I was going to get a little wet, but this…
I was going to have to jump. Jump, and bodysurf in.
There literally was no other option.
Searching for any signs of a sneaky rip, I started the count to fourteen. I’d coast along the bridge of rock, avoid the messy backwash in the middle, then ride the waves into the shallows. Daring one more glance at a very confused Nemuik, I leapt.
The soles of my feet sliced through the water first, the icy shock freezing me to my core as my legs, chest, head, and the rest of my body joined the frigid world beneath the surface.
Unrelenting pressure suddenly pushed me down, as if a wave had broken over me. But that was impossible. The next set wasn’t for another twelve seconds.
I had timed it perfectly.
Another blast from above yanked at me. The force was so strong it thrust my mouth open, water rushing down my throat.
Clamping my jaw shut, I wiggled my toes, dipping for the sandy bottom, scraping against…
nothing. A twinge of panic seized my muscles.
I was way too close to the shore for it to already be this deep.
Something brushed my arm—something slimy, something quick. Maybe a harbor seal, or a tangled bulb of kelp, or a more chilling thought: a soul.
The Wizard’s words echoed loud and clear in this weird abyss: They say it’s haunted by te souls of those who are lost at sea.
Seaweed tickled my wrist—or was it a limb? Flinching, I waved it off, bubbles whirling around me. A thicker object brushed my ankle. Another curled around my hand.
Air slipped through my teeth in a steady stream. My lungs were aching. But something was definitely there. Its touches felt purposeful—like prodding fingers.
I opened my eyes. They burned at the salt.
Impenetrable black surrounded me. I’d been thrashing at nothing, wasting my oxygen on nothing. But the longer I stared into the murk… the more it seemed to stare back.
Screaming faces morphed out of the shadows, curious hands seemed to reach from the whirling grit, a haunting presence dragging me down, down, down to where there should have been sand, but there was nothing except darkness.
Light flickered in the corner of my eye. I swung my head in its direction, my slitted gaze snagged on the leather hooked to my waist, the clasp undone, waving like seagrass in the current. The crystal of the dagger.
Feeling had started to leave my limbs. My pulse had started to slow. But I reached for the sheath, the movement sluggish, out-of-body, as if I were watching myself.
My fingers fumbled with the flap, barely bending to grip the steel. The longer I struggled, the more if felt like I was becoming a phantom, and the phantoms were becoming… real.
They grabbed at my arms, my legs, their hollowed eyes hungry, pleading, their murmurs mixing with the turbulent whooshes of the tide.
We cannot bear the sound of your beating heart, they seemed to say. Come, live with us in ruin, and whisper the songs of the sailors. Don’t be scared…
But I was. I was so, so scared. And maybe that’s what drove me to swath the weapon through the water, through ghostly muscle and incorporeal limbs. Fear made me fight against whatever supernatural force was pushing me into the depths.
A spark of warmth stuttered in my chest. A flare of magic—a flame going out.
Shoulders twitching, lungs collapsing, I squinched my lids shut and looked in, reaching for that spark.
I wrapped my entire sense of being around that flicker of hope—my Source. Using it as an anchor, to pull me up, up, up, until I burst through the surface.
Crisp, salty air stung my lungs in a burning gasp. Whitecaps rushed towards me. Before I could catch my breath and dive under, the current hooked me in its grasp.
Flailing and spinning, I fought against it, even though my strength was totally, utterly spent.
Then a voice. Two. Ones I thought I’d never hear again, wove themselves onto the breeze, into the stormy sea, into my pounding heart, screaming, “STOP.”
Two of the Watchers had reached me. How, I didn’t know. Our connection had been severed. But I listened. I stopped. I let my body drift, riding the waves until the bottoms of my feet finally found sand and the ocean carried me in.
Stumbling, I dragged myself to shore, sopping and shaking. At the edge of the surf zone, I dropped to my knees, palms sinking into the damp, waterlogged ground, dagger sparkling in the moonlight beside me.
Salt water, hot and acidic, poured out of my mouth.
After a good retch, I rose to standing, glancing at the arched stone ceiling overhead.
I made it.