Chapter Eleven #3
“It seems so young, now. For when I became an elder, I was obliged, on occasion, to don a cursed pendant. Little though it was, the time I spent wearing the Mother’s own waters prolonged my life, and the lives of my peers, but it did not preserve our bodies as it did the Sealgair.
The changes came slowly. When babes were born with their gills wider and more pronounced, we came to realise our own gills had changed, too.
When the next generation came with their little webbed hands, we noticed the stretch of the skin between our own fingers.
Little by little, we adapted to the waters around us.
This, perhaps, is our punishment for Wielding a power we have no claim to. But there are far worse fates.”
“The Sealgair?” Alun offered hesitantly.
Daithí nodded, to Alun’s gill-shaking gulp.
“I gather you were rather as shocked as your peers to be greeted by an unfamiliar creature such as myself. The sentry you met with before was Sealgair, as I’m sure you have already deduced. However, I thought it best, on this occasion, that I come myself, even if it might frighten you.”
“We are not frightened of you,” Eda said firmly, almost scolding. The silence of the men around her was rather telling, and for a moment, it was quite uncomfortable. It was at this point, however, that Kai thought he could withhold Eleni’s message no longer.
“There are some fears,” he began, straining to sound more even than he felt. “From the Dhaliaan population, particularly their sailors. Fears around what they call Issa Koemi, a graveyard, in your waters.”
Daithí nodded at once and briskly.
“They are not permitted here.”
Kai did not want to ask, and yet, “Why?”
“The Sealgair are hunters and protectors. They are territorial, and in their minds, the fish that swim within our territory are worth killing for. We lived through times of great scarcity. To the Sealgair, their sacrifice meant we never would again.”
The implication was enough that Kai did not feel the need to name Eleni’s concern directly. It was fishermen who had reported Merrow sightings in the first place, he realised. The Sealgair were the hunters of Nua Laune—and the reapers of Issa Koemi.
“The Empress has asked me to set some peacemaking terms, so that her vessels may travel undisturbed above Koe—” Kai paused, corrected himself. “Above Nua Laune. I’d like to speak to the Sealgair on her behalf, if I may.”
“You may send your emissary.”
The words came in that same brisk tone, and for a moment, Kai was silenced by them; confused. He glanced at Alun, who, aside from looking utterly stricken at being volunteered, seemed quite as puzzled.
“He’s done quite enough in my absence,” said Kai after a beat. “I’m here now, and well able to speak with them.”
Daithí glanced down at his own hands, spindly fingers and bloated joints splayed wide on the table as though he needed to steady himself, or take up as much room as possible while he stood his ground.
“I’m afraid that time has quite worn my capacity for tact, Kai Cumhaill. I hope you will not take offence when I tell you that it is not in your best interest. Send your emissary.”
“Do the Sealgair harbour some ill will toward me?”
Kai had spoken lightly, not meaning the words to hold any weight; that a group of strangers, however murderous and unhinged they may be, would hold any personal dislike for him.
But when Daithí turned his face up, his black eyes were impossibly darker.
Kai felt his heart sink into the sand and silt beneath his feet.
“The Sealgair are well aware of your survival,” said Daithí. “They are also well aware of the part you played in the loss of the Laune. And while time has healed old wounds for many of us, myself included, our hunters are different. Rage has preserved them as much as the Adhlian pendants.”
Daithí gestured to Alun. “We allowed them to lead discussion with your emissary, as we feared our appearance may have alarmed him. And I am sure, with him, they were quite as amiable as could be. A ruse, I’m afraid.
A trap. It is precisely why I stepped in today to speak with you in safety.
No matter what promises they might make, be assured that our hunters would love nothing more than to lure you into safety here, Kai Cumhaill, to allow you to lower your guard—and to take their slow revenge. ”
Kai could not respond; horror had a grip on his tongue, and guilt on his mind.
The latter tightened its grasp as he noted the movement in his periphery; Eda bowing her head in prayer, Os pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes, and Al, slowly swivelling from Daithí to Kai.
Daithí gave them all the room to react; to respond, too.
When they did not, he made a sound close to a sigh and went on.
“Which brings me to your request.”
The others stilled, mirroring Kai’s frozen frame as they all stared up at Daithí.
A dread-filled understanding dawned on them, and Kai was reminded, strangely, of the first rains of the winter.
How the heavens would split and let their rainfall slice into the Laune, the cold descending on them slowly.
It was a bitter time of year, the first rainfall; a harbinger of difficult days to come, when their fish would find warmer waters and the merrow would eventually be forced from their homes, to make camp on the banks until the sun returned with the seasons.
This, he knew, was one of those moments; a prelude to harder days.
“The Elder Council has deliberated,” said Daithí. “I am afraid we cannot allow you to make a home in Nua Laune.”