Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
AURIN
Aurin curled into Salem, their tentacles lazily entwined, and they watched their eggs. Their four perfect little eggs.
They hung carefully from the ceiling of the den, each one no larger than a plum, translucent and pale blue. Inside, faint shapes stirred now and then, little flickers of life not yet ready for the sea.
Salem reached out first, brushing the nearest egg with the gentlest tip of his tentacle, and he hummed a soft song. His skin bloomed dark with affection.
They wiggle when they hear your voice, Aurin whispered, his hearts impossibly full.
Salem laughed softly, the sound echoing low through the water. That’s because they already know I’m the fun parent.
Oh, obviously, Aurin teased. You’ll teach them terrible things. Like how to morph into clams and pretend they can’t hear me.
I did that one time as a joke.
Aurin chuckled and nudged Salem. I know. And it was kinda funny.
Then Salem sighed, his emotions turning pensive. Do you think they will be like me?
Aurin knew Salem was apprehensive, scared even, that their babies might be targeted as Mimics, so he opted to bring up other traits. Do you mean caring, and open-minded, and smart, and loving? Then yes.
Salem’s colours shifted in lazy waves of shimmering blacks, affection and gratitude pooling through him. They would get that from you. He gently reached up and brushed the eggs, oxygenating them, and as he did, one tiny shape inside gave a sudden twitch, and both of them froze.
There, Salem breathed. Did you see that?
I saw it.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The sea outside murmured against the rocks, distant and endless, but inside the den, everything felt private and sacred.
Salem rested his forehead against Aurin’s. Four, he said quietly, almost in disbelief. We made four little lives.
Emotions rippled through Aurin, and he wasn’t sure where Salem’s love ended and his began. I think this one looks paler compared to the other three. Maybe it will look like me?
I hope so.
It’s fun to imagine, but you know it doesn’t matter, right? They’ll be a mix of us. And if one or four of them are Mimics like you, or gold like me, they’ll be ours, and we will love them.
Salem nodded and held Aurin a little tighter. Then he grinned and carefully wrapped one arm around Aurin’s waist while another hovered protectively near the eggs. They’ll be clever, he said. And curious.
And brave and stubborn.
That part is definitely from you.
Aurin snorted, sending a puff of bubbles upward. One of the eggs bobbed gently in the current, and both parents immediately reached to steady it at the same time.
Should we start thinking about names? Aurin mused.
I have already.
You have?
Salem nodded, blushing. I may have considered some... Though I’ve never named anything before. It’s quite the responsibility.
Tell me, Aurin tried.
I think we should wait and see. Perhaps after we meet them, a more suitable name will arise for each. Perhaps Breac won’t be suitable.
Breac...
Breac? Aurin asked, eyes wide with disbelief. Is that, like, ancient Gaelic?
Salem chuckled, as if it were a joke. Are you calling me old?
Aurin gave him a squeeze and nuzzled the side of his head. Of course not, my love. But he had to think.... He’d learned some old Gaelic because he’d wanted to learn about Salem’s past. Breac... Breac... Oh my god. Is that.... Do you.... You want to call one of our kids Spot?
Their eyes met, and then they dissolved into helpless laughter.
The eggs swayed peacefully between them in their tiny den, and the little family stayed there tangled together in the quiet sway of the cove, watching for every tiny movement from the children they already loved beyond measure.
SAWYER
Sawyer sat at his desk looking up at the “fixed” iron bars.
There’d been no sounds of machinery, no angle grinders, no saws, no anything to say they’d fixed them.
And the “new” bars weren’t new at all. They were exactly the same as the old ones.
They matched every bar in the cell. Iron bars that were almost two hundred years old.
They were oxidised and aged, impossible to replace with anything close, let alone exact.
Those men hadn’t “fixed” the iron bars. They hadn’t replaced them.
They’d replicated them. Sawyer was certain of it.
That weird cylinder thing he’d seen in the steel crate had somehow replicated the iron bars. He knew it sounded crazy, but the proof was staring him in the face.
“Stop looking at them,” Ciaran said.
“I’m telling you,” Sawyer said, his tone light. They’d had this conversation many times over the past however many days since Hadeom and his team had visited. “They did not replace them.”
“Hm, yes,” Ciaran placated. “Replicated. Like on Star Trek.”
“Well, it’s either that or that cylinder thing was a temporal device, and—”
“A what?”
“A temporal device. You know, temporal. As in time.”
Ciaran blinked at him.
“See? A replicator is a much better explanation.’
He looked up at the bars. “Well, it’s less crazy.”
The front door opened, and Kellan walked in. “Hey, Doc,” Ciaran said. “Tell me, does Sawyer seem sane to you?”
Sawyer sighed. “I refuse to dignify that with a response. Kellan, I suggest you do the same.”
Ciaran laughed as he stood up and came over to sit on the side of Sawyer’s desk, his hand on Sawyer’s arm. “What’s the update?”
Kellan gave a nod. “All four eggs are entering the chromatophores stage. Progression is faster, growth rate is higher than normal, but these hatchlings don’t exactly fall under ‘normal’ given who their parents are.”
“What does that mean?” Sawyer asked. “What’s the chromo-what stage?”
“Stage fifteen,” Kellan said. “We’re two-thirds the way done.”
Ciaran’s smile made Sawyer’s heart thump against his ribs. “It means we’re gonna have hatchlings any day now.”
Kellan grinned. “Maybe even by tomorrow, at this rate.”
His excitement was contagious. Just like everyone else, Sawyer could hardly wait.
“Are Aurin and Salem eating enough?” Ciaran asked. “Can I do anything?”
“No. They don’t want anyone entering their cave,” Kellan said, not for the first time. “They barely let me in.”
“Don’t want to risk Salem going into shark mode again?” Sawyer asked. He couldn’t believe it when Tobin had told them, had shown them, when Salem had snapped at him like that. It was so freaking cool. “I wish I could see it for myself.”
Ciaran sighed. “You would say that.”
“We’ll take some more food down now, and I’d say that will be it until hatch time,” Kellan said.
Sawyer knew he had to bring up the inevitable. “We need to tell them,” he said. “We need to tell Salem that Hadeom asked about Salem, specifically. That he knows he exists, but also where he is.”
It was something he and Ciaran had talked about, but only between themselves. They needed Kellan’s input. He was basically Ciaran’s second in command. Unofficially, but everyone knew it. He was level-headed, rational, and calm under pressure.
“I agree,” Kellan said. “But not yet. Wait until after we have hatchlings. They don’t need any more stress right now.”
“That’s fair,” Sawyer allowed.
Ciaran gave a nod. “Agreed.”
Then Kellan noticed the iron bars of the jail cell, and his expression was something of a surprised frown.
“Wow. They look like they were never broken.” Then he frowned some more at them, touching the iron with his fingers as if checking they were even real.
“They’re exactly the same as the old ones. ”
Sawyer made the universal hand gesture for ‘see? I told you’ and Ciaran groaned. “Please don’t start him on the whole replicator thing.”
Kellan snorted as he headed toward the door. He put his hand on the handle and stopped, giving them a smile. “Anything else?”
Ciaran nodded slowly. “Yeah. Please tell Otis and Pania they’re on break. Fray and I will come down to relieve them.”
He gave a nod. “Roger that.”
Sawyer went over to Ciaran and stood close enough to rest his forehead on Ciaran’s shoulder, and he let out a sigh. “I know you have to go,” he murmured.
Ciaran pulled Sawyer in close, sliding his arms around him and kissing his neck. “It won’t be for long, I promise. And I’m not far away. Just metres below the surface.”
“I could join you,” Sawyer whispered. Then he had the best idea ever. “Ooh! What if we build a submarine?”
Ciaran laughed before kissing him softly. “Absolutely fucking not.” Then he sighed. “And I would tell you to not sit on the jetty and wait for me, but we both know you’d just ignore that and do it anyway.”
“Correct.”
And that’s exactly what Sawyer did. Many hours later, he was still waiting on the jetty. He’d had the sense to bring a chair and a blanket, though the bitter and biting cold had seeped into his bones a long time ago.
Wind knifed off the black water, sharp with salt and winter cold, and every few minutes, he shoved his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his coat like that would help. His feet were so numb, they didn’t even hurt any more.
It was well past midnight.
Any sane person would’ve gone home hours ago.
Sawyer didn’t question his sanity.... Okay, maybe a little bit.
But his mate was down there. And he was down there—Sawyer could feel it.
And his consortium was down there, and they were waiting for hatchlings to emerge, and not one single part of this was ordinary.
His entire life since coming to Tenebrae was so far from extraordinary, he needed better superlatives.
Something was happening down there. Sawyer was sure of it. They were all down there, except for Otis and Pania, who were getting some well-earned sleep.
The cove moved strangely tonight. Well, stranger than normal, anyhow.
Long dark swirls were slowly folding over themselves, silver at the edges.
It was darker than normal, murkier. Instead of a clear galaxy, tonight it was a nebula.
It was Salem’s doing—whatever he did that made the water different—so Sawyer was certain the hatchlings were being born tonight.
He knew better than to expect Ciaran to leave them. He was exactly where he should be. Sawyer knew that. He also knew better than to expect time or promises to matter underwater.
Still, worry sat ugly in his chest.
He tightened the blanket around him and pulled his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face, wishing for the gods to make him cephamorph.
“Not sure it’s that easy,” a voice said behind him, papery and old. Sawyer spun around to see Cern walking out of the dark and onto the jetty.
Sawyer stood up so fast, he was surprised his numb feet held him. “Shit.” He put his hand to his hammering heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”
The old man laughed. “Sorry about that.”
He was not sorry at all. But on that subject...
“I need to apologise,” Sawyer said quickly. “Again. For my behaviour. For what I said. I was worried and all. So much is unknown, and—”
Cern put his hand up, fingers gnarled. No gloves, no scarf. “It’s fine, Sawyer. I can see your heart. You meant no harm.”
“Yeah, but still,” Sawyer said. “I was a dick. Are you cold? Can I get you a blanket? The wind off the water is brutal tonight.”
Cern snorted, then he raised his hand again, and the wind stopped. It just... stopped.
Sawyer looked over the water, at the stillness.
That actually just happened.
Okay, then.
“Thought I best come see the news for myself,” Cern said, looking down at the water. “It’s not every day a new god is born.”
Sawyer still wasn’t sure what to say about that. “You know,” he said. “Since I moved here, my life has gotten really freaking weird.”