Irian, Caged
The cage on the beach was ten feet by twenty, with bars three inches apart. The bars were of obsidian alloy, and they were wet with seawater.
Irian regained consciousness on the floor of the cage. Her whole body ached and there was blood on the back of her head. The first thing she did was push back her jacket and put a hand into the inside pocket. There was a furious peeping, and a small black bird emerged.
‘Koo!’ She checked him over, uncurling his silver claws, testing his black wings. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Bad,’ croaked Koo. ‘Bad.’
‘I agree.’
The cage was set in the middle of a desolate grey beach.
There was nothing else within sight: to the left and right, only grey sand and grey stone.
Behind them a dark mountain rose up, and before them the churning ocean.
There was nothing alive – no trees, no people, no way to guess where they might be.
The tide was rising, uncomfortably close. Already, the waves were lapping against the edge of the cage floor, running in over the metal base. Irian shook at the barred cage door, but without hope.
‘Not.’ Koo pecked her. ‘Good.’
‘We’re going to have to teach you some new words.’
‘Slow.’
‘Well, it’s time to speed up.’
‘Up!’ he said. ‘Up!’
Irian crossed to the bars and looked up. High above, a stymphalian was circling: on its back rode a woman, long dark hair flying behind her.
Irian held Koo in both hands. ‘Be quiet,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anyone to know you’re with me.’
‘Quiet,’ he repeated. ‘Hush.’
She tucked him back into her jacket as the stymphalian bird gave a cry and landed on the stones.
The woman dismounted from the bronze bird and came to stand by the cage, alone on the great expanse of windswept beach. Irian noted the woman’s extraordinary beauty – the thick hair, the sharp angles of her cheeks and jaw, the full mouth – and the snake on her wrist.
‘Irian Guinne,’ said the woman. ‘We haven’t been introduced. But perhaps you’ve heard of me, from a mutual friend of ours? I am Carla Venasque.’
She looked intently at Irian’s face, but Irian shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard of you. Who are you? Where are the children? Why have you brought me here?’
‘You’ve never heard my name?’ Her face was suddenly whiter than it had been, and her lip curled. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Never. Are you planning to kill me?’
‘No,’ said Carla soothingly. ‘No, no.’
That was a lie, Irian thought.
‘At least,’ said Carla, ‘not immediately.’
And that seemed true.
‘Why are you doing this? What have I done?’ said Irian.
‘Nothing. You have done nothing. Don’t be so arrogant. You’re just part of a much bigger plan.’
‘The children – are they here? In another cage?’
‘The girl – the little princess? And the Outerlander?’
‘Yes! What have you done to them?’
‘Nothing. They are going freely about their business. They too are part of Astor Morax’s plan.’
‘What plan? Who is Astor Morax?’
‘That isn’t something you need to know.’ Carla moved away from the cage. ‘The tide changes every day here: you’re a scientist of the ocean, I believe, so you’ll have expected that. And you have nereid blood, they say. Tell me, can you breathe underwater?’
Irian kept her face impassive. ‘No. I think you know that.’
Carla laughed. ‘As a matter of fact I do. Today, when the tide comes in, it will reach your ankles. Tomorrow, your knees. It will come slowly, day by day. But eventually it will reach your neck, and then your mouth. And then it will cover the cage completely and you will drown, and the fishes will eat your body.’
‘When Fidens Nighthand hears,’ said Irian, ‘he will come for me.’
But the words did something strange to Carla. Her usually controlled face shifted and stiffened – it took a moment for her to regain her perfect composure. ‘Fidens Nighthand will not hear until we say he shall hear, and he will not come until it is too late for him to do anything but die.’
‘He will come. He loves me.’
‘He is not capable of love. He told me so himself.’
Irian stared. ‘You know Nighthand?’
‘Know him?’ Carla moved to mount the stymphalian bird, but she kept her eyes fixed on Irian’s. ‘Oh, I know Fidens Nighthand. I know him better than you ever will.’