Ширли Мерфи - Nightpool

As he fumbled at ropes, whispering gently to the horses, loosing one and calming it, then loosing the next, he could see the dark shapes of the otters moving among the sleeping men, see the occasional glint of a steel blade as they confiscated weapons. A soldier snorted and turned over, and everyone froze. Several of the men snored. A soldier moaned, and Teb saw an otter back away. He had loosed one line of horses and begun on the other, the first animals moving off softly into the night. They had likely been loose on the pastures a long time; they wouldn’t linger here. Near to him a sleeping man rolled over, sighing. There was the tiny clink of metal against metal as someone worked too hastily. But the wind hid many mistakes. The horses stirred as he loosed the last of them. Then the owl came swooping and one horse bolted, then another. “Run,” someone whispered. “They’re waking. . . .” The horses wheeled and went galloping off, and even the wind couldn’t hide that thunder. Teb and the otters fled, the otters clanking now with their burden of weapons. Teb grabbed a handful from someone, another, until he, too, was loaded down. There was a shout behind them, some swearing, sounds of confusion, and then of running feet, too close. . . .

But there was the cliff, and they plunged over its side, tossing the weapons down to the sand, grabbing at the stone as they climbed and slid down; and they grabbed up weapons again from the sand and dove into the waves and down, and it was very easy to dive, to sink, so loaded with heavy weapons.

They came up inside the cave, Teb flanked and guided on both sides by swimming bodies. He sucked in air. He could see Thakkur now, a pale smear among invisible swimmers. He kicked hard to keep afloat, with the burden of the weapons. Then someone was pushing him toward the cave wall, and he clung there with one hand, clutching the weapons with the other.

Chapter 16

They stayed in the cave until the moon had set, then headed home through the black water, pulling the weapons behind them tied to driftwood logs scavenged from the beach. They had captured thirteen spears, eleven swords, and five good knives, as well as four good bows and two quivers full of arrows. They took the weapons to Thakkur’s cave, cleaned and dried them with moss, and polished the blades with fish oil to keep rust from starting, after their salty bath in the sea. Then they all slept the day around and ended with a big meal at sunset. Teb laid his fire in a niche in the rock above his cave and brought a pot full of steamed clams to the feast in Thakkur’s cave, where Thakkur hefted a sword and thrust with it, looking very pleased.

“We will form teams of soldiers and train with the weapons until we are skilled both in the sea and from the cliffside.” His dark eyes shone with purpose. “And perhaps, in our own way, we will help against the dark.”

For days afterward, otters crowded in to look at the weapons, hahing at their gleam and sharpness, and there was more than one cut paw from careless enthusiasm. Ekkthurian came and looked, and went away silent, and it would not be until the hydrus returned, hunting for Tebriel, that the dark otter would speak out again with his usual venom. Something seemed to go out of Ekkthurian after the stealing of the weapons, something to lay a hand on his vile manner and silence him. He sulked around Nightpool with Urikk and Gorkk, and the three otters fished alone, north up the coast toward Rushmarsh. Sometimes Ekkthurian was not seen for days, as if he slept the time away in his cave out of boredom and anger, perhaps. Early winter brought the runs of silverheads and squarefins. And schools of migrating seals and whales passed beyond Nightpool, and the sea was brilliant again at night with hidden flame from millions of tiny phosphorescent creatures. Teb practiced his swimming and diving, and holding his breath for longer times. When the water grew too cold to stay in long, he practiced with sword and spear, and when storms blew he sat in his cave, or with Mitta or Charkky and Mikk, weaving sometimes, for they always needed string bags. He ripped out the seams of his leather tunic, which had grown too small, and laced them with a two-inch gap, with strands cut from a bridle rein. And he made new flippers for swimming, for he had well outgrown the first pair.

In these quiet times, he tried to delve deeper into the dreams that came at night, and into the sense of growing power that was with him now, heady and mysterious. What power? What did it mean? Was it linked somehow to the dragon? Or did he only imagine that? The power he felt was not of the body, but of the mind. Or, perhaps, of soul. Part of a magical force that, he thought, could be made to grow, could be used with astonishing wonder—if only he understood it. If only he had the courage to learn its source. And yet he could not truly believe what he guessed at. What was he? Who was he? What secrets had his parents never told him?

Winter seemed incredibly long and severe, and twice the island was covered with snow, a rare treat. The otters spent days sliding down the snowy inner cliffs and never seemed to tire of the sport. Their heavy tails made fine sleds, and Teb found a driftwood board for himself and put away all other thoughts for the joy of days of sledding.

But gales blew, too. And at last everyone moved into the center of the island again. The otters’ diet, in winter, ran heavier to eels, which could be dug along the shore where they had burrowed, and Teb learned to tolerate them roasted. Then the coming of spring brought fresh shellfish again and a more varied menu. Teb took to the sea with the rest, eagerly pulling on his flippers and leaping in to fish and play complicated games of skill. He learned to dive deeper, thrusting down with the power of the fins. “It’s all in knowing how,” Mikk said. “Small breath held in, then larger, then larger, before ever you dive. Until the last breath goes down into stretched lungs. And then hold that one as you drop down. Let out a few bubbles at a time until you feel comfortable—you’ll know when to come up, all right.” A diving rock helped, too, to weight Teb for deep dives, and he could drop it before buoying to the surface. He had built a new raft to put the rocks on, and the swords, and a collecting bag.

He could not see as well underwater as the otters, or stay under as long, and he was constantly shaking the water out of his ears. They never did; their ears closed when they dove, just as did their noses. Teb examined Charkky’s ear to see how, and found a little flap of furred skin that drew closed when the water pressed over it. He was growing so tall he had to bend over to look, and that seemed very strange. All the otters seemed shorter now, and it made him uncomfortable to be taller than Thakkur, because he thought of Thakkur as tall. The old otter looked tall when he stood among the others. Thakkur held himself tall.

“You are growing into a young man, Tebriel. Many human soldiers go into battle no older than you.”

“Do you see me in battle, when you look in the clamshell?”

“Sometimes. But the visions are vague and uncertain.”

“What else do you see? I feel . . . I feel there are things about myself that are still hidden. As if my memory has not all returned.”

“Or as if, perhaps, those certain things were never known to you?”

“Perhaps,” Teb said. “What is it you see in the shell?”

“I see the hydrus returning, Tebriel. I think perhaps my plan was not a wise one—to use you as bait.”

“If it wants me, if the dark wants me, it will find me anywhere. Only, why does it? What am I, that the dark would want me?”

Thakkur paced, staring out at the sunstruck sea. The water was calm and deep blue under the warm spring sky. A flock of gulls wheeled close to the cave, then was gone. Out in the sea along the underwater shelf, a group of otters was fishing, banking and twisting to snatch at a flashing school of silver sprats, the otters more playful than hungry. Thakkur stopped pacing and faced Teb, his back to the open sky, his white whiskered face in shadow.