C. E. Murphy - Wayfinder

“You’ve done well, Truthseeker, and yet you should not be here.” Llyr’s voice came from above her. Lara yanked her pack to her chest and jerked around to see him on the rubble above her, one hand against the door she’d been trying to move. He released it and another scrape sounded as it eased back into place. “Your companion chose foolishly. Why did you follow her, when you knew better?”

“What else could I do?” Lara asked, astonished. “I don’t know how I’m going to find her or Dafydd or Hafgan, but I couldn’t just let her go, could I? That wouldn’t be very … heroic.” The word came awkwardly, but she didn’t have a better one, not when it had been made clear that even Aerin regarded her journey as a sort of hero’s quest.

Remote humor flickered across the sea god’s face. He looked hollower in the black light, less robust and powerful than he’d been, though his hand was steady and strong as he offered it to Lara. His grip was oddly soft as he pulled her to her feet, as if the water of which he was made was nothing more than that, uncontained by a wrapper of skin. “A decision worthy of a trial itself, though not one set before you. I can offer guidance now that you’ve passed them, though little else, I’m afraid.” He turned to climb the stairs, leaving Lara at their foot, staring after him dumbfounded.

“Now that I’ve what?”

He tossed a mild look over his shoulder and Lara scrambled after him, swinging her pack on as she ran up the stairs. “I’m sorry, but … what? I didn’t pass any trials.”

“Compassion, cleverness, confrontation. A trial is not much of a challenge, Truthseeker, if it is announced before it proceeds. Anyone might make a wise decision when they know it is part of a test.”

Lara stopped again, bewildered, and after a step or two more, so did Llyr, who lifted a hand and counted off on his fingers. “Compassion. You might have fought the armies of the dead, but instead you embraced them, learned their stories, and swore an oath to return them to the memories of the living. Not even Rhiannon’s children have shown such empathy when they’ve traveled to the Drowned Lands. Then cleverness, for you outwitted the twins, even if you did then choose the dark door. And in confrontation you not only defeated the dread beast, but far more important, you mastered the staff.”

“Those weren’t—I didn’t know they were trials.”

“As I said, what use is a trial when you know that you face it? It is what you do when you believe yourself to be alone that truly matters.”

Embarrassment flooded Lara and she looked at her feet. “Those were … the doors, that’s an old riddle from home. It could never fool me. And the army …” She wanted to say I only did what anyone might do , but Aerin’s eagerness to fight proved that untrue. “I almost lost,” she finally said, instead. “With the staff. It almost had me.”

“Almost. But you triumphed, and I think perhaps you have also learned from the experience. Do not use it again in these lands, Lara Jansen. I fear a third time will be your undoing.”

Sweet music bubbled through his voice, tempered by something deeper and more sorrowful. Lara looked up, and he turned back from the step above, tall and alien and lovely. “And I fear it will be ours,” he finished at the silent question in her eyes. “The Drowned Lands tremble with its power, but my realm is vast enough. I have no wish to see the mountains clearly, Truthseeker. To me, they are beautiful in their distance. Come. From the tower roofs I may show you the path your companion has taken, and guide you to where your lover lies at rest in the heart of my sea.”

From above the city became an intricate piece of knotwork, streets sweeping in cross-patterned loops. Degradation had taken hold too thoroughly for Lara to pick out the image for certain, but she saw hints in the longer lines and curves that suggested a leaping fish as the city’s layout. It made her wonder what forest animal the Seelie citadel might be designed after, then made her reach back to touch the staff. She hadn’t noticed obvious patterns in its carvings, but she might have been looking too hard for familiar shapes instead of the abstract features knotwork favored.

Llyr made a soft sound, dissuading her from examining the staff, and she dropped her hand from it to say, “The whole city is glowing.”

“Unhealthy light,” he agreed. “It will poison you as it poisons the sea creatures that swim through it, if you remain here too long. I had hoped to spare you the risk.”

Lara’s mouth twisted with faint humor. “But I had to go chasing after Aerin. I can see—” She broke off, then breathed deeply, trying for confidence. “I can see her path, I think. That streak in the blue?” She pointed, and Llyr nodded.

Her own brief passage through the city was mired with sediment and the remnants of battle. It made a cloudy path in the … air , Lara reminded herself again, though dirt hung in it the way it would in currentless waters. The Sirens and skeletal men still darted around the door she’d escaped through. She wouldn’t be able to return that way: they would have all the advantage. They were comfortable with viewing things through debris-laden water, and Lara was unable to risk her power to clear that or any road through the drowned city.

Aerin had gone a different way from the moment she stepped through the coral doors. She had struck out to the right, toward what Lara thought was the fish’s head in the city’s layout. Bodies littered the path she’d taken along the city wall, blood lingering in black slashes as though put there by a sword strike. But signs of her passage stopped abruptly, with no hint of whether Aerin survived or not. The lingering blood remained ichory purple-black, the same color as the chimera’s, but for all Lara knew, any blood visible in black light would be the same hideous shade. If Aerin had met her death there, then—

Lara sighed and glanced skyward, though the city’s dark light destroyed any chance of knowing where the sun stood. If Aerin had met her death, Lara had at most a few hours to find Dafydd and find a way to contact Emyr before Ioan’s hidden city was destroyed. She could waste time in worry, or she could act.

Not so long ago, she’d have taken time to worry, but now she turned to Llyr. “What’s in that direction? Why did Aerin choose to go that way?”

His silence was all that answered for long moments, complex struggle showing in his face. “Rhiannon’s children do not die,” he finally said. “Not often, not easily. But there are accidents, there are battles. They find comfort in a place of memories, a quiet center to speak or think of those rare handsful who have gone. It may be different for mortals, whose lives are so brief they can hardly be missed when they end.”

“You’re—” You’re kidding . That was something other people said. Lara ducked her head, looking for something else to say, because the sea god was unquestionably not kidding. Not mortal, either, and his perspective made a certain amount of sense, from the long view. “We call them memorials. We have them, too. Our lives are as long to us as yours are to you. We don’t have anything else, after all.”

“You have souls,” he disagreed, but left it there. “A memorial, then. It would be in that direction, and will be where your fallen lover lies. See the bend, where her trail disappears? You will continue that way along the city wall. When you see the wall curve again in front of you, blocking the way, turn left sharply. The roads will lead to the memorial gardens.”

“I’ll continue that way? I thought you were guiding me.”

Llyr smiled, no more than a ripple over his face. “My guidance is of limited use, especially in the dark of the city. Had you passed through the other door …”