Salt & the Sisters: A Mermaid Fantasy (The Siren's Curse Book 3) Read online

  “Father!” Shaloris screamed, pulling against her mother’s hands. She’d lost sight of him as she left the temple.

  Yanking her hand from her mother’s grip, Shaloris returned to the gate, sloshing through the fast-rising water. Dull thuds against her shins made her look down and she bit off a scream as the bodies of dead fish floated by in the foam.

  Water flooded through the legs of the crowd behind the bars, now dirty with mud and leaves picked up as it crossed the parkland surrounding the temple. The din of voices and screams of terror combined with the sound of the rushing water––which had not abated in strength––was near deafening.

  “Back, get back!” she screamed to the panicked faces through the gate. “Get back or you’ll be trapped!”

  Some of the guards remembered who they were and took up the call for the crowd to move back.

  King Bozen’s face flashed at her once, eyes wide, and then he was out of sight in the crowd once again. He was still inside!

  The guards pulled and Shaloris pushed, the water flow increasing. Valgana recovered some of her composure and joined her daughter in pushing the gates open. Those who still had their wits held back those who had lost all sense but fear, keeping the weight off the bars. Slowly the gates opened and bodies poured out into the street along with the water.

  A deafening sound brought all eyes to the temple as the roof caved in. The geyser continued to stream up into the heavens, gaining power as the roof tumbled.

  Shaloris and Valgana were swept along with the crowd, keeping their hands clasped tight. Shaloris looked around wildly for her father, but could not find him in the fray.

  Another hissing explosion brought Shaloris and Valgana to a halt.

  A second geyser, shaped more like a wall than a column, pelted upward into the darkening sky near the innermost harbor. It sounded like a growling beast and seemed to climb forever before arcing and falling.

  The crash of its landing filled the skies with mist and Shaloris felt her face grow damp.

  “This way!” Valgana pulled her daughter away from the center harbor, heading down the broad street to where a bridge connected the middle ring to the central ring of the city. “We need to head to higher ground!”

  Screaming and yelling punctuated the continuous sound of massive amounts of falling water. Water swirled in the streets, carrying dead fish, lost shoes and clothing, and other bits of refuse. The geysers did not abate, the water in the streets was now knee-deep. Someone jumped from an upper window and landed with a splash behind them.

  Shaloris’ chest burned, her muscles ached and shook from exertion and still they sloshed through the deepening water. Going with the flow of the crowd, they approached the bridge leading to the middle ring of the city. Shaloris was bumped and pushed by Atlanteans panicking to get to the dry parts of the city. The groans of buildings leaning and stones falling could be heard all around them. Shaloris was too afraid to look back. The hiss of the geysers did not abate and it seemed to her ears that the sounds of additional jets of water were joining as every moment passed.

  Ahead, two women and one man stood on the rails of the bridge, shedding their clothing. Each stripped down to complete nakedness then leapt into the river. As the last one disappeared, Shaloris caught the flash of a long powerful tail: Mer. They’d get out of the city faster by swimming than by running.

  “Mother,” Shaloris panted, “let’s jump. We can swim out!”

  Valgana did not stop pulling her daughter over the bridge, but she’d seen what Shaloris had seen. More Mer joined the three who’d already jumped. They would be out of the city in minutes if they swam fast enough. Unless…

  Another explosion of water burst upward behind them making a wall of water between middle Atlantis and its center. The wall grew and grew, crawling sideways and following the riverbanks, before crashing down on either side. Roofs collapsed under its weight, stones fell, voices screamed in terror.

  “It’s not safe,” Valgana yelled, “we have to get there!” She pointed toward the northern cascades. To the west of the cascades were walkways of stone leading straight up to the temples on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. It was the only safe place remaining.

  Water slid over half of the bridge, but soon they were running on dry stones again. The geysers were doing the most damage to the eastern side of the city.

  The bridge groaned and swayed with the weight of panicked people. It had a seam running through the center, allowing it to open for ships but destabilizing the entire structure.

  Shaloris and Valgana led the crowd, doing their very best to stay in front. Adrenaline and terror fueled their bodies. Their now sopping wet hair had fallen from the elegant updos and slapped wetly against their backs and their faces. Their clothing grew heavy, sodden with saltwater.

  The water below the bridge rushed and boiled as seawater was sucked up by the geysers, drawn in from the ocean. Anyone swimming would be battling against the pull. Shaloris doubted her own abilities and was thankful her mother hadn’t let them jump. There were no stronger swimmers than the Mer. Atlanteans could stay underwater indefinitely, but Shaloris had often felt herself succumb to the pull of strong tides. If they had jumped, they’d have been sucked up into the geyser to be dashed down upon the stones of the city.

  No sooner had their feet struck the solid stone on the other side of the bridge than the rushing waters, or something in it, struck the underside of the bridge hard. The bridge and all those still on it went flying in all directions. Something struck Shaloris in the back of her shoulder and she cried out in pain, falling into the rush of water pouring over the street.

  Valgana yanked her daughter to her feet and pulled her away from the bridge. A rectangular stone the size of a carriage crashed down in front of them, nearly crushing Valgana. Her mother gave a shriek unlike any Shaloris had heard before. They altered course.

  They staggered through the water toward an alleyway. Shaloris’s shoulder throbbed. Somewhere in what remained of her logical mind, she equated all of this destruction with a single siren. Could it really be Eumelia doing all of this? The sheer magnitude of the destruction threatened to overwhelm her. Surely one siren could not be doing this alone. Were the gods involved? So much death and horror for no crime committed? The gods had to be angry with Atlantis; it was the only thing that made sense.

  Valgana and Shaloris paused in the alleyway, sucking in air.

  Shaloris’s vision blurred as hot tears leaked from her eyes. Through the shock and panic, Shaloris wondered what would be left of Atlantis. When would the destruction stop?

  And beneath all of the questions and fear––something Shaloris herself was not yet fully aware of––a simmering rage. It birthed its ugly way into her heart like a thing with leathery batwings and sharp teeth.

  A group of screaming, panicked horses running by the mouth of the alley brought Shaloris from her thoughts.

  “We can’t stay here, it’s not safe,” she wheezed at Valgana.

  “There is a way through. This way.” Valgana grabbed her daughter and pulled her farther down the narrow alley of stone.

  Water streamed and burbled past their ankles. The walls on either side were close enough to touch both at the same time.

  A wall loomed, but Valgana did not slow. They rounded a corner into a connecting, even narrower, alleyway. A head appeared from a window high above, and a pair of wooden shutters slammed shut. Droplets of water and grit fell from the sky. The light was like dusk, though it was early afternoon.

  An angry rushing growl behind them drew Shaloris’s attention backward.

  “Mama!” she squeaked, as the wave hit them in the backs. It shoved her into her mother and sent them both floating through the alleyway on a surge of seawater. Something hard hit Shaloris in the nose and salty blood trickled into her mouth. They were expelled into a small courtyard with a single slender tree in the middle. The wave lost some of its power as it spread across the stones.

  Using the tree
to stand, Valgana helped her daughter up and they were off and running again, through yet another alleyway. A terrific crash of stones behind them spurred them on.

  Her lungs burned and her nose throbbed. Her thighs quivered with exhaustion.

  They ran, and ran, and ran.

  Twenty-Four

  Shaloris woke in the middle of the night, her face wet from her Atlantean pup licking her face. She wept from happiness, astounded that the dog had survived. Valgana had been right.

  “I’ll call you Epison,” whispered Shaloris to the pup as it snuggled into her side. “My little survivor.”

  Shaloris had made it to high ground, but her mother had not, and neither had King Bozen nor a great number of Atlantean citizens. Standing atop the northern mountain range, where she and the other survivors had taken refuge two days ago, she could not tear her eyes away from the ruin that had been her home.

  Before her was a great semi-circular field of mud, jutting stone ruins jumbled with garbage including broken bits of carriages, wooden shutters, clothes, and the bodies of humans and animals. Like a shooting star with a fat tail, to the north and the east, the elegant curve of the city limits could easily be seen. But to the south and west it was nothing but a mudslide with a path that disappeared into the ocean.

  Shaloris’s feet were bare, her clothing, skin, and hair still crusted with bits of dried mud. She’d rinsed the worst off in the little pools of water that gathered by the top of the waterfalls, but had yet to bathe fully. The mists of the northern falls clung to her like grief. The sound of falling water was a drone of white noise, numbing her in the wake of a disaster of impossible scope.

  Soft footsteps behind her made her blink but she did not take her gaze from the ruins below. The pup stirred in her arms and one of the heads yawned and licked her forearm. The other head stirred and gave a whine. She set Epison down where he sat at her feet and began to groom himself.

  “My Queen?” It was a voice she did not recognize.

  Tearing her gaze from the scene of death and ruin below, she looked upon a man whose face rang a distant bell of recognition. A council member, that much she knew. An Atlantean, much respected among his peers. Nestrin? Nestan? Nestor, the name finally came to her. He’d addressed her as his queen. It sounded so odd that she had to make an effort not to let out the laugh of hysteria tightening her throat.

  “We await your command,” Nestor said, lowering his eyes deferentially before peering up at her between his brows.

  Her command?

  He must have seen something in her face, for he rushed to make a suggestion.

  “The flooding has ceased and the mud has stilled, but it may not yet be safe enough to search for survivors. Though, if that is your wish, we shall do our best.”

  She blinked at him vacantly. Her world had ended. Both her parents were dead. Only by some miracle had she survived the collapse of the pillars that had trapped her mother. Atlanteans were homeless now, and utterly without power. What should they do? The question seemed as far from an answer as her mother was from life.

  “If I may, make a suggestion…” the councilor continued.

  Shaloris could do little more than nod. How this elder might suggest they move on from this, or what he thought they should do next was of great curiosity to her. Herself? She could see nothing but killing herself and joining the rest of her people in their fate. What else was there?

  “Send a small group to Okeanos to ask the Sovereign for a place among them. I would be happy to lead them.”

  “Okeanos?” Shaloris’s voice sounded little more than a hoarse rasp.

  “I’m told they have plenty of room, shelter, and an endless supply of food.”

  “No one knows where it is, is that not so?” Shaloris felt her focus begin to sharpen. Her mind clung to Nestor’s suggestion like it was a lifeline.

  “One of my colleagues, Renlaus, he knows where they are. He’s been there many times.” Nestor put a hand on his stomach and the other overtop of it. Hands still streaked in mud and grime.

  “And what of the humans among us? They cannot live in underwater caves. The damp would kill them. And they can’t swim there. There are no ships or boats left; they were destroyed in the harbor.”

  Nestor’s face stilled. “There are no humans among the survivors.”

  Shaloris’s eyes widened and she looked over Nestor’s shoulder to the temple beyond and the group of dazed Atlanteans tending to one another as best they could. They rested, wept, or lay flat out on the ground in prostrate prayer. A few were at the pools near the northern falls, rinsing blood and mud from their clothing and themselves.

  “No humans?” Shaloris thought of her maids, of many of the palace guards, the cooks, the market vendors, the children running in the streets.

  “No Mer, either,” Nestor added. “They’ve all gone to Okeanos where they’ll be safe. And so should we. It is too far for us to journey on foot to Hirion or Antarchus, but we can––all of us––swim to Okeanos. Renlaus tells me we could make the journey in less than a day.”

  “But we have injured…” Shaloris gestured to where several Atlanteans were having wounds cleaned. Those with broken bones were being made to be as comfortable as possible.

  “Which is why I’m suggesting you send me and a few of our strongest only. Sisinyxa cannot turn us away, not after what has happened. They will have felt the waves, even as far away as they are. They will be expecting us, perhaps, or that is my hope.” Something like ambition gleamed in Nestor’s eyes, but it seemed so in contrast to the near despair Shaloris herself felt that she barely recognized it.

  Hope was a small moth fluttering in her chest. It was stay here and die or go to Okeanos where they could rest and recover. Perhaps another plan would come to her. She scanned the survivors. These people were her responsibility now. Dread slipped through her like a cold shadow. They would die up here if something was not done.

  She looked at Nestor, waiting for her response. She took his hands. “Go to Okeanos, then, as quickly as you’re able. Take whoever you think can make the journey. You have my thanks. We will pray that Sisinyxa will be compassionate and we will await your return tomorrow or the next day. Please be no longer than that.”

  Nestor bowed his forehead to her hand with thanks, and then turned and strode back to the temple where she watched him have words with a few of the stronger looking Atlanteans among the survivors. Within the hour, Shaloris and several of her people watched as the group picked their way down to the Atlantic and disappeared beneath the waves.

  In the time between their departure and their return, Shaloris allowed the hope to grow. Sisinyxa was sure to have pity, was sure to provide them with the shelter and safety they needed. Shaloris found herself beginning to dream of building a new life for her people.

  She watched as Nestor and his followers climbed the long winding switchbacks to the clifftop, stroking her hound and speaking his new name softly to him so he’d learn it.

  But as Nestor approached, her heart drifted down. The expression on his face and those around him did not speak of hope.

  She got to her feet, letting Epison drop to the dry grass and yelp at the group as they crested the last of the climb.

  “What say you?” Shaloris was barely able to stop herself from sobbing at the look on Nestor’s face. Those with him appeared beaten, exhausted, haggard, and looked even worse than when they’d left.

  Nestor shook his head. “I am sorry, my queen. I was wrong. Sisinyxa was not sympathetic to our cause.” He expressed confusion and hurt. “She sent us away under threat of death.” His brows pinched and anger clouded his features.

  Shaloris stepped backward in shock. “Surely not?”

  Her mind went back to the vision of the Sovereign as she and her husband Ajax moved through the crowd to present King Bozen his gift. She had thought then that a creature so beautiful could only be just and kind. But Sisinyxa had shown herself to be as treacherous as Eumelia and Hypatia.

/>   “She wishes us to die here on this mountain top?” Shaloris spluttered.

  Nestor nodded. “Perhaps it is we who are the fools. I have long felt the Mer were not to be trusted. They love only themselves, and held relation with us only as far as it suited them to do so.” He turned haunted eyes on the ruin of Atlantis in the valley behind. “It was Mer who did this to us, and Mer who refuse to help us up.”

  Shaloris was lost for words. Rage simmered deep under the surface of her calm exterior.

  Nestor was right.

  Shaloris had only ever thought of Eumelia as an individual, a sister whom she loved once, a sister who had betrayed her. Eumelia had proven more deadly than any Atlantean or any human were capable of being. The Mer had been made welcome among them for centuries and now they’d turned their backs during Atlanteans’ deepest moment of need.

  Eumelia and Hypatia were doing only as their natures dictated they could do. They were selfish, cruel, heartless, greedy, and murderous.

  A vision of Valgana looking up in terror, her hands up as though they could prevent the collapse, filled Shaloris’s mind. Her hand flew to cover her mouth and keep in the cry that threatened to spill out as grief ripped her heart in two.

  Sirens did this. Eumelia, Hypatia, and now Sisinyxa.

  Sirens would pay.

  The mud had dried and became compacted sand, encasing the ruins of the city in a dense sarcophagus. The ruins were a tomb for the dead, the only grave most of the population would ever have. They’d been returned to the earth without warning, without preamble, without ceremony. But Shaloris could not bear to leave those nearest the surface exposed to the elements to rot in the sun and be picked at by the vultures and scavengers who’d moved in as soon as the ground was stable.

  Taking the strongest of her remaining people, they combed the broad area for bodies. They were not difficult to find, one only had to follow the clusters of gathered birds. The bodies they recovered were excavated and wrapped in fabric. Shaloris designated a place where the earth was deep for the one marked mass grave. Animals were buried alongside humans and Atlanteans, leaving nothing visible for the scavengers to pick.