The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [90]
She tugged off her shoes too, set them dripping beside her shirt. Mother, she prayed, watch over your idiot child. Mud shifted like gritty silk between her toes. A few steps and the water closed around her ribs. Her chest swelled with breath as she slipped under.
She hadn’t thought when she dove into the canal after Isyllt at the festival, only acted. It was much easier that way. She let the fear slip away in bubbles of air.
When she couldn’t touch the bottom or break the surface with an outstretched hand, she called light, the sickly blue-green illumination of fireflies and fish-lures. It spread in tendrils around her, clung to bits of debris. A beacon. Blood seeped from her bandaged hand, dark threads unwinding.
An eel-shark glided past—the light slid across its wedge-shaped head, fringed gills and long, writhing tail. Its eyes flashed in the glare. In the distance, she heard the others begin to swim, clumsy mammal strokes. The shark heard it too.
“Stay,” Zhirin said, filling the word with power. Its air bubble didn’t float away but hung shining by her face. The shark circled, keeping to the edge of the light.
She felt the nakh coming a heartbeat before she saw them. Pale shapes emerged from the murk, triangular faces gleaming amid clouds of hair, tails shining with dark rainbow scales and iridescent fins.
Have you come to play with us? The words shivered through the water, echoed inside Zhirin’s head. Or to feed us?
“What are you doing here?”
We like these mammals. A tail flickered in the direction of the boat. They feed us well.
“They’re murderers.” The ache in her chest grew with every word.
What care we for mammal deaths? One of the nakh glided closer. Her—though Zhirin could only guess at gender—face was bruised.
“If these mammals betray and kill their own so easily, do you think they’ll be more loyal to you?”
That gave them a heartbeat’s pause. Zhirin’s lungs burned, and she eyed the nakh’s fluttering gills with envy.
I remember you, the nakh said. Her face glowed on the other side of the light, eerily beautiful even with the dark swelling on her cheek. You chased us off the kill. One long, webbed hand rose to toy with glowing bits of debris, rolling them across her knuckles like a coin-trick. Zhirin tensed for an attack.
But— The nakh flicked a luminous leaf with one clawed finger, watched it twist in the current. You’ve come to us to speak. The others have never done that. The eel-shark circled, bumped its triangular nose against the creature’s hand. She stroked its head carelessly. Like a dog, but dogs weren’t larger than their masters, and had far fewer teeth.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay and talk much longer.” The words slipped silver and shining from her lips, and the urge to breathe in was nearly overwhelming.
The nakh grinned, baring nearly as many teeth as her pet shark. No. But I’m curious—you say these mammals we aid now will turn on us. Would you offer us sweeter promises?
“I won’t offer you men to eat.” The image of Marat’s body rose behind her eyes, wrapped in sheets and spells, weighed with garden stones, sinking into the canal. She forced it down. “But if you let me and my friends come and go tonight unharmed, I’ll treat with you however I can.”
You’ll speak with us here, below?
“I swear, by the River Mother.”
The nakh cocked her head, eyes flashing white as she blinked. Very well, river-daughter. You and yours may pass freely tonight, and you’ll come to us again. She patted the shark on the head and it turned, gliding silently toward deeper water. We know the taste of your blood, if you lie.
The nakh twisted away, vanishing into the black. Zhirin knew she should wait, make sure it wasn’t a trick, but her chest ached too fiercely. She kicked up, broke the surface with a choking gasp. She floated for a moment, spitting bitter water and letting the pain in her lungs ease. Then she swam for shore.
It was a nice night for a swim through shark-infested waters. The water was cool but not icy, the tides gentle