Page 60 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

On the third day he was able to soften his bonds enough to break them. On the fifth day, shift his form to a small fish for just a few moments of time. And on the seventh day, he put a barrier about his mind, and swam undetected from the walls of the palace.

But there was no magic strong enough to fool a dire whale. He had not gotten to the outer gates of the palace, his fish form melting away, when he felt a vibration running through his body, the light from the surface blotted out.

Every child of the Water Kingdom knew which creatures to fear, which deep, dark crevices to avoid if they didn’t want to be snatched by a toothy mouth. Maurits knew the hair-raising sensation of being followed by something that wanted him for supper. But never had he felt so small, so vulnerable as he did now, finding himself the sole object of the dire whale’s attention.

The gigantic creature descended until it was eye to eye with him. And then the dire whale’s great jaw creaked open.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Clara awoke to the gurgle of water.

This was not the sound of her nightmares, nor the heralding of a water creature. This was real, and very, very close. She sat up, her head blurry and throbbing. It took her a moment to recollect where she was and why. They had walked all day through the city, finally seeking rest in a cowshed just outside of the city. Beside her, Helma snored softly, her head propped on a bale of hay.

“Helma, wake up,” Clara whispered, shaking her arm.

Helma muttered something and settled deeper into her sleep.

Water lapped up and over the edge of the canal, sending spray right up to the cowshed. A thick, uneasy feeling rooted in Clara’s stomach. It was as if her wedding night was playing out in front of her again, and she was just as helpless to stop it.

She roused Helma, shaking her roughly until the older woman awoke with a violent snort. “The water,” Clara explained breathlessly. “I think the flood is coming, now.”

Helma needed no further explanation. She sat up, eyes bright and alert suddenly. “So, he will truly do it,” she said with a strange gravitas that Clara had never heard from her friend before. “Come,” said Helma, briskly throwing on her shawl and gesturing for Clara to follow her.

“Where are you going?”

“To go put a stop to this nonsense once and for all,” Helma told her without turning around. Helma took off at a furious clip through the saturated grass.

Clara stared after her, then finally ran to catch up. “What are you talking about?”

Helma gave her an irritated wave. “Ask fewer questions and walk faster. You’ve a wish in your pocket, don’t you?”

“I do, but how did you—”

“Never mind how I know. We may need that. Don’t use it.”

Unused to being ordered about by her old nursemaid, Clara watched in disbelief as Helma negotiated a ride on a farmer’s cart, and soon she found herself bouncing about in the back, sharing quarters with an unamused goat and several offended chickens.

As the small farming towns gradually receded into the distance and were replaced by open fields and swelling canals, Helma turned to Clara.

“We are going to visit the Old Ones,” Helma said primly. She folded her hands in her lap as if she had not just uttered the most fantastic words Clara had ever heard from her.

“We— What?”

“Just as I said, child. It’s time to pay a visit to the Old Ones of the land.”

Clara studied her friend closely as the cart creaked and jostled. All the years that Helma had tended to her, trailed her about, told her stories and soothed her tears away, Clara had never seen her as a real person, someone who might have a heart full of secrets. But clearly Helma had not only secrets, but an entire life of which Clara was not aware.

The field that Helma had them alight in looked much like any other rural stretch of land. A windmill turned lazily in the distance, a copse of trees clustered about behind it. It was toward these that Helma began purposefully marching, leaving Clara with no choice but to follow her once again.

When they reached the trees, Helma stopped abruptly, hands on her hips as she surveyed the clearing. A ring of flat rocks stood in the grass. “Right,” she said, as if coming to some decision. “Here we are.”

Doubled over, Clara braced her hands on her knees, struggling to catch her breath after the march across the field. “Now what?” she gasped out.

“Now we summon them.”

Maurits finned through the clear, fresh water of the canal, for once preferring the sensation of water sliding off his back to that of the hard ground under his feet. Above him, a magpie swooped and called, bidding him to follow to where the Old Ones were gathering.

The call to come had been fortuitous. More than fortuitous—it had saved his fucking life. No sooner had the dire whale’s gaping jaw opened than the summons had rippled through the water. The whale had heard it too; he knew because it had hesitated just a moment, and it had been enough time for Maurits to make his escape.

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