The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Read online

  He looked at her, and realized she was looking right back at him. Her green eyes were no less startling than the first time he had seen them.

  “We can be friends, can’t we?”

  Why? he wanted to ask. They weren’t obliged to be anything. And just because she had made a move toward reconciliation didn’t mean he had to return the compliment.

  But everything she’d said about Kemp was true. He could use an ally. All thoughts of resistance crumbled at the thought of showing up the big bully, somehow.

  “I guess so,” he said.

  “Good.” She shifted on the seat. “So, what is it with the sea? Do you get seasick or something? Were you dunked as a baby?”

  “Uh…” He was embarrassed at the thought of telling her.

  “Oh, go on. It can’t be that bad. If you tell me, I’ll tell you what I think Lodo thinks about us.”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear that, either.

  “Does it scare you?” she asked with a wicked glitter in her eye.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he shot back, annoyed that she had seen through him so easily. “I’ve never seen it. Not close up.”

  She frowned. “What, never?”

  “Never ever. In my whole life this is the closest I’ve come.”

  She leaned back, amazed. “Well, that wasn’t what I expected. What a bizarre thought, to never see the beach.” She suddenly stood. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s go. You can’t possibly come all this way and not look at it. Why not now?”

  “Because…” He couldn’t think of a reason she might accept. “What about School?”

  “It’s just over the hill, Sal. We can be back in two minutes. And if we aren’t, so what? You don’t live here and I don’t care.” She studied him closely. “What’s the real problem? Are you afraid?”

  He looked deep into himself. Not for the fear--he knew that was there--but for the inclination to confess to her about it.

  “Tell me what you think Lodo thinks about us, first,” he said, hoping to delay the decision.

  “You and me?” Her smile became more of a smirk. “He thinks we’re destined.”

  “We’re what?”

  “You know, destined. To be together, somehow. Maybe he means to live together and have babies!” She pulled a face like she had sucked on a lemon. “Maybe he means something else. I don’t know for sure. But there’s a weird look in his eye when he talks about you and looks at me. I know he’s curious, and that’s always a bad sign. Last time he took a real interest in my life it meant packing up and leaving everything I’d ever known, forever.”

  Sal must have looked as confused as he felt, because she didn’t wait for him to ask.

  “I’m an orphan,” she said, “abandoned as a baby in a town a long way from here. Lodo adopted me when I was five, when I was like Elina and my fourth foster family didn’t know what to do with me. I don’t know why he wanted me, but they sure didn’t, and I like to think he acted out of my best interests. If he didn’t…” She shrugged. “Well, it’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say.

  “So,” she finally said, “how about that walk?”

  He had no idea what to expect as they walked down the lane toward the sea. Glimpses over the dunes, combined with ominous hints from his father over the years, amounted to something more terrifying than he could imagine.

  When he stood at the edge of the beach looking down on the shoreline and, beyond that, across the incredible ocean stretching all the way to the sky, all of it shimmering and in constant motion, churning and heaving as though at any moment it might suddenly surge forward and engulf him--yet so massively substantial it was hard to conceive that it could actually be fluid--he almost turned and ran. It was too much, too alien, too incredible.

  Shilly took him by the hand and he numbly followed her down the beach. The sand beneath his feet wasn’t like desert sand. It was grayer, with bits of broken shells, smooth pebbles and drying weed everywhere he looked. He’d visualized the sea just coming to a stop: the grass and scrub continuing to the edge then drowning in water. In comparison to that, the beach looked completely sterile--a flat wasteland dividing wet from dry, on which nothing grew. Yet there were footprints everywhere.

  Closer to the edge, the sea was no less threatening than from far away. The waves splashing on the shore startled him, and he tried to concentrate on the way they died--in fast-ebbing ripples on moisture-dark sand. These last dregs of mighty ocean surges were nothing to be afraid of, he told himself. When Shilly tugged him close enough so that a wave touched the tips of his toes, it felt cool and refreshing, just like a river or a lake.

  But there was more to it than that. There was something else beyond the wetness and restless motion of the water, something strange.

  It radiated a presence he couldn’t define.

  He was standing on the edge of a vast, living blanket covering more of the Earth than the land itself. If he wanted to, he could touch it, and that touch would reverberate around the world.

  “How is it? Not so bad?”

  Sal shook his head. He couldn’t explain it. And he didn’t want to let go of her hand just yet.

  “Well, there’s our claim to fame.” She pointed, and he wrenched his eyes up out of the wavelets, almost lost himself in that impossibly flat horizon, then saw, further along the beach, a wooden jetty stretching far out to sea. Fishing boats were tied to one side, bobbing up and down in the water.

  How did it survive? he wondered. Surely the water would smash it to pieces in a day. And the boats! Who would ever go out in such puny things on such a hostile surface?

  “The longest for five hundred kilometers,” she said, mock-proudly, like a tour guide showing off one of the world’s seven wonders. “And a hundred years old if it’s a day! We’re actually at the center of a wide bay--see how the beach curves inward? If it had been a little less shallow, someone might’ve built a city here, once.”

  He stepped back and looked at the footprints around them, only half-listening to her. What did people do here? Fish? That was what the jetty was for, he assumed. Maybe they fished from the beach as well, although no one was doing it at that moment, from either the beach or the jetty. There was just one solitary person visible in the distance, not doing anything, just watching like Sal was. He had heard of people swimming in the sea, but he couldn’t understand why they would do it. It would surely be too hard to get anywhere, with all the water moving and splashing around.

  He took a deep breath of salty air and imagined its smell originating thousands of kilometers away, deep in the southern ocean where whales played and bred, according to legend.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shook himself, realizing how stupid he must look, gawping at everything like a small child.

  “Do you want to walk now?”

  “I guess.”

  “Let’s go this way.” She pointed along the beach towards the jetty. “No offence, Sal, but your hand is getting sweaty.”

  “Uh, sorry.” He removed it and wiped it on his shirt.

  “And roll up your pants,” she suggested. “It’ll stop them getting wet.”

  He followed her advice, and they walked off along the beach. They stayed close to the waterline, where the sand was firm and easier to walk on. He jumped every time a wave splashed near him.

  Shilly asked him how he and his father had come to Fundelry, and where they had come from. He was so grateful for the distraction he forgot to be cautious about what he said.

  “Gliem,” he said, pointing inland and to the north. “We stopped there for a couple of days. Dad did some work to refuel the buggy. He must’ve asked around about Lodo too, although I didn’t know it at the time. We came straight here afte
rward.”

  “By buggy, you say. Is that like a car?”

  “Sort of. It runs on alcohol and isn’t very comfortable. But it keeps on going, which is the main thing.”

  “Do you like traveling?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You don’t sound very sure about it.”

  He shrugged. The question was one he hadn’t bothered to think about before, since the alternative had never been an option. He hoped it still wasn’t.

  “This is the only place I remember,” she said. “I’ve never visited Pounder or Butland.” She pointed ahead of and behind them in turn, at the towns he’d glimpsed that morning. “Lodo sometimes goes away on business, but he always leaves me behind to keep an eye on things. He can be pretty paranoid about security and stuff.”

  Maybe with good reason, Sal thought, remembering Von’s comment about Kemp’s father wanting to run him out of town.

  “What is he?” he asked.

  Shilly thought about it for a long time. Then she said: “I don’t know. You can see his tattoos, can’t you?” He nodded. “Well, he won’t tell me what they mean, and he keeps them hidden from everyone else, even his friends. He does it the same way he fooled your dad into thinking he looked different. Would your dad know?”

  “Maybe. He called them ‘rank’ markings. But he doesn’t talk much about important stuff, either.” The more Sal thought about it, the more Lodo and his father had in common.

  “I like to think he’s a renegade Stone Mage, but he never tells me anything. It drives me crazy not knowing!”

  She kicked viciously at a shell and it skipped into the distance. Sal confirmed his guess that she didn’t like secrets. How she had endured this long with Lodo eluded him.

  And that, he supposed, was why she was with him, now, not because she was pursuing some mysterious destiny or other. More likely she thought his dad might know something about Lodo, and hoped that by ingratiating herself with him he might tell her.

  That was an ungenerous thought, though. She wasn’t exactly pressing him for information. It seemed like nothing more sinister than a conversation to fill what might otherwise have been an awkward silence.

  They had reached the jetty. He knew what she was about to say before her mouth opened.

  “Do you want to--?”

  “No way.”

  “It’s perfectly safe, Sal.”

  “So you say.”

  “Why would I lie? We’d both get wet if I was wrong. I’d be with you, remember?”

  He nervously studied the wooden structure. The single guard rail looked absurdly thin. He knew he should leave and walk back to School, but he was reluctant to make himself look any more of a fool than he already had. And she knew it, judging by the smile forming on her lips.

  “Come on.” She took his hand and gripped it tight. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”

  Before he could protest she ran full-pelt toward the jetty, whooping and pulling him along with her. So intent was he on simply staying upright that he hardly noticed when the sand beneath his feet became wood, the beach fell away, and he was on the jetty itself.

  She took him halfway out before he managed to dig his heels in and bring her to a halt. He took two steps backward, then stopped cold. He had caught a glimpse of the water through a crack between the planks. Shock had gone through him like an icy fist. He couldn’t move; he could hardly breathe.

  He looked up, saw the ocean all around him and closed his eyes; the presence of all that water was bearing down on him like an avalanche. From behind his eyelids all he could hear was the tiny splashes as the sea lapped against the base of the jetty, trying to suck it down into the depths. There was so much salt in the air he felt like he was already drowning.

  He moaned in fear and fell to one knee. This was worse than anything he could have imagined.

  “Sal? Oh, hell.” Shilly squatted next to him. “I had no idea. Deep breaths, nice and slow. Take it easy.”

  He hadn’t realized how fast he was panting until she mentioned it. She had an arm around him, squeezing. He opened his eyes a crack to look at her and was blinded by the sun. The world seemed to be turning: sea, sky, sea, sky …

  “I’m sorry, Sal. Honest. I shouldn’t have made you do it. I just thought you were being silly. Come on--get up and I’ll take you back.”

  “I can’t.” He was still frozen. His arms and legs felt like they weighed a thousand tons.

  “Yes, you can.” One skinny hand went under his armpit and tugged, but to no avail. “Shit. Well, you’ll just have to stay out here forever, then.”

  The joke fell as flat as he wanted to. He went down on his hands and knees. Through two thick planks he saw gray-green waves dancing on the surface of what seemed an unfathomable depth like hands reaching up to drag him down. Bile surged in his stomach. He gasped and looked up.

  A seagull fluttered over them, squawking. Shilly stood up and shooed it away, but it came back doggedly for another pass. Its wings seemed to graze them as it swooped overhead, then angled back to shore, its calls echoed by others. Soon the air was full of birds.

  “Oh, no.” Shilly clutched at him. They huddled together in the center of an avian maelstrom. Gulls came at them from all directions, pecking and scratching, squawking loudly.

  One became entangled in Shilly’s hair. She shrieked and batted at it with her free hand. Something burned inside Sal’s chest, and a clear space momentarily opened over them, as though a gust of air was pushing the gulls back. Shilly staggered for a second, startled by the sudden respite, but soon took advantage of it.

  “Bloody scabs,” she muttered, tugging at Sal again with all her strength. “Come on, will you? I can’t carry you back on my own!”

  Sal did his best to stand up. He made it to his knees with Shilly’s help. She put one of his hands on the guard rail and made him look away from the water. Staring at her eyes from close quarters helped. He was able to get onto his feet again, albeit a little uneasily.

  Then the birds came back, attacking with renewed ferocity.

  “Now, walk!” she ordered him over the racket, and he did manage a kind of controlled stagger. “That’s it! One step after the other. All the way back. ‘Cause if you don’t--”

  She didn’t finish. From somewhere within him, he found the strength to move. Letting go of the rail, he pulled free of her. Waving his arms around his head he stumbled forward, beating a way through the birds, forcing himself through the swirling confusion. He didn’t care where he was going, as long as it was away.

  Feathers, beaks and claws parted in fright before him. Sensing that he was close to freedom, he broke into a run--

  --and collided with someone tall and hard and smelling of sweat.

  Sal recoiled, blinking.

  “You again,” said Kemp, his expression hidden in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. “Making a habit of this, are you, stone-boy?”

  Sal staggered back a step and lost his balance completely. Shilly didn’t catch him in time. His head knocked hard against the guard rail as he went down, and he saw stars, then black, then nothing.

  The world lit up again the moment his head went under the water. There was a pain like white lightning coming from the ward in his ear. There was too much pain, everywhere. He didn’t know what to do. There was no time to think.

  Seawater burned in his eyes, nose and mouth. He choked, racked by spasms as his body fought for air but sucked in only more of the ghastly water. He couldn’t see anything but bubbles; he couldn’t tell which way was up. He was tumbling end over end into a deathly cold void, and was powerless to prevent it.

  (And behind it all, he felt the same presence he had felt in the storm; an unearthly eye searching from afar, through hundreds of kilometers of water that in an instant seemed to part like smoke. The pain in his head was like a beacon, signaling that eye.
Mighty forces dragged their attention ponderously his way, and he thrashed about, as automatically afraid of those forces finding him as he was of drowning.)

  His head broke the surface, and he seemed to hear people calling for him. He tried to swim but didn’t know how to. There was little he could do but windmill his arms and kick his legs and hope for the best.

  It wasn’t enough. He went back under. The last dregs of air in his lungs escaped into the sea--and he was sinking, fading, drowning, falling.

  (“Sayed?” a woman’s voice called from the graying distance, growing fainter by the second. “Sayed! Is that you?”)

  Then everything went black, and he was lost again.

  Part Two: Finding

  Chapter 6. “On the Surface of Things”

  The first thing Sal saw when he opened his eyes was the sky. It was blue, as blue as the eyes he saw when he looked into the mirror. He felt as though he was falling into it, dissolving like a cloud on a hot day. Then a gull wheeled across the heavens, screeching, and he automatically raised his hands to fend it off.

  The movement triggered a spasm of coughing. His lungs were full of sand, or felt so; he could only gasp and choke.

  A stranger leaned into his field of view, a balding man with heavy jowls and deep caramel skin.

  “You’re still with us, boy,” he said, his voice resonant and deep. “That’s a start.”

  “Whhh--?” Sal tried to rise and speak, but his throat was raw.

  “Quiet, now. You’ll be right as rain in a minute.”

  Sal fell back and felt the sand beneath him, his clothes sticking wetly to him--and remembered only then what had happened. The sea had pulled him down; he had been drowning; something about an eye, a voice …

  The man stepped away to talk to someone in a low, unhurried voice. Sal looked around for Shilly, but couldn’t see her. A small crowd had formed, surrounding him with a ring of dark faces and looming bodies. He felt trapped, panicky. He wanted his father. He wanted to get away. He wanted--

  A cool hand touched his forehead. “Are you all right, Sal?”