Youngest Son of the Water King. A bride for the water prince. Natalie Yacobson
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as if he were a deity. To those watching, he probably was now, for he stood in the place where he was most likely to be killed. With his scarlet robe fluttering in the wind, he was a perfect target for the enemy. Probably he was a madman, but definitely not a monster. No matter what they say about him! He looked more like an angel with a golden head, but the pattern of tentacles of some sea animal stuck to the wall near his feet spoiled the impression. One of the tentacles rubbed his cheek, touched his crown.
The king was no longer whispering, but the echo of his whisper, like an infernal hiss, hung over the square. It rained. It washed the corpses, washed the blood from the sidewalk. Desdemona, holding her long hem with her hand, stepped over crushed skulls and disfigured bodies. What a joke of fate: she came to the festivities of the coronation, and got right into the middle of the massacre. Hell washed by the salty sea. Suddenly a storm broke out so that the enemy ships began to sink.
The king, who stood tall as if ready to sacrifice himself in case of defeat, seemed like a hero to many.
“He is the one causing the storm,” whispered one of the survivors.
“Or it is the monster beside him,” Desdemona stammered.
Someone’s tentacles were hugging the young king from behind, clutching his shoulders and torso, and the shouts from the sinking enemy’s armada were already replacing the roar of the cannonade. The enemy is sinking. This is victory! But what had the king given for it? Was no one but Desdemona willing to see that he was in the arms of a monster? Why not in her own? She suddenly felt a burning jealousy.
“And this is the girl who wanted to go to a convent and spend her life serving the sea god,” came a mocking voice from behind.
Desdemona turned around. In the corner, shabby children were clustered in the rain, looking more like river monsters themselves.
“You know that the sea god makes his novices drown during initiation, and then they come back to life and serve him as slaves,” the children, scales sprouting on their faces, said in a chorus.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Desdemona backed away, stumbling over dead bodies and moaning wounded. She would have helped everyone, but she didn’t have the strength to even run herself. And a group of strange children were picking up anything of value left from the dead. Children or fish were biting off fingers with rings instead of removing them, tearing off women’s hands with bracelets that glittered on them, pulling earrings from the corpses’ lobes.
“Better become something other than a priestess. If you are drowned, the light in you will go out, and you will be of no use to us. You’re not meant for any other service.”
What can I say to them? She’d love to. But her stepmother wants to get her out of her home as soon as possible. And the only way for a homeless woman is a convent. Do they really drown and then resurrect all the initiates as will-less zombies?
The children laughed, playing with someone’s severed head like a ball. The head belonged to a beautiful girl. The carnelian hoop could not be removed from her.
“We’ll take her with us,” said the fish girl, all purple scales like armor.
Who did she mean? Her gaze wandered eloquently over Desdemona’s own dress. There was no need to wear her best for the feast. The velvet dress, woven with silver lilies, had been hers since her mother had been alive. The tiara in her hair was also her mother’s. Desdemona would have given it to the children to keep them behind, but they wanted something else. They surrounded her in a ring. Where to go? All around were the ghastly faces of half-children and half-fish. Their mouths chattering with needle teeth. It’s like a nightmare! That’s how dangerous it is to walk alone in a storm! There’s no telling what the rain and waves will bring from the sea. She had been warned that Aquilania was a dangerous country, after all, because of the elements surrounding it.
The scaled hand reached for Desdemona, and then a menacing shout sounded from the sea. Was it either a voice or a trumpet sound?
The fish girl cursed through her teeth in some incomprehensible language.
“We have to go! But we’ll come back for you!” She wagged her finger in farewell. The creepy children, like a host of ghosts, drifted away into the mist of smoke and rain. Did they dissolve in the rainwater?
Desdemona’s heart was pounding with fear, but she wanted to look at the majestic figure of the king in the high archway one more time. She raised her head high, exposing her face to the merciless rain. He was still standing there. The arch itself was braided with a network of tentacles. The raging sea was subsiding, taking with it the wreckage of ships and the corpses of warriors. It seemed as if the king would step down and follow the sinking enemy fleet, but he was only talking to someone invisible in the heights. Could he really be mad? But madmen don’t control the elements. Though there’s no guarantee he caused the storm. It could only appear that way from the outside. The formidable figure that looked like a dragon drained entirely from the water that hovered over the archway was also an illusion. The young king saw it and even spoke to it about something, and then suddenly he laughed so loudly that everyone in the square was horrified.
Desdemona shuddered. The thunder of an enemy cannonade, capable of destroying the whole country, was nothing compared to this laughter. It made her blood run cold. It echoed ferociously through the alleys. Her ears ached unbearably. It was as if a dark specter was trailing its tentacles through the streets of Aquilania. It was no longer an illusion. Desdemona barely had time to break free when some gray limbs grasped her shoulder. There were many of them here. They braided the walls and friezes and arches. It seemed as if the fog had become a sea monster with many limbs that crawled through the streets, grabbing and strangling people. There was nowhere to run, but Desdemona picked up her skirts with her hand anyway, and ran.
Voices in the mist
The king’s gaze pursued her.
“It is this one!” He was heard to shout. His ringed hand pointed somewhere in the square. Immediately something tore from the towers and rushed after her. Or was it flying on all wings? The rustling of many pairs of wings could be heard from behind.
After running a few meters, Desdemona stopped and turned back. Nothing! No one was flying or even running after her. But the fog had grown thicker. It’s an unusual fog. It’s green, like swamp sludge! Clawed and webbed limbs reached out to the surviving townspeople. She must be seeing double. She’d heard too many horror stories about sacrifices to the sea god. Those who had glimpsed the god himself at rites and sacraments where only a select few were allowed described him as a monster the size of a bastion. He had many eyes and tentacles, they said. He wore on his slimy forehead a chain studded with the crowns of those rulers whom he had drowned with all their armadas. He strangled those he did not want with his slimy limbs right in the temple. And the ancient temple, located on the outskirts of the city, was half sunk. It was dangerous to even be in it.
Desdemona believed all these tales only partially. She was too sensible to believe that a real monster had taken up residence in a temple on the border between Aquilania and the sea. More likely, some priest had deliberately disfigured himself during rituals and staged mysteries to impress the congregation. Priests are always hungry for power. People’s fear of the sea could be well capitalized on. But the sacrifices, even to an imaginary god, were real. Innocent and beautiful girls were said to be consecrated as priestesses in batches every new moon only to be drowned later.
Not long ago, she had trembled at the thought of being consecrated as a priestess to the sea god. But now that the streets were full of corpses, that thought no longer frightened her so much. It was easier to die from the volleys of enemy cannonade, or from the strange green creatures that scurried about in the fog. They bounced hastily into the alleyways if she caught a glimpse of them.
“She is special!” They hissed, pointing their webbed fingers in her direction. “You can’t touch her. Run away from her!”
Desdemona