Fyla sighed. “What do you know of the great Sundering?”
“What all know,” Tylar said. “How the kingdom whence the gods came had been shattered, bringing you to Myrillia.”
She nodded. “But it was not just our kingdom that was shattered.” She glanced to Delia. “We were shattered ourselves. Into three parts. That which you see here, gods made flesh, but also two others. A part of us was thrust into darkness, into the land you call the naether, and another into brightness.”
“The aether,” Delia whispered.
“Correct. What was once one became three, separate yet still weakly connected. I can sense my other selves, in the other planes. The dark and the light. But only here do we have substance. Or so we thought.” Her eyes flashed with fear, a sight that would chill the stoutest man.
What could scare a god?
Fyla answered his silent question. “The naethryn are the undergods, our counterparts in the naether realm, dark shadows of ourselves.”
Silence settled over the pod as it glided through the heart of Tangle Reef. The tremors of the quake continued.
“One of these naethryn came to slay Meeryn?” Tylar mumbled. “Why?”
“I had hoped you knew.” Her face creased with worry. “For the past decade, there have been stirrings in the deep, strange creatures found rotting on ocean beds. I shared knowledge of these disturbances with Meeryn when last we met. She promised to speak to others across the Nine Lands, to consult with the masters at Tashijan.”
“She must’ve learned something,” Rogger said. “Something she wasn’t supposed to know.”
Fyla shook her head, unsure. “The last message I received from her was cryptic. She had great trepidation about something and wanted to consult with the Court of Tashijan before speaking of it.”
“She had called for a blessed courier,” Tylar said, recalling Perryl’s summons to the Summering Isles. “She was slain before he reached her.”
“Which is cause for more worry,” Rogger said. “She was slain after she contacted Tashijan-it makes one wonder if someone betrayed her.”
“Someone at Tashijan?” Tylar could not hide his disbelief.
“You of all people should not place so much confidence on the folk that banished you into slavery.”
Tylar shook his head, deeply troubled. Though he had been sourly treated, a part of him knew his punishment had not been unwarranted. He had bargained with the Gray Traders… and it had cost the life of an innocent family. Though it wasn’t his sword that slew them, he was still to blame.
“There are black tidings all across the Nine Lands,” Fyla said. “Corruptions and bouts of madness. Who can say if Tashijan has been spared?”
“That was where we were heading,” Tylar grumbled.
Fyla glanced at him. “Why journey there?”
“To seek answers from its libraries.”
Rogger nodded. “And now we have another reason to continue there. If someone at Tashijan betrayed Meeryn, then therein may lay your salvation, Tylar. Expose the scabber and prove your innocence.”
The pod shook more vigorously, striking the sides of the tunnel. Everyone fell against the walls.
“Before any journey can be undertaken,” Fyla said, “I must get you safely away. The naether is too strong down in these dark depths. You must escape to the sun, back to land.”
The pod bobbled again. Tylar sensed they were corkscrewing through a winding tunnel. “Where are we heading?”
“Even deeper,” Fyla answered. “To the bottom of the Reef.”
They continued their descent to untold depths, each lost to their own thoughts. But at least the quakes seemed to have subsided for the moment. Tylar finally spoke. “There’s a question I must ask you.”
“I will answer if I can,” Fyla said.
Before he could speak, the pod halted with a final shudder. A petal peeled open on to a curving hall, flooded to the level of their knees. Water rushed in-cold, but not icy.
“The wetdocks,” Fyla announced.
“Well named,” Rogger said glumly as Kreel waded into the water. The others splashed after him.
One side of the passage was honeycombed with large half-submerged alcoves. Some were empty, but most sprouted tails of strange-looking craft.
Fyla waved to one of the nearest occupied alcoves. “Here we dock the Fins, the bloodships of the Reef.”
The Fins appeared to be made of the same ubiquitous dark green material as the pods, but in this case, it was elongated and pinched at either end, surmounted by a prominent fin. Along the belly ran a pair of smaller fins, like runners on an ice sled.
Kreel showed them how to open the top hatch and climb inside.
“Looks like the inside of a tiny flippercraft,” Tylar noted, inspecting the four seats: two in front, under a crystalline dome, and two in back. The inside walls were lined with mica tubes, all leading to a central crystal sphere full of gently glowing crimson liquid.
“It’s fueled by a similar alchemy as the flippercraft,” Fyla conceded, still standing in the outer passage. “But rather than the Grace of an air god, this is fueled by my own blood. It will speed you through the seas faster than any ship.”
Kreel checked the levels. “There should be enough blood to reach Fitz Crossing.”
Tylar nodded. Fitz Crossing was a rim island in the middle of the Meerashe Deep, a god-realm of Dain, the domain of orphans and runaways.
Rogger sighed. “I know some folk in Scree, on the far side of the island from Dain’s castillion. From there, we should be able to book passage to the First Land.” He jangled a pocket. “I guess it’s lucky we still have Captain Grayl’s gold marches.”
“But the island is still a far ways off,” Fyla warned. “You must be wary of the Gloom. It will sap the ship’s reserves if you travel through the naether bloom for very long. Flee upward as soon as you leave, away from the deep.”
Tylar nodded. Kreel gave them a fast lesson on the Fin’s controls. They were simple enough. Tylar took the captain’s seat. Delia took the neighboring chair, guarding the spherical tank of alchemies. Rogger sat behind her. The Fin rested at a slight angle, nose aimed down a short flooded tube to the open sea.
Kreel climbed back out and prepared to seal the Fin’s upper hatch. Before he could lock it down, the Reef shook with a new quake, more violent than the others. Tylar was thrown from his seat. He stared back up at the hatch. A wall of water swept along the hall outside.
Kreel clung to the Fin’s tail. “We’re breached!”
Fyla stood on the far side, water climbing her form. “Be off! I must see to my city!”
“I’ll get the hatch,” Rogger said, swinging back to the stern.
Tylar remembered the question he had meant to ask before landing at the docks. “Wait! Fyla! Does the word Rivenscryr mean anything to you?”
She froze, half-turned. Her eyes flared with Grace, her whole manner hardened with fury. Ice formed over her body.
Before she could answer, seawater began to pour into the cabin from the flooding docks.
Delia opened the flow of alchemies. “We must go!”
“Fyla!”
She stirred. “It is a forbidden name, one known only to the gods.”
“What does it mean?” he asked frantically. “What is it?”
Rogger sputtered under the hatch, seawater flooding over him.
“Your people gave it a different name.” She stared through the rushing water.
“I must close the hatch!” Rogger choked, pulling it down.
Tylar pleaded with his eyes.
As the hatch clanged shut over the flood, her words reached him, “Though it is neither, you call it the Godsword.”
More confused than before, Tylar fell back to his seat. The water sloshed over his ankles. The only light came from the glow of the mica tubes as the alchemies raced through them.
