Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (51 page)

It made him feel slightly ashamed, but Feothon noticed that somewhere deep down he was actually enjoying the slaughter.
'Tas been a long time since I dealt death rather than life,
he thought, and his sword ended the existence of another tamyat.
It feels good to make the world a better place through violence. Sometimes, at any rate.

The last of the creatures fell away from the ship, its body making a satisfying slap as it tumbled through the air and hit the ocean's surface. Feothon exhaled slowly, calming his body and mind and willing away the deliciously dark thoughts that had been encroaching on him. He swept his gaze around
the battlefield as he regained his composure, taking stock of the Titans' situation.

They had lost another ship; he could see a galleon, ancient in design, manned no longer by its crew but by a horde of screeching water demons. An acceptable loss, but one that made his eyes narrow with anger nonetheless.

Across the way he could see Leyra on a Southland ship of the line. She was battling a dozen tamyat at once—impossible odds for a normal human, but Feothon knew that for Leyra, such a battle was her idea of fun. Her bearded axe lashed through the air, cleaving limbs from bodies and bodies from heads. Her skin was completely grey now, flecked with spatters of dark ruby blood, and the sun sparkled off the tiny crystals embedded in her stony flesh. Her flint battle mask was dented and scratched, but its fearsome visage glared defiantly out at the world, daring anything foolish enough to attack her. Her men fought all around her, their harsh battlecries reaching Feothon's ears despite the distance and the noise between them.

On another ship Serah was in a similar situation. But unlike Leyra's hulking, brutal motions, she danced among the enemy with a graceful finesse that belied the danger within her. Her sword flashed through the air, and sprays of blood followed in its wake. To either side of her Jhai and Zizo matched her dance step for step. They shimmered like the air itself, their vaporous forms inconsistent and ethereal so that where the water demons struck, they hit only wisps of sand and cloud. Zizo fought much like Leyra; his longsword drew heavy arcs through his enemies, and his powerful, deliberate movements were deceptively slow. Jhai, though—Feothon smiled as he watched Jhai. Similar to Serah, his battle dance was full of feints and sweeping, whirling motions, and he seemed to attack from all directions simultaneously. There was something archaic about the way he fought, and Feothon had a niggling feeling that he was watching a warrior from a time long since past. He had seen such technique before, he was sure of it. If only he could remember where.
Jhai was always the more beautiful of the two,
Feothon thought.
But where Zizo lacks grace, he more than makes up for it in power.

And somewhere, far below the waves, the Leviathan tore through the enemy's blockade. Though it was hidden from his vision, Feothon could hear its low, rumbling groans, and when he closed his eyes he could see it—a massive, glaringly bright blob of light. Though its assailants were invisible to him, Feothon could well imagine the destruction the Guardian of the Seas was wreaking on the beasts beneath the surface.

But the time to watch had not yet come; there were more tamyat in the deep, countless thousands that came at the armada in a never-ending horde. Feothon opened his eyes, and his senses were once again filled with the boom of cannons and the smell of blood—and over the railing of his ship, he faced another wave of screeching demons that climbed inexorably toward the deck. He raised his sword and smiled.

Perhaps,
he thought,
it is finally my time.

It was a thing of beauty, truth be told. Such an elegant means of destruction had not been crafted since Koutoum took his first breath in the Void. But the Black Fortress was nothing like the Titans. Wherever it took root, death and blight followed. For leagues in every direction the plants withered and died and the animals grew sick with plague. And when the corruption touched the flesh of a human...

Some tales say it is how the Dark One replenished the waning ranks of his monstrous hordes. Others tell of men driven to madness by the sickly power that bled through the stone walls and into the mortal realm. It is said they roam the Dead Lands still, cursed to wal
k the wastes for an eternity as
mindless beast
s
.

But where the stories are muddled, one thing is for certain: where the Black Fortress set its foundations, misery followed. And where its power took hold, it never truly let go.

~

Chaos. Pure, complete chaos. That was the only way Will could describe the battle; in the pitch darkness, blind except for the flickering lights that revealed his enemies' constantly shifting positions, he was completely at the mercy of fate. For what seemed the hundredth time, his vision was suddenly filled with a flash of light, and he caught several fleeting glimpses of claws and teeth, of spiny fins and a long, thick tail. He lashed out with his sword instinctively, his blade arcing in a horizontal sweep.

But despite the agility and strength afforded him by the merfolk's gift, he moved much more slowly than he was used to. A gnarled hand, wicked talons in place of its fingers, stopped a mere finger's breadth away from his face as his sword caught his enemy in the side. A piercing shriek battered his ears as the blade's edge bit through the monster's tough, scaly hide and cleaved through muscle and bone before halting halfway through its path. Will tugged his weapon free, and then stabbed forward into the creature's gaping maw, silencing it. Its blood clouded the water around him, and he gagged as he breathed in and his mouth and lungs filled with the foul liquid.

He couldn't help it; he vomited, desperately hacking and coughing to clear the filth from his insides, and he did not see the second creature glide up to him until it was too late. But then, to his right, Clare's shining form darted forward and his assailant's head tumbled away into the abyss. Will made sure to hold his breath this time as he passed through the refuse in the demon's wake.

Thanks,
he thought.

I may be crippled,
Clare thought back,
but my sword hand is still good.
She winked at him, but the mention of her maimed hand made his stomach twist itself into knots.

We do not have time for this,
Borbos' voice boomed, and when Will looked over at the Titan his eyes widened. Where before there had been a god in the shape of a buccaneer there was now...water. But it was water in the loose shape of a man, and as Will watched it grew and elongated, becoming a massive, writhing thing that only vaguely resembled Borbos the human. It brought what amounted to its arms out in front of it, and then clapped its “hands” together.

The shockwave that followed was deafening, and for several moments afterward Will could only hear an irritating, high-pitched ringing noise deep inside his ears. He barely noticed, however; his attention was fixed on the water along the outer edge of the merfolk army, which began to shimmer with a golden glow of its own. It seemed to solidify and form into a protective ring around them, a sort of liquid shield that locked their adversaries in place. He saw dozens of flickering outlines, the water demons' nightmarish expressions frozen in rage and pain as they were pulverized and turned into little more than floating masses of pulpy muscle and bone.

And as quickly as it had begun, the battle was over. Borbos returned to his human form a moment later.
Now,
the Titan rumbled,
I be angry. This be my domain. I'll have the traitors' heads for this.
Black rage laced the words, rage so intense that Will actually felt it as a physical blow, and he reeled away
from it. The drake shook its head in annoyance and turned to glare at him from out of one eye.

They soon left the drifting bodies behind and continued on their journey through the inky depths. It was, thankfully, uneventful, and after some time had passed Will even began to secretly harbor the hope that they had seen the last of the deep's more unsavory denizens.

Were you hurt?
Clare asked him after awhile, startling him.

Well...no. Were you?
He looked at her.
That was an awfully long time ago.

Sorry.
Her words came across as the mental equivalent of a mumble.
No, I'm fine.
She did not speak again. For a long while, the only sounds were the constant rush of water in Will's ears and the high-pitched staccato clicking of the drakes.

Thanks for killing that thing back there,
Will said some time later in an attempt to alleviate the silence.
That was almost very bad.

She smiled at him, but it did not touch her eyes.
It's what I'm here for.

Will stared at her in confusion. The sudden change in her mood made his head spin; was it something he had said?

Are...are you sure you're alright?
he asked tentatively.
You sound...strained.

She nodded but did not look at him.
Sorry. Just...tense. This place is starting to gnaw at me. And I was afraid back there.

Me too,
he said.
I've never really been scared like that before—

I didn't think I would reach you in time,
she interrupted, and Will was given the distinct impression that she had only half-heard his words.
I move so slowly down here. It was...like being in a nightmare. And those things were moving so fast. I thought it was going to kill you. At least with the yaru I know where I stand in a fight. But with the tamyat...

Well, I'm not dead,
Will thought back to her.
There's no point getting all worked up over it. You got there in time.

She shrugged.
I'll stop thinking about it if you stop feeling guilty every time I mention my hand.

That rendered him well and truly speechless, and he said nothing more.

Time held no meaning down below the waves, and Will was unsure how much longer it was that they traveled in complete darkness. Eventually, though, after what seemed an eternity, something incredible happened—Will, for a brief, fleeting instant, saw light. Not the gold shimmer of the merfolk's gift, but a strange sky-blue.

The vision was so unexpected, and it was over so quickly, that for a moment he thought he had imagined it.
My mind is playing tricks on me,
he thought.
I need to get back to the surface; I'm going mad down here.

But then he saw it again—a brief flash of sky-blue light. It was gone in the next instant—and then, right on that flash's heels, came another. And another, and another, and another, and soon they were not flashes but strange, minuscule points of light that drifted aimlessly through the water. And as the blue light got brighter, the glowing golden outlines surrounding his companions dimmed until they had disappeared entirely. Soon everything was illuminated in the strange blue glow. He held his hand out and cupped one of the orbs as he passed it, bringing it close to his face. He peered at it, careful not to let the current carry it away, and saw to his surprise that it was in fact a tiny creature. It was similar to the bulbous, many-armed thing he had seen near the surface, only the one in his hand was narrower and sleeker.

It darted away a moment later, and then it was lost among untold billions of its kind.

What the...
he thought.
What are these things? They're...they're beautiful.

Squid,
Clare said, and the voice in his head was full of wonder. He looked at her, and she smiled radiantly at him.
This is incredible.

They be the Sea Spirit's subjects,
Borbos said. Will continued to look around with childlike interest as Borbos explained,
They provide him with the company that is so sorely lacking down here.
The Titan reached up and poked one of the balls of light as he passed, sending it spinning away.
Pretty little things,
aren't they?

They are,
Will agreed.

They lapsed into silence then. Will, for his part, was enraptured by a newfound, peculiar sense of safety—something he had not expected to feel while beneath the waves. And yet the glowing creatures somehow managed to feel comforting—warm, like a fire on a cold night. They danced and tumbled around him, their tiny bodies pulsing to a beat that only they could hear, and Will found himself smiling despite the myriad terrible things bearing down on him.

Soon they reached the sea floor, and Will was once again amazed; he had swam very close to the bottom of a shallow lake once, and it had been dead and dull—a lifeless field of silt and rotting wood. But here, where he had been expecting much the same thing, he saw instead what appeared to be giant, brightly colored, fan-like plants that drifted lazily in the gentle current. When Will reached out to touch one as he passed, however, the feathery fronds darted back into their hollow base and did not reappear.

There were other strange creatures, too—giant spiny things that looked something like spiders with pincers, and serpentine fish that looked not unlike the water drakes. And casting their day-blue glow upon everything were the diminutive light creatures, waving their many tiny arms as they wandered aimlessly to and fro.

All of the animals turned to look at them as they passed, their eyes, like the water drakes', full of an unexpected intelligence.
No,
Will thought,
they aren't looking at us—they're looking at Borbos.
And indeed, the multitude of creatures all appeared to have focused their attention completely upon the Sea Lord. Even the tiny glowing squid seemed to cluster around him in greater numbers.

Everything is so beautiful here,
Clare thought, but her words sounded troubled in his head.
I had expected it to look desolate, with the tamyat having taken over.

Nothing enters this place without my permission save the strongest of beings,
Borbos answered.
The foul beasts would not dare to encroach this far into my territory. Every creature in the sea would flock to them like sharks to a feeding frenzy. They would never survive.

So how are they keeping the Sea Spirit captive, then?
Will asked in confusion.
I don't understand. Couldn't he just swim away?

Borbos shook his head.
He be powerful, but not so much that he can flee through an enemy blockade and survive. Without me, he would have little hope of escape. He be part of me, you see. Long ago, in the first days, Beros made the Sea Spirit from his own essence. So without the Lord of the Sea, the Sea Spirit be only a fraction of his true self.
Borbos shrugged and looked at Will.
It be...regrettable. But if I gave him any more of my power, I would only be weakening myself, you see?

Will nodded; that made sense. And besides, what good would it do for a Titan to make an entity as powerful as itself? That would be folly indeed. But as soon as that thought had left his mind the Leviathan entered it, and he found himself wondering at the necessity of such a creation.

Then another thought occurred to him.
Borbos,
he said slowly,
I thought I heard you say “our” son earlier when you were talking about the Sea Spirit.

Indeed I did,
Borbos replied.
Beros could never have created such a thing on his own—not with the Leviathan draining so much from him already. So it were the first Fire Hearts that helped create my son. There be a little of you in him, Will.

It was not long before they came to what appeared to be a palace made entirely of dead, bleached-white coral.
Borbos,
he thought,
is this the base of the City in the Waves?

Nay, lad, though the City does indeed go this deep.
Borbos indicated a group of strange creatures that appeared to be guarding the entrance.
This be the Sea Spirit's home.

As they neared what Will could only describe as the gate, the guardian creatures swam out to meet them. They were otherworldly in form, an odd combination of squid and...something else. They had massive, upward-spiraling shells on their backs, white except for evenly-spaced stripes of brown. There were five of them, and they swam in a perfect arrowhead formation.

Spirits above,
Will heard Clare think, and he looked over to see an expression of wonder on her face.
A nautilus...they're not supposed to exist...
Will decided not to comment on the irony in that statement.

Lord Borbos,
said a voice in Will's head, and he realized it must have belonged to one of the creatures. The voice was strange—like Feothon's in his true form, or Pestilence's; it was flanged, as though there were in fact many voices all speaking in unison.