World of Aluvia 2
Authors: Amy Bearce
A Division of
Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com
© 2016
Amy Bearce
http://www.amybearce.com
Cover Art by Amalia Chitulescu
http://ameliethe.deviantart.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at
[email protected]
, or visit
http://curiosityquills.com
ISBN 978-1-62007-541-8 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-545-6 (paperback)
To Keira and Julia
he ocean never gave up. It just kept rolling in, no matter what else went on in the world. Phoebe Quinn liked to think she and the ocean shared that in common.
Today, Phoebe’s chest still heaved from her run down to the shore. The gut-wrenching memories had slithered into her mind again, setting off the panic. When those recollections came calling, four years dissolved in a heartbeat, leaving her a terrified ten-year-old all over again.
But she wasn’t ten anymore, she reminded herself, taking in a deep breath.
Phoebe perched on the edge of her favorite rock along her favorite coastline and tried to lose herself in the haunting call of the seabirds and the inevitability of the foaming waves. She knew she shouldn’t have disobeyed her big sister by coming here, but Phoebe couldn’t stay inside the house another minute. Besides, Sierra wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. She’d never know.
The salty tang of the coastal air usually lifted Phoebe’s spirits, but even the power of the ocean couldn’t quell her anxiety today.
She bit her lip, fixing her gaze on the horizon. When she’d arrived back home four years ago, Phoebe hoped she could forget what she’d suffered. And at first it seemed like everything was fine. Life went on, after all.
But the horrors she’d experienced in Elder Bentwood’s dungeon whispered in her mind more and more often. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d only been locked up for days; those few days felt like years. The vivid memories clung like the stench of a dead thing, growing increasingly difficult to ignore. Especially lately.
The sun would set before too long, already a ball of fire painting the sea with shades of pink and red. The forest hung back from the coast here, leaving a thin ridge of sand and rocks between the shady pine trees and the shoreline. A natural jetty in the middle of the cove reached out into the deeper waters, the boulders uneven as if sent tumbling like dice from a giant’s hand. Her favorite was the last in the row, where water lapped right along the edge during low tide. She loved to daydream there, nearly surrounded by water yet sheltered from the worst of the waves by the outcroppings further into the ocean. On the far side of the jetty, an inlet held a delightfully deep pool, cradled by boulders. Yet on the other side, the sandy shore was shallow, easing into the sea with a gentle, lazy slope. The cove was a cozy place, and Phoebe could use a little cozy now.
Sea foam sprayed her legs as the wind blew, and she shifted her position. Her knee twinged as she leaned on it, the same spot that ached in the cold. She ruthlessly ignored a vision welling up from the past: her leg bruised and purple, swollen like a sausage.
That’s not reality. This is now.
She closed her eyes and focused. The silence of the cove. The wind lifting her hair from her face. But she couldn’t quite resist touching her knee in affirmation. Strong, straight, supple. They hadn’t broken her. At least not her body.
When she took a deep breath and craned her neck to watch a gull spiral over the coast, a glimpse of white poking out from behind a small boulder alongside the pool caught her eye. A quick smile lit her face, lifting her dark thoughts.
Nothing brought peace and joy like her merfolk friends. Even though she was fourteen now, within shouting distance of adulthood, she still loved getting little gifts from Tristan, gifts given for no other reason than him thinking about her. The fact that her best friend and his sister, Mina, were merfolk was icing on the cake. Phoebe often wondered how she could be so surrounded by magic but remain so utterly and frustratingly non-magical herself. If she had even a sliver of magic, she was sure she’d never feel afraid or alone again.
What would the gift be today? A giant sand dollar or conch shell? A smooth white stone from the depths of the ocean? She pondered the possibilities as she rose and picked her away across the slippery moss-covered rocks to whatever lay hidden behind the boulder to her left. It wasn’t Tristan’s usual place to leave a surprise, but, then again, he liked to keep her on her toes. She grinned with anticipation and then jumped around the boulder, hands spread, ready to grab whatever delight lay waiting.
A strange shape floated in the water, half-laying on the rocks. That wasn’t a shell, no, and not a smooth stone, too many parts…
Phoebe’s mind whirled as she tried to make sense of what she saw. White sticks of some kind, tangled together, with the green of seaweed.
Then everything came together in her mind with a snap. Those weren’t sticks. They were polished bones.
The bones swirled in ripples that rolled between the rocks. Bits of sinew and cartilage held the skeleton together, but barely. Her scream was short but intense.
Phoebe gasped, gagged, and almost threw up. She forced a swallow and inched closer to the edge of the pool to get a better look.
The half-submerged skull grinning grotesquely looked human in the water, but a tail fin made it impossible to doubt what kind of creature this had actually been. The merfolk remains must have gotten caught in the inlet during low tide. Tristan and Mina needed to know right away. Maybe they would know if someone was missing.
A wave crashed along the shore, and the skeleton bobbed and turned over, revealing a giant black handprint marring the back of the skull. Phoebe sucked in a deep breath at the sight, the print shocking against the bleached white of the bone. Worse, the skull itself was crushed at the tip of each fingerprint. Spider-webbed cracks branched out from each puncture as if strong claws had punched right through the bone. This hadn’t been an accident. Phoebe fought the roiling nausea, trying not to fall to her knees.
What could do something like this?
Maybe her friends would come if she sang. They often did, along with the youngest of the merfolk, the little seawees. Shivering, Phoebe returned to the end of the jetty and lifted her voice, focusing on the way the sound skipped across the water. She chose a haunting melody, though she generally preferred cheerful songs. Right now, a soulful dirge best suited the situation. She let herself explore the dark nooks and crannies of her fears and the horror of the moment, her gaze creeping toward the corpse over and over before she yanked her focus back to the ocean. She scanned the water for the familiar tails, then paused, chewing on her lip. Why weren’t they coming?
She hadn’t seen Tristan or Mina in three whole days. In the past, they visited more often, especially when they knew her sister was traveling and Phoebe would be alone. But as they grew older, work took more of their time. Merfolk took responsibility to their community very seriously.