Read The Seadragon's Daughter Online
Authors: Alan F. Troop
The Seadragon's Daughter (13 page)
The creature nods and I turn away from it, shifting to my human form as I rush to the boat’s wheel. Throwing the throttles forward, I grab the wheel and yank it over, steering away from the waves. The boat wallows for a few seconds, then accelerates into a sharp turn, going up on its side for a moment, straightening and shooting south.
We strike something underneath us, a shudder running through the boat, the port Yamaha, pitching forward, its motor howling. Yelling, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I kill its throttle, hoping we’ve just sheared a prop, that the drive shaft isn’t bent.
The boat slows but continues forward, the starboard Yamaha still howling at full speed. I cut back on its throttle a little, so as not to put too much strain on the one remaining motor, and try to turn the wheel to the right, to circle back to the north. With one motor now deadweight, I find I have to tug on it, hard, to have any effect.
Still the Grady White turns, slower than I’d like, starting a long loop that will take us northward, back to my island’s channel. The boat slices through a wave, and a blast of salt spray showers me, coating my naked flesh. Instantly chilled by the wind, I shiver and turn, glancing at the tattered remnants of my clothes on the cockpit floor and the girl in her human form, naked, sitting cross-legged near them, smiling as she returns my stare.
“You said cousin?” I say.
She shrugs as if she doesn’t understand.
“Can’t you hear me?”
I mindspeak.
“Can’t you hear me?”
I mindspeak.
“I can hear but I don’t understand very well. At home, we only mindspeak.”
“But you said you were my cousin?”
I mindspeak.
I mindspeak.
“Yes,”
she mindspeaks.
“I am.”
she mindspeaks.
“I am.”
I doubt I’ve ever seen a paler woman. Her ghost-white body glistens from the salt spray, seems almost luminescent in the gloom. Wet, long black hair hugs her scalp, hangs halfway down her back, a few stray wisps plastered to her front, tracing dark lines from her long, thin neck over the gentle curves of breasts too small and too firm to sag. One strand curls around a crinkled, light pink nub of a nipple made tight by the cold.
I shake my head. She may be of my people, but even in her natural form I could hardly see any resemblance to my family. Her human form seems even more distant. While her round face and almond-shaped emerald-green eyes give her an exotic, strangely oriental look—one that would attract me if I were single—almost everything about her seems streamlined.
Her ears lie flat against her skull. Her nose barely protrudes, her nostrils showing as hardly more than fleshy slits. When she opens her mouth or smiles, her pale lips grow full and inviting. But they flatten into raised lines when her mouth closes. Except for the hair on her head, her body’s hairless—no eyebrows, no eyelashes, no pubic hair. Only the mature curves of her body assure me she’s not a prepubescent girl.
That such a thin, little thing, a few inches less than five feet tall, would dare attack someone my size amazes me. But then I need only remember the strong grasp of her hand and the pain she inflicted on me. She may look young and delicate, but I’ve already seen her true nature.
“We both need clothes,”
I mindspeak.
“We can’t have a patrol boat find us like this. There are sweatshirts and sweatpants stowed with the foul weather gear in the locker below.”
I point to the hatch leading into the boat’s cabin.
“My wife’s will be large on you, but it’s better than nothing.”
I mindspeak.
“We can’t have a patrol boat find us like this. There are sweatshirts and sweatpants stowed with the foul weather gear in the locker below.”
I point to the hatch leading into the boat’s cabin.
“My wife’s will be large on you, but it’s better than nothing.”
She returns, Chloe’s sweatshirt hanging on her, the neck large enough to show part of her collarbone, the sleeves rolled up so many times they look like large rings of cloth wrapped around her arms. Chloe’s sweatpants fit even worse, and the girl has to keep tugging them up with one hand as she hands me my clothes with the other.
“I do not see how you can stand wearing these,”
she mindspeaks as I step into my sweatpants and pull them up. I throw on the sweatshirt and sigh at the warmth that envelops me.
she mindspeaks as I step into my sweatpants and pull them up. I throw on the sweatshirt and sigh at the warmth that envelops me.
“Weren’t you cold?”
I mindspeak.
I mindspeak.
She shrugs.
“Nothing that diving under the water would not have fixed.”
“Nothing that diving under the water would not have fixed.”
Another wave tries to knock the Grady White off course, and I tug the wheel over a few inches, push the throttle forward just a touch until I hear the Yamaha’s pitch increase.
“Under the water?”
I mindspeak.
“Don’t you think it’s time to tell me what’s going on here? What makes you think you’re my cousin?”
“Under the water?”
I mindspeak.
“Don’t you think it’s time to tell me what’s going on here? What makes you think you’re my cousin?”
“Not a first cousin.”
The girls smiles, sits on the seat by my side, where Chloe usually sits.
“My father named me Lorrel. You are Peter DelaSangre, the son of Don Henri, are you not?”
The girls smiles, sits on the seat by my side, where Chloe usually sits.
“My father named me Lorrel. You are Peter DelaSangre, the son of Don Henri, are you not?”
I look ahead toward the dark shadow of Caya DelaSangre, the island Don Henri bequeathed to me.
“What do you know about my father?”
I mindspeak.
“What do you know about my father?”
I mindspeak.
“Apparently more than you do.”
Lorrel lets out a trill of laughter.
Lorrel lets out a trill of laughter.
Frowning, I glare at her.
“If you know about the DelaSangres, then you know we’re not a family to be toyed with,”
I mindspeak.
“Don Henri would have killed you for that attack.”
“If you know about the DelaSangres, then you know we’re not a family to be toyed with,”
I mindspeak.
“Don Henri would have killed you for that attack.”
“Obviously his son would not,”
she mindspeaks.
“Do not be so sure you cannot be defeated. We both come from strong stock.”
she mindspeaks.
“Do not be so sure you cannot be defeated. We both come from strong stock.”
“But not the same stock,”
I mindspeak. We come up to the entrance to my channel and I tug the wheel over, steer toward the island. The waves fight me, and it takes all my concentration to keep the boat in the channel, away from the rocks. With only one engine left, I’m keenly aware of the need to keep it running. I’ve little desire to leave the boat unmanned and adrift.
I mindspeak. We come up to the entrance to my channel and I tug the wheel over, steer toward the island. The waves fight me, and it takes all my concentration to keep the boat in the channel, away from the rocks. With only one engine left, I’m keenly aware of the need to keep it running. I’ve little desire to leave the boat unmanned and adrift.
“The same stock,”
Lorrel mindspeaks.
“Did you not find my great grandmother’s ring?”
Lorrel mindspeaks.
“Did you not find my great grandmother’s ring?”
“Your great grandmother’s?”
I stare at her for a long moment, then finally nod.
I stare at her for a long moment, then finally nod.
Lorrel grins at my reaction.
“My father, Mowdar, your half-brother’s son, gave it to me and told me to bring it to you.”
“My father, Mowdar, your half-brother’s son, gave it to me and told me to bring it to you.”
I shake my head, shake it a second time.
“My mother is dead. I was her only child. My father is dead too. Before he died he told me all his other children had died long before him. I never had a half-brother. . . .”
“My mother is dead. I was her only child. My father is dead too. Before he died he told me all his other children had died long before him. I never had a half-brother. . . .”
“Not one he told you about,”
Lorrel mindspeaks,
“Mowdar says you Undrae like to pretend—just because you won the Great War—that none of us exist anymore. But he says he has seen and killed Thryll himself, and he thinks if you search long enough and far enough you can find still find even a few Zal. . . .”
Lorrel mindspeaks,
“Mowdar says you Undrae like to pretend—just because you won the Great War—that none of us exist anymore. But he says he has seen and killed Thryll himself, and he thinks if you search long enough and far enough you can find still find even a few Zal. . . .”
Something splashes in the water near us and Lorrel turns her head toward the sound, studies the dark water for a moment and then turns back toward me.
“All of Don Henri’s other Undrae children and all of his Undrae wives died just as he said. But he had another wife too, one of a different kind.”
“All of Don Henri’s other Undrae children and all of his Undrae wives died just as he said. But he had another wife too, one of a different kind.”
“What kind was that?”
“Have you not guessed?”
The girl mindspeaks. She holds up her right hand and spreads her fingers wide.
The girl mindspeaks. She holds up her right hand and spreads her fingers wide.
I gape at the thin membrane that forms a web between each of her spread fingers.
Lorrel trills another laugh and mindspeaks one word,
“Pelk.”
“Pelk.”
15
That the people of another castryll still survive doesn’t amaze me. Chloe’s said it was possible. Even humans seem to keep finding Stone Age tribes of their kind in jungles all over the world. But my father, Don Henri DelaSangre, had few enough good words for any of the others of our own kind. I shake my head, trying to picture him taking a mate from another castryll, especially a seagoing one like the Pelk.
“The ring proves nothing,”
I mindspeak.
“Anybody can make a ring.”
I mindspeak.
“Anybody can make a ring.”
“But is it not inscribed in the same script as your father’s other wives’ rings were? Who would know how to inscribe it but your father?”
A large fish jumps, flashing silver in the night before it splashes back into the water just a few yards from the boat.
Again Lorrel’s head swivels in the direction of the noise. This time she gulps and mindspeaks,
“Would you like to eat? I can gather some fish—in only a few minutes—and meet you at the dock.”
“Would you like to eat? I can gather some fish—in only a few minutes—and meet you at the dock.”
I shake my head.
“Has changing not made you hungry?”
All of our activity, the shapechanging, the fighting and the healing has left my stomach so empty it aches. But I’ve little desire for fish, and less for the girl to leave my sight.
“I have food at the house,”
I mindspeak, saliva flooding my mouth at the mention of it.
“We can eat after we dock.”
“I have food at the house,”
I mindspeak, saliva flooding my mouth at the mention of it.
“We can eat after we dock.”
Yet another fish jumps. Lorrel gazes at the water, and for a moment I think she’s going to dive off the boat. Instead she crosses her arms and huffs out a sigh.
How I wish Chloe and the children were home waiting to greet me. But at the dock only Max awaits me. He begins to bark even before the Grady White enters the harbor, setting off a cacophony of barks, yelps and howls among the rest of the island’s dog pack.
Lorrel stiffens at the sounds, stares toward the dark shore and moves a little closer to me. She relaxes only after I let out a sharp, shrill whistle and the dogs fall silent.
“They’re only dogs,”
I mindspeak.
“They’re only dogs,”
I mindspeak.
The girl nods, mindspeaks,
“I do not know dogs.”
“I do not know dogs.”
Max barks, wags his tail at her when I pull up to the dock, but she looks away from him and stays seated until I’ve docked and tied off the boat. After I beckon for her to come off the Grady White, she stops to pick up her stick and then steps onto the dock, making sure I’m between her and the dog.
I look at the stick and hold my hand out.
“I told you I no longer have any reason to attack you,”
she mindspeaks.
she mindspeaks.
But I keep my hand out until she hands it to me.
The last of the sun has gone and I stop by a switch box at the bottom of the steps and throw on the outside lights. Lorrel’s large eyes widen even more as she looks around. She runs one hand over the rough coral wall of the house but says nothing as we go up the wide stone steps to the veranda.
I stop by one of the oversize oak doors that open onto the veranda, point to it.
“We can go in this way through my bedroom.”
“We can go in this way through my bedroom.”
The girl nods, follows me as I open the door, enter and throw on the lights. Humming to herself, barely loud enough for me to hear, she surveys the room, then walks over to the bed and tests it with one hand while she pulls up on her loose sweatpants with the other.
“You sleep here?”
she mindspeaks.
“You sleep here?”
she mindspeaks.
“Yes,”
I mindspeak, going to the closet while Lorrel waits, humming random notes that somehow weave into a song unlike any I’ve heard before. I find myself straining to listen as I rummage through Chloe’s belts, finally finding one I think can be cinched tight enough to hold up Lorrel’s pants.
I mindspeak, going to the closet while Lorrel waits, humming random notes that somehow weave into a song unlike any I’ve heard before. I find myself straining to listen as I rummage through Chloe’s belts, finally finding one I think can be cinched tight enough to hold up Lorrel’s pants.
She tests the bed again.
“And you like lying on this?”
“And you like lying on this?”
I nod, sit on the bed, put the stick down next to me and beckon for her to come over, stand facing me. When she approaches, her hum intensifies slightly in pitch and I notice her salt-laced scent for the first time. I breath it in and smile. It reminds me of the smell of the ocean on a clear, sunny day.
Lorrel stands still, turns quiet while I put the belt around her waist and tighten it. After I finish, she plucks at her clothes and mindspeaks,
“Would it not be easier if I took all this off?”
“Would it not be easier if I took all this off?”
Again I wish my wife hadn’t left. If Chloe were here I could hand the girl off to her, let her contend with all of Lorrel’s questions, let her deal with Lorrel’s obvious preference for nudity. I shake my head.
“Not right now,”
I mindspeak.
“Let’s go upstairs and get something to eat. You’re the hungry one, aren’t you?”
“Not right now,”
I mindspeak.
“Let’s go upstairs and get something to eat. You’re the hungry one, aren’t you?”
Lorrel swallows and nods.
I pick up the stick, turn it over in my hands. A little more than a foot long, dark gray, mostly flat but curved on each side to a sharp edge, it has neither the feel, nor the look, nor the heft of wood. I grin when I realize what it is.
“You made this from a swordfish sword, didn’t you?”
“You made this from a swordfish sword, didn’t you?”
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