Sea Spell (Waterfire Saga #4)(26)

Astrid tried to swim away, but she faltered and fell forward. Ebony anemones loomed up at her. Tiny lights bobbed before her eyes. Her hands sank into the soft, deep sea silt.

The dark waters of Orfeo’s garden swirled around her, closing in.

And then the world, and everything in it, went black.





“MEU DEUS, does it ever stink in this swamp!” Ava whispered.

Baby growled his agreement. He was a few feet ahead of her. Ava could always tell where he was by the noises he made.

The stench of decay swirled all around them. Ava tried to pass it off as just fallen cypress leaves rotting in the water. But the smell was so strong, it was like a living thing, moving all around her.

It’s them, the Okwa Naholo, she thought grimly. I’m getting closer.

The deeper Ava moved into the Spiderlair, the more strongly she could feel them. Ever since her visit to the Iele, and the bloodbind she’d sworn with her friends, her ability to sense things had grown. She could hear a lie in a voice now, no matter how hard the speaker tried to hide it. She could tell an ally from an enemy immediately. It was as if her heart had developed its own vision, one more penetrating than mere eyesight could ever be.

She’d seen the goodness in Manon Laveau, even though the swamp queen had tried hard to hide it. Ava understood why, though. Life in the swamps was dangerous, and sometimes a mer’s survival depended upon her ability to camouflage herself, her home, and her heart.

But goodness was not what Ava was sensing now.

An old farmer named Amos, who lived alone in a shack at the edge of the Spiderlair, had told her about the Okwa Naholo. He’d seen them. Not a full-on look—that would have killed him—but a glimpse out of the corner of his eye.

Amos had heard the legend that Native American terragoggs told of the Okwa Naholo, and he’d passed it on to Ava.

Centuries ago, a cruel Choctaw warrior named Nashoba bribed the night god to blanket the earth for half a year. Under the cover of darkness, Nashoba and his followers murdered their chief and enslaved their tribe. When the long night finally lifted, the sun god saw what Nashoba had done. He called upon his brother the wind to bind the murderers’ hands and push them into the swamp, where they drowned. To make sure they could never escape, the wind god whirled together cypress branches, swamp mud, and the bones and teeth of dead things to form giant spiders, and then placed them along the swamp’s banks.

Okwa Naholo meant white people of the water in Choctaw, Amos had told Ava, and over the centuries, the swamp had rotted away the warriors’ flesh, turning them into skeletons. But under each set of white ribs, a black, bloated heart beat on. It was those hearts, and the memories of the evil deeds they contained, that killed anyone who glimpsed the spirits.

“Go back, you dang fool child!” Amos had urged Ava. But she wouldn’t, so he’d packed her some food, given her his lucky gator foot, and then sent her on her way.

That had been a full day ago. Judging by the increasing strength of the horrible stench, Ava figured she was well into the Okwa’s waters now.

“You ready?” she whispered to Baby.

After the bloodbind, Ava had received some of Ling’s ability with languages. She’d immediately put her new talent to use by trying to reason with the little piranha, but since the noises Baby made were mostly yips, growls, and barks, it was difficult. He understood Ava, though—when it suited him.

“Remember to swim low,” she instructed him. “Get into the cypress roots as fast as you can, and whatever you do, mano, don’t look at them. They’re coming. Hurry!”

Baby circled Ava twice, nipped her ear—a sign of affection—and sped off.

“Great Neria, protect him,” Ava whispered.

The Okwa Naholo wouldn’t be able to see the little fish—that was something. Baby was invisible. At least, Ava hoped he was. Since she couldn’t see, she couldn’t be certain. She’d given him the transparensea pebble that Vr?ja had given her. “Hold it in your mouth,” she’d advised him. He’d promptly swallowed it. Sighing, she’d cast the spell and hoped for the best.

Invisibility would help him, and so would his own bad vision. Piranhas’ eyes, Ava knew, were on the sides of their heads—which meant they could not see what was directly in front of them. That blind spot would keep him safe from any Okwa Naholo approaching head-on. Eventually, though, the spirits would surround her. Hopefully, Baby would be in the cypress roots by then and out of harm’s way. Once he’d found what she’d told him to look for, he’d have to close his eyes and navigate back to her by sound. That wouldn’t be too difficult, because piranhas had excellent hearing.

As soon as Baby was gone, Ava felt it—a wave of despair so strong, it made her sick. As nausea roiled in her stomach, she heard a voice.

“Are you lost, mermaid?” it asked.

The voice was kindly, but Ava sensed darkness under the sympathetic tone. It was the voice you heard on a deserted current when you’d swum too far or taken a wrong turn. When it was too late to turn back. To swim away. To scream for help.

Show no fear, Ava told herself, turning to the thing that had spoken.

“You are so sweet for asking, amigo!” she trilled, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am lost. I’ve had a lovely little swim through the swamp, but now I’m trying to make my way back to the Gulf and I must’ve gone the wrong way, because here I am! But now you’ve come along. I mean, am I lucky or what?”