Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)
Jennifer Donnelly
DEEP IN THE black mountains, deep in the Romanian night, deep beneath the cold, dark waters of the ancient Olt, the river witches sang.
Daughter of Merrow, leave your sleep,
The ways of childhood no more to keep.
The dream will die, a nightmare rise,
Sleep no more, child, open your eyes.
From her place in the shadows, the elder, Baba Vr?ja, watched the blue waterfire, her bright eyes restive and alert.
“Vino, un r?u. Arat?-te,” she muttered in her age-old tongue. Come, evil one. Show yourself.
Around the waterfire, eight river witches continued their song. Hands clasped, they swam counterclockwise in a circle, their powerful tails pushing them through the water.
Daughter of Merrow, chosen one,
The end begins, your time has come.
The sands run out, our spell unwinds,
Inch by inch, our chant unbinds.
“Vin, diavolul, vin,” Vr?ja growled, drawing closer to the circle. “Tu esti lang?…te simt.…” Come, devil, come…you’re near…I feel you….
Without warning, the waterfire rose, its flames licking out like serpents’ tongues. The witches bowed their heads and tightened their grip on one another’s hands. Suddenly one of them, the youngest, cried out. She doubled over as if in great pain.
Vr?ja knew that pain. It tore inside like a sharp silver hook. She swam to the young witch. “Fight it, drag?,” she told her. “Be strong!”
“I…I can’t. It’s too much! Gods help me!” the witch cried. Her skin—the mottled gray of river stones—paled. Her tail thrashed wildly.
“Fight it! The circle must not break! The Iele must not falter!” Vr?ja shouted.
With a wrenching cry, the young witch raised her head and wove her voice once more into the chant. As she did, colors appeared inside the waterfire. They swirled together, coalescing into an image—a bronze gate, sunk deep underwater and crusted with ice. A sound was heard—the sound of a thousand voices, all whispering.
Shokoreth…Am?gitor…Apateón….
Behind the gate, something stirred, as if waking from a long sleep. It turned its eyeless face to the north and laughed.
Shokoreth…Am?gitor…Apateón….
Vr?ja swam close to the waterfire. She shut her eyes against the image. Against the evil and the fear. Against the coming bloodred tide. She dug deep inside herself and gave all she had, and all she was, to the magic. Her voice strengthened and rose above the others, drowning out the whispering, the cracking of the ice, the low, gurgling laughter.
Daughter of Merrow, find the five
Brave enough to keep hope alive.
One whose heart will hold the light,
One possessed of a prophet’s sight.
One who does not yet believe,
Thus has no choice but to deceive.
One with spirit sure and strong,
One who sings all creatures’ songs.
Together find the talismans
Belonging to the six who ruled,
Hidden under treacherous waters
After light and darkness dueled.
These pieces must not be united,
Not in anger, greed, or rage.
They were scattered by brave Merrow,
Lest they unlock destruction’s cage.
Come to us from seas and rivers,
Become one mind, one heart, one bond.
Before the waters, and all creatures in them, Are laid to waste by Abbadon!
The thing behind the bars screamed with rage. It hurled itself against the gate. The impact sent shockwaves through the waterfire into the witches. The force tore at them viciously, threatening to break their circle, but they held fast. The thing thrust a hand through the bars, as if it wanted to reach inside Vr?ja and tear out her heart. The waterfire blazed higher, and then all at once it went out. The thing was gone, the river was silent.
One by one, the witches sank to the riverbed. They lay on the soft mud, gasping, eyes closed, fins crumpled beneath them.
Only Vr?ja remained, floating where the circle had been. Her wrinkled face was weary, her old body bent. Strands of gray hair loosed from a long braid twined like eels around her head. She continued the chant alone, her voice rising through the dark water, ragged but defiant.
Daughter of Merrow, leave your sleep,
The ways of childhood no more to keep.
Wake now, child, find the five
While there’s time, keep hope alive.
Wake now, child, find the five
While there’s time, keep hope alive.
Wake now, child…
“WAKE UP, CHILD! Suffering Circe, I’ve called you five times! Have you sand in your ears this morning?”
Serafina woke with a gasp. Her long, copper-brown hair floated wildly around her face. Her eyes, darkly green, were fearful. That thing in the cage—she could still hear its gurgling laughter, its horrible screams. She could feel its cunning and its rage. She looked around, her heart pounding, certain it was here with her, but she soon saw that there was no monster in her room.
Only her mother. Who was every bit as terrifying.
“Lolling in bed today of all days. The Dokimí is tonight and you’ve so much to do!”
La Serenissima Regina Isabella, ruler of Miromara, was swimming from window to window, throwing open the draperies.