I have never seen Turbote cry. I am not sure he cried at his own brother’s funeral. I was there that day and he was stoic and firm. Now he ripples with spasms like a jellyfish swimming through the water.
“The gods have not abandoned us after all.”
“You’re a priest of Okeanos,” I say, gripping his arm in a way that I hope imparts some kind of strength. “You will never be abandoned.”
He laughs, a terrible hollow laugh.
“Okeanos? Whose fault do you think this is? We trusted him. We gave you up. And now disaster has struck.”
“Disaster? What has happened?” I can’t quite catch a full breath. Something in the distance rumbles again.
“You have to help us, Coralys,” Turbote says, shaking hard. His eyes are watery and shadowed. Veins stand out blue on the backs of his hands. “They arrived in the night. Suddenly. There was no warning. They must have overwhelmed our fleet. They’ve been sacking the city. The guards are dead. Everything burns. The people are slaughtered in the streets.”
That doesn’t explain why there is no one here. Surely they would take refuge in the palace.
“Who has attacked us?” As far as I ever knew, we have no enemies. We are peaceful people with peaceful goals.
I steal to the window and look out.
Gods have mercy.
“It was too sudden. It was too fast.” He’s babbling. “There wasn’t even time to pray. Not even time… not even time…”
What I didn’t see from the tide pool I see from here. The city on fire, flames dancing in tentacle trails up what I know to be the major streets of the city. My heart begins to race and my body twitches as if urging me to run.
“Who?” I demand again.
“We don’t know. They didn’t say. They wear the tentacles of Okeanos and claim to be his scourge.”
“That makes no sense. We are the people of Okeanos.”
He must not be telling me something. Surely they could not be so utterly surprised.
“Are we?” he asks, his hands crumpling a precious map as he shudders. “Are we? He took our queen. He drowned our lands. And now, as we recover, he’s taken the rest. No one else could render us so desolate. We have no other enemy with such power. We’ve failed him.”
“Where is Delarte?” I ask, and it’s only now that I notice Turbote is streaked in black soot. He’s missing a sandal. He’s wild-eyed and his hair sticks out in every direction. “Where is your king?”
He’s not answering me. He’s lost in his story.
“It started with a demand. From the sea god. A virgin sacrificed to the sea every night, or disaster would strike. Wedidn’t listen. We thought it couldn’t be true. That we would be asked for such a thing.” He’s shaking so hard it’s like he’s in a heavy wind. “And then they burned Tempest Reef.” Tempest Reef is one of my five islands. “Gone in the night. Only five ships managed to flee to Calypsala. That night we threw a girl into the sea with a rock tied to her foot.” I gasp, but he presses on. “We threw one in every night until the people revolted the day before yesterday under the urging of Gheric Rodehands. I did warn you of him. ‘No more daughters,’ they said, and look where we are. Look! Calypsala is lost. Delarte seized.” I did not think it possible for his eyes to grow wilder, but they do now. “They cut out his tongue, Coralys. I watched them do it. They cut out the tongue of our king.”
“This can’t be real,” I say, half to myself. My stomach sloshes queasily and my mouth is watering as if it is preparing to vomit. “I’ve only been gone a short time.”
“A short time?” Turbote’s laugh is hollow and nearly hysterical. “You’ve been gone for weeks. Terrible weeks. Do you know how long a week can stretch when you are in hell? Gods have mercy on us.” He pauses and laughs again. “Or perhaps I ought to beg the gods abandon us. No longer touch our shores, O Great Okeanos! We cannot bear your presence.”
I can’t absorb this. It feels like madness. I grasp at practicality.
“You came for the maps,” I remind him.
“Yes, the maps.” He seems relieved that I noticed. “I camefor the maps. They’re priceless, you know.” I do know, though I wouldn’t risk my life for them. “Maybe they’ll have some clue. Some place we can hide from his wrath. Some place safe.”
“Do you have anyone waiting for you? Any way of escape?” I prompt.
I am looking at a man who threw innocent girls into the sea to drown. I am looking at him as he loses his mind.
“A fishing boat.” He sounds like he isn’t sure.
“You’d better get to it, then,” I say, but he clings to my arm.
