Ship of Magic

“Follow,” she trumpeted to the others, and set out after him. Sessurea was not far behind her. In a few moments she became aware that the rest of the tangle had not complied. They had remained with the provider, thinking only of their bellies and the pleasures of growing and shedding and growing yet again. She thrust their betrayal from her mind and redoubled her efforts to overtake Maulkin.

She caught up with him only because he abruptly paused. Everything about his pose suggested fascination. His jaws were wide, gills flared and pumping as he stared.

“What is it?” she demanded, and then caught the tiniest flavor in the water. Shreever could not decide what it was she tasted, only that the sensation was a welcome and a fulfillment of a promise. She saw Sessurea join them, marked the widening of his eyes as he, too, was seized by the taste.

I What is it?” he echoed her earlier question.

“It is She Who Remembers,” Maulkin said in reverent awe. “Come. We must seek her.” He did not seem to notice that of all his tangle, only two of his followers had joined him. He had thought only for the hanging scent that threatened to disperse before he could track it to the source. He drove himself onward with a force and speed that Shreever and Sessurea could not match. They trailed him desperately, trying to keep sight of his golden false-eyes as they flashed through the murk. The fragrance grew stronger as they followed him, almost overwhelming their senses.

When they again overtook Maulkin, he was hanging at the respectful distance from a provider who shone silver through the murky plenty. Her scent hung thick in the water, sating them with its sweetness. Hope was a part of that scent, and joy, but thickest was the promise of memories, memories for all to share, knowledge and wisdom for the asking. Yet Maulkin hung back, and did not ask.

“Something is wrong,” he bugled quietly. His eyes were deep and thoughtful. A flickering of color ran the length of him and then faded. “This is not right. She Who Remembers is like to us. So all the holy lore says. I see only the silver-bellied provider. And yet, all my senses tell me that She is near. I do not understand.”

In confused awe they watched the silver provider as she moved languidly before them. She had a single attendant, a heavy white serpent who followed her closely. He hovered at the top of the Plenty, lifting his head out into the Lack.

“He speaks to her,” Maulkin blew out the thought softly. “He petitions her.”

“For memories,” Sessurea filled in. His ruff stood out in a shivering frill of anticipation.

“No!” Maulkin was suddenly incredulous, almost angry. “For food! He petitions only that she should bestow food upon him, food that she finds undesirable.”

His tail lashed the atmosphere so suddenly and savagely that it thickened with bottom particles. “This is not right!” he trumpeted. “This is a lure and a cheat! Her fragrance is that of She Who Remembers, and yet she is not of our kind. And that one speaks to her, and yet not to her, for she does not answer, and it was promised, forever promised, that she would always answer one who petitioned her. It is not right!”

There was great pain in the depth of his fury. His mane stood out wide, welling toxins in a choking cloud. Shreever wove her head aside from it. “Maulkin,” she besought quietly. “Maulkin, what must we do?”

“I do not know,” he replied bitterly. “There is nothing of this in holy lore, nothing of this in my tattered memories. I do not know. For myself, I shall follow her, simply to try to understand.” He bugled lower. “If you choose to return to the rest of the tangle, I will not fault you. Perhaps I have led you awry. Perhaps all my memories have been a deception of my own poisons.” His mane went suddenly limp with disappointment. He did not even look to see if they followed him as he trailed after the silver provider and her white hanger-on.

“Kyle! Let him go!” Vivacia shrieked the words at him, but there was no command in them, only fear. She leaned wildly to swat at the white serpent. “Go away, you foul thing! Get away from me! You shall not have him, you shall never have him!”

Her motion set the entire ship to rocking. She unbalanced her hull, making the entire ship list suddenly and markedly. She flailed at the serpent, ineffectual slapping motions of her massive wooden arms that rocked the ship wildly. “Get away, get away!” she screamed at it, and then, “Wintrow! Kyle!”

As Kyle dragged Wintrow toward the rail and the expectant serpent, Vivacia threw back her head and shrieked, “Gantry! In Sa's name, get up here! GANTRY!”