And the Darkling Reefs Abide

I think that, had I been nicer, the god‍ ‍—‍ bird‍ ‍—‍ vessel‍ ‍—‍ thing would have given me a skyward lift. But… he was long gone now. (But not forever, if he was to be believed.)

So instead I simply climbed the canyon wall. Not a very medusa way of getting up. Tentacles were for many things‍ ‍—‍ but for climbing, it’d be easier to dig holes with a sword. Regardless, I managed. Living with levitation as lousy as mine‍ ‍—‍ I had the muscles for it.

Three grasper tentacles it took to climb, because the other held my sunshield aloft.

And I climbed.

…If my graspers made to fall off once I took a break, breathing heavy at the top of this far, far too tall canyon, I really wouldn’t blame them.

And if tentacles in general decided I was a limb‍-​abuser, and boycotted me from ever growing more, no, I still wouldn’t blame them.

But, it seemed, my tentacles had some loyalty or determination. Or, like me, they knew not when to quit it. Either way, they stuck with me through the climb, and rested beside me at the top of it all, my sunshield dropped to cover me like a heavy blanket.

There was grass up here, growing out of the glittering dark dirt. I appreciated it; the planty stuff was softer under my bell than angry hot rocks and muddy, dull dirt.

Not like having a pretty bell was going to help me, granted. Or matter, when this book finally closed.

I had decided I would kill the high priestess of Avelt. Assassination was dirty work. Perhaps I should be dirty.

(Perhaps I was never worth cleaning in the first place.)

I couldn’t rest forever. I had the mission breathing down my neck, of course. That, and you never wanted to be in the wild canyons when the sun neared the horizon. Twilight monsters arose. Some of them gibbering and piping.

The Arid Canyon was smaller, hardier than the great bog reef. It grew in the shadow of several massive slabs of stone. Most days, my time was picked killing the rodents‍ ‍—‍ annelid rats, teethy urchins, wild stars‍ ‍—‍ that strove to crawl inward. It was a tiring job. And it got you no respect.

But, for better and for worse, it was something that kept people away from me. No one much messes with the colorless rat killer living out on the fringes.

I wasn’t going to get tied down again, tied to other people. If‍ ‍—‍ when‍ ‍—‍ I had to leave the Arid Canyon, I would leave.

(Would have left, I reminded myself. After all, I had decided. It didn’t much matter what happened next‍ ‍—‍ my sole purpose now was the act itself.)

I pulled myself to my stalk, and then crackling power pushed off in my usual clumsy levitation. I lurched toward town. It was always visible‍ ‍—‍ the tallest coral spires were hundreds of bell‍-​lengths high, held up steady by magical polyps.

I everted six eyes and took a good look at the Arid Canyon.

A cobbled road winded into Avelt, the reef like a vast pile of coral. I saw the shelves of diners and stores that encrusted like a barnacle ringing the town centerward, digging in past the exumbrella‍-​outskirts cannaled with houses, like so many internal organs floating in the mesoglea of Avelt.

(My stalk wriggled inside me, the lips of the mouth at its very end parting as if expecting food. I had fasted before visiting the shrine of death, and now I felt it.)

Aside from them, I saw one building that stood out because of all the empty space around it‍ ‍—‍ the Hornshell Pits, a prison carved within the hulking remains of a hornshell crab, vaster than even the ghost snail. And it was guarded by rank upon rank of godstinging guards‍ ‍—‍ among them the prisonmaster, the only known doppelstinger, who alone could match a legion in numbers and fight to attrition.

(I did wonder if, after the act was completed, this was where my story would end, my purpose elapsed. A curious prickling crawled over all my exumbrella, like the biting of gnats. I rubbed me with feeler tentacles and let my mind be rid of the notion.)

Past all that, I saw my ultimate destination, the central spire of the sun. It rose higher than every tower around it; the spire of the sun ascended past even clouds. You couldn’t see the top. No one could.

I lingered there a moment, fantasizing what I would find as I climbed that eldritch height. There was something‍ ‍—‍ odd about the spire that I had never looked long enough to notice. For all the barnacles and urchins and corals growing on it, the architecture overall was not medusan. It was‍ ‍—‍ cyclopean.

I’d said it myself‍ ‍—‍ reefs seemed drawn unconsciously to those vast metallic sites of the ancients. Could the spire of the sun be what lured us to Avelt?

(There was a deep dread that coolly saturated my Mesoglea; I knew it when recalling the field of horrors and I knew it when standing before the avian vessel and now I knew it gazing upon the spire of the sun. I didn’t blame me for drawing a connection between all of them, and something startled within when I realize that the vessel I met had been of the exact same proportions as those ebon stone statues.)

Stare at my goal as intensely I might, soon my eyes were drawn horizonward, inexplicably to me, and in the distance the trees and wild corals league by league grew dense and became a wet forest and yielded to the vast bog beyond. There my old home lay and even at this great distance you could still faintly see the ruins rising in that field of black stone statues.

Still letting my gaze be pulled by whim, the sight I looked at last was the boundary of all the world, the distant mountains bordering on the twilight sea. There were strange settlements there, the only medusan habitations that knew night. It warped them.

And I knew‍ ‍—‍ but did not see, could never see‍ ‍—‍ that past them all was the black ocean, the frozen life‍-​haunted wastes where myth says the lands are tended by evil, alien medusae, and the last god waits in eternal slumber, and the darkling reefs abide.

The spell was broken, the the world knew motion once more. Clouds of plankton drifting above, the arms of rooted anemones being tussled by the wind, hopper worms searching for burrows, all these I saw as my awareness returned from the distance.

Over in Avelt, smokestacks rose where the flamestingers tended to their blazes, cooking meats or lighting firestones. Bright glowing beams twisted around where the lightstingers fired off messages. I watched the pale blue forms of waterstingers tend the waterfall gateway that cleansed all who wished to enter the spire of the sun. I pondered how I might subvert them.

Even aside from all those annointed with godstingers, all throughout the vast pile of coral that was the reef you saw the bounding, balloon‍-​like forms of other medusae drifting in and out of enclosed spaces. Levitating up toward the clouds, or propelled bullet‍-​like out on some unknown mission, they had the determined energy I should have.

I tried to summon that. Put some heft in the magic I expelled, squeezing my bell and waving my tentacles. I had decided to kill the high priestess, and every action I took should be angled towards reifying that.

My mind was a sticky, problem‍-​solving sort, the kind that got snagged on thoughts like these. When I got there. It seemed instinct that caused me to pause there and rake it with my claws and tear open the thought.

Did I think I could just drift into the temple and levitate up to the highest levels and slide free a knife and—

No, of course it couldn’t be that easy. I had to evert the eyeless anxiety. It was slowing me down, clogging my mind like muck.

The death god… M——… had given me a final resort for just this reason, something that would halt defeat in its tracks. A heartstinger. Nothing like what you hear of in legends, he had assured me. No, I wouldn’t be wielding the power of gods. But for storming the temple of the sun? It would be enough, of that I was assured.

It will take time for this sliver of the heart to integrate itself. When the stinger is ready, you will know.

I waved a tress, this ribbon‍-​tendril momentarily free in this casual cycle of levitation‍-​gait. It, like all the others, was still tinglingly tired from magical exertion but there was a certain shiver within it, like a coldness without temperature and this feeling slithered up and down and it waxed in intensity.

There were diseases of the cnidae that felt like this‍ ‍—‍ Friiya had told me all about that‍ ‍—‍ but I trusted the one who trusted me. And I had never had those diseases myself. This feeling was new and if it were unrelated it was quite the coincidence. What else could it be?

A whipcrack resonated in my bell, and my eyes jerked to full stalk‍-​eversion. Like that, my mind once more settled in my body, in awareness.

It was a very late for attention, of course. I should have been aware all along. I had a mission. But for now—

“Ru, is that you?”

I angled a few eyestalks at the medusae who’d just sung. He was bouncing a bit more than the others, his bell all swelled up.

I puffed my bell once for him, and then gave quick regard to the other medusae standing around here. Six. They had me surrounded‍ ‍—‍ that was the magnitude of my unawareness. Some of them were drifting from corals and bushes, and one of them had a suspicious translucency about her.

They all had something suspicious about them. Not one of these jellies were clear of exumbrella‍ ‍—‍ stingerless‍ ‍—‍ like me. The one who vibrated earlier‍ ‍—‍ a bright, burning red. The translucent lady beside him had a hint of purple to her. There were two green‍-​bells drifting all close to them. A deep, deep blue medusa with a golden ring levitated above her head (how?), and finally one whose color shifted a few times as I watched: blue, yellow, silver, cyan, gray‍ ‍—‍ I gave up tracking it.

They all had metal guards lining their tentacles and tresses, and along their sunshields blazed the fiery symbol‍-​script declaring loyalty the Arid Canyon.

Guards.

Deaths beyond, I hated dealing with guards.

Especially that damn red one.

“Why the silentness, Ru? Thought we were friends?” A tone of hurt harmonized with his melody. “We don’t need to worry, do we?”

It was the translucent one who spiked in before any response. “Of course we need to worry. You heard the intel we got. You know who we got the tip from.”

The medusa of shifting colors. “Should we me leaking this information?”

Voice sung was low, as if to whisper, but I was in between them and half the other guards.

I focused on the guards who hadn’t spoken. The one with the halo, whom I saw other guards glanced to as if in differrance, bells angled submissively‍ ‍—‍ she must be the one leading them. She floated there without bobbing, and watched me. Her rhopalia were wriggling, scenting the air.

The two green guards had as many eyestalks pointed at each other as toward me. I didn’t look long at them‍ ‍—‍ irrelevant, they must be.

What should I do?

“Say something, Ru. I’m trying to be on your side here.”

There was a lot I could say about this red medusae, so much of it with a negative valence. But he tried to be friendly. He thought we had something. He didn’t realize.

“I just went‍ ‍—‍ out. For a float. To explore. Is there a problem with that?”

“We just got a strange tip‍ ‍—‍ involving, seemingly, everyone’s favorite ratslayer. I thought I’d run it by you, see what you think of it. It’s very concerning, you see.”

“If you have a warrant—”

“We don’t have a warrant. By all indications, you haven’t done anything—”

“That we know of.” It was the translucent lady. Her tone had gotten sharp, like strings.

“You haven’t done anything.” The red guard repeated it. “However, we got a‍ ‍—‍ premonition. An omen. Very concerning, you understand.”

My F had told me about it. “Omen, true communion with the gods‍ ‍—‍ it’s once in a lifeline stuff, right? This is has never happened for most of you.”

The color‍-​shifting one. “No, it’s a bit different here in the canyons. We have a high priestess of the sun god. Here it’s… routine.”

Red smacked out a tentacle, and it swiped the air between him and the shifter. “With the sun god, bless his name, it’s routine. But you know that’s not who you heard.”

“Why we we discussing this in front of the ratslayer?” she replied.

“It concerns him.” Red wiped many tresses over his rhopalia, exasperated. “Look, tell him what you heard, and we can see what he thinks of it.”

“I will not share my prophecies with a ratslayer.”

I piped up, something small yet harsh in my tone. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“I prefer not to commune with filth, is all.”

“Enough.” It was the blue, strangely‍-​haloed guard.

I angled some eyestalks toward them. They had lifted themselves up, drifted closer.

The red guard had noticeably deflated. The shifter drew back. The translucent jelly inclined their bell.

“What were you actually doing in the wild canyons? Speak the truth now.”

“I smelt the rot and decay. You all smell it, don’t you? Ever wondered what? Where? Why? I did. I was simply curious.” It felt like a incantation. To all the nonsense I did with Friiya, so many summers ago. It felt like‍ ‍—‍ like I was me again, just for a word.

“The investigators determined it was simply a burial ground for gibbering coyotes,” one guard rejoined.

“It’s nothing suspicious,” another added, and the chorus continued.

“Nothing worth sticking your dirty bell in.”

“You say that like his bell doesn’t belong among the rotting shit.”

“Enough.” Halo guard again. The syllables were chopped, the emphasis sliced up and doled out.

“Where are you intending to go?” the color‍-​shifter asked.

“I wanted to visit the spire of the sun.” It was an instant like ultimate luck, where something in me sparked, and inspired me to append just a neat lie: “I wanted to clean my spirit a little, after spending so much time around corpses.”

The jelly of shifting colors inflated her bell. The red guard might have paused in his bobbing levitation. The deep blue medusa watched me, same as ever.

“We will accompany you,” she declared.

“I‍ ‍—‍ am unsure that’s necessary.”

A wave went through the Blue’s eyestalks, and they pointed toward the color‍-​shifter. She flushed a oversaturated yellow, and she said, “It is. Entirely necessary.”

“So shall it be.”

“Wait.”

I started like that‍ ‍—‍ it stopped them. Good. After all, I knew whatever the winning strategy was, it must open with that move. But the next play, admitttedly, eluded me.

What could I say to get the guards off me?

Well, why were they on in the first place?

The answer seemed to float toward me just as soon as I saw use for the knowledge. My earlier encounter? The god of knowledge betrayed me. He told the guards I would do… something. He couldn’t know my decision, not yet. Could he?

(Was it even a betrayal? Did we have any kind of trust? Regardless, I can take offense at someone putting me against the guards, no matter what relationship we might have. It was highly rude.)

But how did that help me? To them, a god had told them I was bad news. And if I wanted to lead them astray, fray their line of action, I’d have to work with matters on the same level as a god’s warning.

“The god of death visited me in that cave,” said I.

I should not have said it. If anything was trespass, high disrespect, this was it. Secret, private, intimate‍ ‍—‍ what existed between a god and their acolyte was not a matter of public revelation. I would regret this, of that I could be assured.

But it was necessary, that I might have even a chance remaining, to attend my goal. I had decided to kill the high priestess of Avelt, and needs must.

Light purple spoke first. “Is that true? Can we trust your word at all?”

“The shrine is there for you to find.”

A clicking sound from beneath her bell. “The shrine and what else? The land is lousy with shrines.”

“The shrine and the shed feathers of a god.”

Everyone paused in their bobbing at that. Once‍-​wiggling everted stalks held utterly still. A moment of consideration passsed‍ ‍—‍ the detritus of a god is a thing of its own class.

“I will see this for myself.” That voice was the low melody of the deep blue jelly. One of their tentacles rose, and pointed at the light purple jelly and one of the greens. “You and you, come with me.”

Then, regarding the ones she had not selected, she said, “Mind him closely.” It had the inviolable surety of an iron law.

I kept my elation from swelling my bell. A tactic so simple had halved my opposition. Craning my bell, eyestalks extending, I looked to the spire of the sun, where I knew this story would end. It was one trial closer now, I knew it.

A glance at the three guards who were‍ ‍—‍ not‍ ‍—‍ floating towards sublime divinity. I looked at my three remaining obstacles.

I felt the coldness without temperature that tickled my tresses, running in currents up and down them, growing like little fruits or heart inside my cnidae.

I had been given me the tools to halt defeat in its tracks, of that I was assured. I’d find out what this heartstinger was, soon‍ ‍—‍ I’d have to to.

I looked at the green jelly who drifted toward the back as the four of us floated into motion toward the Arid Canyon and the spire of the cloud‍-​piering temple spire.

Cold energy pooled in my tresses. I looked hard at the medusas‍ ‍—‍ no, at the obstacles.

And I decided.