I thought of the file he’d shown me, the pictures of my mother’s body. “Yes. But I don’t trust him that far yet.”
Ngalthr nodded slowly. “Caleb Ngadri says that he’s granted you some access to the old libraries, in exchange for your aid. But he fears that your access is temporary, and doled out on sufferance. He worries less about this oncoming war, and more about reclaiming that inheritance. Do you also wish our aid to retrieve these books?”
“They’re ours,” I said, letting the darker topic pass with mingled worry and relief. “Miskatonic stole them from our deserted homes, and now they mete them out in trickles to those they deem worthy. Our histories, our canons, our spellbooks, our own diaries—don’t you want them back?”
“Where I live, they cannot go. What do you intend to do with them?”
I glanced at Caleb. “Take them with me. With us.”
Chulzh’th chuckled, a bubbling sound. “Do you have what’s needed to protect thousands of books from wind and rain and fire? Miskatonic may show little respect, but they know how to keep paper and leather clean and dry—for an age if not an aeon.”
“I do run a bookstore, actually,” put in Charlie.
Her nostrils flared. “Ah? How large is it? May our people enter freely to read what’s within?”
“It’s in California,” I admitted. “On the other side of the continent. As am I, most of the time.”
“You ought not be,” rumbled my grandfather. “You ought stay here, by us.”
“I’ll come when it’s my time to change, I promise. But I’m learning now, with Charlie, and aiding the Kotos as well as I know how.” I ducked my head, tried not to look like an abashed child. “I’ll have a long time to learn in this ocean.”
“It is not only the learning,” said the archpriest. “The two of you are all our remaining youth—either the last and the youngest of us, or ancestors to all further generations who might join us in the water. If you wish our aid to retrieve the library, do you also intend to rebuild the spawning ground that it served?”
“That’s what the others are asking the Great One about,” said Chulzh’th.
“They are asking it for advice. I am asking her for her plans. Even with these greater weapons, men of the air have a little time left: perhaps a hundred years, perhaps a hundred thousand. The Great Race were ever poor at sharing precise intervals. We must determine whether this is the time to cease breeding and retreat fully into the water.”
“While there are still Aeonists on land of any race,” said my grandfather, “our spawning ground is worth rebuilding, even with half-breeds. I have always said that mistblooded children, when they change at all, cannot be distinguished beneath the waves. A generation or ten would give us greater strength, greater understanding, greater memory. In the face of death and diminishment, the gods would have us make life.”
“They’d have us live,” said the archpriest. “What that means remains to be determined. Do not preach to me, Yringl’phtagn.”
“Archpriest,” said my grandfather stiffly.
In the pause that followed I felt the pull of duty—and shame at the fear it raised in me. “I’m sorry, Archpriest. I don’t have a mate, and I have no desire to take one from the men of the air. Or to bear a child who could easily age and die on land … I’ve lost too many people. I’m sorry.”
I felt a stinging pain in my cheek. I put up my hand and realized that Grandfather had slapped me, fast as only an elder can. Charlie lurched at my side, then visibly held himself back. “Have you not just told me of my own daughter’s death?” Grandfather demanded. “It’s too painful for you to risk passing on her blood? I did not raise a family of dry-hearted cowards.”
I winced and rubbed my cheek. “I survived to speak with you now by courage as well as luck. But if you want to persuade me to take on more mourning, bring me a woman who loved a man of the air and bore his child. Few enough have dared, even with their parents and cousins awaiting them in the water.” I’d never spoken to an elder so, let alone my grandfather. I did my best to hide the way it made me tremble.
“Your sister-in-adversity will bear children, will she not? Don’t you expect to mourn your nieces and nephews? And what of this one?” He ran a finger along Charlie’s cheek, knuckle bent to avoid scratching him. Charlie pulled back and glared. Grandfather bared needle teeth in a predatory grin. “He nearly leapt on me when I slapped you, and yet he held back—courage and will. He’s lame, but it oughtn’t run in his blood. And you’ve bound that blood to your own; you can hardly mourn him more if you mate with him.”
“I beg your pardon!” said Charlie while I blushed furiously.
I looked to Archpriest Ngalthr in hopes of some reprieve. He shook his head. “Regardless of whether you rebuild a true spawning ground, the two of you ought not be the last of us. A few seeds, so that we are not fully lost on land … That would be wise. But if you are not rebuilding, the books are not needed.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Caleb abruptly. “It’s less difficult for me.”
“Both would be better. One line may easily fail.”
“Are there—” I started, then froze as all the elders went still as scenting hounds. Grandfather’s arm rose, pointing to the dune path.
“Strangers!”
In a rush they were up the beach, tridents raised. Audrey pelted after, calling, “Don’t kill them! They didn’t mean any harm!”
“Don’t—” I shared a look with Caleb and we gave chase.
CHAPTER 13
Just past the peak of the dune, two people stood shivering, already penned in by the elders’ tridents. Leroy Price had an arm around Sally Ward, and he shifted defensively as he tried to get between her and whichever assailant drew nearest. Audrey danced around the outside of the cluster, alternately cajoling the archpriest and yelling at her two friends. I caught the latter as I came up behind her:
“I told you two not to come today! Didn’t I tell you the cops were out? Why don’t you ever listen to sense?”
“Those aren’t cops.” Leroy’s voice was almost too soft to hear. Then, clearing his throat: “You’re not cops. You’ve got no right—you get away from my girl!” That last distracted Sally long enough for a startled glance before her eyes were drawn back to the unfamiliar forms surrounding them.
Archpriest Ngalthr spared Audrey a quelling gaze. “Are these your family? Aphra, if you are going to teach dry men, you must ensure that they give their relatives sufficient excuse for their absences. Otherwise one inevitably invites these inquiries.”
Audrey rocked back on her heels. “They’re not my family, they’re just friends. Very stupid friends.”
“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming today?” I demanded. “We could have tried another time.”