Rising Tide

XXVIII

8 Tarsakh, the Year of the Gauntlet

"The story was given to my people generations ago," Narros said, "at the same time we were given custody of the headband that was to be kept under our protection."

"Headband? From whom?" Pacys asked. He sat on a pile of moss on the floor across from a low table made of gathered stones in the middle of the small underwater cave out in Waterdeep Harbor that the merman shaman made his home.

The cave was ten feet tall and only slightly wider than that. Mosaics of shells, stones, and bits of colored glass gleaned from trading with the merchants in Waterdeep and crafted into pictures of mermen fishing the depths occupied prominent places on the walls. Out of deference to the bard's weaker surface vision, a small glow lamp gleamed on the table.

Pacys was able to survive underwater due to the emerald bracelet he wore. The merman shaman had given it to him at the dock. The magical powers of the bracelet let him breathe the water as air, turned away most of the cold, and removed the pressure from the depths. If it hadn't been for the flotsam and jetsam that occasionally floated through his view and the inquisitive fish that came up to him, the bard would have noticed the difference between the submerged cave and the surface world even less.

"Our stories say that the first of our group was given the prophecy and the headband by Eadro the Deliverer, Lord of the Sunlit Shadows."

The bard easily recognized the name of the mermen god. Eadro was also worshiped by the locathah, though the means of worshiping the god differed wildly among the races as well as the regions.

"There was a time," Narros went on in his deep voice, "generations and generations ago, when a great evil was inadvertently loosed upon the world."

Unconsciously, Pacys's hands strayed to his yarting. The magic of the bracelet, he'd discovered, had extended to his clothing and his instrument. Delicately, his fingers plucked at the strings, sorting out the rhythm that came into his mind as the merman spoke. "What was the nature of this great evil?"

Narros shook his head and his beard and hair floated through the currents that swept around him. The motion was disconcerting to Pacys even though he'd experienced the deep before.

All of the adult merfolk were engaged in helping with the salvaging efforts going on in Waterdeep Harbor and beyond. On their way down from the docks Narros had encountered half a dozen or more of his kin and sent each one away in turn with different orders. Some were asked to help with salvage, others to patrol for the many stray sharks still trapped in the harbor and feasting on Water-deep's dead. One, an impressive merman warrior named Thraxos, had come to Narros to tell the shaman he'd received his orders and was ready to go.

"Be off with you then, Thrax," Narros had said, respect evident in his tone and expression. "It's a long swim, my friend, and I fear we'll never see each other again."

Thraxos had only nodded and turned, swimming away. It seemed that the City of Splendors was still sacrificing her finest in the war that had come upon them so suddenly.

Quick movement darted at one of the doors carved into this part of Waterdeep Isle. Narros had two small children in the house with him that he'd chased to rooms in the back of the dwelling. One of them was a little girl, scarcely longer than three feet from the top of her head to the bottom of her fins. The other was a boy old enough to wear an adult's knife strapped to his upper arm.

"I'm sorry for the interruption," Narros said. "Alyyx has her mother's curiosity."

"It's quite all right," Pacys said and gave the merchild a smile. "I've always loved children. I don't mind them being here."

"Well enough." Narros spoke in his own tongue, then slapped his powerful tail fin gently on the floor.

The little merchild arced through the water, fast as a dolphin. In the blink of an eye she twisted and managed to come to a thumping rest tucked safely inside her father's arms. Contented, she thrust a thumb into her mouth and watched Pacys with wild-eyed innocence.

"I apologize," Narros said. "She's never seen a human this close before."

"Don't apologize," Pacys replied. "I've made most of my living by my own curiosity, or teasing it out of others."

The young merboy entered the room more cautiously, maintaining his distance from the bard.

Pacys continued plucking the yarting, listening to the refrain that had popped into his head. The melody fit so completely with the part of the song he'd figured out regarding Waterdeep he knew that he was on the right path. The confirmation excited him, making him forget some of the aches and pains he suffered from over his last few days of hard labor.

Narros picked up the thread of his tale effortlessly, a born storyteller himself. "The evil is a creature," he said, "the like of which has never been seen. Our legends have it that once he swam with gods in the world of the seas, though not a god himself. Once, he was a predator, with not much more in his life than his nature. At that time he swam with Sekolah."

"The sahuagin shark god?" Pacys asked.

"Yes. Our tales hold it that this creature was one of the first in the waters of this world. Mermen had not filled the seas, nor had Sekolah shaken the sahuagin from their shell as yet. This abomination curried the favor of the gods, lusting after more power for himself. It's said that Umberlee herself evidenced an interest in him for a time, then took him as a consort."

"Of all the tales I've learned in my life," Pacys said, "I've never heard any about this."

"Listen to the stories of the sea people again," Narros said. "Sometimes he's referred to as a being or force called the Taker. In others he's confused with the Trickster. I believe Umberlee removed herself from the tales, though a sorceress is sometimes referred to in her stead. He fell out of favor with her hundreds of generations ago, and she sentenced him to death. Her rage was so great that she moved oceans in her effort to kill him, only he didn't die. He's been lying dormant, like anemones that are caught in a tidal pool that evaporates, waiting to be revived. Now he lives again."

Pacys continued listening, his mind whirling with the possibilities. More than anything he remained cognizant of the music he strummed on the yarting. The tune was cold and distant, threatening, and when played properly he knew it would be commanding in the piece he was writing. The sheer force of the tune left goosebumps pebbling his flesh. It belonged to the evil that had attacked Waterdeep, stronger even than the notes he'd picked out for the sahuagin.

"As Umberlee's pet," Narros said, "he gained an image of himself as increasingly powerful, as he was. The Bitch Goddess saw to that. She gave him powers, trained him in sorcery, and gave him magical instruments that he used to build an empire in what your people call the Shining Sea. He's not yet what he was, but our prophecies say he will be again."

As Pacys continued playing involuntarily, an image of a vast labyrinth rising above the sea floor appeared in his mind's eye. It wasn't the first time that such a thing had happened. He'd experienced other clairvoyant times when the music surged strongly in him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to fix the structure more clearly.

"Alabaster walls, blued by depths and age,

Hugged to the sea floor with Umberlee's blessing,

Lighted only by darkest evil,

Fired by jealous rage."

The words resonated in his head, and he stopped himself short of giving voice to them. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the shaman. "Do you have a name for him?" he asked.

Narros shook his head. His little girl reached out unexpectedly, floating free of her father's arms. Her soft, webbed hand reached out and caught Pacys by the chin. Going with the child's gentle but insistent push, Pacys twisted his head and bared his neck.

"Alyyx has noticed you don't have gills," Narros said. Gently, he captured his daughter and pulled her back into his arms.

Reaching into his pocket, the bard took out the small leather bag that contained the colorful marbles he used to exercise his fingers and keep them limber for the musical instruments he played. The merchild took them with obvious delight and began inspecting them.

"We were given no name for him," Narros said, "and we were bade never to speak of him except as the Taker or the Trickster. He was to be given no real identity. We've always believed that once his name was known, his power would grow again and he would be called forth from his deep slumber."

"What about the circlet?" Pacys asked. "What did it do?"

"I don't know, but he came for it fourteen years ago and wiped out over half our village taking it." A somber look filled Narros's face. "Our dead were scattered around us, torn limb from limb as if in the jaws of some great sea creature."

"Did you see him?"

"Only as a shadow," the merman shaman answered, pain filling his gray eyes, "the greatest, largest shadow anyone had ever seen, and like nothing we'd ever seen before."

The hurt distraction in the merman's eyes testified vividly to how well he remembered the night.

"Were the sahuagin with him?' Pacys asked after a moment.

"No. The Taker came alone, in the dead of night when even the sea is dark. I lost two of my sons in that battle."

"I'm sorry," Pacys said.

Narros gave his daughter a brief hug.

"Eadro willing," the small merboy stated in a serious, quiet voice, "one day I'll be strong enough to avenge my brothers."

Pacys glanced at the boy, suddenly realizing he wasn't old enough to have known his deceased brothers. The family's loss and hurt had already spanned a generation in the merman's own family.

"The prophecy," Narros went on, "told us that we might fail in protecting the circlet from the Taker, but it never mentioned at what cost. After it was over, we cared for our dead, then we swam for Waterdeep."

"Why Waterdeep?" Pacys asked.

"Because the prophecy told us the Taker would arise again, soon after his first appearance, and the place he would first strike terror into the hearts of the surface dwellers would be in their greatest city."

"Waterdeep," Pacys breathed. He was aware of the tune changing on the yarting.

"There could be no other," the shaman agreed. "Great detail was given in the prophecy of the city that would be attacked. Its towers and great heights, the fact that it was wrapped in magic and was home to champions."

"So you came here," Pacys said, "seeking asylum from Lord Piergeiron and the others."

"Yes."

"You never mentioned that Waterdeep would be attacked."

Narros eyed the bard honestly. "Do you think any would have believed us? And that was fourteen years ago. There was no guarantee that it wouldn't have been a hundred and fourteen years after we lost the circlet. It could have been the next day." He paused. "We just wanted to be here, to give an accounting of ourselves and to get a chance to avenge our sunken. We'd hoped to make a difference during the battle."

"I'm sure you did." Pacys had already heard stories of the mermen's valor during the battle for Waterdeep, and of the extra effort even the wounded had gone to while trying to save the men in the harbor.

"Even if we'd told the lords of Waterdeep about the attack, they wouldn't have been prepared. They wouldn't have given much credence to our fears."

"No," Pacys agreed. "They might not have believed you, and even the ones who did wouldn't have been any more prepared than they were after fourteen years. But why did he want to attack Waterdeep?" Unconsciously, he drifted over into the piece he'd written for Waterdeep, the music gentle to his ear.

"The prophecy is vague about that," Narros admitted. "Part of it is a warning to the surface dwellers and to bind the sahuagin further to his cause. A few lines suggest that he went into the city itself to reclaim one of his lost weapons to use in his conquest of the surface world."

"Was there any hint about what this weapon was supposed to do?"

Narros patted his daughter on the head. "With it, he's going to sunder a land, fill an ocean with fire and fury, and free a trapped people who live for evil as he does. Waterdeep was only the first of the cities that are going to learn to live in fear of the ocean. He is going to come to power in the outer sea, then in the inner one, and when it is revealed, all are going to fear his name."

Pacys absorbed the story, amazed by the depth and complexity that it offered. Prophecies were powerful things; not just for the people who believed in them, but the world itself was forced to deal with them.

"How are we supposed to stop him?" the old bard asked.

"I don't know," the shaman answered. "Our own prophecy hints that the prophecies of other undersea races are linked to the reappearance of this creature, and each will have other pieces to the story. One man will weave all of those stories together, spin them into a tale that will live forever in the history of this world." He locked his gaze on Pacys. "That man is you."

Hope fired through Pacys's heart, but he reached for it and held it down. "You can't know that," he whispered hoarsely.

" 'A human tale spinner,' " Narros quoted," 'old enough to be at the end of his life, yet still living on the edge, seeking to fill the emptiness that his own self-imposed quest has laid upon his soul, all his days given to the perfection of his craft. The music of his great song will replenish him till he is near bursting, like a deep water fish that streaks unwisely toward the shallows. Once he has gathered the song and given it to the worlds above and below, he'll be forever remembered as Taleweaver, he who sang of sand and sea and united the history of all peoples who have the sea in their blood.'" He pointed at the yarting, the strings still ringing in the old bard's hands. "I heard the song you played that night when my people arrived in this harbor. You couldn't know it, it is a sacred song, given only to my people at the time Eadro gave us the circlet. He told my ancestors then that the song would be given to the Taleweaver, and that was how we'd know him."

"If you knew then," Pacys protested, "why didn't you say something?"

Narros shook his head. "We were bound to silence. Remember? No one could speak of the Taker… not until after he reappeared."

"How can you be so sure I'm the one?"

"Since we've been here, your hands have ever been busy, made slave to the music that now holds you in thrall. Truly, you are the one. I was guided to you this morning because you still have your part to play."

"What part?" Pacys's heart hammered inside his chest. The song was one thing; he could commit to that, but what else remained before him?

"There is a man-hardly more than a boy by your counting of years, one who has always lived with the sea in his heart despite being abandoned to land-who will find a way to confront the Taker," Narros said. "He will find the weapon and he will find the way, but it will be only after he finds himself, discovers what he truly is. To do that, you'll have to seek him out and touch his heart. He's been shattered by his experiences, and others have worked to make him whole, given him much of what he needs, but he'll never be able to become what he needs to be without you. If you're not there for him, it could be that our very world will fall." The merman smiled comfortingly. "Take pride in the fact that he will be one of the very best of your kind."

"What do I need to do?" Pacys asked.

"Find him," Narros answered, "and help him find himself."

The sheer enormity of the situation put a righteous fear in Pacys. How to find one man in all of Faerun when not even a name existed was beyond him.

"But where do I start looking?"

Narros shook his head. "Our prophesy says it will be in a city on a great river that stands as a door to the above and below worlds."

Pacys's mind raced and only one city came to mind though he knew of dozens. "Baldur's Gate," he said.

"I have thought so too."

"I'll find him there?"

"You'll see him there," the merman answered. "As to what takes place, I can't say. You'll have to find a way and trust the bond that exists between you."

Suddenly, Pacys noticed his wandering hands had moved on to a new piece, one that he'd never played before, one that he'd never heard played before. It was uplifting, a light in the darkness, a fragile mixture of bravery and fear, and he recognized it at once.

Alyyx slapped her tail against her father's torso happily. The smacking sounds somehow intermingled with the piece Pacys played, bringing hope.

"That's the hero's song," she cried out enthusiastically, turning to her brother. "Don't you hear him coming, Shyl?"

The merboy nodded, a small grin turning his lips.

Despite his own doubts and fears about everything the merman shaman had told him, Pacys couldn't help smiling. It was a hero's song. His fingers moved across the strings with growing confidence, seeking out the melody.

Narros reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll find him, Taleweaver," he said. "Wherever he is, it's your destiny to find him. Go first to Baldur's Gate and seek him there."