Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 by Galvin, Aaron (top 5 books to read TXT) 📗

skin before she looked him in the eyes again. And I have yet to see you ever swim alone without his company, or a Nomad escort . . . so, I must ask you again, Orc – she spat the word—where is White Shadow?

Garrett shuddered under the grip of her warriors, recognizing he held no chance of escape. He was readying another lie to give her when a familiar voice spoke up from among the crowd.

Stop! Watawa called as he swam into their midst with warriors of his own, a motley collection of those whose tails held no singular allegiance to any given tribe or people like the Tiger warriors did. With his one good eye, Watawa seemed to take stock of the situation quickly. Why do your kindred hold this boy?

Boy? The Tigress snarled. No, Open Shell. This is no mere boy. The son of White Shadow he may well be, but does that not also make him the grandson of our greatest enemy too?

The enemy you speak of is long dead, said Watawa. Orcin Blacktide was slain long ago by the White Shadow.

I do not speak of the Blacktide now, said the Tigress. It is the Blacktide’s son that holds my concern. She pointed at Garrett’s chest. This boy is both nephew to the Blackfin and the Orc pod mother, Makeda.

He is kin to them and the son of White Shadow too, Watawa reminded her and the stirring others around her. Release him now, before his father learns you bore his son ill will.

The Tigress was unmoved. Where is our high chieftain, then? She asked of Watawa. Or can your one eye not find him in your cryptic dreams, Open Shell?

Watawa squinted back at her. My one eye sees more than your two, Tigress. And I would not spoil the end for you should your warriors and you pursue this further. He drifted forward in added confrontation. Now, let him go.

For half a heartbeat, Garrett did not believe she would. The Tigress maintained her steady stare against Watawa’s one eye for longer than Garrett cared to stand. Upon a cluck of her tongue, the warriors holding Garrett released him to swim free beside Watawa.

The Tigress was not done. I find it odd indeed this boy swims without his father, or a Nomad guardian, Open Shell. Let you both pray that my warriors and I do not find evidence to back my suspicion . . .

Let you go and seek your evidence, then, said Watawa. Suspicion and doubt are among the worst and weakest of foes. I should hate for White Shadow to learn you cast accusation upon his son without merit.

The Tigress sneered. You would do better to hope we do not find our merit, then. If I do, the Orc in your protection will not the be lone one to suffer, shaman.

Garrett struggled against the trembling within himself as the Tigress and her warriors left them to swim away. He shuddered further when she and her people dove into the depths, swallowed in the darkness not moments later.

Watawa’s hand pressed against Garrett’s back. Come, my friend, he said quietly, urging Garrett to swim away from the gathered masses. Aye, come with me now. And quickly!

Even as Garrett obeyed, he spoke quickly to Watawa’s mind. My father is dead, he held to Watawa’s arm for strength at the admission. Cursion White Shadow is dead. Ishmael and Short-Shore killed him below when we were swimming together alone. For all that Garrett had seen from Watawa, he recognized the surprise in the Nomad shaman’s one good eye. You didn’t see it? Garrett asked. You didn’t know?

No. Watawa’s voice was breathless in response. How did this happen?

For every detail as Garrett relayed the story of Cursion’s assassination, he noticed Watawa’s face turn more and more ashen. When Watawa finally spoke, his voice was as grave as the look in his eye. The Tigress will indeed find the merit to her suspicions, then . . . his gaze trailed off to the deeper water Garrett had mentioned in retelling of the high chieftain’s assassination. And she will find it sooner, rather than later, no doubt. He looked up again. As will the others also . . .

I know! Garrett cried. And when they do, then what happens?

Watawa’s gaze said all even before he gave his answer. If White Shadow is truly dead, then I fear you are no longer safe here, my friend.

But what about Cursion’s people? The White Deaths? Won’t they listen to you?

No, said Watawa. For all the loyal warriors among them, I fear your safety was only assured by your father’s grace. With White Shadow gone, the others will look to who might lead them next. Though they would all recognize you as his son when White Shadow lived, some will sense opportunity now with him gone and your mother an Orcish enemy. There will be in-fighting among the White Deaths in the short-term. No doubt their presumed leader to-be is already in league with Ishmael too. He would not have dared to raise his hand against your father at the risk of losing the White Deaths for the coming war against the Merrows and Orcs.

What do you mean? Garrett asked. How would the next leader already be chosen?

To kill a high chieftain is neither a simple act, nor a choice made without careful thought of what comes after, said Watawa. If Ishmael has already called some of the other tribes to his side, no doubt he will have still more in mind that we do not know. Indeed, already I have heard such traitorous stirrings among the people when their tribal leaders spread word of a Sancul alliance and your father requesting time to ponder such a joining. With White Shadow gone now, I see only two ways ahead; either all will soon be cleared for Ishmael’s ascendancy to lead our people in war . . . or else we shall again fall to in-fighting and civil war