The devitan wrapped the tip of his tail around the greenish claw-coral knife, recited the concluding prayer, and opened the thrall from throat to waist. Even in her agony, the spell held her immobile. Blood billowed up from the gash.

  Blood was blood-the warmth, coppery scent, and taste, always delectable-and even at such a solemn moment, Yzil felt a greedy urge to bury his lips in the wound and drink his fill rather than let it diffuse into the water. He quashed the impulse and stared intently, looking for images or, failing those, patterns in the swirling stain.

  There! It… but no. The ixitxachitl realized that in his desperation, he’d perceived the suggestion of a runic form where, in fact, it simply didn’t exist. This augury was as useless as all the others, and he twisted away from it in frustration.

  But that only brought him face to face with Shex, looking on with an expression of concern that, Yzil very much suspected, masked an underlying satisfaction.

  “I fear,” said Shex, “that I saw nothing.”

  For a moment, Yzil was tempted to say he had. But it would be blasphemy to claim Ilxendren had communicated with him when it was untrue, and besides, the lie probably wouldn’t hold up.

  “Nor I,” he admitted.

  “A pity,” said Shex. He pursed his lips, sucking at his fangs in a display of deep thought that made Yzil want to smite him with one of his most virulent spells. “Devitan, I hesitate to propose this again-“

  “Then don’t.”

  “-but since all your efforts have proved unavailing, and the life of the city itself is at stake, I suggest you journey to Xedras to consult with His Holiness. Surely he can provide an answer.”

  No doubt, Yzil thought bitterly. The problem was that the Vitanar had long suspected him-correctly-of embracing the Qyxasian heresy, of believing that commerce and dialogue with lesser races would facilitate their ultimate subjugation. If he entered the capital as an abject failure, unable to defend his own domain, His Holiness would surely take it as an opportunity to strip him of his rank, his liberty, and quite possibly his life.

  But how much longer could he refuse? In theory, Shex was a mere vitan, chief priest of a single temple, unable to compel a devitan, the primate of an entire city, to do anything. But in actuality, he’d come as the Vitanar’s representative, and a time was rapidly approaching when Yzil would be able to deny him no longer, lest continued resistance make matters even worse-assuming such a thing was possible.

  “I’m reluctant,” Yzil said, “to trouble His Holiness when I’m certain that, with more study and prayer, Exzethlix can solve its own problems.”

  “He wouldn’t consider it ‘trouble,’” Shex replied. “Like the god who speaks with his voice, he cares for the strength and vitality of all our race.”

  “Still,” said a new voice, managing the ixitxachitl tongue with facility despite the handicap of a tongue and voice box never intended for the purpose, “it would be unnecessary. I will help you, for a price.”

  Baring their fangs, tails lashing, all the vampire rays in the shadowy coral hall with its dozens of irregular arched doorways turned toward the shalarin. Yzil understood their startled outrage. No one but ixitxachitls and sacrifices ever entered this holy place. Tu’ala’keth had not only intruded, but presumed to speak unbidden. Her escort, a common warrior, looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to attack her or grovel in apology for her insolence.

  Yzil felt a pang of anger himself, though it was more out of concern for his own well-being that the sanctity of the shrine. Years ago, Tu’ala’keth had approached him with a bargain. Like all spellcasters, the two of them were eager to acquire esoteric lore and the power that came with it, and it was certain that, pursuing their separate paths, each had discovered secrets unknown to the other. Such being the case, they’d share as much as they could, without, of course, forsaking or betraying their respective faiths.

  It had actually worked out quite well. The tricks Tu’ala’keth had taught Yzil helped him ascend and cling to his high rank while scores of ambitious wretches such as Shex strove to usurp it. In the end, Yzil might even have grown a bit “fond” of the shalarin, if he understood what that alien concept truly meant.

  Still after an absence of a decade, why did Tu’ala’keth have to turn up now? If one cared to take it that way-and Shex undoubtedly would-her intrusion here was further evidence that Yzil had lost control. Worse, his collaboration with her could itself be construed as proof that he’d embraced Qyxas’s forbidden views.

  Yet she’d spoken of providing help, and really, now that she’d already interrupted the proceedings, could she make things much worse? Perhaps it would be sensible to hear her out.

  The other ixitxachitls had all pointed themselves in her direction. In another moment, they’d swarm on her, and she hadn’t made a move to protect herself. She simply gave Yzil a cool, level stare.

  He’d often thought her arrogant self-assurance would someday be the death of her. It still might, but not just yet. “Stop,” he said. “For the moment, the shalarin is under my protection.”

  She inclined her head as if acknowledging a simple courtesy

  “Who is this thrall?” Shex demanded.

  She answered before Yzil could. “Tu’ala’keth, waveservant and keeper of Umberlee’s shrine in Myth Nantar.”

  “And envoy for the Nantarn Council,” Yzil added, knowing she was quick-witted enough to go along with the lie. Despite their general disdain for inferior races, as a practical matter, ixitxachitls sometimes had to negotiate with them. He reckoned it was safer to present Tu’ala’keth as an emissary than to admit the two of them had traded conjuring techniques and lists of the true names of netherspirits and elementals.

  Still the explanation elicited a dubious stare from Shex. “Does His Holiness know you’re treating with the allied peoples?”

  “About matters of consequence only to my own city,” Yzil said. “That lies within in my authority, as you presumably know. Waveservant, you… claim you can help us?”

  “I do,” said Tu’ala’keth. “But I must know the details of your plight.”

  “No!” snarled Shex. “Say nothing.”

  “You’re not in charge here,” Yzil said. “I am. Don’t presume to give me another order, or I’ll kill you before you finish speaking.”

  Shex folded himself small in apology but for only a moment. It was a token gesture, not a show of true respect. “Please, forgive me, devitan. I expressed myself poorly. But surely you see you can’t confide weakness to a shalarin. She’ll tell our enemies. We already need to kill her just for overhearing the little bit she has.”

  Tu’ala’keth smiled. “If you mean to kill me, it cannot hurt to tell me everything.”

  That startled a chuckle out of Yzil, who couldn’t recall the last time that anything had amused him even slightly. “She has you there, Shex.” He faced Tu’ala’keth. “Do you understand how ixitxachitls reproduce?”

  It took her a moment to respond. Plainly, whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that, which meant her claim that she could end the crisis derived from nothing more than her confidence in her own abilities and the power of her goddess.

  “I do not know a great deal about it,” she said at length, “but I have always assumed the females lay eggs.”

  “You’re right,” Yzil said, “and something is coming in the night and smashing them.” “‘Something?’”

  “No one’s seen it, even though I’ve pulled nearly all my troops back into the city to stand watch. I’ve also performed divinations, but some opposing power prevents them from revealing anything helpful.”

  Or conceivably, the difficulty could be that he’d fallen from favor with Ilxendren, and accordingly, the god declined to communicate with him. He didn’t believe it himself, but knew his minions had begun to wonder, and that Shex would unquestionably suggest it to the Vitanar as soon as he had the opportunity.

  “I assume,” said Tu’ala’keth, “you gathered all the eggs in one repository, then sealed and shielded it with magic.”

  “Yes, but it didn’t keep the… entity out.”

  “How many eggs does it destroy?”

  “A dozen or so each night. One such loss is of little consequence, but over time, the sum will become catastrophic.”

  “Does it eat the embryos?”

  “No. It simply kills them.”

  “Hmm.” The shalarin frowned, pondering.

  After a few seconds, Yzil could contain himself no longer. “Can you help us?”

  “I already told you, yes.”

  “Then you understand what’s attacking us, and how to deal with it?”

  “Not yet. But Umberlee does, and she will aid me.”

  “This is preposterous!” said Shex. “The shalarin is a slave creature and the priestess of a lesser power. It’s blasphemy for her to claim she can do what priests of the one true god cannot, and sin for us to hear it without striking her down.”

  “Then strike me down,” said Tu’ala’keth, “if you can.”

  “Done.” Shex declaimed the opening phrases of a prayer intended to riddle her body with wounds, as if she’d been stabbed by a dozen spears at once.

  But Tu’ala’keth simply gripped the skeletal hand dangling around her neck and cast forth a flare of raw spiritual power. Her goddess had a measure of dominion over all sea creatures, even ixitxachitls, and because she had no need to recite an incantation, she was able to strike first.

  Still Yzil reckoned she’d made an error. Shex was a cleric, too, strong of will and spirit. This, moreover, was a shrine of Ilxendren, where the influence of the god of vampirism, vengeance, and cruelty was exalted, and other forces, muted.

  Yet even so, power, the strength of her faith made manifest, hammered and burned from her pendant. Every ray in the shadowy hall flinched, and Shex, the target of the attack, simply couldn’t bear it. Abandoning his spell halfway through, he wheeled and bolted into a corner, where he cowered helplessly

  Yzil supposed he should be outraged to see the servant of an inferior power best a vitan, but despite his honest devotion to Ilxendren, it just wasn’t in him. It was too gratifying to see Shex humiliated.

  Tu’ala’keth pivoted back toward Yzil. “Now,” she said, “I will tell you Umberlee’s price. Above the waves, on one of the islands to the southeast, stands a stronghold. You will help me take it. It will be a difficult battle, perhaps the costliest one Exzethlix has ever fought, but profitable as well. The caves are full of treasure, and you can keep most of it.”

  Though still shuddering uncontrollably, Shex managed to turn around, face his tormentor, and swim back out into the center of the chamber. “You can’t go to war,” he said, “without the Vitanar’s permission.”

  “I couldn’t launch a major campaign against another part of Seros,” Yzil said. “I can lead a raid against air-breathers. Devitans do it all the time.”

  Shex glared. He looked as if he were about to blurt out something unforgivable, punishable, but to Yzil’s disappointment, mastered his temper in time. “Devitan… with all respect… it signifies nothing if, by a fluke, this creature momentarily afflicted me. It’s still wrong for you to defer to her and look to her to protect Exzethlix. You know it, I know it, and your people know it.”

  Unfortunately, according to an orthodox interpretation of Ilxendren’s creed, he was right. Yzil struggled to think of a convincing rebuttal.

  But Tu’ala’keth spoke first: “Vitan, it is no wonder that, even in your deity’s holy place, you could not stand before me, for you are a wretched excuse for a priest. Like mine, your god embodies the chaos that underlies all things, yet you are deaf to the dark powers when they speak through chance events-like the fortunate chance that brought me here when you need me.”

  Yzil bared his fangs. “Don’t you dare presume to preach to a servant of Ilxendren.”

  “Then perhaps I can bargain with you. Give me a single night to solve your problem. If I fail, you may indeed kill me, and the devitan will accede to your judgment in all matters pertaining to the defense of the city.”

  Shex turned to Yzil. “Will you?” the emissary demanded.

  Yzil started to say no, absolutely not, then hesitated. As matters stood, he couldn’t hold on to his position much longer, and the sad truth was he had no idea how to resolve the crisis by himself. Perhaps Ilxendren truly had sent Tu’ala’keth to help him. The ways of the Great Ray were strange and unfathomable, maybe even strange and unfathomable enough to manipulate the priestess of another faith into doing his bidding. In any case, Tu’ala’keth was cunning, and perhaps that made her worth gambling on.

  “If the shalarin fails,” he said, “you and I will set forth for Xedras in the morning. I swear it in Ilxendren’s name.”

  Shex leered. “Then I’ll see you when the waters brighten.”

  ***

  The vault was another spacious chamber hacked from the living coral. As was the case in most sections of Exzethlix, the curves, angles, and vague implications of big sculpted glyphs had an indefinable wrongness to them. Tu’ala’keth’s head started to ache and her belly, to squirm if she let her gaze linger on certain details for very long.

  Like the rest of the ‘chitls’ works, the place had no doors. Though their prehensile tails afforded them a limited capacity to manipulate objects, the rays would have found such contrivances inconvenient, and didn’t even use them to safeguard their most precious possessions. But the symbols incised around the arched entry way should have done the job just as well. When someone spoke the trigger word, they’d generate a barrier of magical force.

  But that had proved useless. So, floating at the threshold, Tu’ala’keth scrutinized the inscription, looking for some deficiency that would enable an intruder to breach the ward. Everything appeared to be all right.

  Yzil flipped the winglike edges of his body in a gesture denoting impatience, derision, or both. “Every priest in the temple has already inspected that.”

  “But I had not.” Gripping the new trident the devitan had given her, an enchanted green claw-coral weapon keener, lighter, and sturdier than the one she’d lost, she swam on into the vault. The devitan followed. The sentries curled themselves smaller and bobbed lower in the water, saluting him.

  Small, pale, and soft-looking, in some cases gummed together with slime, the eggs lay heaped in glistening mounds as high as Tu’ala’keth was tall. “I did not realize,” she said, “your race was so prolific.”

  “When they hatch,” he said, “the newborns strive to eat one another. The majority die to feed the fiercest and most deserving of life.”

  She nodded, pleased to see Umberlee’s spirit manifest in the process, even if the foolish rays didn’t recognize it. “As far as I can tell, you have made no effort to differentiate one egg from another. I take it the parents have no desire to reclaim and rear their particular offspring.”

  Yzil scowled. “I don’t even know what it is you’re babbling about. Do you know how to protect the eggs or not?”

  “Umberlee will guide me.”

  “Then let’s get on with it.”

  “As you wish. Send the guards away.”

  Yzil hesitated. “Is that wise?”

  “They have accomplished nothing so far and could prove a hindrance tonight. You and I will eliminate the threat.”

  “Go,” the devitan said. Bodies rippling, the ‘chitls glided from the vault. “Shall I activate the ward?”

  “Why? It has proved to be of no use, either.”

  “All right, then what are we going to do?”

  “I am going to meditate. You will remain quiet, so as not to disturb me, and keep watch.”

  “What’s the point of meditating now? I’ve already done that, too, in this very spot, without gaining any insight.”

  Tu’ala’keth smiled. “Now you are the one wasting time with needless questions.”

  “I’m the ruler here, and I’ve staked everything I possess on your assertions. I demand to know what you think you’re doing.”

  “Very well. Consider this: Whatever unseen agent is destroying the eggs, it has to move through the water which surrounds them, and my goddess is empress of the sea. It lies within my power to attune myself to the water in this chamber, to feel through it as if it were an extension of my own skin. If I succeed, I should sense the intruder, no matter what its nature or how stealthily it skulks about.”

  “Have you ever attempted this trick before?”

  “No. It will require a deeper trance than I have ever entered.”

  “Then… never mind. It’s still a good idea. I should have thought of it.”

  “You could not do it. Your Ilxendren rules over sea-dwellers, but he is not a deity of the sea, and therein lies the difference. Now be still and let me concentrate.”

  When it was clear he meant to hold his tongue, she began. She studied the water around her, trying to perceive the salty fluid itself, not the objects it contained. She tried to hear it murmur over surfaces, and feel its warmth and sliding pressure against her skin.

  Once she’d fixed her mind on her impressions, she brought the membranes slipping across her eyes, blinding her to all but the brightest lights and most prominent shapes. Simply by focusing her attention inward, she dulled her remaining senses. Yet at the same time, she kept her preexisting sensations as vivid as before. Now, however, they rose primarily from memory and imagination. They were a concept of water, a mental construct to manipulate as she saw fit.

  With a clear sky high overhead, and tamed by the countless barriers comprising Exzethlix, the waters therein were placid and so, too, was the simulacrum Tu’ala’keth had conjured for herself. That was the first element she had to change. She imagined insistent currents shoving her, increasing their strength by degrees until she would have had to swim vigorously to hold herself in the same position. She understood she wasn’t truly moving. The sensation was an illusion, a trick she was playing on herself. Yet in a mystical sense, it was altogether real.