Lagoonfire, page 10
Another gust of wind pelted my face with rain, and I flinched, but Goblet was laughing.
“What a story!” she said. “If it’s so, little dewdrop, then what do I see before me here?”
“We conjured it for you,” I replied. “So you could find Grandfather. So you’d come.”
Goblet’s expression was distant again for a moment, and then a look of shock overspread her face. My throat constricted at the sight.
And then the wind was suddenly roaring around us, and a wave nearly knocked me down, would have pulled Laloran-morna’s body from my arms if Ms. Bama and Anin hadn’t come to my aid. The vision of Cup of the Sea shredded and vanished.
“That was a deceitful trick,” Goblet said coldly. She turned to Laloran-morna’s spirit form. “Lagoonfire, you must undo the damage that’s been done to me. I’ll lend you my strength, but send your waves. Restore me.”
“Thirty-Seven, Thirty-Three, this has just become an adversarial decommissioning, and we’ll have to finish it now, before this goddess can do any more damage!” That was Five, voice firm and clear over the wind and rain. “Speak with me now, ‘We, gathered—’”
“No, wait!” I said. “Goblet, please: the place you want to send your waves—there are people there, workers, who—”
“Destroyed me,” Goblet said.
“They didn’t know,” I said miserably. “Nobody knew. You yourself didn’t know—you’d be asleep if it weren’t for—”
Goblet turned to Laloran-morna. “Restore me,” she demanded.
“Dearest love, those workers are my children’s children’s children. I don’t want to harm them.”
Tailin was joining Five, speaking the words for an adversarial decommissioning.
“Goblet, they’re your children too!” I cried out. Tailin broke off, and in the electraboats’ lurching light I caught his look of surprise.
“All my children have fallen asleep,” Goblet answered, but she hesitated. Her eyes grew distant once again. Then suddenly the wind fell away and the rain lifted.
“It’s true,” Goblet murmured. “They are my children. Not all, but many. And you, too,” she said, looking me over in wonder. She turned to Ms. Bama. “And you.”
Five had gone silent. It was to her that Goblet turned next. “Even you,” Goblet said. “Such a faint tie, but I feel it.” Her eyes fell last on Tailin. “But not you.”
“My family’s from far inland,” he muttered. “I’m the first to come to the capital.”
“What do I do now?” Goblet asked me, all imperiousness gone. “I don’t think I can become a mortal human.”
“Not all decommissioned gods take human form,” said Five. “Other tutelary deities sink back into the place they arose from.”
“But how can I do that, when I’ve been unmade?”
I was alarmed to see tears overflow her eyes and spill down her cheeks. The glow of lagoonfire rippling over her skin lingered in their tracks. And then I knew the answer.
“Sink into the lagoonfire,” I said.
“Thirty-Seven!” said Five sharply, at once a warning and a reprimand, but Goblet smiled a dazzling smile.
“Yes. I’ll become the gift you gave me, lover,” she said, turning back to where the vision-figure of Laloran-morna had stood—but he was gone. The old man in my arms gave a sudden start and gulped air.
His eyes met Goblet’s, and he smiled. “That’s perfect, dearest love.”
And before I or Five or Tailin could say a word, let alone intone her decommissioning, Goblet had vanished, and Laloran-morna had released a long last breath. I hugged him tight.
“Brother!” cried Anin, all desolation. Beside me, Ms. Bama wept.
A blinding searchlight cut through our grief. It came from a sleek vessel whose approach had gone unnoticed by all of us. Silhouetted on its deck were a dozen figures, one with a megaphone. Another light, coming from the opposite side of the spit, caught us from behind, creating long shadows that reached out for the eletraboats and then vanished as the light passed by.
“I’d like you all to assemble on the boat to your left,” said the figure with the megaphone. It was Captain Lotuk. Five and Tailin exchanged appalled looks. Ms. Bama stilled, wet eyelashes and puffy eyes sharply defined in the merciless light.
“So disrespectful,” muttered Nakona.
“They’re armed,” observed Malirin.
In short order we were all aboard one of the electraboats. A gangplank was extended from the Civil Order vessel, and Captain Lotuk and several of her subordinates came over. Two examined Laloran-morna, pronounced him dead, and took his body back to their vessel. Even Nakona was too cowed to object or ask any questions. We all took seats on one side of the boat, and although the night was not that cool, all of us were soaked to the skin, and we leaned in close to one another share a little warmth. Even so, I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering.
Nobody spoke. Captain Lotuk’s gaze rested contemplatively on us all for several heartbeats.
“Let’s start with you, shall we, Ms. Kiukai? I believe you’re the highest-ranking person here.”
It was a shock to hear Five addressed by her name. The top officials in any of the Ministry’s departments generally get called by their rank wherever they go. She was Decommissioner Five.
“I believe you told me, when last we spoke, that Ms. Manu’s persistent interest in the Daybreak Ventures incident was not officially sanctioned, and that you had, in fact, issued a reprimand. And yet here you are, at night, on Daybreak Ventures’ property, with Ms. Manu. Can you explain that to me?”
Five cleared her throat. “I received a communication from Decommissioner Thirty-Three—Mr. Kele here. He was worried about her. She’s been preoccupied with the health of Laloran-morna, the retired god whom Civil Order requested the Ministry to check up on in connection with the Daybreak Ventures incident. We knew Thirty-Seven—Ms. Manu—wanted to see him a last time before he passed away. Earlier she’d said some things to me about accommodating the retired god’s last wishes that alarmed me, and from what Thirty-Three told me, I was afraid she might be trying to act on those wishes.” Five took a breath. “I wanted to stop her before she could get herself in any trouble.”
“Imagine respect for an elder’s last wishes being a possible offense,” Nakona said to Kaduik in an exaggerated whisper. Captain Lotuk ignored her.
“And you didn’t think to get in touch with me? After everything I told you about Ms. Manu’s personal history and possible risks?”
“Whatever her background, she’s always been… She’s never… I know Thirty-Seven. I just didn’t think it was possible that she—”
“You just didn’t think,” repeated Captain Lotuk gravely. “Let me ask you something: do you think I, as a captain in Civil Order, ought to be making decisions regarding worship of the Polity’s gods and goddesses?”
Five’s lips thinned, a sure sign of her irritation at being taken down this rhetorical path.
“No,” she said.
Captain Lotuk’s brief smile was her only acknowledgment of triumph.
“Right. And by that same reasoning, you, a Ministry of Divinities bureaucrat, need to leave decisions on the Polity’s internal security to me and my colleagues. I did ask you to call if anything seemed untoward.”
Five gave a formal nod. “Yes, Captain. It was a mistake not to.”
Captain Lotuk turned to Tailin. “And you, Mr. Kele. You were worried about Ms. Manu? Why, precisely?”
“Three of us had agreed to go out together in the evening, and then she said that she couldn’t stay, that she needed to see Laloran-morna, and-and… I just was worried,” Tailin said evasively, eyes on his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap.
“But that’s not why you contacted your superior, is it. Ms. Manu left you something,” Captain Lotuk prompted.
Tailin looked up, startled.
“‘Incomplete honesty is dishonesty.’” It was another Thought Orthodoxy maxim. “Did you know what she had left you?”
“It was something for her apartment manager,” Tailin said, barely audible. “Paperwork, she said. But when I took off my jacket, I noticed a light blinking through the envelope, same pattern as a unicom new-messages alert, if you’ve muted the chime.” He looked very unhappy. “I didn’t want to pry into Thirty-Seven’s business, but if she’d gone and done something crazy… So I opened it, and”—he shrugged helplessly—“it was her unicom.” He held the envelope out to me.
“Here,” he said. “You have six messages.” He looked away quickly.
I slipped my unicom back on my wrist and tapped it to call up the messages. Five anxious ones from Ms. Bama and one querulous one from Nakona.
“You’re probably aware from crime dramas that when necessary, Civil Order can track a unicom,” Captain Lotuk was saying. “Ms. Manu certainly was. That’s why she left hers with you, to evade tracking. She didn’t realize that if Civil Order activates tracking, all the other unicoms in the area also register.” Her minute smile returned. “Two unicom signals virtually on top of each other in a public area is a red flag. Maybe it’s just a couple holding hands. Or maybe it’s something like this.”
Captain Lotuk turned to me. “Which brings us to you, Ms. Manu.”
At her words, I felt as if someone had placed a lead blanket over my shoulders, and with that weight came a deep hopelessness. I could shape thoughts about Laloran-morna, could tell myself that at least I had seen him reunited with Goblet before he died, but there was no joy or pride there, just a dull ache that must be grief, or would become grief. And then there was everything else. I had put Five and Tailin in Civil Order’s sights. I had destroyed my grandparents’ careful efforts to secure my future. And yet possibly I’d also been wronging my parents all my life. And what about Ateni? With Captain Lotuk standing over me, it suddenly was clear to me that my actions weren’t going to set him free, would never have been able to do that. Even if Tailin and Five attested to Goblet’s desire to send waves to Lotus Estuary tonight, Captain Lotuk could still stand by her story of a bomb two days ago. Proof and evidence were only relevant if she accepted them.
“Ms. Manu!”
It was the third time she’d said my name.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Sometimes interacting with deities can cause grogginess.”
“It’s been a long night. I’ll keep this brief. When it came to my attention that you met Mr. Ninin on Daybreak Ventures’ property while supposedly on your Ministry assignment, it raised my suspicions. Your background, his background—it seemed possible the flooding was part of a plot, a trial run for something bigger, something involving weaponizing a former god. We apprehended Mr. Ninin but left you free to see if you’d lead us to other coconspirators.”
I felt as if a piece of glowing charcoal had become lodged in my stomach.
“When Mr. Ninin’s delinquent foster brother went running after you this afternoon, it seemed my suspicions were confirmed,” she continued. “But when I had him brought in, the most remarkable thing happened: even with the offer of an expedited vendor’s license and cart rental in exchange for information about your plans, all I could get from him was that you were a brainwashed tool of the Polity!” Her lips quirked, but then her face grew thoughtful. “He said you vigorously rejected the ‘truths’ he tried to share with you. Very interesting, very impressive that someone with your background should be so stalwart. It made me rather more curious about your claims about the flooding.
“We continued with long-distance monitoring, and then shortly after you set out from Fairest Moonlight’s docks, I was given word of a new seawater incursion at Daybreak Ventures’ construction site, only to be told in the next minute that it had stopped, that—this was what the reporting officers said— ‘it was like someone shook the sea smooth.’ And instead the waters rose here. Quite remarkable. You appear to have redirected the waves here, or I suppose I should say you induced the retired god to redirect them—or got your superior to do so,” she amended, some after-the-fact deference to Five.
This shift in tenor confused me.
Captain Lotuk smiled. “You saved the construction site. Well done.”
I should have registered something, relief at the very least, but there was nothing. I can’t even recall if I thanked her. The others were equally silent, but Captain Lotuk took it in stride.
“You’ll find a summons on your unicom,” she told me. “There’s some follow-up to attend to. And I’ll be in touch with you two as well,” she said to Tailin and Five. “For now, I think we’re done here. Oh, and I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll be sure the retired god’s body is returned to…?”
“Sweet Harbor Compassionate Care Associates,” said Ms. Bama huskily.
Captain Lotuk nodded, and then she and her officers departed on the Civil Order vessel, and we were left, mute and heavy as Ateni’s knot stones. Eventually Five murmured to Tailin that they had better get back on their own boat. We all still needed to return to Fairest Moonlight Electraboat Rentals. With the rest of us as a counterweight, she leaned over the rail of our boat, grabbed the rail of theirs, and swung herself over, then went to the helm. The boat’s engine sprang to life.
Before following, Tailin turned to me, troubled.
“What you said to Goblet, about the Daybreak Ventures workers being her children too…didn’t you tell me you thought she was a deity of…?” He kept his voice was low, so as not to be overheard, and he didn’t finish his sentence, but I knew what he was asking.
“She is,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thirty-Three, we need to go,” Five called.
“You know as far as Five’s concerned, she’s just a forgotten Sweet Harbor goddess—a Sea Traveler goddess,” Tailin said, speaking quickly now, still for my ears only.
“Only because Five hasn’t—”
“Thirty-Seven! Sae. Please don’t push it. We’re already facing enough fallout as it is. And you promised.” Such controlled desperation in those words.
Proud Goblet, lovestruck Laloran-morna. The tidal garden, the estuary—all gone. But not entirely. Nothing was finished, not yet.
“I won’t say anything,” I said. But one day, things will be different.
“Now is not the time or place for a private conference,” said Five, coming near. “Do you need a hand, Thirty-Three?”
Tailin gave me a brief nod, then took Five’s offered hand and crossed to the other boat.
It wasn’t the parting I wanted, but there was no help for it.
A notice of the passing of Laloran-morna, former god of warm waves, went out through news channels in all formats, and the Garden of Remembrance in Sweet Harbor District was thronged with those who remembered the stories their parents or grandparents had shared. It moved me to see that sea of faces. Later, those of us who had shared his final hours took a boat out to open waters to cast his ashes there. Sink into lagoonfire, Lagoonfire, I prayed, in my heart joining him with Goblet.
Goblet, whom Five fretted over. Had the decommissioning been successful? The goddess had disappeared so precipitously. Five sought and received permission from Daybreak Ventures to conduct a sealing ceremony at the mangrove spit, an extra formality she insisted on just to be sure. I wasn’t part of the team that performed it.
But even before those events, I had a summons to Civil Order’s West Ward offices to attend to. I thought going there might be easier this time around, since I had some idea of what to expect, but it wasn’t. It’s not just your own fears you have to deal with in a place like that, it’s the accumulated disquiet of all the people who’ve gone before you. The walls, benches, and floor of the reception hall are drenched in anxiety—they exude it like an unpleasant odor. But I walked up the aisle, showed my summons to the officer on duty, waited to be called, and then, just like last time, Captain Lotuk appeared and led me to her little office.
Like last time, she poured me a class of lemon water. She sat, fingers interlaced before her on her desk, watching me silently as I took a few sips.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said when I set down the glass, and I relaxed a fraction.
“I was so close to arresting you after you ditched your unicom,” she remarked conversationally, and my fears came racing back.
“But then you pulled off that impressive save at the Daybreak Ventures site,” she continued.
I took another sip of water, feeling seasick.
“All the decommissioning-related business—that’s all taken care of, I gather? What’ll it be like for your department when the Ministry of Divinities moves entirely to Abstractions? Do Abstractions even get decommissioned?”
“No—they can be deprioritized, or what constitutes an Abstraction can be redefined,” I replied, wondering where the small talk was leading.
“Mmm.” She was back to staring at me. I tried not to fidget.
“We’re releasing Mr. Ninin,” she said, and smiled at my sharp intake of breath.
“I thought you’d be pleased. There are some riders and stipulations—some rehabilitation and reeducation classes he’ll need to attend, but it won’t require confinement.”
Anger lanced through me. Won’t require confinement? They should never have detained him in the first place. Captain Lotuk raised an eyebrow, and I schooled my expression.
“That’s better,” she said quietly. After a brief pause, she said, “Standard protocols dictate that the two of you should have nothing to do with each other henceforth. You’re too likely to make trouble for each other. But!” she continued, raising a hand when I started to protest, “there’s a way around that. You can see Mr. Ninin all you like, if you’re willing to give me reports on his activities and the activities of his associates.”
I was dumbfounded. “I can see him if I spy for you? You want me to be a rat?”
“My family’s ancestral village was protected by a rat spirit. Rats are clever, loving, and loyal animals whom we could all benefit from emulating,” Captain Lotuk returned, “but no, what I’m suggesting isn’t spying. It’s more along the lines of a diary, a progress report.”
