‘I appreciate it,’ he replied.

‘You won’t once you find out what they eat out here.’

She walked to the door, feeling no eyes upon her back and taking great relief in that. She could hear his breath coming in short, steady bursts. His heartbeat no longer plagued her ears. She smiled as she pulled back the leather flap.

Just a passing fascination, she told herself. He was just thrilled to be alive and awake. All his attentions were focused on you because you happened to be there … watching over him. No!She had to resist thumping her temple. No, no. Don’t start. He was … was just like a pup. Yeah. He’s momentarily happy. Once he gets some food, he’ll forget about everything else, about how you were there … about how he touched your ears …

She reached up and tugged on her earlobe. The sensation of his finger, the scent of his sweat mingling with hers, still lingered.

He’ll forget all about it, she told herself, and then so can you.

‘Kat?’

Don’t turn around. Don’t look. Don’t even acknowledge him.

‘Yeah?’ she asked.

‘I’m happy you’re alive.’

‘Yeah,’ she said.

She emerged into the daylight, waited for the leather flap to fall so that she could no longer hear him breathing. Then, she let her heavy chin fall to her chest and let her breath escape in a long, tired sigh.

‘Damn,’ she whispered, stalking off across the sands, ‘damn, damn, damn …’

Sixteen

He found he could not remember his name.

Other memories returned to him, vivid as the city that loomed in the distance.

Port Yonder. He remembered its name, at least.

He had lived there once. He’d had a house on the land, back when dry earth did not burn his feet. It had been made of stone that had seemed strong at the time and bore the weight of a family once. He had known the witless, bovine satisfaction of staring up at a temple and praying to a goddess that priests said would protect him. He recalled living through each night, when such knowledge was all he needed.

He had known what it meant to be human once.

But that was long ago. That was a time before he knew the weight of humanity could not be set on flimsy, shifting land. That was a time before he knew that stone, trees and air all gave way before relentless tides. That was a time before his goddess had found his devotion and offerings not enough and had spitefully taken his family to compensate. His name, too, was from that time.

Before he had become the Mouth of Ulbecetonth.

‘Do you desire to know your name, then?’

The Prophet’s twin voices lilted up from the deep. He looked over the edge of the tiny rock he squatted upon, saw the black shadow of a tremendous fish circling his outcropping. He remembered when he had first seen that shadow and the golden eyes that had peered up at him. There had been six of them, then; now there were only four, two of them put out forever by heretical steel.

‘I desire nothing,’ he answered the water, ‘save that the Mother is liberated.’

The realMother, he reminded himself, not the Sea Mother.

The Sea Mother was a benevolent and kindly concept, one that took pity upon the land-bound folk and blessed them with the bounty of the deep. The Sea Mother was a concept that rewarded thoughtless prayer, asked for nothing more than humble sacrifice and protected families in return.

The Sea Mother was a lie.

Mother Deep was mercy.

‘Liberation is a just cause, indeed,’ the Prophet replied. ‘And it is because of that cause that we ask you to return to the prison of earth and wind once more. The Father must be freed for the Mother to rise.’

He found a slight smirk creeping upon his face at the naming of the city a prison. Truly, that was what it was, he knew — nothing more than thick walls constructed by fear, doors made of ignorance and the key thrown away by unquestioning faith.

That smile soured the instant he remembered that they were sending him back there, to feel cruel stone beneath his unwebbed feet and languish in the embrace of air. His brow furrowed and he could feel the hairs growing back even as he did, tiny black reminders that the Prophet commanded and the Mouth sacrificed.

And for what?

As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard the sound of flapping wings. He looked up and saw the Heralds descending from the unworthy sky, their pure white feathers stretched out as they glided to the reefs jutting from the surface. Upon talons that had once been meagre webs, clutching with hands that had once been pitiful gull wings, the creatures landed silently upon the risen coral.

He remembered what they had been before: squat little creatures, wide-eyed crone heads upon gull bodies, incapable of even the slightest independent thought. The faces that stared at him now, still withered, were set upside down upon their crane-like necks above sagging, vein-mapped teats. Their bulging blue eyes now regarded him with a keen intellect that had not been present before. The teeth set in mouths that should have been their foreheads were long yellow spikes that clicked as they chattered relentlessly.

He had once looked upon them as evidence of Mother Deep’s power, the ability to effect change where other gods were deaf and powerless. Now, he saw them only as items of envy, proof that even the least of Her congregation evolved where he stood, painfully and profoundly human.

‘Do we sense uncertainty in you?’ the Prophet asked, stacking accusation upon scorn.

‘Uncertainty?’ the Heralds echoed in crude mimic of the Prophet. ‘Doubt? Inability? Weakness?’ They leaned their upside-down heads thoughtfully closer. ‘Faithlessness?’

‘My protests are unworthy,’ the Mouth replied. ‘All that matters is that the Father is freed. I have no other desire.’

‘Lies,’ the Heralds retorted with decisiveness.

‘Irrelevant,’ the Mouth replied. ‘Service is all that is required. Motive is unimportant.’

‘Ignorance,’ they crowed in shrill chorus.

‘What great sin is desire, then? What is the weight that is levied upon my shoulders for my want of vengeance? Mother Deep’s enemies are my enemies. Her purpose is my purpose.’

‘Blasphemy,’ the voices hissed from below.

The Prophet’s twin tones contained a wailing keen, the subtlest discordant harmony that shook his body painfully and caused him to wince. How he longed to abandon his ears with what remained of his memories. How he longed to embrace the Prophet’s shrieking sermon with the same lustful joy as the others.

Mother Deep demanded sacrifice, too, however.

‘You suffer doubts, then,’ the Prophet murmured, four golden eyes regarding him curiously.

‘Intolerable,’ the Heralds muttered. ‘Inexcusable. Unthinkable.’

‘I had not expected to be asked to return here,’ he replied, staring out over the walls. ‘I left this place, and all its callous hatreds, on land where it belonged.’ He hugged his legs to his chest. ‘I found reprieve in the Deep.’

But not salvation, he added mentally. He had been granted gifts: the embrace of the water, freedom from the greedy liquid hands that sought to steal air and quench it, and the loyalty of Her children. But the true mercies of Mother Deep had been withheld from him, for the moment.

And yet, he lamented, that moment had lasted for years that only made his awareness of the passage of time more profound.

He gazed down into the water, below the swimming shadow of the Prophet, and saw the faithful congregate in pale flashes as they boiled up from below. The fading sunlight shifted on the water hesitantly, wary to expose the creatures bobbing below it. And, as the golden light speared through the waves, a great forest of hairless flesh, swaying on the waves, met his eyes as hundreds of glossy stares incapable of reflecting the light looked up.