Genesis and the Ring

Read the opening

Prologue

The merchant stood at the bow of his ship, holding tight to the rigging as the six sails behind him caught a surge of wind and the ship lurched forward, cutting through the ocean. He looked back at his crew running the deck, pulling lines, tightening sails, wringing every bit of speed from the wind to reach Arboroth, the nearest trading city of the Central Dominance. He smiled. They worked hard to make him his profit.

In her belly the ship carried barrels of spice, in short supply on the mainland. It would sell high.

“How much longer?” he called to the captain at the helm.

The captain saw the words but could not hear them over the wind. He knew the question. His full beard rustled as he smiled and held up two fingers.

“Two days,” the merchant whispered, and smiled out at the horizon, where the blue sky met the darker blue sea.

Something jumped from the water. A dolphin, he thought, and a dolphin was a good omen. His smile widened. He searched the waves for it, and when it surfaced again he saw it was not a dolphin at all, but something rarer.

A face rose from the water and kept pace with the ship. A merrow. He had never seen one, only heard them described in pubs by sailors, and he marveled that it could hold speed with the ship. He wondered how strong its tail must be.

It stared straight at him, close enough to study. The face was nearly human, but the skin was a sleek greenish-blue, and there were no ears, only small holes where ears should be. Long, thin tentacles grew from its cheeks like a cat’s whiskers. Its nose had six nostrils, three to a side, elongated rather than round, opening and closing as it breathed.

“Amazing,” he said under his breath.

The merrow blinked and slipped beneath the surface. He leaned out over the water, searching for it.

The ship stopped.

The halt threw him from the bow. He caught a rope with his right hand and hung there a moment before his grip failed and he dropped into the ocean.

Under the salt water he opened his eyes. Two dark shapes clung to the hull, far larger than any fish. He kicked hard for the surface. To his right, the merrow was already swimming toward him.

He broke the surface, drew a breath, rubbed the salt from his eyes. The merrow was a foot away, staring. He began to flail. Another came from behind, locked an arm around his throat and wrapped its tail around his body until he could not move.

The merrow in front of him spoke in gurgles and growls, in clicks and sharp psh sounds. He understood none of it. It hissed at his silence and repeated the same sounds. Then it brought its wet hands to the sides of his head and squeezed.

The crashing of the waves stopped. The ocean went quiet and far away. His ears felt packed with wool. Then a voice came from inside his skull, the phrase repeating like an echo: Give us Periphus! Give us Periphus!

He heard his own thoughts clearly before he spoke them, and knew the merrow heard them too.

“I don’t know Periphus!”

Where is Periphus! The thought struck like a headache behind his eyes.

“Who is Periphus!” he screamed.

The merrow looked around at the others, who had surrounded them.

He speaks truth. He knows nothing.

The others dove. The one holding his head bobbed with him a moment longer, then let go and went under. The merchant was alone in the swell.

He turned and saw his ship overrun. Dozens of merrows came up out of the water and climbed her sides. His cargo, his fortune, all of it lost.

Something took hold of his leg and pulled. He tried to scream and only gurgled. Bubbles rose from his mouth toward the light as he sank, and sank.

Chapter One: The Harvest Festival

Genesis’s lungs burned, demanding life-giving air. She had been underwater for nearly two minutes now, scanning the crystal clear shallows. She squinted to her right and saw a flash of bright orange color among the undulating sea grass. The blurry streak of ribbon-like seaweed was just a few feet away. Genesis clenched her jaw and told herself that her lungs would not implode. She reached for the orange plant and kicked her legs, propelling herself forward. She grasped the seaweed and ripped it from the ocean floor, then placed her feet on the bottom of the ocean sand and pushed off. The pressure in her ears changed and her head felt light as she rose. Her head broke the surface of the ocean.

Genesis inhaled deeply through her nose and mouth. She must have held her breath for over two minutes, which was a record for her. She smoothly kicked her legs keeping her head above water as she studied the orange plant that she had robbed from the ocean floor. Its orange color was more vibrant in the direct sunlight.

“I got you,” said Genesis to the plant. She bit the plant between her teeth and swam for shore. The briny taste of the plant tickled her tongue. She reached the shore of the island of Buren and crawled out of the ocean water onto the sand. Buren was one of thousands of islands.

Before The Rupture, hundreds of years ago, there was only one land mass. The Rupture tore apart this continent into three main islands with thousands of smaller islands spiraling around them.

Buren, although a tiny island, was home to Genesis and was part of the Central Dominance, the middle kingdom between the Eastern and Western Dominances. Smaller islands gave tribute to the Kingdoms of the Dominances in exchange for protection from pirates and other threats.

Genesis had never encountered any pirates, but she remembered the Collector coming to the shores of Buren to take the King’s share from the island’s crops. He was to arrive tonight if she wasn’t mistaken. Tonight was the harvest festival. The collection of the harvest on Buren was celebrated with bitter drink, steaming food, the beating of hand drums, and tireless dancing.

Genesis bubbled with excitement. She saw her young horse, Dell, in the distance nibbling on some brush. Thankfully, the rest of the beach was empty. She whistled for Dell. The filly came trotting over. Genesis sprinted out of the water and up the beach where her folded shirt waited on a dry rock. She slipped on her loose shirt. She wore tight shorts when she was diving, but nothing else. Wearing a shirt hindered her mobility in the water. A dry shirt after it had been warming under the sun always soothed Genesis after a dive.

She put the wet seaweed into a small leather bag and slung it over her shoulder before she mounted Dell. She galloped back to her aunt and uncle’s cottage which wasn’t far away. She arrived at the small cedar cabin and jumped from the filly’s saddle to the grassy earth. Smoke rose from the chimney that jutted out of the mossy tiled roof. Aunt Beatrice was baking her famous twists.