Chapter Text
Lighting hits her all over again.
The salt water carves fiery sigils into her burned skin, and she writhes, a raw shredded mess of blue flesh and white flame. She can’t think— can’t move— can’t—
Her head crests the surface and she screams. And again. Sucks in another breath and—
A cold hand on her ankle yanks her under.
Everything is foggy and dark, and her head is ringing, but the pain is . . . gone. The searing agony and the panic both, seemingly snuffed out by the hand that dragged her under.
The hand that’s still on her ankle.
Jester blinks a few times, trying to work past the strange inertia the pain’s left behind. The salve that’s spread across her skin, across her mind, calling her to relax and drift. Something’s not right.
You do worry.
The mental voice isn’t hers.
Even as Jester twists, trying to see the source of the hand and voice, there’s a sharp tug and she shoots downwards. A burst of white-hot-no-please-help— then Arla has her wrists, and everything’s calm and easy once more. They’re face to face now. Arla’s green eyes are brighter than ever, down here in the dark, and her black hair billows out around her in clouds. Her face holds no smile, but is as smooth and impassive as the moonlit sea above.
“Hi—” Jester goes to say. But something’s off. There’s air in her lungs (how is there still air?) but it won’t move through her throat. As if her breath has stilled right where it is.
Arla’s face doesn’t change, but her voice murmurs in Jester’s mind again. I can hear you just fine, if you think my way. Thoughts travel faster than sound, down here.
That’s strange. But everything seems okay. It’s such a relief not to hurt anymore that she can’t bring herself to worry over anything else.
Is this how you talk all the time? She thinks at Arla. It’s sort of like Sending, but she doesn’t have to focus so hard. Or count.
Mostly. Arla adjusts her grip. Her thumbs rub circles into Jester’s wrists. It’s so much easier than surface-speak. Our minds are all I and my sisters need.
A bubble of interest fizzes and pops in Jester’s mind. You have sisters? That’s so cool. Do they live in the sea too.
The smallest smile curves Arla’s lips. Her eyes briefly drift down Jester, into the depths, then back up. They do. You’ll meet them soon.
Oh. There’s a buzz, like an errant bee dancing off a window pane, at the back of her head, but it’s easy to ignore. That sounds nice. I love meeting new people. Have you heard about—
There’s a muted crash above. Very muted. She glances up, but there’s nothing but black. No moonlight. No movement. How deep are they already? The darkness is so all encompassing, and the water so heavy, that she can’t even be sure where the surface is anymore.
Her stomach twists, and that bee at the back of her head slams into the window pane again, and again.
Then Arla hisses softly, and another wave of warm honey slides over her. No, not honey. Oil.
Jester isn’t wise like Caduceus, or smart like Beau and Caleb. But she’s not stupid.
She frowns at Arla, tries to jerk her wrists away. What are you doing?
Taking you to meet my sisters. Arla’s grip is unyielding. Her gaze too. You wanted to know what it’s like down here. We can show you.
No, I mean, what are you doing to my head? Making me all calm and stuff?
Oh. Arla’s eyes hold their own smile. Coming to my home can be stressful for air-dwellers. I wanted to help you relax. You prefer this to the pain, to being without air, surely? Her grip loosens abruptly, almost releasing Jester. Pain and panic flicker flamelike over her skin and through her heart. Her lungs throb and she's back in that temple again, drowning and dying and no one's here to save her this time.
It’s so dark. The surface is so far away.
Arla smiles, and her teeth gleam silver despite the lack of light. Her hands—strange hands, with long fingers that curve into claws—tighten round Jester’s wrists again. The pain fades. The panic is smothered over, but remains, like that bee, trapped behind a pane of glass.
There now. Isn’t that better?
No! Now that she knows it’s there, it’s getting easier to sense that alien oil slick over her mind, and to push through it. Let go. I want to go back!
Back to the friends who abandoned you? Arla’s eyes are cold emeralds in her shadowy silver face. Whatever for? You’ll be better off with my sisters and I. We’ll look after you.
I don’t need looking after! She tries to wrench her wrists away— better risk the pain than whatever Arla has in mind—but she’s already exhausted, and Arla is much stronger than her slight form suggests. Let me go!
A laugh creeps into her mind, but it isn’t the familiar warm chuckle of the Traveller, or a friend amused by her Sendings. The laugh holds the chill of the depths, and just as little mercy. But we’re almost there. And my sisters will be so happy to meet you.
They aren’t even swimming. She struggles again, glancing down this time, and cold shudders through her, stilling her movement. Arla’s silvery skin blends to black-grey as her torso tapers off into a thick eel-like tail, some six feet long. It’s unmoving, but its weight is almost certainly enough to be dragging them down, and fast.
If she escaped right now, would she even get close enough to see the surface before her air ran out?
She thinks of Beau, and Nott, and Fjord. Of Caduceus, and Yasha, and Caleb. Of Sprinkle, curled up safely on her pillow. Of all the friends she so foolishly left without a word. Everyone who might have been here to help her, if she hadn’t been so stupid. If she hadn’t made yet another deadly miscalculation.
Tears burn her eyes, immediately lost in the sea. Will they even realise what happened?
Probably not. Arla’s icy voice slinks into her mind, and Jester thrashes again, trying to wrench away both physically and mentally to little effect. And why would they care? There are so many of you air-dwellers, getting yourselves killed. You’re nothing special.
There’s a odd sound above. A whale call perhaps. It’s too muffled by water and her own panic for Jester to interpret it. But Arla glances up, those strange luminous eyes flickering away, just for a second.
It’s all Jester needs.
She brings up her legs, and kicks, hard as she can, into Arla’s silvery stomach. She’s strong and desperate and she will not give up without a fight—
But the sea lies heavy as a tombstone over her, and inertia kills her speed before she hits. Arla grunts, and curls into herself slightly, but her claws dig even deeper into Jester’s raw skin. She yanks Jester close, so their faces are inches apart.
Nice try. If a little late. Arla smiles fully then, showing layers upon layers of teeth. Sharp and cold and deadly. Welcome to our home.