Oshenerth by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

shaman Oxothyr, whose skills are celebrated throughout the length and breadth of the Keleagh Plain and even unto the depths beyond. And you still have not explained what happened to you.”
    She nodded understandingly. Apparently the gesture meant the same in her dream as it did anywhere else. “I was diving—I am diving. I got separated from the rest of the group, I don’t know how. We were diving around an island. I went off by myself, which I know I shouldn’t have done, but I did it. When I surfaced there was no sign of the island, the dive boat, or my fellow divers. All I can think is that I fell asleep or otherwise lost consciousness for awhile, got caught in a strong current, and swept away. I’m not sure how long I spent drifting until now—a day, two days, a week. It was hot, and I think I lost my mind for awhile. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’d really, really like to wake up .”
    “You are not asleep.” The cuttlefish, she noted, seemed more sympathetic to her condition than did the human—the merson, she corrected herself.
    Why can’t I wake up?
    She started to cry—only to discover that she couldn’t. How do you cry underwater? She felt herself sobbing, but no tears oozed from the corners of her eyes. Or if they did, she could neither sense nor feel them. What did the body need with moistening, cleansing tears when one’s eyes were permanently submerged?
    The merson came even closer. He did not have to brandish the bone spear he was holding in order to intimidate her. It was enough that he held onto it.
    “Do you think we are fools here? Sandrift is a small community but we are not provincial. Those of us who live in this corner of the plain are as aware of the wider world as those who dwell in the cities. Rumors of unpleasantness drift down to us from far to the north. Tales of ravaged societies and dead mersons, of unnatural alliances forged in the service of a threat implacable.” The point of the spear suddenly dipped toward her. “You are a spy!”
    Startled, she drew back. Her webbed feet and the narrow fins on the backs of her calves propelled her effortlessly, seemingly of their own accord. Always an excellent swimmer, her altered self had taken to their use without instruction.
    “A—what?” The dream had turned unpleasant again. “A spy for who? I’m not a spy. I’m a dental assistant, I live in a condominium with one and a half baths, a single garage, two aquariums, and a partial bay view, I have more than one occasional boyfriend, I …”
    It was not necessary to see tears to realize that she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. Hands over her face, her crying emerged from her mouth in the form of sporadic disturbances to the water column. Chachel and Glint experienced her sobbing as periodic pulses against their skin.
    Hovering nearby, Oxothyr had observed the exchange in silence. Now he glided forward, his body a uniform sienna from which thrust bobbing, sucker-lined arms held in loose coils. Behind him, Sathi and Tythe had discovered an errant blue-armed spralaker. Having successfully cornered the crab in a crevice in the rocks, they fought to see who would get to eat it. As they argued, the abject crustacean tried to fend them off with its comparatively useless claws while uttering, “Nonononono!” in a voice as pitiful as it was small.
    A tentacle capable of tearing out her throat slid around Irina’s neck. Its touch was at once rubbery and reassuring.
    “Whatever this changeling is, wherever it is from,” Oxothyr declared with sincerity, “she is no spy. Spies are calm, controlled creatures. This female is as confused in her apposite merson form as she was in the earlier one that breathed void.”
    Grumbling, Chachel returned his spear to vertical again and backed off. “Then if she is not a demon and not a spy, what is she?”
    “Lost, I should think.” Another arm came up and the tip touched Irina’s lips. “Restrain yourself, female, or you