Manorborn: The Battles Between

Chapter 12

They had called this world home since their beginning.

The waters of Maa sustained them, nurtured them, fed them and kept them safe. In the depths they lived and prospered, delighting in the embracing pressures of the sea, thrilling in diving into the dark depths when hunting or seeking and exploring;

They were the Morska, the Sea People, the Fish Folk, and other names those who dwelt above used when they referred to them. Though most did not. Myth and legend had grown up about the Morska, and most of the air-breathers viewed them as monsters, spirits, ghosts, or worse.

They did not dwell above the waves, but deep under them, living in homes of coral and pearl, having sprawling cities, politics, culture, law and order. They were ruled by a group of elders simply known as the Voices, and their lives were, for the most part, peaceful. They farmed the great fronds of kelp and sea plants, herded certain fish for food and their eggs, even kept the playful dolphin-like yunus for meat and milk. Yes, there were troubles, for life had troubles in it, as the Maker had said there would be. However, it was a good life for the people who dwelt beneath the waves.

Sleek Killer mused on this as she slippped through the dim cool water of the world she called home. Her sleek body, slim and toned with lean muscle, moved with a fluid grace no human could ever hope to match, her golden head frills flared along her temples as she turned her head from side to side, curious and wary as all her people were, for their world was one of constant change; shifting sands, growing coral, seaquakes, and the constantly flowing currents meant parts of her world changed from one day to the next. It was a wonder she never grew weary of.

Her body was gray-black for the most part, with her torso and belly fading to pale gray-white. The colouring made her almost invisible from above or below; aiding her when she hunted. Upon her forearms, from wrist to elbow were long golden quills striped with black, each sleek front ending in a bone tip holding a paralyzing poison; a weapon hidden by beauty. Her slender legs, ending in a long, delicat looking flukes, could propel her through the water at speeds only the most lethal of predators could come close to matching. She was, in form and function, an exotically beautiful, and sometimes deadly, representative of the Morska people.

She was making her way over one of the underwater mountain ranges where her people hunted when a great shadow passed over her. Immediately concerned, she flitted over to an overhanging protrusion of rock and slipped underneath it, head fronds flaring as she did so. Her first thought was that it could be a zarok jegulja; a huge predator of the depths that appeared as a massive eel fully 30 feet long, with tail flukes, pectoral and dorsal fins, and great point-nosed, gape-mouthed head of a shark. Encountering one of those was certain death for any one of her people, though groups of them could chase one off or kill it. As she was alone, hiding was her best defense. She was armed with the short, slender hunting spears her people used, as well as the single-edged swords they favoured, but that would be little use against any of the mighty apex predators.

However, as her dark gold eyes peeked out from her protective cover, the young Morska saw what made the shadow and relaxed in relief.

It was no zralok jegulga. Instead,it was one of the great floating things the air breathers used. What did they call them again? "Ships" or "Boats" yes, that was what they were called! Sleek Killer thought they looked bulky, combursome and ungainly, but they moved well on the surface, and she could appreciate the craftsmanship that created such things and allowed non-Morska to survive atop the waters.

Another shadow made her flinch and duck back under her rock. But it was just another ship, and then another. There were three of them, several lengths apart, floating on the edges of what she knew to be a massive gathering of fog and mist. She knew where the surface haze came from, all Morska did. The island at the center of the thickly gathered fog was well known to her people, they called it The Maker's Island, and few dared to approach it. There was an aura or energy about the area that made them all stay far from it. The Voices claimed there was a doorway there that led to another world and, should they have need great aid, they would have to pass through that doorway to find it.