an unusual fog. It’s green, like swamp sludge! Clawed and webbed limbs reached out to the surviving townspeople. She must be seeing double. She’d heard too many horror stories about sacrifices to the sea god. Those who had glimpsed the god himself at rites and sacraments where only a select few were allowed described him as a monster the size of a bastion. He had many eyes and tentacles, they said. He wore on his slimy forehead a chain studded with the crowns of those rulers whom he had drowned with all their armadas. He strangled those he did not want with his slimy limbs right in the temple. And the ancient temple, located on the outskirts of the city, was half sunk. It was dangerous to even be in it.
Desdemona believed all these tales only partially. She was too sensible to believe that a real monster had taken up residence in a temple on the border between Aquilania and the sea. More likely, some priest had deliberately disfigured himself during rituals and staged mysteries to impress the congregation. Priests are always hungry for power. People’s fear of the sea could be well capitalized on. But the sacrifices, even to an imaginary god, were real. Innocent and beautiful girls were said to be consecrated as priestesses in batches every new moon only to be drowned later.
Not long ago, she had trembled at the thought of being consecrated as a priestess to the sea god. But now that the streets were full of corpses, that thought no longer frightened her so much. It was easier to die from the volleys of enemy cannonade, or from the strange green creatures that scurried about in the fog. They bounced hastily into the alleyways if she caught a glimpse of them.
“She is special!” They hissed, pointing their webbed fingers in her direction. “You can’t touch her. Run away from her!”
Desdemona was shocked. Even the creepy freaks were running away from her like a leper. Maybe something happened to her face. But if she’d been hit by shrapnel, she would have felt pain. There was no pain. Could her skin have gotten a rash from the poisonous green mist? She didn’t even have a mirror with her to look. The other ladies had companions who carried hand mirrors, purses, and a whole host of little things they might need to make themselves pretty. But Candida’s extravagance made hiring a companion an unacceptable luxury. Even Desdemona’s governess was dismissed a year ago without references. Stepmother and all hurried to raise a scandal and chase them out of the service. The family estate because of her became increasingly empty, and now the capital of Aquilania was also empty. But the stepmother’s intrigues had nothing to do with it. It was as if a plague from the sea had come to the city, bringing war and horror.
There were corpses and wounded people moaning in the corners of the streets and squares, and the green creatures that had come out of the mist were leaning over them gently, whispering and running their hands into their wounds. She must be dreaming because of the fog. Everything becomes so blurry in its greenish puffs.
It never stopped raining either. Sometimes it alternated with hail, hitting the roofs like a scattering of white pearls. One hard hailstone bounced under her feet. Desdemona stooped, picked it up, and marveled. It was a real pearl! It lay in the palm of her hand like a white tear.
If all hail is made of pearls, then it would be time for children to climb the sidewalk and collect them, but there were no uninjured people around. Who could run away, who could not walk moaned on the sidewalk. Desdemona had to step over the remains of bodies on the road. The cannon volleys dismembered the bodies. Here at her feet was someone’s hand with a precious ring. It could be removed, but it seemed to move and become covered with green scales.
The fog made her eyes water. From the corners came groans, short screams and labored sighs, as if someone was being strangled there.
“It’s chaos out there,” said muffled voices outside the windows of the locked tavern. “The sea is about to overflow. The creatures of the deep are already here.”
“That’s to be expected. If one of them sits on the throne, the others will come to the city and behave like masters. How long has it been since we’ve heard of the Morgens?”
“Since they were given a princess they wanted to sacrifice.”
“Now, we have to find the girl they want, and then they’ll go back to the depths and not come out for the next hundred years.”
Desdemona pressed her ear against the binding of the window. It was still so fogged up that nothing could be seen through it, inside or out. The muffled voices were alarming. What were they talking about? It was some nonsense, but there was some truth in it. Even Candida knew the story of the heiress to the throne. She was forced to marry a sea king. And the stepmother was very sorry that she did not find such a groom. He might be a monster, but he was a king! Desdemona thought otherwise. To be given to a monster, even with good intentions, is the worst thing that can be thought of.
“Princess Lilophea willingly sacrificed herself and saved us from the watermen for over a hundred years. Conclusion: sacrifice must be voluntary. Where to find such a girl, who will be very beautiful and so stupid or selfless that she herself will go into the abyss?”
“It’s a pity that Aquilania doesn’t have another princess. The old king had a niece, but it seems she died without leaving offspring.”
There were several voices talking. They were all nasally, deaf, and obviously drunk. Desdemona could hardly distinguish one from the other.
“This trick won’t work now,” someone intervened next. There was the clatter of a mug placed on a wooden table. “The king himself has come from the sea to rule over us. One girl to go back to the abyss with him will not be enough for him. Even all the maidens of Aquilania won’t be enough for him. Mark my word, he’ll rule us for a while, he’ll get bored, and he’ll flood the whole kingdom.”
“And how can he be the son of the very Lilophea, if so many years have already passed?” asked someone sensible.
“Maybe he is a grandson, not a son. He could even be a great-grandson by counting the years.”
“It is because you are a stranger, did not live near the sea and did not know that all the maidens who survived in the abyss, gain immortality,” said a creaky old voice.
Now that’s interesting! Desdemona wanted to intervene in the conversation. She jerked the handle of the door. Locked on the latch! No one inside had thought to let her in, even after knocking.
“It’s the Morgens fooling around!” Someone spit over their shoulder inside the pub. “They want to kill us, but they can’t get in here. I drew symbols of protection at the door. An old fortune-teller taught me. Aren’t I clever?”
“What if there’s someone in there seeking refuge?”
“All the survivors have already gone home. They’re the only ones roaming the city.”
Who are they? Desdemona listened, but couldn’t figure it out. Who are the Morgens? The word was repeated many times and was clearly associated with creatures that crawled out of the sea. But who but crayfish and crabs could crawl ashore?
There were shouts behind her. Desdemona looked back and could not believe her eyes. The tentacles of fog were really choking people. They clung to the throats of the runners like green twine with claws and webbing, squeezed, and people fell, gasping for breath. Finished with the passersby, they reached for her.
“Unlock it!” Desdemona banged on the door. “I’m a lady here for the coronation from Adar. I have nowhere to go. My home is far away.”
“Don’t
