Seamark, page 1
Contents
Copyright
About This Book
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Epilogue
Bonus Chapter!
About the Author
Copyright
Warning: this book contains adult language and themes, including graphic descriptions of violence. It is intended for mature readers only, of legal age to possess such material in their area.
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, companies, events, and locations are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.
Seamark
Copyright 2024 by Cari Z
Cover Art by JV Arts
Editing by Lisa Lakeland
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
About This Book
A distant island in the blustery north holds a secret—a clan of shapeshifting sea dragons called the Agnarra, all but wiped out by humans a generation ago. For Morgan, a lone artistic soul among his practical people, life on the island is incredibly boring. That is, until a human ship explodes on the horizon, causing fear among the clan.
In the aftermath, Morgan finds a human in the water—Auban—badly injured and with no memory of his past. As Morgan nurses him back to health, he can't help but fall in love. But their love is forbidden - Morgan's people, especially his fierce older brother, would kill Auban if they knew he existed. It's up to Morgan to keep him a secret until they can find a way for him to escape the island.
But secrets never last, and neither does the Agnarra's new peace. War is coming, and Morgan must use all of his wits and Auban's help to save his clan from annihilation.
Chapter one
Honestly, the explosion on the horizon was a relief, given the way the council meeting had been going.
Well, all right, that wasn’t true. Morgan was a lot of things, most of them disreputable if you listened to his brother, which no one who had any sense should, but … Anyhow, he wasn’t foolish enough to wish the worst upon their people as an anodyne for boredom. Not when there were plenty of less dramatic diversions around.
Garen had scowled at him when Morgan announced that he’d be skipping the meeting as usual. “How can Brevaer possibly let you get away with that?” he demanded sourly. “I have to attend every council meeting even though my mother never allows me to speak at them.”
“That’s the whole trick,” Morgan informed his best friend as he tossed his bright-green braid over his shoulder. “I make my brother think that I am going to speak at the council meeting, and he can’t wait to get rid of me. It’s quite strategic of me, don’t you think?”
It was enough of a jibe to coax a reluctant smile out of Garen. “I don’t know about strategy, but after the last time you talked there, I suppose I can’t blame him.”
“All I said was that I would be happy to take any interested parties with me to dive for pearls!” Morgan crossed his arms with a huff. “How was I supposed to know half the council would interpret that as me being inappropriate? I don’t know what our women call their personal parts—”
“You should know that; you’re twenty years old—”
“And it’s of no interest to me anyhow, because I have no interest in their personal parts,” he pressed on. “I like actual pearls, thank you very much. And I’m very good at finding them! Aren’t we supposed to share our unique gifts with the clan?”
Pearl diving was the only gift of Morgan’s that his clan was interested in for the most part. The majority of them were indifferent to the art and sculptures he made, and his talent at making paints and pigments was useful but not the sort of thing that would get him out of doing his daily chores. Pearls, though … those were special, and being able to dive deep enough to reach the oysters that made them was a challenge.
“The point is, my brother is happy enough to let me do as I please when the council comes together, and you are jealous of my good fortune.” Morgan patted Garen on the cheek. “My heart weeps for you! Have fun now!” He whirled around and flounced off toward the big beach, the one the village was closest to.
“I’m going to make you run around the island tomorrow morning with me, see if I don’t!” Garen called after him.
Ugh. Running. Not Morgan’s idea of fun, but if it made Garen and his brother happy, he would do some training with them just to get them off his back.
Training. Training for what, he asked himself petulantly as he practically skipped to the beach. There had been no fights with the humans since he and Garen were five years old. This island, the new island—although new was relative since Morgan had lived here for the past fifteen years of his life—was safe. Humans didn’t sail this far north. Why would they? There was nothing for them here, not even the whales they once hunted—the great beasts didn’t like the confusing currents.
No one would ever find their clan here. They could be bored and useless and isolated forever.
That’s not fair. Morgan slowed as he reached the beach, skirting around the groups of playing children and their minders and heading for a slightly more isolated section of sand, protected from view by a windswept hummock of seagrass and rocky soil. It wasn’t fair to miss what he barely remembered. It wasn’t fair to wish he were back in a place that had claimed the lives of so many of his kind—or, in the case of Garen’s father, his sanity. But the home island had been …
Morgan sat down on the sand, digging his long fingers into the cool grains and closing his eyes as he tried to remember. The home island had been bigger than this one, at least twice as large. It had been warmer, with more rain and never snow. The soil had been dark and rich, and food had grown there without the need to seed the earth with fish waste. There had been a waterfall with a pool beneath it—he remembered playing there with Garen when they were so small, when his parents had still been alive, and Brevaer had just been his big brother, not his guardian and the boss of his entire life. He remembered his mother’s laughter and how she and Garen’s mother, Rozyne, had giggled into each other’s ears as they whispered about their husbands and children and lives.
It had been good there. So good. Too good to last.
Morgan slowly opened his eyes. Waving seagrass met his view, and beyond that pale sand, and past that, the choppy, dark-blue waves of the ocean. The sky was clouded today, giving everything a flat, shadowed look, and the distant horizon was an uninspiring blur.
Flat. Uninspiring. Just like everything about this new island of theirs.
I am unkind. Morgan knew he was. He knew the elders had done what they thought was right by moving them here; he knew his brother did what he thought was right by forcing him to train when he would rather be painting; he knew Garen’s mother did what she thought was right by screaming at everyone, emphasizing her son’s failings and ignoring his triumphs. He knew it was all to make them tougher, stronger, more ready to protect themselves if and when they were ever found again.
There was another island somewhere, he knew—colder, smaller, even less inviting than this one. That island was their destiny if they were scared badly enough.
Morgan was more frightened of that fate than of dying. I am unkind, but I know myself. I will stifle in such a place. He was stifling here though he would never confess it to his brother. Brevaer thought he just needed to find more work to lose himself in, to exert himself more for the good of their clan, their people. Brevaer thought better of Morgan’s potential than Morgan did of his own.
I am not brave like he is. I cannot live like he does.
Melancholy threatened to sweep away Morgan’s fragile peace with himself. In an effort to preserve it, he pushed to his feet and went down to the water’s edge. The sand there was wet and malleable, and the tide was going out—he would have time to create something before the waves washed his work away.
This is life in this place, he mused as he scooped sand into a pile, then began to shape it. He made the sculpture long and sinuous, breaking up the circular shape of it here and there with the curls of fins and claws. He finally finished with the head, clambering over the sand to grab a broken piece of shell a few paces away, then using it to carve tiny details that would be too fine for any but the most curious to see. The curve of scales here … the ridge of an eyebrow there … the snake of a tongue reaching out to taste the world, to drink in everything it had to offer. The shell itself made a decent-enough eye.
Morgan sat back and looked at his creation, then chuckled. If he could color it in, it would be a perfect self-portrait. As it was, he might be able to thread some of the longer stalks of grass into the san d to make something like a mane, and—
BOOM!
Morgan startled so badly he fell flat onto his backside as he turned to stare at the horizon. A cloud of flame swelled and burst like a seedpod, jettisoning smoke into the air. The bright-orange flames died fast enough, but the smoke remained. He heard the children close by crying in fear and the worried tones of the few other adults on the beach at this time of day.
What is it?
Is it them?
Have they found us?
How?
The others fled the scene, rushing back to the safety of the village even as Morgan ran to the main beach, his art project abandoned in the sheer, intense rush of curiosity that came over him.
Was it a human ship? Could they breathe fire and smoke like that and survive? Was it something else? He stepped out into the water, waves breaking against his bare feet, and gave in to the urge to go and find out.
Chapter two
“No!” Hard hands and snarled words jerked Morgan back before he was more than a foot deep. Morgan stumbled into his brother, turning and giving him a wounded look as he rubbed the spot where Brevaer had grabbed onto him. His brother raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his pantomime.
“I wasn’t going to get close to it, Brev!” Morgan protested. “I just want to see what it is!”
“It’s trouble, that’s what it is,” Brevaer snapped, crossing his strongly muscled arms. Honestly, Morgan wasn’t kidding when he let on that it hurt to be tossed around by his brother—Brevaer was the strongest person in the clan. “Nothing that isn’t a volcano should be erupting in flames like that. You think I’m going to let an untrained, untested child like yourself out into the water to investigate it? Think again.”
“I’m twenty; I’m not a child,” Morgan muttered. The most experienced warriors in the clan streamed past them and leapt into the water, their two-legged forms swiftly giving way to the long, slender shapes of their sea-dragon selves. Morgan yearned to follow them—at a safe distance, of course. He wasn’t a fool, no matter what his brother said. Maybe he could …
“Garen!” Brevaer called out to the young man who’d just reached the beach, and Morgan’s hopes sank like a stone. Garen had a wild crush on Morgan’s older brother and would sooner cut his arm off than disappoint him. It was terribly inconvenient to have a friend who was so biased toward boring responsibility.
Garen jogged over, doing a decent job of keeping his expression neutral despite the way his dusky cheeks were pinking up from sheer reaction to being close to Brevaer. Shameless. How Brevaer hadn’t noticed and done something about it yet was beyond Morgan. “Yes, Brevaer?” Garen asked.
“Can I trust you to keep Morgan on land while the rest of us investigate the explosion?”
The corners of Garen’s mouth turned down. Ah, that wasn’t the question he’d been hoping to be asked. Probably he’d wanted something like, “I need someone I can depend on by my side as I swim into what might be a fatal battle. May I count on you to protect me, tooth and claw?” And then Garen would say, “Of course, Brevaer. You honor me,” as he tried not to faint from sheer joy, and then Morgan would have to wash his eyes out with saltwater as his brother swept his best friend into a passionate kiss, and—
“Garen stays here!” a sharp voice called out. Garen’s shoulders crumpled a bit more as his mother arrived, her expression thunderous as she looked at Brevaer. “Don’t you dare ask him to go out into that mess. You aren’t clan chieftain, and I won’t—”
“I wasn’t asking him anywhere,” Brevaer replied coldly. Morgan’s heart ached for his friend as Garen cast his gaze down onto the sand, all hopes utterly dashed. “I want him to keep Morgan back as well.”
“Of course, he will. What good could Morgan do out there?”
Well, great. Now Morgan felt like shit as well. Their families were just the best.
Brevaer rolled his eyes and turned away, following the others into the water. He transformed into his dragon self, all shining black scales with glittering green edges and a long green mane, and quickly overtook the rest of the clan as they swam out into the open waters.
Morgan sighed, then glanced at his friend, who was enduring a pointed lecture from his mother about the importance of “—keeping yourself safe at all costs! You are next in line to lead this clan after your father, and I won’t have you risking yourself on pointless expeditions into danger!”
“How could I ever lead a clan if I’m unwilling to do the work of a warrior?” Garen demanded.
“Look where being a warrior got your father!” Rozyne said, her voice breaking. “You stay here, do you understand me?” She left before getting confirmation from either of them, furiously wiping at the tears streaming down her face as she went. Probably off to check on her husband—not that he ever moved much these days. Sariel had irrevocably changed the day their clan was attacked, lost in his own mind after losing so many of their people, including Garen’s older siblings and Morgan’s own parents.
Morgan reached out and grabbed his friend’s hand, determined to cheer him up even though both of them were smarting right now. “Good thing you’re here to keep me out of trouble!”
Garen didn’t try to grip back. “Don’t, Morgan,” he said quietly. “Just don’t.”
“Don’t what? Rely on you to keep me out of trouble? That’s our entire relationship, though. What will I do if you take away the central pillar of our friendship?”
“Probably find someone better than me to replace it with.”
Morgan’s heart went from aching for his friend to bleeding. “No,” he said, leaning his head against Garen’s shoulder. They were almost the same height, but Garen was just tall enough that Morgan could still make this work without putting a crick in his neck. “There’s no one better than you.”
Garen scoffed. “Are you joking? Everyone is better than me! I’m a trained warrior who’s prevented from doing the duties of a warrior by my own mother. I’m the chief’s only living son, but the chief is a madman who should have been replaced years ago and only hasn’t been out of pity. I’m a fool who’s in love with someone who will never see me as more than a minder for his younger brother, and at least you are never looked down upon for choosing not to train. Everyone knows you’re an artist at heart. It would be cruel to try and make you into a fighter.”
“Tell that to Brevaer; he’s constantly bothering me to train,” Morgan said lightly.
“Only because he wants you to be safe.”
Morgan cuddled a little closer. “That’s what your mother wants for you too. To keep you safe.”
“But that’s not what I want,” Garen whispered.
“Soon you’ll come of age.” They were both already considered adults, but coming of age took several more years of maturation and personal decision-making. Their people, the Agnarra, had traditionally had many trades and professions for coming-of-age youths to choose from. Too many of them had been lost during the war, and necessity had made many who would rather have been artisans or lorekeepers or innovators into warriors and farmers. Morgan himself had no master he could approach to teach him about the art his fingers constantly itched to make. He could only look at the work that had been done before and imitate it until he managed to teach himself. Their people had lost so much … and might lose even more.
“We’ll both come of age,” he continued. He and Garen had been born only two moons apart, after all. “And then your mother won’t be able to stop you from truly dedicating yourself to being a warrior. You’ll get your chance to be just as impressively stupid as all the rest of them.”
Garen finally twined his fingers in between Morgan’s. A tiny smile that most people wouldn’t even have noticed appeared at the very corners of his mouth, and Morgan relaxed a bit with the knowledge he’d made his friend happy or at least amused him. “Thanks.”
“Just don’t leave me behind completely when my brother finally notices you,” Morgan went on, slyly hip checking Garen and laughing when he saw the blush reappear. “After all, I was your friend first, and …” He stopped, distracted by something rolling in on the waves. Was someone returning already? No, this didn’t move like a living thing.
