Once they had left the table, Arrluk led Desmond to one of their finest guest rooms, which were usually reserved for visitors to the palace from other countries, usually their rulers, or noblemen from his own. They had debated along the way of which method of communication Desmond would most like to use to inform his family that he was all right: he had refused the idea of carving the message into a stone slab, as well as tying knots on bands of seaweed. Sending the message via a Tethyian courier was out of the question as well, as their world still needed to remain secret, so in the end he decided to use an enchanted seashell that would record his spoken message and release it when it had reached its intended recipient.

He seemed satisfied with the end result, so Arrluk bade him goodnight (as per human custom) and returned to his own room. The surfaces gleamed in the light from the angler fish swimming in the glass bowl that rested on his coral table. They began to swim around, agitated, when he entered, and he suddenly remembered that he had not fed them since the disastrous exploding-squid incident.

He seized a bag of shrimp from under the table and emptied the contents into the bowl, seating himself on his bed as they munched on the descending sustenance. He stared through the window in his room, out at the city ahead, thinking. It had been a strange few hours. The human, as he had expected, was quite unusual, though not unpleasant. He seemed quite open-minded, able to accept the existence of magic and supernatural life, though he required a gentle push in the right direction every now and then.

So far, three of the visions the Oracle had shown him had come into play: the vision of Desmond, the beach he had been found at, and now, his father had explained to him that the image of the strange, hybrid creature he had seen, the Ophiotaurus, a creature of legend, was very real, very dangerous, and very likely an important part of his near future.

According to Hatak, the Ophiotaurus granted immense power to anyone who succeeded in capturing it, but the beast had managed to evade imprisonment, even sightings, for thousands of years. Whether this was a good thing, Arrluk didn't know, nor could he tell how Desmond and the creature fitted in with the Oracle's prediction, and he was honestly not too keen to find out. His father was still quite young, quite accomplished at magic, and still occupying the throne of Tethyia. It was he who should have been confronted by Gologas. He who should be worried about impending threats to the livelihood of the seas. Hadn't the squid said itself that it was Hatak's duty, while he still reigned?

Why was it Arrluk whom he required? Was it perhaps because of his father's attitude towards humans? Clearly the surface-worlders were going to play an important part in events soon to unfold; if Desmond was indeed to be an ally, would his father's poor treatment of him drive him away? Was that why Arrluk had been chosen instead, for his willingness to apply diplomacy?

And what was this prophecy Hatak had mentioned at dinner? Why was it that both times predictions of the mysterious future were made, involving Arrluk, he was never there to hear them himself?

Frustration welled inside him, shooting to the surface like jets of water from a geyser: frustration at the Oracle, frustration at the gods of the sea, who were no doubt fully aware of what was about to happen, frustration at his father, who was still treating him like a child. . . .

But the anger suddenly died down, washed away as though a sudden wave had risen from the ocean and swept it along. That part of dinner, the part that he had consciously and desperately been trying to not to remember, came floating to the surface of his mind against his will. His father mentioning his mother — the first he'd done so in several years.

He had been right. His mother had been on an excursion to a distant kingdom, organizing some business between Tethyia and the king of that land, when she, and everyone who'd accompanied her, went down in a violent storm. He still remembered the awful mixture of shock and despair he'd felt when the news had been broken to him. It lingered in his mind like an old scar, faded but still present. His father had tried to wear a brave face since then, trying, Arrluk knew, for his sake to be strong, but Arrluk could tell that it was still wearing at him.

Still, it gave him no right to lock Arrluk up, prevent him from leaving the palace. Though he appreciated his father's efforts to keep him safe, he had to make his own choices; this, however, was a matter neither of them had any say in. Whatever was going to happen with Desmond and the Ophiotaurus, he had to follow through with it, whether he wanted to or not.

He knew quite well from History lessons and old stories alike that when Fate sets her eyes upon you, you have no choice but to follow the path she laid out for you; she would goad you and push you, lure you out in any way she could, even if it meant your own demise. Like his mother used to say: Fate was as cruel as the sea itself. On some days, she remained calm and settled, even helpful, and on others she would stir, smashing ships and tearing down structures. . . .

No, Arrluk thought. No matter what happened, he would not allow her to toy with him as she had done so many before. He would be one piece she couldn't tame, the first structure she could not tear down, even if he had to endure her relentless assaults. On that note, he laid himself flat across the bed, and drifted off.

He awoke quite early the next morning. There was no sun here underwater to gauge time from as there was in the human world he had so interestedly read up on. But there were many large bronze funnels attached to two vertical poles, each of which contained a thin green fluid that, at certain periods of the day, would expand and rise to a certain level indicated by their numerical system, in sync with the First Tide, a magical wave that rose and fell in line with the movements of the sun. Here in Tethyia they had fourteen markers for time, whereas on earth they had only twelve.

At the moment, the emerald fluid had risen to the engraving that represented the number 9. It was shortly after daybreak on the mortal world.

He rose quickly, pulled on a new suit of garments, then swam out to meet Desmond. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again. Still the room remained silent. Frowning slightly, Arrluk pushed open the door and peered into Desmond's room.

It was empty. The mattress had ridden up, telling tales of a restless night. Or perhaps Desmond was simply an antsy sleeper. All the same, he wondered where he had gotten to now.

Arrluk withdrew from the room and glided through the halls, coming up minutes later to an access hole in the floor, and he plunged, diving down to the kitchen. And there he was. Seated around the dining table, thrusting meal after meal into his mouth, Desmond looked much happier than he had at dinner the previous night.

"Oh, hey, Arrluk!" he called cheerily when he had noticed him.

"Kiwazhe," Arrluk replied, raising a hand in greeting. Desmond returned to his meal, giving no sign that he had noticed Arrluk's clear and deliberate usage of the Tethyian language, just as his father had done at dinner. He had done it as a kind of test, to see just how fluidly he could commune when he was unaware that he was speaking or listening to their language. Quite easily, it seemed.

He swam over to the table and assumed the seat directly opposite Desmond; it was the head chair, his father's seat. But Hatak was nowhere in sight, so Arrluk did not feel too guilty about this. Instantly, a mound of food was set before him.

Desmond was eating voraciously on the other side of the table, giving no thought to how indecent it might seem. Arrluk had been taught to maintain a clear semblance of respect and dignity at the table, but seeing as though his father wasn't here, and seeing as though only Desmond was, who seemed to think as little of the rules as was humanly possible, he decided to stow the facade for once.

He dug into the mound, grabbing pieces of fish and shoving them into his mouth, his fang-like teeth ripping them apart with ease. The kitchen staff was gazing at him, all looking very shocked. He stared back right, arranging his face into a defiant is-there-a-problem expression, and they all hurried back to their tasks at once. Desmond, who had been watching this scene, now laughed.

Arrluk felt a smile unfurl across his lips. If it had been his father or any other high-ranking Tethyian, he would likely have been chewed out, or at the very least subjected to disapproving glances. But Desmond looked amused. . . . He really was quite odd, in a strangely endearing way.

Quite soon, though he had no idea how it had happened, they were locked in a fierce eating contest, trying to see who could eat the most, and how quickly. The kitchen staff, all of whom had appeared not to think very highly of their poor display of etiquette earlier, were now hurtling around the room preparing more food as quickly as they could and sliding the plates before them one after another, looking immensely excited. Many of them had started cheering for Arrluk; several others, however, remained silent. Arrluk knew that they were backing Desmond, but were too afraid to openly declare their support for him. This made him chuckle as he picked several fish bones from between his teeth.

It was over minutes later, when each of them had been given their last plates, angler fish and stewed sea slugs,

"The winner!" one of the staff workers cried as Desmond slammed down his empty plate, having swallowed the entire meal without even chewing. He gave a hearty belch, which caused a stream of bubbles to erupt from his mouth and Arrluk and the other Tethyians to howl with laughter.

As the plates were cleared away, Desmond sat back, massaging his stomach. A female Tethyian approached, carrying two crystalline goblets of a dark brown liquid.

"No, I can't hold anything more," Desmond groaned.

"It's not for eating," Arrluk said, rolling his eyes. "It's carbonic acid. It's for hygiene, look —" He took his glass and downed the liquid, but instead of swallowing it, he gargled, a loud fizzling sound issuing from his mouth as the acid melted down the food remains, cleaning his teeth. He spat it out into the glass, then set it aside. Desmond shrugged and made to place the glass to his lips, but Arrluk forestalled him. "Um — perhaps a smaller amount will do for you!" he said quickly, remembering what Ketin had said the previous day, about how the concentrated fluids wouldn't bode well with his human anatomy.

Desmond shrugged again and took a small swig from the goblet. He pulled a face as the acid worked, the lines of his visage twisted in disgust, but not, Arrluk noted with relief, in pain. Then he frowned in bemusement. He spat out the acid and probed his mouth with his tongue; then he seized his goblet again and examined the reflection of his teeth.

"Huh," he said thoughtfully. "I think that's the cleanest they've been in years. Anyway, I —" He cut himself off abruptly. There was a slight pause, then he said, "What was that?"

"What was what?"

He looked around the dining room, as though he might find the source of whatever disturbance he had detected. "You don't hear that?" he said, looking at Arrluk in disbelief.

Arrluk, who hadn't heard anything besides the gentle clinks of the plates being knocked together as they too were purged by acid, shook his head. His eyes met Desmond's, pools of white dotted with rings of deepest brown. The closest thing he could think of that matched them was the muddy brown water that flowed through less pleasant parts of Tethyia. But that wasn't accurate. His eyes were much more striking, a rich, alluring hue.

He stood up so suddenly that Arrluk started.

"What's happened?" he asked, but Desmond did not respond. He ran towards the door and burst out, startling the staff. Arrluk heaved himself from his chair and swam out after him, catching up to him rather quickly. The movements of his immense tail propelled him easily through the torrent filling the halls, but though he could certainly breathe, and though he could resist the intense pressure of the sea, Desmond still struggled to move through the waters. Still, it wasn't for lack of trying.

He forged through the corridors as quickly as his legs would take him, Arrluk trailing behind him, watching curiously. He had never noticed how peculiar he looked when he ran. It would have been funny, had the situation not been so serious.

Desmond erupted through the doors at the end of the corridor, onto the foam-white deck, and stared out at the sea, jerking his head wildly around as though to catch sight of something.

"Desmond?"

Arrluk didn't understand what he could have heard. Was this another feature of the human composition? Enhanced hearing? Was that why he had picked up something Arrluk hadn't? Or was this related to the magic that allowed him to roam the seas in ways his brethren couldn't?

"It sounds so sad," Desmond muttered, still staring out ahead. "So . . . lonely."

"What does?"

Hatak had appeared out of nowhere on the deck, watching Desmond shrewdly. Arrluk jumped at the sound of his father's voice, but for all the notice his father took of him, he might have been part of the walls.

"I don't know, I . . . I can't tell what it is. . . ."

Hatak stared at him intently, boring holes into the back of his neck. With such an intense expression, Arrluk might have thought he was concentrating deeply, performing a spell of the highest order. But to his surprise, Hatak's face fell, and he sighed.

"And he shall hear the call of the one that has been lost to time, and follow its voice to the waters of brine."

Desmond and Arrluk turned to look at him curiously.

"That was a line from the prophecy you told us about, wasn't it?" Desmond asked.

"Indeed," Hatak said wearily. "Follow me, both of you, you need to hear it as well."

They followed the King obediently through the corridors, tracing a familiar path. Arrluk could tell what their destination was before they had even set eyes on the door: they were heading towards Hatak's room, for the second time in less than one week. This must be serious.

They turned a corner and approached the magnificent door to Hatak's chambers. They entered the room, which looked the same as it had on the last occasion Arrluk had entered, when he had been allowed to read of the encounters with past human visitors. Except this time, the tablet that Hatak handed to him was not taken from his shelves. It was lying on his bed, as though he had been reading it quite recently.

At a gesture from his father, Arrluk began to read: "The judgement of the sea approaches, borne by the souls of the morally departed.

"Two shall answer the Fates' request, the pearl of the sea and the son of man at his behest.

"And he shall hear the call of the one that has been lost to time, and follow its voice to the waters of brine.

"The ancient one's languor they shall blight, on the quest for the fairest of nature's light."

There was a stunned silence.

"Father," Arrluk said tentatively, looking up at last, "what does it mean. . . ?"

"It means," Hatak said heavily, "that your friend's tour of Tethyia will have to wait. The two of you are needed, somewhere out there." He nodded towards his window. "And it is time that I stopped holding you back."

"But what about me?" Desmond demanded. "I can't be a part of this, I have family, friends, a life, up there!" He pointed upwards. "I can't go on some trip to find some cow-snake-thing!"

"It is, ultimately, your decision," Hatak said. "But unfortunately, none of the choices you have been dealt will bring you any sort of peace. You can either return to the surface-world, where you will undoubtedly attract the attention of whomever was searching for you earlier, putting you at every risk of ending up down here once more, in a wholly less pleasant situation. Or you can travel with my son, fulfill whatever part you must play in what is to come, and return home a hero. It is your choice. When you have made it, you can find me in the dining room."

He turned and swept away, leaving Desmond and Arrluk alone.

"Desmond?" Arrluk said, after a slight pause.

"This was supposed to be a relaxing holiday," Desmond muttered bitterly. "Fun."

"It can be," Arrluk said. "After all, my father was right. We have no idea what lies out there, and I believe it could be quite interesting to find out."

"Good of you to be an optimist." Desmond's tone was one of terrible sarcasm. "Yeah, definitely, the whole fate of your world can depend on what you end up doing, you could even die along the way, but sure, the sights we can find on the way totally make up for that!"

"I thought you said you liked the water?" Arrluk said slyly.

"Of course I do, but —"

"Then what's the issue? Don't tell me you're — afraid?"

"What? No, I'm not! I just don't want to waste my vacation on some wild goose chase!"

"How can it be wild if you can track what you're looking for? You heard it, didn't you — the Ophiotaurus? You can find it. I have no proof, of course, but given that your old teacher evidently has some connection to the sea, it's not far off to assume that that could be why they were looking for you. As my father said, the choice lies with you: would you rather search for it with them . . . or with me?" Arrluk held out a hand, smiling.

Desmond looked down at it, his expression pensive. "Fine," he said abruptly. "I'll help you, but I have some demands."

"Demands?" Arrluk said, his hand still outstretched.

"Demands," Desmond repeated cheerfully, seizing Arrluk's hand.

Arrluk sighed. "Very well," he agreed, shaking, knowing perfectly well that he might regret this. "Shall we go inform my father of the good news?"