In minutes, she was at the outskirts of the city. She swooped down low, determined to enter it as her ancestors had, by its streets. As she swam through them—stopping to touch a column or lintel—forty centuries instantly fell away.
She swam into homes both humble and grand. Time and silt had covered much, but in one house she saw a mosaic portrait of a man, woman, and three children—the family that had lived there. In another, a statue of the sea goddess Neria, miraculously intact. In a third, she saw a human skeleton—a woman’s, she guessed, judging from the bracelets around her wrists and the rings on her fingers. Her delicate bones were furry with algae. Tiny fish swam in and out of her skull. Atlantis is under an enchantment. Who was she? Serafina wondered sadly. Had she known the six mages who had ruled Atlantis? Had she seen their talismans? How Sera wished the dead could speak.
As she was looking at the bones, a sudden movement to her left startled her. Her dagger was in her hand immediately, but it was only a crab scuttling up a wall. She sighed with relief, but the scare reminded her where she was—in the realm of the Opafago. The information she needed was here, she was sure of it, carved into a pediment or chiseled on a frieze. The faster she found it, the better.
Serafina moved on, deeper into the city, alert to sound and motion. As she swam, the camouflage spell she’d cast allowed her body to take on the colors around her—the sandy hues of rubble, the pink and white of coral, the greens and browns of seaweeds. In the center of Elysia, she knew, was the Hall of the Six Who Ruled and temples dedicated to important gods and goddesses. The ostrokon was there, and the agora, too. These public places would be more likely than private homes to have the information she was seeking.
She passed what looked like a wheelwright’s shop, with barnacled hoops still leaning against its front, then a wagonmaker’s and a blacksmith’s. She realized she was in what must’ve been an artisans’ quarter—like Cerulea’s fabra. The street hooked to the left and narrowed; Serafina followed it. The purpose of the shops that lined it became more somber. One had sold funeral biers. Another, shrouds.
At the bottom of the street was what looked like a temple. As Serafina neared it, she saw that its roof and walls were intact, unlike many of the neighboring buildings’. The temple’s massive doors, made of bronze, still hung on their hinges. Strangely, there was no corrosion on them. The stone columns flanking the doors were also intact. Above them were words carved in ancient Greek. Sera struggled with the letters, but eventually she deciphered them, whispering aloud the words they made: “Temple of Morsa.”
Abbadon had uttered similar words: Daímonas tis Morsa—demon of Morsa. Sera’s blood ran cold at the memory. Could this place contain information about the monster? Or the talismans?
No temple had ever been built for Morsa in Miromara, or in any of the mer realms. Merrow had decreed the goddess an abomination who deserved no place in a civilized society.
As she worked up the nerve to go inside, Serafina wondered if Merrow had other reasons for forbidding Morsa’s worship. Just as she wondered if Merrow had other reasons for herding the bloodthirsty Opafago into the Barrens of Thira, the waters surrounding Atlantis.
According to historians, Merrow said that she’d driven the cannibals in the Barrens because the ruins were useless to merfolk. Sera, however, believed Merrow had done so to make sure the true story of Atlantis’s demise was never discovered. According to Merrow’s ancient bloodsong, handed down to Vr?ja, the Temple of Morsa was where Orfeo had locked himself during the island’s destruction. Was there something inside it that Merrow also wanted kept secret?
“There’s only one way to find out,” Serafina said to herself.
It was dark inside the temple. The building’s narrow windows let in little light from the waters above. Serafina cast an illuminata to see where she was going, swirling sun rays together. As the ball of light flared in her hands, her eyes widened.
The temple looked exactly as it must have four thousand years ago. Nothing was disturbed. No silt was covering the floor. No algae, anemones, or seaweed had colonized the walls. It was as if even the blind, tiny creatures of the sea knew to shun the goddess.
Sera was amazed that the temple had survived, and was dazzled by its dark beauty. There were towering statues of Morsa’s priests and priestesses carved out of obsidian, with polished rubies for eyes. There were painted panels on the walls depicting her shadowy realm, incense burners made of gold, and silver candelabra. But underneath Sera’s amazement was a growing uneasiness. How has the temple survived all these centuries? she wondered.