Deep Water Read Online Free

that,
above, would become part of France. Down in the depths, however, the territory
belonged to the Oracle of the Waters. He located the camouflaged entrance in
the rocks and went in, first swimming and then trudging upwards through a
narrow tunnel that terminated in a saltwater cave pool.
    Emerging from the pool, Poseidon dried
himself with a thought as he glanced around the long, lozenge-shaped cavern. An
array of glass globes hung suspended in netting from the rocky walls. Each
globe was filled with a liquid that illuminated the cavern with a soft white
glow, reflecting on the pool’s surface with a ghostly shimmer.
    About thirty feet from the water the walls
narrowed, slabs of rock forming a rough rectangular doorway. A tall,
white-haired man in an old-fashioned linen shirt and homespun breeches waited
there now, pale blue eyes lit with amusement.
    “Welcome, old friend,” he said, his voice
low but still retaining a faint Irish lilt. “I see you got my message.”
    “I did.” Poseidon raised the bottle. “And
I bring tribute. From my son’s private wine cellar.”
    The Oracle’s eyes brightened. “Bythos?
Aye, that lad always had a knack for picking vintages. Come in, then, and be
welcome.”
    Poseidon followed the white-haired man into
the back part of the cavern. The anteroom was where the Oracle met those who braved
the waters to learn the will of the Fates. From there, he accepted tribute
before giving them their pronouncements. Behind the doorway, however, were the
Oracle’s private chambers.
    Poseidon was struck by the amazing
hodgepodge of shipwrecked items collected by his friend over the centuries.
Gold and jewels poured out of numerous wooden chests, some of them rotting with
age and the ever-present moisture. Salvaged planks and driftwood sat piled in
neat stacks, and various pieces of statuary had been placed in available niches.
In one corner, a peeling but still beautiful figurehead in the shape of a
topless mermaid smiled at him in welcome.
    The center of the room had been
comfortably furnished with rare old carpets and pieces of carved furniture,
rescued from the deep and carefully cleaned for their new owner’s use. Two
chairs sat on either side of an elegantly chased brazier that filled the room
with welcome warmth.
    He was waved to one seat, and the Oracle
took the chair across from him.
    “I’m glad you got here quickly,” the old
man said, taking the bottle and pulling out the cork. “I had the feeling that
there was some urgency behind the Fates’ words.”
    Poseidon accepted a filled golden cup.
“Does this have something to do with the events of the past month?”
    The Oracle shrugged. “I’m simply the
messenger. Only you can put meaning to the words.”
    “Which are?”
    Pale eyes focused on him. The Oracle had
once been a mortal man named Donald, but now Poseidon could sense the Fates
gazing at him through those piercing eyes.
    “The wheel has turned,” the Oracle said.
“Heal old wounds and regain the trust of those you betrayed, or the Mad One
will prevail.”
    Poseidon waited, but nothing else came. “I
assume the Mad One is Thetis.”
    The old man sighed, settling back in his
chair. “Can you think of another crazed creature that needs to be defeated?” he
said. “The question is, do you know what the rest of it means?”
    The wheel has
turned. That would require some thought. Healing old wounds could possibly apply to any
of the beings he’d quarreled with over the centuries. Gaia knew there were
enough of them.
    The betrayed trust, however, could only
refer to one thing. “It seems the Fates have decided to move into the field of
marital counseling,” Poseidon muttered, taking a deep gulp of his wine.
    “Ah.” Donald nodded over his own cup. “The
lovely Lady Amphitrite. I take it you still haven’t reconciled with her?”
    “I don’t care to discuss it.
    Donald waved it off. “As you wish. But if
the Fates say that you’ll need Amphitrite at your