Daughter of the Sea

by Mira Zamin

Philyra could not help but be singularly curious about her home’s new occupant. Oh, she had been regaled with tales of Calista (the same few repeatedly for Calista had been only one year old when sent away). Quietly, she opened a trunk of things collected for Calista. Philyra had not been impressed by the girl who had arrived, but Calista had been the subject of intense speculation among Philyra’s friends and indeed, the whole of Atlantis once it had become common knowledge that Claudius and Calista were to be Returned.

  Calista’s room was smaller than Philyra’s, but Philyra knew from her mother’s many tales that the chamber had originally been a nursery. Now, it was outfitted with a large wooden bed draped in jade silk, a delicate writing table, and a large, thick rug that sprawled in the center of the room. Philyra knelt, the apricot silk of her peplos breathing softly against the smooth white floor, as her probing fingers brushed the sea-polished wood of trunk.

  Calista grunted as she rose in her bed. “Hey.”

  Philyra’s heart thumped wildly. “Good morning, Calista,” she said calmly. She kept her face pacific.

  “What’s in the trunk?” Calista asked as she looked around the room with wide, inquisitive eyes; they were not suspicious though and for that Philyra heaved an inward sigh of relief. If Calista was surprised that Evadne was not there to greet her in the morning, she did not show it.

  Philyra tried to make her face as clear and honest as possible. “Just the fabrics and dresses Mama purchased for your arrival.” Despite Philyra’s best efforts at innocence, Calista studied her doubtfully but said nothing.

  “Oh. Well, what were you looking for?”

  “I.” Philyra could not help but let a nervous little giggle escape her. “I was just adding some more robes to the chest. I am sorry I woke you.” That last part was true enough.

  Calista studied Philyra carefully as the girl’s hands twitched around her peplos. The bluish light was warmer this morning and it sparkled, reflected in Philyra’s eyes. “That was certainly very kind of your mother and yourself,” Calista said.

  “Not only that, but there is a guest awaiting you.” Philyra looked at the ground and gazed at Calista through her eyelashes, observing this stranger’s reactions.

  A snake coiled coldly around Calista’s insides as her bare feet touched the floor. “Who?”

  “Hadrian.” Her voice was smooth but Calista noticed how Philyra’s lips quirked at his name.

  Calista rubbed her cheeks. The name stirred a vague, liquid memory. “I am sorry…who is Hadrian?”

  Suddenly, the girl’s painfully beautiful features became very animated. “He stands out among us fair-haired folk of Atlantis, with his grey eyes and black hair. I am sure you have seen him; he was at the banquet. Hadrian was the one who…” This time, Philyra’s eyes flickered uncertainly towards Calista. “He made the comment about Melba’s son being drunk,” she finished tactfully.

  “Claudius,” Calista supplied absentmindedly, her mind’s eye honing in on a pair of storm-colored eyes. What business could he possibly have with me? Tartarus! “Well, if you could tell him I will be out in some moments I would be much obliged.”

  Philyra nodded curtly, perhaps insulted at being used as a servant and left. Surprised that there were no nymphan maids to attend her, Calista shrugged out of her tunic and pulled a fresh peplos from the chest that Philyra had been rooting through. She grimaced at the unwieldy tube-like garb and longed for the grace of the stola. And what was the girl looking for?

  As she struggled into the wine-colored peplos, she realized the fabric was gossamer sheer, just as the other nymphs’ had been, just as Philyra’s and Evadne’s were. She had not realized it the night before, so assaulted was she with the rest of Atlantis, but she felt disturbingly bare in the cloth. When struck by the milky light, it revealed ever contour of her body. Sighing, she put her tunic on underneath, knowing she would be deemed unfashionable and terribly unworldly. If they wish to prance around like prostitutes in broad daylight that is really not my concern.

  Her hair was still in a semblance of last night’s bun, although a loving hand had removed the silver chains during the night, and Calista chose to leave it so. Calista went down a fuzzily remembered path to her caller. She made her way past bright, festive mosaics, whose protagonists were almost always nymphs bearing a strong resemblance to Evadne. A few doors were propped open sliver-like and Calista wondered absently which belonged to Philyra and which to Evadne. Where there were no mosaics, gaping windows overlooked the thoroughfare of Atlantis. It would almost seem like a normal town with normal people if not for the otherworldly rippling, almost nauseating sea-sky that separated Atlantis from the encompassing ocean.

  When she entered, Hadrian nodded deeply. “Good morning. How did you rest?”

  Calista felt hot blood color her cheeks. She smiled awkwardly, wondering if Philyra was watching her now, wondering where Evadne was. “Well, thank you.” Her achingly tired muscles belied her statement. Calista felt she coud have slept from now until the Lupercalia.

  There was a pause and Calista awkwardly twisted the silk of her robe.

  “Will you walk with me to the markets?”

  Surprised by the direction of his request, she answered slowly, “I do not see why not.” Calista absentmindedly noted that Philyra was right about the peculiarity of his hair color; she had only seen the shade on Thetis since her arrival.

  The two walked in silence out of the villa and onto the pathway, which led to the main road of Atlantis. Calista’s eyes stretched wide, drinking in the unfamiliar, still-dreamlike strangeness of the black and white city.

  “I would like to apologize for waking you so early,” Hadrian said, a slightly mocking smile on his pink lips, unusually full for a man. Calista found herself wondering what it would be like to...No, don’t go there! she reprimanded herself.

  “After what you have been through, I can see that you could probably sleep for hours more,” he said.

  Calista shrugged noncommittally.

  “My behavior last night was boorish and rude and I beg your pardon. As recompense, I would like to offer you any counsel I can. I have dwelled in Atlantis long enough to know it is a mire of intrigue and politics, and I have heard it rumored that you will be named the Waveguide’s heir, which will make you the center of all sorts of gossip.”

  There was so much ridiculous filling that sentence, Calista did not know where to begin to discredit his words.

  “What makes you think I will be named the Waveguide’s heir? Thetis certainly mentioned nothing to me,” Calista finally said after struggling through a mountain of words. She then decided that she would let herself flow with whatever insanity Atlantis tossed her way. To fight against the indomitable current would prove futile, she was sure. Anxiously, she rubbed the pendant and bulla together.

  Hadrian nodded thoughtfully, but did not answer. Calista saw that he wore a heavy lapis and gold ring on his longest finger.

  Walking in a series of half-broken silences, Hadrian and Calista reached the Agora of Atlantis. Alongside the salty ocean air, she could smell the sweetness of fruits, the warmth of bread. It reminded her strongly of Portus Tarrus and homesickness flashed through her. The Agora bustled at the crossroads and women and men hawked everything from jewels and fabrics to vegetables and fruits. They weren’t the silken party-goers from the night before. No, these men and women were rough of hand and weathered of face. It was queer seeing such signs of hard-working reality dwelling side-by-side with the fantastic.

  Drifting closer, Calista studied the different fruits and vegetables offered. They were brightly colored and strangely shaped. She could attach no names to them but others looked similar to foods she had eaten on land. In the middle of the Agora stood several men and women: speakers all there for the benefit of the market-goers. It was powerfully reminiscent of the Roman Forum.

  Breaking through the quiet that hung between then, Hadrian said, “The Waveguide has become increasingly reclusive in the past few ye
ars—you must have noticed that she did not attend last night’s feast—and she has held no audiences for strangers. We all noted that you spent nearly an hour in her Maretheon. I believe her favor may have something to do with your time Above. We will know for certain if she calls you again.” He eyed her speculatively.

  “Thetis did tell me she was tired and wished to leave her post…” Calista allowed.

  “There you go!”

  “It would be folly for Thetis to believe I will succeed her as Waveguide. I am not Atlantian; I am Roman. These people are not my responsibility. I do not know them—how can I hope to rule them?” Her fists on her hips, she dared Hadrian to protest.

  He (and the fruit vendor) stared at Calista until her face flushed and embarrassment tingled across her skin. Hadrian said nothing and the noise of the Agora swelled to fill the void.

  That is right! she thought crossly. I should be taking care of Mother and Pyp, not a mass of strangers for whom I do not care two figs.

  To keep her hands busy against the stymieing awkwardness, she tossed a strange, green-colored fruit in her hand. Its tangy fragrance reminded Calista that she had departed Evadne’s home without breaking her fast. She peeled it deftly and bit into it. Juice dribbled down her chin.

  Hadrian reached over to pay the vendor with small golden coins, ignoring her protests. “I can’t imagine all of this, Atlantis, has been easy,” he said not unkindly.

  “Confusing, unbelievable, ridiculous, but easy, no, easy it is not. But this is only my second day here, and once I get my bearings I can set about—”

  They began retracing the path to Evadne’s villa.

  “Set about what?” he said encouragingly.

  “I…”

  “Yes?”

  Taking a deep breath, she explained, “I need to return home, soon.” She divulged the situation to him and to her surprise Hadrian appeared entirely sympathetic. “You must not tell Thetis or anyone else,” she insisted. “I don’t know what purpose I am here to serve, but whatever it is, it cannot be more important than going home. I need to rescue my family, I need to destroy the bastard who murdered my father, ruined our lives.” She bit her lip, suddenly wishing she had maintained her silence.

  He touched her shoulder. “I can understand the love you bear for your foster family and their home, but now you have come back to your come. There is plenty for you to love here.” He smiled and Calista lowered her eyes, flushed.

  Reaching Evadne’s villa, Calista said, “Thank you for showing me the Agora and for your attention while I babbled like a fool. Whether or not Thetis means for me to rule after her, I appreciate your offer of counsel.”

  He kissed her lightly on the cheek. It was no more than a politeness, but Calista’s heart pounded hard. “We shall meet again soon.” He loped away.

  Calista glanced towards the window and was startled to see Philyra peeking out. Calista sucked in a breath at the brightly burning hatred emanating from the girl’s face. Once Philyra saw she had been spotted, she quickly ducked.

  Calista shut the villa door softly behind her and heard the fuming Philyra before she saw her.

  “What did Hadrian want with you?” Philyra hissed. She drew herself to her full willowy height. “Is it not enough you’ve already bedded Melba’s son? Now you have to chase after Hadrian as well?”

  Surprised by the vitriol, Calista raised a cool eyebrow. Philyra’s face was perfect even when furious—it brought a lovely pink to her high cheeks and long neck. Calista let her own anger fall away. This Hadrian was not worth creating enemies, especially with her blood sister. (How strange that seemed!)

  “You are mistaken, sister. Hadrian came to offer his apology for his behavior last night. He mentioned you a great deal,” Calista added. It was a lie, but a well-meant one.

  The tightness softened and then disappeared from Philyra’s rosebud mouth.

  “The two of you suit each other quite well; a most handsome couple,” Calista said, but her voice grew sharp when she asked, “But what is this you said of me and Claudius?”

  Roses bloomed in Philyra’s cheeks and if Calista was satisfied by her embarrassment it did not help that embarrassment suited the girl well. “That is what some of the women are saying.”

  Calista looked at Philyra levelly and was gratified when the girl wilted under her gaze. “You can tell those gossip mongers to stop spreading their lies. I would hardly think Neptune would approve,” she finished primly.

  Philyra led Calista to a room with reflective crystal embedded in the walls. They seated themselves on a plum-colored sofa. She was close enough to Philyra to smell her sweet perfume. It reminded her of violets. Calista knew that if she could win an ally in Philyra, who appeared to have a knowledge concerning all things in the city and a love of rooting around for gossip, she could begin to better understand Atlantis. And find a way out. If what Hadrian had said was true, then she would need to learn the ways of Atlantis—enough to lull them into thinking her tame.

  “You really do not know much about Neptune, do you?” Philyra cocked her head to the side, like a little bird with bright eyes and smoky lashes.

  “Well, I only arrived yesterday,” Calista said. There was no need to divulge that she still half-believed Atlantis to be a product of her imagination.

  “Well, Neptune has so many…spawn…he really does not give preferential treatment to any of his children.” Philyra laughed bitterly. “I do suppose he may disapprove of people spreading such rumors but I wouldn’t count on it.” She paused. “He does seem to particularly like you.” Her tone suggested that was some inexplicable oddness.

  Calista sighed. “This entire society boggles my mind. The Waveguide told me a bit of Atlantis’ history but perhaps you could explain more of the quotidian?”

  Philyra smiled, almost patronizingly. “Atlantis is not a place that is meant to be questioned. The gods said be and it was.”

  Calista stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Can you at least explain why Claudius and I were sent to Rome?”

  Philyra smoothed the pleats of her peach peplos, but just as she parted her lips to speak, Neptune and Evadne hurtled in like a pair of young lovers hanging off each others’ arms.

  “Oh hello, Calista! Philyra, be sure to—” Neptune kissed Evadne before she could finish her sentence and her words were lost in a squeal. The two disappeared into Evadne’s room without a second glance towards their daughters.

  “Gods…Do they do that...often?” Calista was not sure whether to laugh or be uncomfortable. There was no doubt about what they were about to; she cringed. That was certainly uncomfortable.

  Not discomfited in the slightest, Philyra explained, “Actually, yes. It is very good for us. Think: what if he lost interest in our mother? He has so many other concubines and children, it really wouldn’t matter to him. A nice house, pretty robes, our standing: they are all here because Father Neptune enjoys spending time with Mother.

  “Now, come.” Philyra’s hand grasped Calista’s warmly and Calista thought that perhaps the awkwardness of seeing their birth parents behave so had broken some of the wariness between them. “Let me show you the Waveguide’s gardens.”

  They had almost reached the gardens when Philyra abruptly stopped and lightly touched Calista’s arm. “Hadrian and I…Hadrian…he is not my suitor.” The last several words came out in a jumble that Calista had to spend a moment deciphering. “He thinks I am too young.” Philyra now blushed. “I did not need someone who is new, and pretty and my own sister to take more attention away from me.”

  Calista squeezed her sister’s hand. She was sympathetic to the girl’s plight. “I would not poach him from you—nor do I think he would be poached. If you would like, I will try to pair the two of you together. In Portus Tarrus…”

  Recollecting her formidable composure, Philyra smiled at Calista’s offer, hope gleaming in her eyes. “So, is that where you were from then? Portus Tarrus? How was it?”

  Calista smiled as
memory of the place swam before her eyes. She gestured to the rippling dome that shimmered with patterns of light, the airy architecture that surrounded them, and the exotic blooms and fountains of the Waveguide’s gardens. “This is beautiful, like something from a story, but Portus Tarrus is wonderful.” Calista rubbed the pendant and bulla together and her heart squeezed painfully. “To see the sea touch the sand, the sky arch over both ocean and land...

  “I have a little brother, Nicetius but we call him Pyp. He and his friend Maro are absolutely inseparable. Then, there is…was…my father, Lucretius. He is…was such a kind father, and he indulged far more than he should have.” Calista scrubbed her burning nose. “He was killed.” Ignoring Philyra’s startled look, she continued. “My mother, Olympia, she was expecting a child when I left.” She hoped her mother and Pyp were well, but she wondered how likely that was if they were once more in Portus Tarrus in Avaritus’ hands.

  “You cannot imagine how much I want to go back.” The words spilled quietly from her as if squeezed out by a force of their own. It had been less than two days that she had been separated from Portus Tarrrus and her family, but the time rested on her like eons. Calista followed Philyra to a bench shaded by a strange gnarled tree, her throat tight and heavy. Philyra helplessly petted her arm.

  Willing the tears to recede, Calista stared steadily at the stretch of marble and obsidian buildings, the dome curving like a sky above. How could she escape? Was that border pregnable? How would she navigate to Portus Tarrus? If she could be sent there, surely she could return. She had never thought that such a beautiful scene—majestic pillars, neat roads, fine statues and fountains at each crossroads—would seem so daunting.

  CHAPTER XIV