by E J Pay
I am forming more and more of these questions when Gus comes to a stop in front of a large, circular stone leaning against a wall. Two more octopi stand by the stone and greet Gus with a nod. This time Gus addresses them out loud in an octopus language I can understand, “Majesty ask see prisoner. Prisoner here now.” The other two octopi nod their heads. The one on the left joins his companion on the right and with some of their tentacles pushing the stone and the remaining tentacles keeping them upright on the ledge, they roll the stone out of the doorway. First a crack of light gleams from the edge of the exposed entrance, then the light grows brighter as its covering is moved out of the way. Gus and I enter the room and the soldiers roll the giant stone back into place.
I blink to adjust my eyes to the brightness of the room. It is nearly all white – white walls, white floor, even a white ceiling. I see gold elements here and there. A large chandelier hangs directly in front of me in the center of the long, oval room. Its crystals, rather than a teardrop or Fleur de lis or other typical chandelier shape, has oval centers with long, spindly arms coming out of them. I counted the little arms on one of the crystals – eight. Just like the eight tentacle legs of my octopus enemy. The walls have sconces with the same unique crystals hanging from their bases. Under the glowing white light of the distinctive chandelier, is a long, white, oval table. A thin gold border caresses its edges all the way around. The table is surrounded by chairs, solid in construction, made with a material I have never seen before. It is some kind of stone. The chairs provide the only color in the room. They are green and carved with scrollwork with a Middle Eastern flair. These, too, are trimmed in gold.
Even though my attention is absorbed by these bright and elegant surroundings, I still feel a tugging from somewhere in my stomach. But this time it isn’t from hunger. I am being watched as I hang suspended in the space above the floor, held there by Gus’ tentacles. I move my eyes and face to my left – the direction the tugging feeling is coming from. There, seated at the end of the oval table is Ceto.
Chapter 22
I have never seen her before, but I know who she is. She sits in a chair, arms spread wide, hands resting on the white surface before her. Her skin is green, the shade of kelp in mid-day light. Her torso and lower half of her body have made a full transformation. One or two black, shiny tentacles move in the space by her sides, belaying the remaining legs which are beneath the table. The shiny, black skin of those tentacles covers almost her entire torso. Her features have changed so much from that of a human, that clothing is unnecessary. There is nothing left to cover. For the most part, the octopus skin is below her shoulders. However, one strand of black, like a curious tentacle, is growing its way up her green neck like it is going to strangle her. Her hair is twisted into hundreds of dark brown dreadlocks that slither ominously around her face. Her face is her one redeeming quality. It is beautiful. Her skin is youthful, no laugh lines or crow’s feet or wrinkles. Her nose is long and straight. Her jawline is square and sharp. Her lips, set in a soft smile, are the one bright area of color on her entire body. They are painted in a bold red lipstick. Except for the movement of her hair and tentacles, she remains a statue.
Ceto lets me stare at her without reservation. She understands that I need a few moments to take her in. She is definitely one-of-a-kind. Once I have proven that I am not going to scream or fight, she addresses Gus.
“I think you can set her down now, Gus. I don’t think she is going anywhere. You can leave us alone.” Gus sets me on my feet on the cold, white stony floor. He bids me a farewell that only I can hear, and I return his silent goodbye with one of my own.
Once we are alone, Ceto rises from her chair and speaks to me. “Well. Evelyn Marin. I finally have the opportunity and honor of addressing you. As I am sure you know by now, I am your aunt, Ceto.” She moves to the side of the table so her entire body is in full view. Six tentacles caress the ground like the ruffled edges of a skirt. Ceto rests her hands on the chair next to her own, “Please, come sit with me. I will be eating lunch shortly and I would love to have you join me. I’m sure you are famished after such a long night.” Her voice is gentle, soothing, and though she is my enemy, I acknowledge her respectfully.
“Thank you. I will,” I reply, moving slowly toward the chair.
“It has been such a long time since I have seen any of my old friends. Your mother and I were very close. May I give you a hug?” A hug? Why on earth would someone who wants to destroy my way of life ask for a hug? I am wary of her actions and intentions. I cringe, thinking of her arms around my shoulders, but I am her prisoner. Can I really refuse?
I nod in response and she wraps her arms around mine. I return her embrace with both of my arms and hands lightly touching her back. Though her cheek on mine is soft and warm, the skin of her back is anything but. It is cold and smooth and firm. It reminds me of when I once touched a sting-ray at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. It is the same feeling of strong muscle and tissue beneath the tough exterior.
As she pulls away, Ceto looks thoughtfully into my face. “I am surprised at just how grown you are. I’m not sure what I expected but it wasn’t such a mature and lovely young lady.” She motions to a chair and I sit down, confused by the attention I am receiving. She sits again at the head of the table and at the same moment a side door opens and two stingrays enter carrying large plates of food on their backs. They swim just above the table then each arches upward right in front of us, sliding the plates of food from their backs as they do so. I look at my plate and my stomach growls. I am so hungry. My plate is covered with prawns and clams and even a bit of seaweed. I am not accustomed to eating seafood. I have never liked it and since I entered Atlantis for the first time, I find it a bit unsettling to eat anyway. I decide to try the seaweed first. Fortunately, it is cooked so it isn’t rubbery as I expected it to be. I have no idea what it is seasoned with, but it is delicious. Different from what I eat in Atlantis, but delicious.
I am halfway through my portion when the idea of poison enters my brain. I have no idea how this food was prepared. It is possible that Ceto is luring me to my death. I sit up and place my hands in my lap, evaluating each part of my body with my mind. My stomach is feeling better, nothing aches anymore. I don’t feel dizzy or lightheaded and I can see fine. I decide I am not being poisoned and return to the meal.
A soft chuckle comes from Ceto. “Were you checking to make sure I wasn’t trying to sneak something into your food?” I stop chewing and look down at my plate. “Don’t worry, Evelyn, I would be surprised if you didn’t check. But the food is fine. You are safe in my care. You are my niece, dear. I have no desire to kill you.” I feel calm and I meet Ceto’s gaze. “You and I have so much to discuss, so much to catch up on,” she says, “I’m sure you have many questions for me.”
That is true. I do have many questions for her. I have been trying to find the answers to questions about my life, my family, and my abilities for months, but now I can only speak of one person. “Where is Gwen?” I ask, “How is she? Has she eaten? Can I see her?”
Ceto looks surprised but answers in a calm tone, “Your friend is fine, my dear. Rest assured she has eaten and slept well. She is recovering from the arduous journey the two of you made last night. You will see each other soon enough. You are a good friend to her to be so concerned about her well-being.”
I feel a tinge of guilt at being called Gwen’s friend. The truth is, I have hardly spoken to her in weeks. Since seeing her with James, I have only felt anger toward her. We haven’t had a chance to talk about that day. I threw myself so fully into my life in Atlantis that I kept myself from having time with Gwen. But seeing her coming to my rescue last night (even though it was a failed attempt) brought back the feelings of friendship we once shared. But Ceto isn’t ready to take me to Gwen. She has other things on her mind.
“It has been so long since I have lived or even visited the land,” she says. “What is life like now above the sea? What is it like for
you?”
I am not interested in small talk. I have larger concerns, so all I can think to say is, “Life on land is pretty good, I guess. I haven’t really spent a lot of time there lately.”
A smile creeps into the corners of Ceto’s mouth. She is pleased with my response and continues with her questions.
“And how did you come to know that you were a two-worlder, my dear? Was it your mother who told you? She was so proud to be a two-worlder you know.”
How many conflicting emotions can I possibly feel at one time? Yes, I was angry with my mom for keeping my two-worlder status away from me, but now I am missing her. I don’t want to talk about her with Ceto.
“No, my mother didn’t tell me. I found the ocean on my own.”
A crease pinches itself in Ceto’s brow. “I see,” she says, “I thought your mother would have trained you from birth. But people are not as steady as we would have them be.”
A spark of defense shoots through me, “My mom was protecting me,” I answer too hotly, “it may not be what you expected, or even what I wanted, but she did what she felt was the best for me. She was the steadiest thing in my world.” I am so agitated that I grip my hand around my fork like it is a weapon. Ceto tilts her head to one side as concern crosses her face.
“My dear niece, I had no intention of demeaning your mother. When I knew her she was a faithful friend and supporter. I remember her with fondness.” She reaches out and pats my hand, “I was merely surprised.” I relax and Ceto continues, “But now that you are here, in the sea I mean, how do you like it? Isn’t it beyond your wildest dreams?”
Ceto knows nothing about my wildest dreams, and I am not about to let her know. I have enough sense to not let her in that far. My glowing orb nightmares are mine and mine alone. I am getting too caught up in Ceto’s warm reception and gentle tones. I have shared enough about me. It is her turn to tell me about her life and circumstances. I assume I will eventually be killed by Ceto, but there is still a possibility that I can escape. If I do that, I want any information that I can take with me back to Atlantis.
“I’m not sure what my expectations could have been about living in the ocean,” I reply, “but what I have found has been both overwhelming and amazing at the same time.” I allow Ceto to rest her hand on mine for several seconds and now I squeeze her fingers softly as I speak. We are going to pretend to be friends. “What is it that brought you to live in the ocean?”
Ceto lets go of my hand, resting her own in her lap. She leans back in her chair and regards me with narrowed and saddened eyes. She doesn’t like divulging her past either. Whatever her thoughts, she decides it is fine to share her story with me. She inhales the sea water around her and lets out a long sigh.
“My upbringing was very different from yours. My own mother was a woman I never knew and from whom I never felt an ounce of affection. My father always said she had seduced him unwittingly while he was on an excursion in Jaffa. He had nothing but disdain for her. Once he learned of her abilities and history with water, he abandoned her completely. Ran back to the safety of his books.” Ceto grows tense as she continues. She interlaces her fingers and plays with them absentmindedly. Her eyes are hard as she stares at a point somewhere beyond me. “My mother contacted my father once she realized she was pregnant. It is rare for children of the sea to be raised in the sea itself. For the most part their proclivity for water has not yet shown itself so they are raised in houses along the shore until they are ready for life here.
“And so, my mother sent me to my father to live until I was grown enough to return to her. Still completely rife with anger, he did not raise me by the ocean as he ought to have done. He kept me far from my mother out of contempt for her. Of course, she never reached out, not even when I finally entered the sea, so I was left solely with my father to raise me as he saw fit.” Ceto spits out these words through clenched teeth.
“Though my father told me about the two-worlder history I was from,” Ceto continues, “he did not encourage me to test my abilities. Instead, everything I did was met with disapproval from him. He married and had children with my stepmother. She treated me with as much disdain as my father did. I was little loved, even by my half-siblings. Only rarely did we share in the fun that most siblings on land seem to share.” A small tear leaks out from Ceto’s eye and I feel sorry for her. What kind of person would I have grown to be with that kind of life?
Ceto straightens and returns her eyes to mine. “When I was old enough, I ran to the ocean as fast as I could. I knew what abilities I had inherited and I was certain life in the sea would be far better than anything I had seen on land. My father completely disowned me at that point and I disowned him. I heard from my half-sister that he died within a year of my leaving. I haven’t spoken about him to anyone in years.”
Ceto’s stingray servants enter the room. Swooping low over my place at the table, and with a little flick of his wing, one flicks my plate of half-eaten food onto his back, swimming back out of the room. Within moments, both sting-rays are back, carrying our second course. Ceto brightens and sits up in her chair with a look of anticipation on her face. The sad, tense atmosphere that filled the water between us is pushed away with Ceto’s new tone.
“Oh how nice,” she says, “I love seafoam pudding. It is meant to be a dessert, but I always insist on having it after my first course. It does such lovely things in cleansing the palette from the aftertaste of prawns.” Wartime talks with a prisoner are not the time to get excited about a dessert. I am witnessing the signs of delusion that sets in for two-worlders like Ceto. She is turning into the octopus two-worlder she inherited and is losing her mind as well. That makes her more dangerous than ever, but it also gives me the conviction that I can manipulate this woman into letting me go. I ask more about her life, trying to bring her back to the conversation.
“What was life like for you once you came to live in the ocean?” I ask, but Ceto is not ready to let go of her seafoam pudding yet.
“No, no, my dear,” she replies, “I insist that we take a break from this heavy conversation and enjoy our food.”
I look at my plate. A little bowl rests on top with a seafoam green substance inside. It looks like the frog-eye salad my mom used to make when I was a kid. It is creamy but filled with colorful bits of sea plants I cannot identify. I start with a small bite, eating slowly and watching for signs that something might be amiss with the food. I feel no burning or stinging as I eat the first bite. No poison. Besides, Ceto is not in the mood to let me skip eating her favorite food. I take another bite, determined to finish quickly and get back to our conversation. The pudding is sweet and light. It bubbles in my mouth and feels like eating air.
“So, how do you like it?” Ceto asks with a beaming look in her eyes.
“It’s very good. I like it a lot. Thank you.”
“Oh I’m so glad you like it. It is such a favorite of mine.”
As we finished our pudding, the sting-rays return for our plates and bowls. It is a good time to revisit our conversation. I turn to face Ceto, but she has risen from her chair and is waiting next to me.
“Well, my dear. I would normally love to continue to sit with you, but I have many things to do. Why don’t you come with me? I have someone I would like for you to see.”
The large stone door to the room rolls open again and Gus, Murphy, and a third octopus come into the room. Ceto faces them and I stand, disappointed and confused by the change.
“Thank you, men (I’m not sure I would have called octopi men). Evelyn and I will be visiting the treasury. I would appreciate an escort.” She turns to me and with a smile adds, “You are my niece, my dear, but you are also my prisoner. I certainly couldn’t let you head to the treasury on your own, now could I?”
A sinking feeling fills my stomach as I realize Ceto is paying attention. Not completely crazy yet, she may not be so easy to escape from. Then I turn toward Gus and feel a dose of confidence. I still have one option left to c
ultivate.
I follow Ceto to the doorway and am surrounded by the three octopi. Though none of them put their tentacles around me, I know I am trapped in their midst. Ceto leads the way out of the room and into the cold, dark ocean water outside. Her tentacles roll along beside her like a billowing skirt. We move into the open water and swim downward. I expect the water to grow even darker as we go deeper into it, but instead I see a faint, orange glow beneath us. The closer we get to what lies below, the brighter the murky water becomes. After only a few minutes of swimming, I can make out several rows of lights. As we drew nearer, I see that we are headed into an underwater city, one much larger and more modern than Atlantis.
The lights here are man-made and bright. I don’t know how Ceto has electricity down here, but it has happened. The walls of her city are golden-white. They reflect the lit sconces on their exteriors so buildings glow in the dark water. The architecture of the walls is Roman, with columns and marble facades. Arched openings lead into long passageways and various rooms. In some of the rooms I see stone benches and tables. Some look like offices, others like dwellings. In a few, I see other two-worlders, some mostly human, most years deep into change.
We receive a lot of attention as we swim behind Ceto. Several two-worlders stop their activities to look at us, many sharks and stingrays out in the open water pause to see us pass by. To each who catches her eye, Ceto gives a warm greeting. Not everyone responds, however. Many keep their gaze on me, their examining eyes flint-like and wary.
We swim deeper until the lights of the city shrink away. We swim even further, beyond the reach of the orange-gold light until we are once again in cold water, much darker than I have been in before. Ceto slows her pace and draws near to a cave opening. Just like the palace, there is a large stone guarding the entrance to the cave’s opening. Without a word being uttered, the octopi swimming around me push toward the stone door. I feel Gus’ tentacle wrap around my waist (just one tentacle this time) as he works with his fellow octopi to roll the stone out of the way.
