“What happened?” Reid crosses his arms over his printed green tee.
“Had to knock the poor kid out. She wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
“You knocked her out?” Pratt’s jaw dropped.
“Well, not physically,” Clarence laughs. “But there’s a certain pinched nerve that will send you easily and painlessly into sleep.”
“Is that safe?” I ask.
“I’ve seen Sampson do it a hundred times.”
“But through there?” I motion to the tunnel’s entrance—a dark, nearly invisible hole in the wall.
“Yes, perfectly safe. Which reminds me,” he turns just in time to catch Mae’s limp body flying into the room. Sampson arrives seconds later and places his thumb and finger around the back of her neck. Mae’s eyes dart open as she convulses in Clarence’s hold. “Careful, there.”
“Fychu,” Qippert approaches with his sage skinned partner. She looks like the other woman, the mayan from the surface. Except for the few light freckles dusting her shoulders and nose, and her navy hair which sits shorter, just above her jaw-line, they could be twins. Qippert moves closer to Sampson. “We are all set.”
“So are we,” he watches as Clarence puts down a fumbling Mae. He pats her hand, “You needn’t worry. It’s behind you now.”
“Yes,” Qippert clears his throat, turning to the mayan at his right. “This is Salva. She will be aide to the females during your stay.”
“We get an aide?” I raise a brow.
“To assist with anything you might need in adjusting to the environment. The males will remain with the Fychu, under the guidance of Chancellor Keller.”
“The chancellor shouldn’t have to spend his time babysitting,” Sampson shakes his head.
“Not at all. He looks forward to seeing you; says it has been a long time since you have last visited.”
“Well before the Ellae Massacre so… around a hundred and twenty years. I expect a visit is long overdue.”
“Salva has your gear ready,” Qippert glances at her, “so once you are suited up, we shall be on our way.”
“Gear?” Tucker asks.
“You will need protective wear for the next phase of transport.”
“No more slides?” Pratt frowns.
“Unfortunately not,” Clarence motions around. “We’re in the Holding Station now. The city is still a ways below.”
“How far?” Reid asks.
“Enough to crush your body from the pressure,” Clarence grimaces. “Deep.”
“Mybyncia cannot operate any closer to the shore,” Sampson says. “She is a submerged people—a submerged World. Here we are,” he motions to Salva who’s passing around a black suit and dome to everyone. “Okay, you want to apply your head gear like this,” he places the helmet-like object over his head, instructing us to do the same. Once everyone is finished, Sampson’s voice rings through the dome like an intercom. “Very good. And now the suits…”
Coal black, they’re made of a heavy, stretchy material and have a long strap wound around the waist and across the top of the torso, tiny hooks distanced every few inches. Climbing into the body suit, Sampson does the same, instructing how to fashion the garment around ourselves and finally, when we’re all done, the thick black material covers our entire bodies, right up to the neck where the headgear starts.
“These are actually quite ingenious devices,” Sampson says. “All of Mybyncia’s inhabitants know and can speak English—that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re willing or wanting to. We are on their lands, remember. When we meet the queen and her council, we’ll be addressed in their native tongue. These,” he pinches the black material, “will translate into English so you’ll know what’s being said.”
“And our responses will also be translated?” Tucker’s voice rings like the same intercom.
“They will—yes,” Clarence begins, “but leave the conversing to Sampson and myself at first. Just at first.”
“Fellow Arizals,” Salva says in a strong, velvety voice, “please leave all weapons here. You will find them again in your quarters.” We all do as she says, standing our rifles against the walls and once satisfied, she looks to Sampson and Clarence. “Follow me, please.”
With Qippert at her side, Salva leads us through a tunnel at the other end of the space, past one of the torches. It’s a short distance before we come to another room, this one much larger than before. It boasts the same high rounded walls, like we’ve stepped inside half a hollow bubble but in the middle of the space is a huge glistening pool and wading in the center, a creature like none I’ve ever seen.
It’s enormous.
Larger than an elephant, or maybe even a whale, it has dark gray, rubbery skin and fins the size of cars. Deep crater-like pockets coat the creature’s back, from its flat, broad head all the way down to its thick black tail which disappears below the water’s surface. Immense red saucers flicker, studying us as steam exhales through two yard-length slits.
“This is Gala,” Salva says. “She is my Stancimis, and will take you to the Docking Station.”
“Is this thing even safe?” Werzo winces.
“Gala is a trusted friend. You need not worry about your well-being where she is concerned,” Salva scampers up the beast’s back, nearly flattening herself as she hooks her hands and feet into Gala’s pocketed craters. “Come, we must leave.”
Qippert ascends next, followed quickly by Clarence who offers his hand to me. “Ladies first again.”
I allow him to pull me up and once I’m situated—with my hands and feet tucked into her back’s grooves—Mae starts up once more, retreating from the group with small, calculated steps. Already shaking her head, she bites her lip and places her palms up in defense. “No. I… I can’t. I’ll fall off.”
“You won’t fall,” Sampson assures her. “We’ll all be there together.”
“No,” she gulps, “no—I’ll fall. I know I will.”
“Fychu…” Qippert starts, “the queen and chancellor await you.”
Sampson nods, returning focus to Mae. “I’d rather not subdue you like before. Please,” he gestures gently to the giant Stancimis, “you will be perfectly fine.”
Heat rises to her cheeks as her panicked eyes flicker from Sampson to Gala. Just as she starts to shake her head again, Sampson quietly raises his fingers to her neck and Mae’s frazzled body suddenly goes limp. He scoops her into his arms before she falls and carrying her over, he hands her off to Clarence.
“She’ll need some sort of relaxant when we get to the FH,” Sampson leaps on the Stancimis’s back, helping secure Mae in place, “we may have to keep her subdued until after meeting with the queen and chancellor.”
“It is best she be awake,” Salva looks back. “It is wise to meet her hosts and for them to see her as well. Questions will be raised if she is not present and conscious.”
With Clarence’s assistance, Pratt climbs up next, followed by Booker, Werzo, Jace, Tucker and lastly Reid, who keeps to Gala’s left fin. He gives Sampson a nod and lowers himself in the same clutching position, grasping the crater handles and locking his feet in place.
“Hold on,” Sampson’s voice echoes.
Gala slowly descends and I grip her back tighter. Sinking lower and lower, I look up to find the pool is a mere small opening above. We’re drifting deeper and deeper into the darkened abyss, far from any light until the Holding Station disappears completely and then it’s down. Way down.
Don’t let go. Just don’t let go.
Stancimises swim unbridled in the distance, singing to one another in low, musical hymns, but Gala soars past them, diving down. I’m afraid I’ll be crushed from the immense pressure but I don’t feel anything. In fact, it’s the same as if I was only a few feet underwater, except down here, it’s dark. Black. Past anything recognizable. We must be a few miles beneath the surface by now and my grip on Gala’s craters hasn’t lessened.
“We’re nearly there,” Sampson’s vo
ice comforts through our headgear.
Another long minute of descent before the darkness abates and is slowly replaced with its warm opposite. Barely visible at first, a small light glows from somewhere below and as we submerge even deeper, the light blossoms and the entire ocean suddenly fills with the soft, golden hue.
It’s the city—the Capital City of Pryncbia—and in the center, standing like a monument to the underwater World, a titanic castle of pinkish-golden coral dominates everything in sight. It’s surrounded by collections of connected coral structures that barely meet the height of its lowest tower. The tallest, almost a mile from the ground, reaches high into the darkened waters, the last light before blackness hits. The other towers aren’t really towers at all, but divisions within the structure, each competing in stature and strength and overall grandeur.
Gala steers us right, towards one of the larger, rounded platforms as Mybyncians swim past, mostly on Stancimises while others race on long-necked creatures that disappear in a flash throughout the city. Guiding us lower, the giant Stancimis heads for a hanging ledge until we’re underneath it. She begins to ascend for the oval opening in the golden coral above, and it takes only seconds to hit the surface. When we do, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and look around.
We’re in a very similar atmosphere to the Holding Station. It’s the same dank, low-lit space but in here, the walls are actually offering light. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the room literally glows, illuminating the bulbous space and its one tunnel out.
Salva dismounts first. “Welcome to the Docking Station.”
Qippert jumps down after her, hands clasped behind his back and already heading for the tunnel. Sampson and the Rogues dismount next and then it’s my turn. I’m about to climb down when Reid appears with an outstretched hand. My heart quickens as I look from it to his face, which is preoccupied elsewhere, as though unaware of his gentlemanly gesture. Without giving it another thought, I accept Reid’s assistance and he helps me off Gala.
Sampson removes his headgear and the Rogues, Pratt and I quickly follow. I wedge the dome between my hip and arm, watching as Clarence hands Mae off to Sampson before dismounting. He removes his own helmet, gesturing to her sleeping form. “You’ll need to wake her up.”
Removing her headpiece, Sampson pinches Mae’s neck and her eyes flash open, wide and startled. They dash everywhere, quickly trying to take in the new environment as Sampson places her on her feet.
“Where…?” she gulps.
“In the Docking Station in the FH. Really,” Qippert addresses Sampson, “we must be going. The queen and chancellor know you have arrived. They are eager to receive you so we must not keep them waiting. Now,” he gestures to all of us to follow him, “if you please.”
“Aren’t you going to change into your true form?” I join Sampson’s side.
He shakes his head. “It would be better if we all retained a sense of conformity, especially after today’s attack. The queen and chancellor are fully aware that Clarence and I are Dofinikes, but it would be best if our entire group held the same image; avoid confusion.”
I nod.
“We’ll address that arm afterward,” he glances to it before focusing on a shivering Mae. “Just remain quiet and be calm. You’ll have a break here after this next part. Alright,” he motions us behind Qippert as we all tunnel out. “Time to meet the queen.”.
Chapter Three: Feast
We’re in a grand hall.
Draped from the ceiling’s center, strands of pink pearls line the walls while iridescent shell mosaics depict battle scenes across the glowing, golden room. It’s about three times the size of the Docking Station and the entire floor stands packed with Mybyncians in a myriad of colored floor length tunics. But I’m too focused on everything else to really notice the crowd of sage bodies, especially with the impressive throne positioned high in the center of the room.
It’s fashioned from the same glowing golden coral and below it, three identical thrones sit, still towering high above the Mybyncians’ heads. All four seats are occupied but from this angle, it’s difficult to make out anything. Qippert moves through the crowd, leaving Salva to remain with us at the tunnel’s entrance.
“Your Majesty, Chancellor Keller,” his voice projects, “may I present Fychu Sympse and the humans of Harrizel.”
“We’re on,” Sampson guides my shoulder, following the others as we make our way through the crowd’s center.
The mayan atop the highest throne peers down, her sage face an impassive mask as we approach the center of the floor. A stark white mane has been pulled back and a crown of pink pearls sits atop her lifted head. Two iridescent shells cover her breasts, attached to rows of stringed white pearls that drape around her delicate shoulders and behind her chest.
“Queen Ravan,” Sampson bows as Qippert, Clarence and the rest of us quickly follow. “We are at your service.”
“Welcome, Fychu Sympse of Dellapalania,” her regal voice projects, casting an echo around the occupied hall. Her bright orange eyes flicker over us curiously. “Humans of Harrizel.”
With Clarence’s covert gesture, we bow again.
“I regret to inform you that your visit is ill-timed. Blovid has fled; just earlier, in fact.”
“Yes,” Sampson agrees, slow to approach. “We cannot begin to apologize for the damages—”
“We were aware of the danger he possessed when we offered sanctuary. Apparently, others of your kind do not keep to such codes of honor.”
“Vermix, your Majesty,” Clarence lowers his head.
She shifts her cool gaze to him. “And you are?”
“Clarence,” he bows again, quickly adding, “your Majesty.”
She narrows her eyes. “You were an inhabitant of Ellae during the attack.”
A slight wince, but Clarence recovers quickly. “I was.”
She turns to Sampson again, her voice void of any emotion. “Your apologies are unnecessary. Blovid has been a long-time ally of Mybyncia. As an Arizal, he is offered the same protection as our own people. As a distinguished Fychu, you and yours,” she indicates to us, “are as well.”
“With many thanks.”
“But I cannot allow anymore of my people hurt. During your time here, it will be in peace.”
“Of course.”
“And how long do you anticipate your stay to be?”
“Until you no longer require our aid. We would like to assist in any repairs or—”
“It is being handled by Chancellor Keller,” she indicates to the Mybyncian with dark blue hair at the foot of the thrones. He stands tall in a black and purple floor length tunic, his eyes shifting over us, his face hardened but curious. “Most of the assault was here, on Pryncbia’s beach, but there was an attack on our Southern Waters as well. It is known throughout the Three Worlds that we do not host a FH there.”
“So they were searching for something else?” Clarence asks.
She looks at him. “We believe there were multiple purposes in accosting our waters.”
“Did the Vermix depart shortly after Blovid?”
“In the Southern Waters, yes. But some have yet to leave—I would imagine that you have run into a few already.”
Clarence and Sampson exchange glances.
“As I have said,” Queen Ravan goes on, “it is being handled by Chancellor Keller. He has his guard sweeping the beach as we speak, and has quarantined the Northern Shore so the remaining Vermix will not spill to the three other shores and cause harm to any more of my people. My daughter Ariana,” she motions to the three thrones beneath her, to the lavender haired princess on her far left, “barely escaped with her life. I will not have my daughters harmed.”
“Of course not,” Sampson nods again.
“Chancellor Keller will have many more prisoners to interrogate by night’s end. We should know more at that time.”
“Do we think…?” Clarence glances between Sampson, Qippert and
the queen. But Sampson shakes his head, quieting the thought.
Queen Ravan nods. “Yes we do.”
“And is it well hidden?” Clarence asks.
“Mybyncia has protected our Gift since it was bestowed. I have all the trust in the chancellor to keep it secure.”
“And you should your Majesty,” he steps back and turns to face her. “The Vermix will not discover its location. This I vow.”
“Very good,” she looks over us again. “But enough talk of this. For now, let us adjourn so you may rest and later, we will celebrate your arrival with a feast.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Werzo whispers, earning a swat on the back from Clarence.
“Chancellor Keller will show you to your quarters,” the queen rises as her three daughters follow. “Enjoy your stay, Fychu Sympse, Clarence of Dellapalania…” her orange eyes flicker over us curiously again, “…humans of Harrizel.”
The entire hall waits for the four to leave and once they’ve gone—disappearing down the backside of the thrones and escorted by a fleet of attendants—everyone moves about, departing through the various tunnel, the space quickly emptying.
“Clarence of Ellae,” he mutters to himself as Sampson offers a woeful smile. They turn to us, along with Qippert and Chancellor Keller, who’ve made their way over.
“Fychu,” the chancellor smiles, “good to see you again.”
“And you, Chancellor.”
“We have much to discuss. Come,” he motions him away. “I will show you to your resting quarters. Salva will assist the females.”
“Separate quarters?” I ask.
“Males and females house separately,” Sampson explains, “You’ll be in the same area, just on opposite sides of the floor. Chancellor,” he clasps his shoulder and leans in, “are you sure it is well protected?”
“I assure you, Fychu, the Shadow Bag will not be discovered.”
“It’s not in the Southern Waters,” Clarence winces, “is it?”
“It is probably best we do not know,” Qippert shoots him a look and then glances to Sampson for confirmation. “It is Mybyncia’s Gift and for their knowledge alone. Blovid was never told…nor was I.”
Plague of Mybyncia Page 3
