by Chris Howard
Ten seconds of silence followed, ending when the back door slammed.
"Who's hungry?” Michael Henderson shouted over the soldiers crowding the kitchen. He shouldered his way in with the groceries.
"Coming through.” He stood a head taller than some of them, six-foot-six with a lanky frame and four overstuffed plastic grocery bags in his fists. “Fellow Rexenors, stand aside there. Excuse me, please. Fresh sushi! Shizuko says hello, Gregor. Man, the store was packed. They didn't have the wine I wanted. Got something from Australia to try. I also got a couple cold white Zinfandels. Let me get those in the fridge. Why's everybody hanging out in the kitchen? It's nice outside. Sun's out and Zyph and I set up tables and chairs this morning."
Then he noticed Kallixene and Kassandra just getting to their feet in the middle of the room. He swung the bags around and handed them off to Phaidra and Gregor without bothering to confirm that either of them had taken them. “Lady Kallixene! You're crying? It's the young ladies, isn't it. Aren't they amazing? Give me a hug!"
Kallixene smiled, wiped her eyes, and held him at arm's length, bending back to get a good look at him. “You have not changed, except your hair is so short, Michael Henderson. You look like a criminal."
"Why thank you, my lady, and yours...” He looked her over for a few seconds. “Is a whole lot whiter. Fortress construction contractors stressing you out?” He bent down and drew her into his arms, cupping her shoulder under his chin and knocking his glasses askew. “You need a little vacation, Lady Kallixene. You, me, a couple friends.” He winked at Zypheria. “Let's head out to Fiji for some wreck diving. What do you say? Don't answer now. Think about it. We'll talk later on.” He released her, but left one arm wrapped around her shoulders.
"Come on, everyone.” He waved them out of the kitchen, mildly annoyed at their anti-social behavior. “Wine glasses are in the cupboard behind Zypheria. Hand those out, will you dear? Grab a chair in the backyard. Gregor and I will bring the boats around. Shizuko set us up with some exotic stuff this time. I also have sake if you're interested. Anyone know how to use chopsticks? Don't worry. Your fingers work just as well. If you don't like sushi or sashimi, then ... hmmmm. There's always peanut butter and jelly. I also have a bag of potato chips. After that you're on your own."
"Peanut butter?” Kallixene shook her head. “I must have some. Just a spoonful. I have not tasted peanut butter in thirty years."
Kassandra tilted her head to Zypheria. “See?"
Zypheria handed two wine glasses to a pair of Rexenor guards and shot back a look that plainly read: this only proves the existence of mental illness among Americans and the Seaborn nobility.
"What would you like, Mother?” Gregor pulled one of the wine bottles from the bag.
"Perhaps you can start by explaining the bolt in your ceiling?” She pointed to the fletching and shaft sticking out at a shallow angle over the kitchen sink.
His mouth opened, but Zypheria, in a perfectly serious voice, said, “We're going to hang a plant from it. Lady Kassandra found a beautiful fuchsia at the nursery, and I was looking for something unique for a hook."
Kallixene raised an eyebrow but followed Kassandra through the living room and out to the back walk. They descended imperiously to the grass, Kallixene's arm looped through Kassandra's.
"She doesn't lie nearly as well as you, Granddaughter."
"Few do."
Her grandmother leaned in and whispered accusingly, “What have you done to Nicole?"
Kassandra pulled away. “What do you mean?"
"I can hear her say her own name in her thoughts and it is not ‘Nicole’ or ‘Nicolette,’ but ‘Nikoletta.’ What are you doing to her?"
"I have taught her Hellene.” Kassandra shrugged innocently. “She likes the traditional form of her name."
"You have dragged her into some plot of yours. Don't lie to me."
Kassandra stopped and swung Kallixene closer. Her voice dropped to a cold monotone. “I doubt, Grandmother, that you would be able to determine if anything I say is true or false. I have the Lying King in here.” Kassandra tapped the side of her head.
"I know you are grooming Nikoletta for something. Her mind is open to me. Is she to replace Zypheria? Be your bodyguard? What is it?"
"My father adopted us all. She is my sister. That is all you need to know."
They strolled among the pines in silence for a moment.
"Your hand is hot, Granddaughter. Do you have a fever?” Kallixene looked over at her.
"No."
"Perhaps you should go for a swim?"
"Perhaps I will."
"How often do you go into the ocean?"
"Nearly every day."
"Where do you go?"
"Here and there."
"And everywhere?” She tugged Kassandra's sleeve up without warning. “Why are there burns on your arms?"
Kassandra jerked her sleeve down. “What makes you think I would answer such a question?"
"I know what you are doing, girl."
"Don't call me that. And you have no idea, Grandmother, because if you did, you would do everything in your power to stop me.” Her expression changed in a heartbeat from coldly serious to carefree happiness, a storm cloud suddenly shoved aside to let the sun through. She laughed lightly. “Oh, that's right. Everything in your power still wouldn't be enough.” Her smile curled maliciously. “You do play smart, Grandmother, and I will always admire you for that."
"What are you talking about?"
"Getting on your knees? Welcome to my family? The tears, the three young ... suitors matched to your three young granddaughters.” Kassandra's jaw tightened as if she was trying to lock down her words to a moderate level of civility. She gave up. “What, are you still pimping for Rexenor?"
"How dare you!"
Kassandra rolled her eyes. “Do not tell me you haven't calculated all of this to make it difficult for me to...” She ground her teeth.
"To what? Hurt me?"
"If you like."
Kallixene took in a slow deep breath as if trying to make it go on forever. She waved in admission.
Kassandra glanced over at the three young men hovering around Jill. Kallixene followed her gaze to the lighter-haired one.
"That is Menophon's youngest son, Nereus."
"Stop it.” Kassandra's eyes snapped to hers. Lady Kallixene's commander of the guard, Menophon, had died horribly in the battle with the king's dead army, dragged into their midst and torn apart. “Don't make me angry or I'll break your soul like you and my mother broke my father's."
Kallixene's expression started toward a questioning scowl.
Kassandra raised a warning finger. “Pretending not to know what I'm talking about is a fine way to make me angry. It's unspeakable what you did to him. You hurt him badly, pushed him into a relationship with the Wreath-wearer."
Her grandmother paused while a pair of motorcycles roared up Ocean Boulevard. “I did not do anything. She loved him. I wanted ... I wanted desperately to help Ampharete. Nothing more."
Help Ampharete? Nothing more? “You cannot lie to me.” Kassandra leaned in close, bumping shoulders with Kallixene, whispering furiously. “Between you and my mother's love, you broke my father's soul."
"I did no such thing!"
Kassandra grabbed her grandmother roughly and swung her face to hers. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me you did not sell your only son cheap to the Wreath-wearer—a son who was perhaps going to be greater than Kassander. I am the Wreath-wearer. I know what we're capable of—and how high we'll go to get what we want."
Kallixene spun out of her grip and they continued walking, not meeting eyes. They circled the yard and approached the white plastic tables with half a dozen Rexenor guards. Some of them looked up to watch them. Phaidra stood off to one side talking to Nicole, and both of them broke off to turn in their direction. All three of the young nobles remained around Jill, and she swatted one playfully in the shoulder, her laughter cutting th
rough the air like sunlight.
"Can we take this conversation someplace private?” Kallixene's voice was cool, a little louder, so that the others in the party could hear her. “And then, Lady Kassandra, I will answer your questions."
Kassandra stopped grinding her teeth to say, “Certainly.” She left Kallixene in the protection of her guards, turned, and sang softly. The wind whispered, and she walked into it. When Nicole turned, Kassandra was gone.
She needed to feel the ocean on her skin. She dove out of the air and into the water a mile offshore, a small disturbance in the slide of blue between the crests of two great waves. In three minutes, she was over the edge of the continental shelf, missiling through the water at a hundred knots, an angry snarl of turbulence following her, Eupheron's voice in her head, telling her she needed less drag or her wake would grow and overwhelm her. She was doing well, but she needed more “throughness.” She needed to move not just through the water, but all the way through the water, between it, not in it, but inside it. That is how the immortals do it.
Kassandra returned home two hours later as the sun was setting. She came up through the grotto gate and the basement into the kitchen, her head tilted to one side, listening to one of the noble young men singing to Jill on the back steps. She smiled, rummaging through the medicine drawer for the burn cream. There was a hole scorched through the shoulder of her shirt. She dabbed the ointment on and went upstairs to change into something less deteriorated.
The three young men in Kallixene's party had latched on to Jill like remoras, gliding in circles, hovering on every word on her lips, one taking her hand and leading her to the far side of the yard, while another followed and sang of the sorrow of Thetis.
Kassandra slipped by them—in the air—unseen, and overheard one of them whisper to his brother the ancient Hellene equivalent of “surface girls are so hot."
Kassandra slipped out of the air right behind Jill, startling them all. She nodded her head to Menophon's son to continue his song and slid her fingers through Jill's hair.
"Kass, where have you been?"
"Here and there.” She closed her mouth to see what Jill would follow with.
"And everywhere?"
Kassandra froze at the same phrase Kallixene had used. She then pulled Jill's long gold hair into three even sets, twining them, slipping the soft bundles over her fingers. “And everywhere."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Sixteen
First Binding
The ancient historians (archaioi sungrapheis), the chroniclers and keepers of genealogies among the Seaborn tell us that there were nine original houses (poleis) of the Telkhines sent to the ocean's floor, and that centuries later, other disruptive families and individuals unwillingly joined them. Among the latter groups are the offspring of sea divinities of various strengths and forms (e.g., sea daimones), and at least one line, the Kirk?latides, are said to be descendents of Circe (Kirk?), sorceress nymph of the island Aiaia, daughter of Helios and Perseis and grand-daughter of Okeanos, of whom Odysseus and his crew ran afoul. (She turned Odysseus’ crew into swine).
—Journal of Michael Augustus Henderson
* * * *
"Corina?"
She stopped screaming when her own voice started calling her with a concerned tone.
"Corina, you are upset?"
That didn't approach what she was feeling. I'm having trouble understanding what you just did to that poor man. That was the most horrifying thing I have ever witnessed. Deep within, Corina wondered about her use of the word, “horrifying"—it wasn't one she would normally use. Am I picking up your speech patterns? A truly horrifying thought then occurred to her: I know your songs—all the words to the one about drawing out the soul in blood. Am I turning into you?
Aleximor frowned, then kicked Pinnet again. “I do not at all comprehend your reason for showing this thing sympathy, Corina. It was not a man, not a ‘poor man,’ not any thing that deserved sympathy. It was an unleashed animal with vicious proclivities, a thing that deserved nothing more than to be hunted and mercilessly killed. It was sent to harm me and, for that, even a king must pay.” His words tightened with anger at the end of his statement. He managed to unclamp his teeth and add, “Even a king must pay eventually."
Aleximor gave Pinnet another kick and stepped over the body, placing his feet carefully to avoid setting them down in the pungent brown fluid pooling around the abdomen and legs. He stopped at the heavy wooden door and turned to take in the room.
He nervously tapped his fingers in the center of his palm, webbing going tight. He recognized some of the pieces of furniture, but everything was sharp and boxy, angular planes joined to each other, horizontal spaces fitted into perpendicular ones. Even some of the softer, pliable shapes, pillows and cushions, had corners and edges. He blinked repeatedly. The room was difficult to look at, so flat and shiny and sharp.
To Corina, it looked like what she'd expect from a modern crew cabin aboard a ship. There were dark-stained wood cabinets lining one wall, a simple single bed on a matching dark wooden frame. The ceiling was high, painted a high-gloss light yellow, with three I-beams running the room's length. There were medical books in a bookcase underneath a small porthole window. The bed stuck out into the room's center and beyond it was an alcove with an accordion door that served as the bathroom with a toilet, stainless steel sink, and mirror.
"What is this place?"
A cabin on board a ship, probably the ship you didn't get out of the way of. I think it's sort of a ‘law of the sea,’ that a ship must stop to help someone in distress.
He was only half listening to her, distracted by the alien space, staring around the room. “The world of the surfacers is exceedingly strange. It's flat and there are so many edges and surfaces. Perhaps it is because I cannot see it from above or even from a different angle. I am fixed to the floor and can only observe the world through eyes at this height."
Have you been to the surface before, I mean before you ended up inside the cave?
"Never. I have heard many stories, however. I had no desire to see it, a world so bright that it blinds you, so hot with Helios burning in the heavens that it bakes your skin and organs."
Total darkness is better? How are you able to see at all below a hundred feet?
"That is also why I could not come to the surface. I enhanced the organs with which Nature provided me. I could see in complete darkness."
Then it wasn't complete.
"Not complete for me. It is for most others. Because of this, I could come no nearer to the surface than ten or fifteen times my height. True Helios would have destroyed my sight."
True Helios?
"The sun."
I take it there's a false one?
"A twin. It follows a hemispheric path over the Nine-cities of the Thalassogen?is. A bright white ball of fire that some sorcerer with a self-damned soul formed and put into motion a thousand years ago.” Anticipating another question, he added, “I do not know if the Helios in the deep follows the same path and duration as the one above."
That wasn't the answer to the question she was going to ask. She wanted to know what self-damnation meant and what it had to do with fire, but she ignored the questions spinning through her mind.
Aleximor glanced down at Pinnet's body, frowning at the smell.
It's beginning to stink like a public bathroom. Let's get out of here.
Aleximor closed the door and stepped into a narrow hallway with blue industrial low-pile carpeting. There were three other doors in the hall, all of them closed. The air smelled salty, but there were dull mildewy drifts, the tangy scent of fresh paint, and something else, the smell of dirt and oil, which reminded Aleximor of the stink of the man he'd just killed.
Obnoxiously bright yellow lights cast overlapping angles and blocks of shadow along the shiny walls.
What time is it?
"Tide will tell.” Aleximor looked down the hall and then turned back into
the Medic's quarters. “I cannot hear the ocean clearly enough to determine. Is there something on a ship that will show me the time of the day?"
How about a clock?
Aleximor smiled at Corina's sarcasm. He had originally concluded that Corina had lost her senses permanently during the change. She'd seemed outlandish, confused, even deranged, made of bursts of thought that made no sense, long trains of violent music playing in her imagination, the same simple thoughts repeated hundreds of times, abusive language, and bouts of incoherent shrieking.
Now that she was speaking to him, he'd revised his estimation of her cognitive abilities. They were indeed intact. The sarcasm gave him one more hint of what she must have been like before he stole her body. Perhaps, he thought, all surface women were this odd.
"I have seen a clock before, tarnished and green with age, and when I cleaned it—knowing that it must have been something important to the surfacers—there was, underneath the coral growth and creeping sponge, a very delicate instrument with gears and metal bands and tiny fasteners. The front of the clock had numbers and metal bars that seemed to turn and point to them."
Aleximor swung his eyes around the medic's quarters looking for something clock-ish, but without much to go on in terms of shape or size other than flat and about as big around as his head. He'd last seen a real clock almost two hundred years ago.
Whoa! Turn back to the bed. Big red numbers. There!
Aleximor fixed his eyes on three fiery square digits, a 2, a 3, then an 8, followed by the tiny letters, am. Even the numbers in this surfacer's world were blocky and sharp. He wondered if anything flowed, curved, undulated here. Was there nothing of grace and pliancy in the world above the waves?
Two-thirty in the morning—if that is the correct time. A ship like this must pass through several time zones on every trip.
"Is that late or early?"
Depends who you are.
Aleximor frowned, thinking that, on the other hand, too much sarcasm wasn't healthy.
