Constant

by Lexi Ander

  “Poseidon?” Sohm’lan’s question was loaded with a heavy dose of skepticism.

  Azaes’ eyes grew huge with the excitement of a youngling a third his age and he stretched his arms as wide and high as they would go. “Truly. He was massive, Sohm.”

  Mestor was caught up in his twin’s enthusiasm. “Bigger than a crustacean whale shark. His tentacles picked us up and held us at least a story in the air.”

  “Nethus kept Canry from us, but Poseidon said Canry was to be returned.”

  “Our brother is coming home.” Mestor echoed his twin as if they spoke with one voice.

  The incident was not as simple as they made it seem. Mestor vowed he would discover the reason Nethus had hidden Canry from them.

  Sohm’lan’s eyes turned to liquid blue pools, water shimmering at the edges, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. “For many summers we have watched and waited, hoping for the day…” His breath stuttered and he attempted to pull away from Mestor, but he refused to let go, instead pulling Sohm’lan into his arms. Azaes moved to the other side, wrapping Sohm’lan in a caring embrace as he began to shake.

  They had always known Canry was alive, somewhere in the oceans on Atlainticia. Meme had threads to each of her young, and when Canry disappeared in the Waters of Poseidon at only six moons old, she had claimed he was alive—not devoured by a predator as some had believed. His thread to her had not been severed by death.

  Every day they had watched and waited, hoping for the day Canry returned home. Mestor remembered the turmoil surrounding Canry’s disappearance. He and Azaes were barely five summers, but he could still hear his meme’s desperate screams as she called Canry’s name. Mestor’s eyes burned as he listened to Sohm’lan’s ragged breathing, unable to keep from remembering that day in vivid detail.

  Mestor was on a mission to sneak by the nannies. He wanted to go to the nursery and see his little brother. Canry was only six moons old and Mestor had heard the adults talking about introducing Canry to the Waters of Poseidon. He wanted to be there too, but the nannies were watching the doors like they were Giante Elite Mukene warriors guarding the high king. The beings were an awe-inspiring three meters tall with a single large eye that saw through solid walls, or so he had heard. Despite their great size, they were whirlwinds of deadly grace and expertise with any weapon created. Only the best became the Mukene who guarded their ruler with a viciousness that spawned blood-soaked legends.

  His twin, Azaes, peeked around the doorjamb from the nannies’ sleeping chamber. Nanny Notus was still at the exit of the main room, speaking to a Basilisc guard. Earlier, Nanny Kalika went to the kitchens to order their midday meal. Mestor gestured to Azaes, giving him the ‘all clear’. His twin walked from the room, rather than run. The nannies always sensed when Azaes or Mestor were running and they did not want to draw any attention. He and Azaes had learned that lesson the hard way. Mestor suspected they were always caught running because their tails crashed into everything. Their waterfather, Sohm’lan, promised they would learn how to control their tails better when they grew older. But for now, he and Azaes knew not to run when they were trying to accomplish something of the utmost importance.

  ::All set:: Azaes signed with his hands. ::The fuses are really long—::

  A loud bang went off in the nannies’ sleeping quarters, followed by several more pops. The stern-faced Basilisc brushed by Mestor and Azaes. Nanny Notus followed closely behind, his eyes wide in shock and his hands fisted in the material over his heart. Once their backs were turned, Mestor bolted, in a fast walk, not a run, out the door and into the large, grand hallway. The nursery where Canry and Shaneva stayed was around the corner. A summer ago, he and Azaes had graduated to their own rooms and their days were spent with tutors instead of playing in the sand. They missed spending time with Shaneva, though now that Canry would be introduced to the Waters of Poseidon, he and Azaes would be allowed to play more with their little brother.

  Azaes took the lead as they hurried down the hallway. Around the corner, coming toward them, was the sound of clumping footsteps. The explosion, which should not have been that loud, would have brought more Basilisc and they were hurrying toward Mestor’s and Azaes’ room. His heart sped. They had to find a place to hide before the guards rounded the corner. He rushed to the nearest pot and climbed over the side of the planter, turning to grab Azaes’ hands. Once he hoisted his twin over the rim, they both scrambled into the middle where the large fronds hid them from view. Something grabbed his tail and when he looked, Azaes was holding both of their tails in his fists.

  The sound of boots rounding the corner caused him to instantly still. The guards were talking about the report of a loud noise, and they were stopping at all the rooms, checking for more hidden incendiary devices before advancing on to the next room.

  Staying still was so hard. Mestor thought hours passed before the guards rounded the opposite corner that led to a different wing of the palace. Scrambling out of the giant pot, he accidentally spilled some of the black soil over the side. Somehow both he and Azaes had gotten their clothes dirty as well, but he could not worry about that now. They needed to get to the nursery before more guards came down the hall.

  Again, Azaes took off and Mestor tried to mimic his twin’s soft steps on the yellow-veined, red tile. At the corner, Azaes got on his belly and looked around the edge. Mestor paused and crouched. He was startled out of his excitement when his tail cracked against the tiled wall. He bared his teeth when Azaes scowled over his shoulder in a silent reprimand.

  Once Azaes deemed the way clear, he scrambled to his feet. Mestor glanced behind to ensure no one had spotted them before he ran after his twin. The door to the nursery was all the way at the other end of the hallway. He sprinted like he was in one of the annual mountain races that Sohm’lan participated in every summer. He could practically hear the cheers, his waterfather shaking his fist in the air as he urged Mestor to move his feet faster.

  He was not sure what happened, but he crashed into Azaes, and they tumbled in a knotted heap through the open doorway of the nursery. He hiss-clicked at Azaes’ shushing noises punctuated by grunts as they rolled. They disentangled themselves only to hear more footsteps. He scurried to one side of the doorway while Azaes took the other. To be safe, he trapped his tail between his legs so it would not thump anything. The clomping slowed as a passerby glanced into the quiet nursery and then continued without entering. When the noise was gone, he helped Azaes slide the ornately painted door almost closed. The nursery was remotely monitored for sound. Something they had learned before graduating to their new rooms. Since they did not dare speak, Mestor and his brother use the language of their hands, taught to them by the People of the Longing who visited the palace.

  ::How long before Nanny Notus and Nanny Kalika notice that we are gone?:: Azaes gestured as he crossed to Canry’s birth bed.

  He shrugged. How would he know?

  Canry’s half shell was intricately carved with whirls and spirals surrounding the drawing of a four-legged raptor. The wings spanned the length of the oval cradle. Father told them how he had climbed Mount Rhodes and haggled with the Gatekeeper for the birth bed made from the eggshell of the pegasus, the largest flying raptor species on Atlainticia. Mestor had trouble imagining a bird so big.

  Inside the birth bed, Canry slept on his stomach, his hind-end sticking up in the air. ::His tail is starting to grow:: Azaes pointed out.

  Canry was born without a tail. Meme said all youngling came into the world tailless, but still they worried. They sometimes talked long into the night and neither remembered being without their own tail.

  ::It is really thin:: Mestor replied. ::Maybe Canry needs to eat something special for it to grow thick and strong::

  Azaes made a face. ::Unca seaweed is nasty::

  The nannies were always pushing them to eat more of the greens, claiming it would strengthen their limbs and tail.

  Azaes sighed deeply. ::I guess we should eat tha
t when we spend time with Canry so he will, too::

  Canry’s scales, except for his neck and belly, were black as night. The larger, thicker scales along his spinal ridge, where his retractable barbs would grow, would eventually turn the signature red of the Vondorian bloodline, signifying their spines were poisonous. Mestor gently ran his claws along the edge, marveling at how the dark scales were already lightening to a black-red. Azaes, on the other hand, seemed to be stuck on nasty foods; he made a gagging noise and reflexively Mestor clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles. They quickly moved away from Canry when the youngling whimpered and moved. If the monitors thought he was waking, they would send an attendant if Meme was unavailable.

  ::What do we do now?:: Azaes walked to the pen that took up one quarter of the room.

  Mestor shrugged. He had not thought past getting to the nursery. They did not want to be left out when Canry was introduced to the Waters of Poseidon. He joined Azaes at the pen’s fencing. The sunken area was filled with sand and in the corner was a pool of saltwater. This was where young learned to control their bowels. The sand was easy to clean and sanitize. It also helped when young molted. They rolled around in the sand sloughing off dead scales as newer, bigger ones came in. He thought the area looked smaller than the last time he was there.

  Azaes glanced around the room and Mestor followed suit, knowing that his brother was looking for places to hide.

  ::Everything seems—::

  ::Smaller:: Azaes finished.

  Mestor pointed to a cabinet. ::We used to crawl into those cubbies::

  ::And now it looks like only my leg will fit::

  ::We could climb to the top:: Mestor pointed to the carved crown of the sturdy armoire next to the window.

  ::We would have to scale the curtains::

  Mestor’s shoulders slumped. ::Last time the curtain rods tore from the wall::

  ::And the window broke::

  ::We were lucky a balcony was directly below::

  ::Father yelled really loudly::

  ::Meme cried when she thought she was alone:: Mestor and Azaes had rushed from their hiding spots to console her, promising they would never climb curtains again.

  ::If not there, then…::

  A noise in the hallway caused him to turn toward the doorway. The crack between the door and jam spanned only two or three fingers but activity in the corridor still echoed. He had not heard approaching footsteps before a familiar voice spoke on the other side.

  “I found them, Valdor. It was not hard. I only needed to follow the dirt trail.” Sohm’lan said.

  Azaes’ red-yellow eyes were huge when Mestor glanced at him, and then down to Azaes’ dirt-stained pants and tunic. The pants’ cuff had filled with soil. Azaes made an angry noise and jabbed a clawed-tipped finger at Mestor’s matching dirt-speckled trousers. One of his hems was torn and a small scattering of earth sat on the floor at his feet.

  “I will keep them here until it is time,” Sohm’lan said after a long pause.

  Frantically, Mestor searched for a place to hide. Azaes grabbed his hand and pulled him to Shaneva’s bed. She had outgrown her birth bed and now used a small sleeping platform more suited to her size. As the door rattled, he and Azaes dropped to the floor and quickly crawled behind it.

  The clearance under the bed was not large enough to allow them to hide underneath, but Mestor could see the doorway and where Canry’s bed was suspended from the ceiling. The painted panel slid open and the decorative boots of a high-ranking warlord entered the room. Mestor had the insane urge to giggle.

  The boots stopped at Canry’s birth bed, the delicate chains holding it aloft rattling. Mestor startled, almost giving away his hiding spot when something grabbed the end of his tail. Rolling to the side, he spied his sister, Shaneva, looking over the edge of her sleeping platform. He had not realized that both his and Azaes’ tails were sticking straight up in the air as they lay on their bellies. Shaneva not only held his tail but refused to give it back. Azaes gestured for her to release her prizes but she giggled and pulled harder.

  When Sohm’lan’s head appeared over Shaneva’s, Mestor froze, suddenly feeling like prey as those luminous blue eyes pinned him in place. “Do you know how many people are looking for you two?” Sohm’lan’s rumbling voice held displeasure.

  Tears pricked at Mestor’s eyes. He had not meant to disappoint his waterfather.

  Azaes was not affected with the same emotion. He glared up in defiance. “We will not be left behind. We want to be with Canry when he takes his first swim.”

  Mestor was impressed by his twin’s fierce scowl.

  “Who said you could not come?” Sohm’lan’s frown was worse than Azaes’.

  “Nanny Kalika said we would be too much of a destruction on Canry’s big day.”

  “Distraction,” Mestor corrected.

  “She probably meant both,” Sohm’lan replied.

  “Maybe,” Mestor and Azaes said in unison.

  Sohm’lan sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Get off the floor and give me your clothes. You are leaving a trail of dirt everywhere.”

  Mestor did not need to be told twice. He finally got Shaneva to let his tail go and he stripped, sending the garments down the laundry chute. Then they were instructed to clean up their mess.

  “How long before we can work in the kitchens,” Azaes asked Sohm’lan as he dumped his small pile of dirt into the recycle bin.

  “You must be seven,” Sohm’lan replied. He hoisted Canry into his arms and sat on a corner swing.

  Azaes made a disgruntled hiss. “Why so long? I want to help.”

  “You want to eat sweets and to learn how to make your own,” Mestor countered, knowing his twin well.

  “By seven, you will have better control of your tails.” Sohm’lan’s eyes narrowed when it seemed Azaes would argue.

  All Mar’Sani earned merits through their own endeavors. Mestor was just as eager as Azaes to gain status. It was how people rose in station, everyone started at the bottom and worked their way up. As heirs to the throne they were not allowed to participate with the youths living outside the palace. Sohm’lan told them about collecting trash in the streets when he was a summer younger than they were. Sometimes Mestor and his twin would beg him for stories about the street ruffians who tried to take his trash bags and claim his work as their own. At five summers, their waterfather had been no stranger to battle.

  “Look!” Azaes exclaimed, running to Sohm’lan’s swing. He turned around showing his red ridge to his waterfather. “My spines are coming in.”

  Mestor grimaced but moved in closer. This was not the first time Azaes claimed his spines were growing. Sohm’lan ran his fingers over the thick-scaled ridge that went from the crown of Azaes’ head and followed along his backbone, down to the tip of his tail. Holes were set in the center of the bigger scales where the retractable spines would eventually come through. The barbs were hard as bone and grew to different lengths. Sohm’lan’s retractable spines were big, but his father’s were longer. Father said it was not the size of the barbs that mattered. There were some Mar’Sani who could not retract their barbs, but they could make them relax enough to lay flat against their body.

  “Wait. Wait. Wait,” Azaes said, then hissed as he flexed. True enough, the heads of three spines on his neck barely protruded from the holes.

  Shaneva crawled off her sleeping platform and waddled over to where Azaes stood showing off. She would one day join the People of the Longing; someone who could not leave Atlainticia’s oceans. Meme schooled Mestor and Azaes on what signs to look for in other young. Webbing growing between their fingers and toes, and the tail merging with the youngling’s legs. The three appendages would eventually grow into one powerful limb, making them unable to walk on land but perfect for the Waters of Poseidon. Those were the two easiest indicators. Another was a loss of scales that were replaced by a thick, shark-like skin when the youngling was close to leaving dry land permanentl
y. Shaneva’s legs were fusing to her short but still growing tail. She walked well but with a slight waddle when she hurried. She moved to climb onto Sohm’lan’s lap and Mestor helped her.

  Younglings in the nursery did not wear clothes, even if they were taken out of the royal wing… Well, that was the rule until recently. A visiting Dignitary from a nearby coalition made a loud, snide remark, claiming they could not tell the males from the females. Then mimicked Shaneva’s waddle in such a way that implied Shaneva’s mind was addled.

  Dignitary or not, Meme had grabbed spears from the nearby Basilisc and threw them to the vile male and his two attendants, challenging the three of them for their breach of etiquette and rudeness. The Dignitary attempted to laugh off the challenge, unwilling to sully his reputation by fighting a mere servant… until one of the guards called Meme by her title. Their father had explained that the visitors did not expect to be greeted right away and thought they were surrounded by servants who could not understand their language. Mestor and Azaes had hovered protectively over Shaneva, watching with pride as Meme beat the three in only five devastating moves, leaving the Dignitary unconscious on the floor. They were escorted back to their ship and out of Atlaintician space. The vid of the Dignitary’s arrival, his comments, as well as the resulting challenge was sent back to the coalition’s counsel with a note that the trio were banned.

  “You will need to be careful as your spines mature,” Sohm’lan counseled Azaes, patting him on the shoulder. “You will not be poisonous until the barbs are fully grown, but you could accidentally stab someone if you do not control them.”

  “Yes,” Mestor added, looking for a spot on Sohm’lan’s lap where he too could sit. “Hitting people with our tails is nothing. Draw blood and suddenly no one is laughing.”

  Canry was quiet. His eye color was different than the rest of the family, more green than yellow. He always watched everything as if he understood what was going on. Mestor had asked Meme about it once. He remembered some things from when he was younger, such as his first time in the Waters, but most of his memories were murky and unclear until he started walking on his own. Meme said Canry did seem to be more focused than other young his age, but then she said that if he was more aware, then Mestor and Azaes would have to be on their best behavior, eat what was given to them, and watch what they said. Canry could mimic them and get into trouble. He thought Meme was sneaky. His twin, on the other hand, took her words to heart. Now Azaes had declared they had to eat nasty greens so Canry would eat them too. Ugh.