by Lexi Ander
He was brought into what appeared to be a library, which was a huge luxury even though the books were crafted of materials from the sea that could withstand the constant humidity. One wall was beveled glass, overlooking the not-too-distant underwater citiplex, Epoptis. The sight immediately captivated Sohm’lan.
The water was a lighter shade of indigo. The citiplex was built on the edge of a crack in the seabed where the water was almost black. Lights dotted the cliff face and rounded domes and sharp spires lit the seafloor above the ledge. The sight still reminded Sohm’lan of the night sky.
Was there more than one citiplex on Valespia for the Numina outcasts? How many such cities were on Atlainticia’s ocean floor, hidden away from ‘land dweller’ eyes? Perhaps Father could help him pinpoint them on the satellite maps. The citiplexes closer to the shores were where the People of the Longing lived. He had visited many of them himself, accompanying Valdor as he met officials and leaders. The fact that there was more to the Waters of their homeworld was still mindboggling.
His father joined him at the glass wall. Sohm’lan heaved a sigh.
From the beginning, then. “You are a youngling of Posei—”
“No, you misunderstand,” Echo said softly, meeting Sohm’lan’s gaze in the glass. “The Mar’Sani are younglings of Poseidon. He is my sire.”
“Father… Poseidon is—” He was at a loss for words. Sohm’lan was still getting used to the knowledge that Poseidon was alive, but the implication that his father was related to the Ancient was… was... Sohm’lan looked into the cup his father handed to him and gulped it down, willing the fire that burned his throat and nostrils to devour his disbelief. Was this how Zeus felt when he learned he was Fal’Amoric and related to Princess Athena?
“Ryo’Pardeep, the people society now call the Ancients, are very like the Alpha-Zetamites and are very much alive, though fewer in number than they once were.”
Sohm’lan’s head swam and when he listed to the side, his father grabbed his arm and led him to a low seat.
Many revered Poseidon and upheld the idea of him and his deeds. Sohm’lan had prayed to Poseidon, raising his voice to the father of the Mar’Sani in times of emotional trouble. He had known Poseidon had been—was—one of the Ancients, a people everyone believed were long gone. Poseidon was not a god but considered a revered ancestor. To have his father claim Poseidon as his parent suddenly created this relationship between Poseidon and Sohm’lan that made him want to scoff. The knowledge scrambled his thoughts. Stars above! He was related to Zeus’s mate, Alpha!
Sohm’lan attempted to stand but wobbled on his feet. He needed to go… somewhere. His father grabbed his arm, guiding him back down. He put his head between his knees, breathing deeply until his vision quit spinning. He wanted Mestor, needed his amor.
“I know this is a lot to absorb and, unfortunately, there is more.” Regret laced his father’s voice.
Sohm’lan let his guard down and leaned against his father, soaking up the comfort his parent offered.
Someone entered carrying a tray. She did not look Mar’Sani. She had hide like shark skin, striped yellow and red. Her fingers were webbed, her feet inordinately long, and she walked on her toes. “Here, milord, perhaps your son could do with some warm mavka.”
Sadness washed through Sohm’lan. The people of his father’s household knew of him, but until today, he had not known they existed.
Echo accepted the tray from her. “Thank you, Marina. As always, you have thought of everything.”
She bowed. “Will Lady Lilika be visiting today?”
Sohm’lan looked into the cup of dark liquid his father poured for him. Should he sip it or swallow it in one gulp?
“Not today.” Echo shot Sohm’lan a glance. “Perhaps tomorrow. I will let her know you asked after her.”
Sohm’lan sipped the warm syrupy drink as Marina bowed again before leaving. He hummed his approval at the bitter but bold flavor, swallowing another mouthful. Soon his nerves settled, and the sourness of his stomach was replaced by a warmth that ushered in a feeling of contentment.
“Triton of the Numina.” Sohm’lan tried out his father’s true name. “Before we left to pick up Prince Zeus from the space station, I believed the Numina were no more. They were just a people in the stories you told me.” He frowned when something occurred to him. “How much of Atlaintician history has been altered to hide them?”
“Nothing has been altered, not really, just forgotten. It has been several millennia since Pegasus’s followers left the Waters of Poseidon to explore land and then space. Throughout the summers, the royal family has collected as many tomes and old records as possible. Much of it is now digitized for posterity, but those who can read the old tongue are few and far between. Atlaintician culture has kept alive the war chants and battle hymns, ensuring the language was not completely forgotten.”
Sohm’lan stared into his cup, sadness pressing down on him. Realistically, no one knew every detail about the people who raised them, but Sohm’lan thought he had known what was important. Were lineage and family, their origins not vital? Perhaps not. Mar’Sani valued the deeds of the individual. The family name and history were much further down the list of what was important.
Without asking permission, Echo poured him another cup.
“The Numina would like for everyone to believe they do not exist.” Echo refilled his own glass as well. “The story I told you of my brother, Pegasus the Explorer, was true. The tomes I translated were the history of the early Mar’Sani settlers. I am sure you already know that those of us who are exiled, and even the People of the Longing, are forbidden to reveal their existence. The penalty for doing so has far-reaching repercussions.”
Yes, this Sohm’lan knew from Shaneva. “But as a Bard, you have been singing about them,” Sohm’lan pointed out, suddenly afraid one of these Numina would take his father into custody, relocating him someplace where Sohm’lan could not reach him. Or worse yet, he could suffer the same punishment as Shaneva and Segna—Segna’s tortured and ruined body were still fresh in his mind.
Echo’s smile was wide and wickedly mischievous. “No. Technically, I have been reciting writings by Mar’Sani scholars. They cannot touch me, though I know a few would relish getting their hands on me anyway. It helps that Father used to favor me. They dare not draw the temper of Poseidon down on themselves. If Poseidon became aware of what they were doing, he would put a stop to it.”
That was exactly what Shaneva believed. Poseidon’s involvement would put a halt to the Numina’s hold on the Waters and Atlainticia. Would his father’s punishment gain Poseidon’s attention? Was it something similar to Zeus’s altercation with Nethus? Was it Zeus’s blood in the water or something else that drew Poseidon? Zeus had swum in the Waters with small injuries before. He had tangled more than once with a coral reef when he had not been paying attention to what he was doing. So, not Zeus’s blood. If he could uncover the key that would grab Poseidon’s attention, they could use it to summon him.
“Do you know how to contact Poseidon?” Arion had not known and had spoken with Poseidon more recently, but Sohm’lan could hope.
“If I had a way to summon my father, I would have done so long before now. I tried to change policy from within. But those who led the Numina had—still hold—much of the power and my arguments were ignored. Being caught with Lilika gave them a reason to chip me and force me to move to land. Not that I regret falling in love with your mem, but without someone vocal about their separation policy and treatment of people,” he shrugged. “I do not know if another took my place. I had a few allies, but many were afraid to speak out.”
“Did the Mar’Sani do something that caused the Numina to be averse to land?” Sohm’lan thought back to his father’s songs, but he only remembered the ones about fighting and strategy. That was the only reason he recalled the story of healing. It had followed the tale of a fight.
“Not really. They viewed the love of land as a diseas
e of the mind, a desire for something they believed their bodies were not designed for. The belief that they are strictly a people of the seas, not earth, has turned religious.”
Sohm’lan did not sip but gulped his mavka, wondering if he dared another cup. Marina returned with a tray laden with aromatic food and pot of familiar-smelling tea. Though he had recently consumed first-meal, his stomach growled loudly, embarrassing him.
“They are not a People of the Waters, like the People of the Longing?” As soon as he asked, he knew it was a stupid question. His father was Numina and walked on land, but then his father made a face that caused him to wonder.
“Just as the Mar’Sani have forgotten the Numina and some of the things they are capable of, so too have the Numina forgotten. Only the oldest of us have not lost the knowledge of shifting shape. The younger generations were born to a form and those opposed to the land refused to teach them how to change shape for fear they would use legs to explore the shore.”
His father was angry, and Sohm’lan understood why. Their trespass was like raising birds but clipping their wings, denying them their ability to fly because they did not like the sky and were afraid the bird would not return to them. He could not image intentionally handicapping a youngling like that. It was petty and cruel. The thought that Canry had been raised among such people made him want to see his waterson. Though Canry’s new mentor, Arion, was brought in from a different planet, he was still Numina. Sohm’lan resolved to have a much-needed talk with Arion when Canry came to visit.
Sohm’lan sighed. Nothing revealed so far had given him any hope of contacting Poseidon. If Shaneva thought his father had the key to their problem, she would have come to him herself long before now. Even with turmoil making his stomach roll, he smiled. His waterdaughter sent him to the one person who could teach him how to master his quickening. She had shared her limited knowledge, and perhaps this was her way of telling him he needed his father’s knowledge and instruction. Canry had made her his farseeing keeper, and those who held such knowledge were crafty and subtle, directing someone without seeming to.
He looked to his father, now seeing the old eyes and the young body. Alpha-Zetamites were old, birthed at the beginning of time, or so Zeus had said. Their young, the Ryo’Pardeep, what was left of them, were nearly as ancient.
The longevity of both was so expansive that counting time in millennia still could not adequately determine their age. How old was his father? He said that he was born after the Arthro War. That was still an extremely long time ago. Sohm’lan washed his mouth out with his tea then reached for the new carafe of mavka. The first cup he poured for himself he consumed in one swallow then immediately poured another.
To understand who—what—he was as well as this stranglehold the Numina had on the People of the Longing and Mar’Sani, he needed to know more about the hidden people. Drawing on his courage, Sohm’lan forged on. “So, the Numina are younglings of Poseidon like you?”
“No, only the first generation, my generation, who were born after the war. The majority are the descendants of my siblings’ bloodlines and are slightly different from our first generation. My siblings and I, even the second generation, have retained the ability to shift form.”
Sohm’lan nodded. “Prince Zeus’s mate, Alpha, has a son who helped us on Qestaire. We were told Star Eater is an Ancient—a Ryo’Pardeep—and Alpha commented that Star Eater liked to experiment with his form. Should the Numina be called Ryo’Pardeep as well?”
“That is an easy and difficult question.” His father swallowed a foamy, green starfish in one crunching gulp. “The Alpha-Zetamites were born from primordial waters somewhere in the center of the universe. In turn, Alpha and Zeta roamed space conceiving and bearing offspring. Those offspring are called Ryo’Pardeep because they were not conceived the same way the Alpha-Zetamites were. Depending on where each Ryo’Pardeep was birthed, they took on affinities for those composite aspects of specific areas of space. Even though Poseidon’s true form looks like the Alpha-Zetamites, his affinity is water. He changes his form to adapt to what he is most comfortable with. The Numina, my generation at least, were born in water looking like the Alpha-Zetamites, but we too, chose our form to match the environment we lived in.
“We are dependent on the resources in this environment and keep bodies that will thrive where we live. The Alpha-Zetamites can change their shape but it has no benefit for them. Many of my aunts and uncles change their appearance often. My father has been wearing his form since we settled on Atlainticia. But if he decides to change his appearance, he can. My generation cannot always boast that ability. We forget what our true form looks like if we do not wear it occasionally. The future generations are bound to one shape, never taught how to change skins. The more the Numina are set in their ways, the more likely they will never transform again. This is one of many reasons why they are Numina and not Ryo’Pardeep.”
Sohm’lan stared at his empty plate, not remembering what he had consumed or even how much. Was he stress eating now? “What of me? How much like them am I?”
“You are my son, and I have not forgotten how to change my shape.” The form his father wore in the water was proof of that. “As my youngling, now that your body has matured, I can teach you how to manipulate your tissue. The energy emanating from you says my genes are strong within you, which will allow me to show you a great many things. You have enough power that you could probably use the conch to travel across the waters of the galaxy. If my trident also answers to your touch, I can teach you how to use it. There are many uses for quickening’s power, and in your hands, I am positive that you will accomplish a great many things.” His father’s hope and pride were palpable.
Sohm’lan leaned into his father’s side, feeling more settled in his skin. He was glad his father was not a spy, nor did he carry the same beliefs as the Numina. Sohm’lan was already thinking ahead. Once he learned all his father could teach him, he could take that knowledge to the People of the Longing, arm his people with ways to defend themselves. And if the worst came, teach them how to fight. Shaneva said all would be lost if a non-violent solution could not be found, and he would work diligently to find a way to do just that, but he could not in good conscience continue to leave the People of the Longing defenseless.
“I would like Mestor to be included in your instruction.” It was not a question and he pulled back the warlord’s bite in his voice. His father was not someone who reported to him. “He quickened with me, and I would have him protected.”
Echo’s expression turned pensive. “It is not surprising that your quickening beckoned his from slumber. The royal family have a very strong bloodline as direct descendants of Pegasus himself. My brother was much envied among our siblings and their young. That Pegasus still lives on Atlainticia is something the Numina are not aware of. His progeny carry great power.”
Pegasus the Explorer was still alive… Sohm’lan stared at the empty carafe of mavka. He was much too sober for this conversation.
He considered how Mestor, Azaes, and Canry shared the ability to farsee in varying degrees. The royal family’s ability was astounding. What other abilities did they have? Not that it mattered, not really. Sohm’lan would continue to guard their secrets with his life. If they are all that powerful, then could they not be taught as well, he wondered.
Sohm’lan’s father continued as if he had not just dropped shocking information. “Only the Ryo’Pardeep with water affinity wield the touch of foreknowledge. Everyone else, even you, has a minute ability considered to be excellent intuition. As beings of water, sometimes Fate manipulates us to prepare for the coming trials.” Echo paused as if he was choosing his words carefully. “The Siren’s Song was used by Canry for the first time in almost a millennium. V’Saar are on this side of the grid. Traitors are attempting to unseat the Galactic Imperials. The Bespoken is missing. There is much unrest. Members of the Atlaintician royal family quickening could mean they will be needed in the coming di
saster.”
“You speak of Fate as if it is a being, and a meddling one at that. I find that hard to believe,” Sohm’lan argued. Then his blood ran cold at the thought of Fate being a Ryo’Pardeep manipulating events from the shadows.
He stood and went back to the windows. The citiplex gleamed like a jewel. Outside the citiplex’s limits stood a circle of pillars that reminded him of the stone circle on Qestaire. To be seen over the distance, those pillars had to be monoliths.
“What is that?” He pointed when Echo joined him at the window.
“That is a gyre circle.”
The name jogged his memory. “The same stone circle in the story about the healing saliva?”
“No, that arena is located on Atlainticia, but they both perform the same function,” his father confirmed.
In the story, two people entered the circle to fight in order to seek justice. “And all people of the Water were summoned to bear witness to the outcome of the fight for justice?”
“As far as I know, though I think all is a stretch, but most were there.” Echo’s eyes burned with intensity. “There has not been a challenge called in hundreds of summers.”
Sohm’lan grinned, an idea forming. He batted down his excitement. There was no room for it when there was much he had to accomplish before he put his plan in motion.
“My soul-son, be careful in what you plot,” his father cautioned. “Millions of lives are at stake if you fail.”
“It is fortunate that my father taught me how to win.” He bared his teeth with a hiss-click. He needed to get back to the satellite maps. Something that big had to be visible from the sky if it was not located in the dark depths. “But first, I would like you to teach me how to wield your trident.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mestor
* * *
Mestor stepped outside the market square shop needing a breath of fresh air. The investigators delving into the business of House Cordyl had requested the presence of a Vondorian, having uncovered something they believed the royal family needed to be made aware of.
