“She may be a fiery fisherwoman, but she is still just a woman. I know her type. She thinks because she is the only girl tough enough to hang out with the guys that she can disrespect them as much as she likes. This probably grew from issues with her father. Am I right?”
“Spot on. It seems that no one I know has a good relationship with their father,” Trevain remarked. “Luckily, bad parentage affects people in very different ways. In your case it seems to have made you stronger.”
Aazuria glanced up at him judiciously. “What about you, Trevain? Have you ever had children?”
“No. I’ve always wanted to, but…” Trevain’s brow furrowed and he cleared his throat. “I guess my life didn’t work out that way. Probably for the best; as you can see, I’m hardly capable of taking care of a boatful of men. There’s no way I’d be able to shepherd little rugrats away from danger.”
“You do take care of them,” she assured him. “The whole boatload of men and one eccentric, maniacal woman.”
Trevain grinned again. “You had me fooled, Aazuria. I thought you were so innocent when I first saw you, but if you can handle yourself around that banshee then I’m not worried about anyone taking advantage of you. Ever.”
Aazuria’s cheeks felt the strength of her smile. The strength of her smile led to embarrassment which led to heat flushing her cheeks. She turned away from him, murmuring, “I should go and collect my sisters for lunch.”
“Wait,” Trevain said, moving close to her. “Brynne and Callder and I are probably going to head out to work directly after lunch. We will be away for a few days, depending on the weather. I just wanted to mention one thing to you in private before I leave.”
“What is it?” she asked, searching his eyes for clues. She wondrously watched the delicate skin around his eyes crinkle into tender lines of hilarity.
“You were right, my dear. The sea is azure.”
Brynne’s heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway as she trudged towards Callder’s room. “Maniacal banshee!” she grumbled. “Call me more flattering names as soon as I turn the corner, why don’t you? Brynne doesn’t have ears!” Even though she was making good progress in convincing herself that she was upset with Aazuria and Trevain, she was mostly upset with herself. For a woman in her mid-thirties she sure could be immature at times.
“That’s Calzone’s influence on me,” she told herself. Then she cringed and made a face at the sound of the old nickname. It exited her lips so naturally, creating one more reason for her to be ashamed and upset with herself.
Brynne jumped in fright when a small head poked out from one of the many doors in the corridor. She caught her breath and looked at the child to make sure it was a human being and not a ghostly apparition. Trevain’s house was usually so empty that it was shocking to find anything or anyone in it—this was her second such surprise for the day.
“Hi, there,” Brynne said, once she was convinced that the child was real. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
Corallyn sent the woman an appraising glance. “You were a total dick to my sister.”
Brynne winced at hearing such words leaving a child’s mouth. “Hey, I’m sorry…”
“You’re ignorant. Where I come from, for speaking to a Vellamo like that, you might have been beheaded. Or worse.” With that, Corallyn withdrew into the room and slammed the door vehemently.
Brynne flinched again at the loud noise. “A Vella-what?” Her brow knitted in confusion, and she wondered what kind of books Aazuria was letting her little sister read. Shrugging at the child’s unusual behavior, she continued down the hall to Callder’s room. The hallway seemed to stretch forever. When she finally stood before the door, she knocked hesitantly. Gone was the boisterous Brynne who had viciously rung Trevain’s doorbell a dozen times within ten seconds. She swallowed, feeling more uncomfortable to be standing at this door than she had expected; and not just because Callder was cantankerous when hung over.
She cleared her throat and shook her hands out at the wrists to release her misgivings. She knocked on the door again forcefully, in a decidedly more Brynne-like manner. “Hey, Callder! Wake up. Lunch and work!”
“No!” was the grouchy shout heard from the inside.
“Don’t make me come in there!” Brynne yelled back. “I will kick your lazy ass right out of that bed.”
“Please do,” was the muffled invitation which filtered through the door and possibly blankets.
Brynne immediately flushed. “Worst day ever,” she whispered to herself. She took several deep breaths before turning the doorknob. “Callder Murphy! You useless layabout! This is why we broke up.”
The man had been facing the curtains. Now, he shifted under the blanket to turn and consider her. Brynne felt a twinge of dismay when she saw the red puffiness around his eyes. He looked far more hung over than usual, and she could tell that he had been crying.
“Wanna come help me wake up?” Callder asked as he stretched.
“No!” Brynne immediately felt her pity disappear. “We have to get out on the water. Some of us adults actually need to pay our bills and can’t depend on big brother to do everything for us.”
Callder rubbed his eyes and yawned loudly. “But you could. Come live with me and Trevain will take care of your stuff too. I miss you.”
“My answer is still the same. Unlike you, I have this little thing called pride, and a few other little things called goals. There’s more to life than staying in bed all day.”
“I could change your mind in about ten seconds,” Callder said with a toothy grin. He lifted the blanket to expose his impressive arousal before pouting melodramatically. “I’ve got this little thing called morning wood. Bring that pretty ass over here and help me get rid of this! It hurts.”
“You filthy pervert!” Brynne said, crossing her arms. She assumed the meanest look she could manage to hide the smile that threatened to appear. “We’re co-workers, Callder, and this is sexual harassment. Get your lazy ass out of bed and get dressed!”
“Just go away,” Callder said grumpily, replacing the blanket and turning to face the window.
Brynne heard the note of sadness in his voice, and released a sigh. Against her better judgment, she crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t wanna work today,” Callder admitted. He lifted a hand to scratch behind his ear. “I’m not really that hung over. Just don’t wanna go out on that boat.”
“But we need you out there. We’re a man down.”
“Is that the only thing you need me for?” he asked quietly. He glanced at Brynne briefly, and for once there was serious sorrow speckling his warm brown eyes. “I have a really bad feeling.”
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Brynne said. She felt the familiar sensation of mothering Callder, as though he were six feet and two inches worth of pure, giant child.
He turned away and grunted. “The Magician stinks of death. I can’t stop thinking about it. Just find some bright-eyed young kid to do my job, and I guarantee he’ll do it better even.”
“It’s going to be tough on all of us to get back to work today. Please don’t make it harder on us.”
“That’s all I’m good for. I’m a fuck-up, remember?”
“Calz—Callder. Please. It comforts Trevain to have you around. You relieve everyone’s stress with your trashy, tasteless jokes. Don’t flake out on us; not today of all days.” Seeing that her speech was not having the desired effect, she knew that it was necessary to pull the woman-card. She placed a hand on his arm tenderly. “I need you out there.”
“Leo was ten times the man that I am,” Callder said gruffly. “It should have been me. I should be dead.”
“No.” Brynne’s touch changed from affectionate to reproachful instantaneously as she slapped him upside the head. “Don’t say things like that!”
“What do you care?”
“I care.”
“Then get back together with me,�
�� Callder said, propping himself up on his elbow. “How many years are you going to make me beg? I miss you.”
Brynne pulled her lips into a tight line. She never knew what to say. Sometimes she wanted to relax and agree more than anything, but a small part of her still hoped that she could find a better man—someone who felt less like dead weight. “Let’s talk about it when we get back,” she said. “For now, we need to focus on getting through this day. The guys are miserable.”
Pushing his torso fully upright, Callder ran a hand through his messy brown hair. “So I guess you need me to rant about booze and whores to cheer ’em up?”
Brynne laughed. He always could make her laugh. “Exactly.”
Chapter 8: I Remember 1741
“This library is rather eclectic,” Sionna observed as she browsed through the titles.
“In the best possible way,” her twin added giddily. Visola had been curled up in an armchair with her legs tucked under her as she rapidly consumed the pages of the book she had chosen.
“What are you reading?” Sionna asked, glancing at her sister nosily.
Visola’s eyes lit up as she held up the cover for the others to see. “The Influence of Sea Power on Ancient History by Chester Starr.”
“Non-fiction,” Corallyn observed in disappointment without glancing up from the laptop to which she had recently become joined at the hip.
“Always work, work, work with you, General Ramaris. You’re totally obsessed with naval warfare,” Sionna accused somewhat fondly. “Grim situations aren’t supposed to get a person so excited.”
“He even has submarines!” Visola sputtered excitedly. “I just thought it was best to do my reading in chronological order and save the best for last.”
“Maybe you should start with the titles most relevant to our situation,” Sionna suggested as she went back to browsing the section she favored.
“There certainly is a common theme,” Aazuria remarked as she studied the rows of spines, thinking of how the carefully shelved volumes reflected on Trevain’s interests. She fingered one book idly and read aloud, “The Beasts of the Sea…”
“Are we featured in that?” Corallyn joked as she continued pounding away at the keys of the small computer. She had grown addicted to the machine much too quickly.
“No. It just caught my attention because it was written by Georg Wilhelm Steller.”
“Steller?” Visola asked thoughtfully. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”
“It’s because you slept with him,” Sionna informed her.
“No way. Did I really?”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Sionna gave her sister a superior smirk. “1741 was a very long time ago. I don’t expect you to remember every man whose bed you invaded; especially considering you can’t remember the names of people you slept with yesterday.”
“That’s not true! I remember all the important ones,” Visola argued. “There was only one important man in the 18th century.”
“He was a writer too, wasn’t he?” Sionna asked.
“Shut up,” Visola said, rolling her eyes and stretching languidly. “Shut up and find me something with lots of mines and torpedoes.”
“You can use this computer to do research if you need to know about a specific weapon,” Corallyn suggested.
Visola raised an auburn eyebrow. “Honey, I was born in 1449. Do you really expect me to know what to do with that machine?”
“What she means to say is if it doesn’t kill something, she’s not interested,” Sionna explained.
Aazuria was leaning against the bookcase and looking at her quiet sister thoughtfully. Elandria was avoiding conversation with the others by curling up in a corner of the couch with a book, but Aazuria knew she was listening. Very little escaped her taciturn observation. “I remember 1741,” Aazuria murmured as she watched her sister; the years being discussed had not been pleasant for Elandria. “So much began to change back then. Father had just decided that we should stop speaking Aleut and converse mainly in Russian. I began studying ballet under a new instructor on land. My legs were so much stronger back then…”
“I didn’t know that Russian was ever exclusively spoken in Adlivun,” Corallyn commented in surprise.
“We had a very brief Russian phase,” Sionna said, waving her hand in dismissal. “We spoke it for less than a hundred years before King Kyrosed decided that English was the way to go. That man never could make up his mind! By the time he ventured off to impregnate some poor, unsuspecting girl with you, Coral, we had been used to English for quite some time.”
“I see. What did you speak before the Aleut language?” Corallyn asked.
“Old Norse,” Sionna answered, “but that was a very long time ago, before we came to the Bering Sea. Even longer ago, way before our generation, Latin was the language of choice. We sort of go with the flow of the world above us, wherever we are living. We try to stay current in case we need to spend time on land—like right now. Only our sign language has remained pretty much unchanged and unique to us.”
In response, Elandria lifted her hands from her book to communicate, “I appreciate consistency.”
This drew a burst of laughter from Corallyn. The young girl placed her laptop aside and moved to the sofa that Elandria was sitting on. She curled up beside her sister in a catlike way.
Aazuria continued to browse the library, running her hands along the old volumes as she thought of Trevain. Each title made her more and more curious about him, and about what secrets of acumen he held behind his unassuming demeanor. After several minutes of examining the books, she began to feel guilty about concealing her true origin from him, and slightly nervous about whether the secret could remain hidden for long.
Feeling a warm hand on her shoulder, Aazuria turned to find Elandria looking at her intently and holding out a particular book. Reaching out to accept the offering, she looked down at the blue cover with bold black lettering.
“The Aquatic Ape Hypothesis by Elaine Morgan,” she read curiously.
“Are we in that one?” Corallyn asked sleepily from the couch.
“I doubt it,” Sionna answered without even glancing at the book, “but I found our section over here. Take a look.” A few of the girls gathered to where she had been pointing as Sionna placed her hands on her hips and glowered at the shelves. “He’s got probably every book in existence which examines the various European water myths: the Selkie, Melusine, Kelpie, Vodyanoy, and the Rusalka. Take your pick! There are even African folklores about Mami Wata. He doesn’t stop there. Here’s Inuit lore on Qalupaliks and obscure southern legends about Aycayia and Sumpall. This collection is remarkably extensive. There’s plenty of reading on Asian stories about the Ningyo…”
“The Ningyo. Ah, memories!” Visola immediately commented. “I wonder if Queen Amabie is still alive and well. She was the greatest swordswoman I have ever known. Do you remember fighting alongside her in that vicious battle in the 1950s? The last real fun I’ve had.”
“How could I forget,” Sionna grumbled. “Your asshole husband tried to kill us and he nearly took my leg off.”
“I should pay a visit to those crazy Japanese mermaids,” Visola said, completely ignoring the personal remark. “Reinforcing our alliance with them could come in handy in the future. Queen Amabie would definitely help us out if things got rough.”
Sionna was reflexively ready to protest and mock her sister, but she found herself relenting. “That’s actually a really great idea, Viso.”
Meanwhile, Aazuria clutched the book Elandria had given her to her chest as she examined the titles in horror. “This is dreadful. If he is so finely educated in water mythology, how did he not take one look at me and know exactly what I am? I have been imprudent. I will be found out; it is inevitable. He knows what we are.”
“Oh, darling, don’t worry so!” Sionna said lightly. “All land-dwellers have a general idea of what we are, and the general impression that we’re here. They just deny our ex
istence so hard that it wouldn’t even cross their minds.”
“You mean they know who we are,” Corallyn corrected from her perch on the cushions.
Visola shook her head. “No. They don’t know who we are specifically, but they do have a vague conception of what we are. They just blow their damned stories out of proportion. They have to say that we have fish tails, sparkly scales, hair made out of smelly seaweed, magical singing powers or other crap in most of these stories.”
“I know, right?” Sionna said, firmly shutting a book that she had previously opened. “They’re just xenophobic! All of them! Doesn’t it make sense that if we have slightly longer lifespans, those of us who are singers will be better singers? There’s a limit to the mastery of any art that can be achieved in any single lifetime. Their limits just happen to be much lower than ours!”
“Your extreme nationalist views are showing, Sio,” her sister teased.
Sionna made a face. “I’m proud of both who and what I am. I love my country, and I love the woman who will soon be our new queen.”
“Yes. Some queen I will make,” Aazuria said, laughing derisively at herself. “If Adlivun wasn’t already underwater, I swear I would somehow sink it. I have already made a mess. I tried to secure a home on land, and I messed it up by basically revealing us.”
“We haven’t been revealed!” Corallyn shouted from the sofa, opening her eyes and slamming her fist into a soft pillow. “Sweet Sedna! You worry too much, Zuri. ‘Uncle Trevain’ is totally enamored of you and you couldn’t have said or done anything to screw that up if you tried. He thought the mermaid comment was hilarious!”
Aazuria nodded, feeling marginally reassured by her youngest sister’s words. Sighing, she moved over to the sofa and sat down listlessly. She stroked Corallyn’s hair absent-mindedly.
“We all look perfectly normal,” Sionna reaffirmed. “Sure, we’re extremely cognizant of our differences, but the truth is that no one can see the morphological distinctions of our lungs directly through our chests.”
Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4) Page 8
