Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4)

by Nadia Scrieva

  Visola suddenly found the floor very fascinating. Her fingers played nervously with the unicorn trident attached to her hip. After several seconds of silence, she reached for her sake, and doused her throat with the burning substance. The warmth of the drink was comforting. It even inspired a creative response.

  “If what you mean by that is to imply I went to extra, possibly unnecessary measures because I thought he might be the one attacking us, then you are correct. He might have sent a first wave led by that crazy woman, Atargatis, but he almost certainly knew she would fail. He was behind this all along—he sells his loyalties to the highest bidder, and now he is Zalcan’s little bitch. Shouldn’t even a mercenary have morals? That’s the textbook definition of a whore!”

  “Calm down, Visola…”

  “I do all I have ever done for Adlivun, for Aazuria, and my daughter. I would do anything to stop him! Anything; whatever it took to defeat him. I would do much worse than anything I have ever done. So, yes. It’s all about Vachlan”

  “That is not what I mean, dear,” Amabie said kindly. “I am not speaking to the warrior in you. I am speaking to the woman.”

  “Then you are speaking to no one at all.” Visola looked up at her friend with vacant eyes. “Not much of that remains.”

  “I saw her yesterday,” Amabie said, reaching out to place a hand on her friend’s wild red hair. “You knew that we were supposed to have a formal, public execution for the leader of the enemy forces. It is hallowed tradition, the formal drowning in blood. Yet all Atargatis had to do was mention that she had slept with your husband, and you threw a knife into her eye. Do you not think that was a tiny bit impatient of you, Visola?”

  Visola slowly nodded. “I’m sorry, Queen Amabie. I know. I know it was rash. I’m so sorry. I just lost it and I couldn’t control…”

  “You were just being a woman.”

  “I always am when I make my greatest mistakes!” Visola said fiercely. “I mustn’t allow it any longer.” Her eyes narrowed with focus as she declared, “I am a warrior, first and foremost. I cannot afford to make any more foolish decisions based on my heart.”

  Amabie observed her for a moment before responding. “We may be the fortunate ones with the gift of dual breath,” she said gently, “but yet we are human. We cannot sacrifice all that we are by nature to fill the artificial roles society has created for us.”

  “Oh, it’s not artificial,” Visola said, shaking her head. “I refuse to believe that. If my position at the head of Adlivun’s army were completely arbitrary; if my birth into a warrior family was merely coincidence; if my heritage and destiny were not somehow intricately linked… who would I be?”

  “You would be Visola.”

  “No! I would be nothing. I am only what I am, and nothing more! You—you were meant to be the Queen of the Ningyo. There is no one more suited to that role than you. It is in your blood and your spirit… just as Aazuria is meant to be our leader. We can all be only what we are.”

  “Darling, you are burying yourself in your job and sacrificing your identity. The only reason that you are at odds with yourself as a woman is because you keep shutting that part of you down and pushing it away. It is not healthy. You are building up all this anxiety and tension…”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Queen Amabie!” Visola said with a carefree shrug and smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You have not been fine since Vachlan left you.”

  Visola’s shoulders slumped suddenly forward, as though the puppeteer controlling her had dropped the strings. “Did you hear what Atargatis said? Vachlan thinks that I cheated on him. That’s why he left when I was pregnant with Alcie. He thought… but why would he think that? How dare he think that?”

  “King Kyrosed Vellamo planted a lot of strange ideas into people’s heads,” Amabie answered. “He was a manipulative bastard. Do not blame yourself for this. It is not Vachlan’s fault either.”

  “Two hundred years apart. Two hundred years he has been my sworn enemy. He has joined forces with the Clan of Zalcan, the worst brutes who breathe beneath! He has killed thousands, he has destroyed nations. He commands legions, and intends to throw them all against me… all because of a lie told by Kyrosed?”

  “It is almost sweet in a way,” Queen Amabie said pensively.

  “What?” Visola asked in confusion. “My husband wiped out a whole kingdom under the Bermuda Triangle. He tried to do the same thing to you in the Dragon’s Triangle. Now he’s coming here, to finish what he’s started. He’s been practicing a systematic methodology. Now he’s ready to ruin Adlivun too—he’s ready to crush me. How is that sweet?”

  “It demonstrates how much he loves you. Your betrayal, although only a false idea, was so intolerable and unspeakable to him that it drove him to insanity.”

  “Very sweet indeed,” Visola said, gripping her ceramic cup tightly as she ingested more sake.

  “Truly, Visola. No man or woman dedicates their life to a vendetta of revenge upon the object of their affection unless that affection was once so great that it was the crimson burning sun of their whole existence.”

  Visola paused for a moment. “That’s it? That’s the silver lining? That’s your positive spin on things? You think telling me that he is raising hell because he loves me is going to make me look on the bright side and gain perspective?”

  “Is it working?” Amabie asked, lifting a thin, arched brow.

  “Damn you!” Visola said, furiously. “Of course it’s working! But only because you have gotten me exceptionally drunk.”

  “I told you I would win one of our drinking contests someday,” Amabie said cheerfully.

  “I am easy to defeat when I am overemotional,” Visola admitted. “That is why Vachlan has been two steps ahead of me this whole time. I am fairly certain he is going to kick my well-toned and rather shapely ass.”

  “No! I do not appreciate the tone in your voice,” Amabie said sternly. “You almost sound like you feel you deserve his wrath. You sound like you are welcoming this!”

  “Perhaps I am,” Visola grumbled softly. “I do deserve it. Remember my father? He always used to make these jokes about being psychic... having this great mystical intuition. When Vachlan and I travelled to Bimini to inform my father of our engagement, my father told us that he could not approve. He said he saw only heartache in the future for us. Our marriage would not last; he said I needed a man who would follow me, not one who would compete with me for control. Vachlan was too strong.”

  “It is necessary for a man to be powerful in his own right, yet to always honor his wife’s decisions. My husband was like this.”

  “Your husband was a marvelous man,” Visola said mournfully. “He was always beside you, always helping and supporting you. He would never do the dishonorable things Vachlan did; he would never have forsaken you, and surely not when you were carrying his child. I will admit it now—when Vachlan vanished, I nearly lost my mind. Aazuria took care of me, and she probably saved my life. She told me that my baby would love me more than my husband ever had, and more than anyone ever could; because that was the way a child loved their mother. Unconditionally. She was right. Having Alcie made everything better, and made everything worthwhile. I spent years searching her face for signs of Vachlan. I would see his ghost in her expressions when she was happiest. When she smiled so wide that her cheeks dimpled. Those proud high cheekbones of hers, and her angular jaw. It was like having a little part of him still with me, you know? My little Alcie—everything was fine until I lost her, too.”

  “You have found her once more, Visola. As mothers, we all must deal with the pain of separation from our children. Most men do not feel this connection to their young as strongly. Pain can either break you down, or give you great strength.”

  “I’m not sure whether I experienced the former or latter.” Visola gave her friend a small smile before taking another drink of sake.

  “You wonder this?” Amabie asked with a laugh. “Ask anyone
whether you are strong, Visola. Ask anyone whether they know anyone stronger than you. Then you shall know.”

  “Maybe. I really wish I were more like my sister,” Visola said. “When we were little, I used to lie in bed beside her for hours before we fell asleep. I would look at her, and think about how strange it was that she looked exactly like me. I would put my hands and feet beside hers and search for the slightest differences.” Visola stared off at the wall, lost in remembrance. “But most of all, I would wonder if her thoughts were the same as mine. If her dreams were the same as mine. I had no way of knowing. Did we both have the same aches and pains at the same time? The same pleasures and joys?” Visola leaned forward to refill their cups with unsteady hands. “Now I know we don’t. Sionna has all the light inside of her, and I have the darkness. She has all the purity, and I have the dirt. She likes to talk about how we were once both the same cell. Well, when that cell cleaved itself in half, it may have resulted in identical chromosomes, but the soul—the very soul of that cell did not separate identically. She got all the good stuff. She’s a fucking paragon, and I am a… parasite.”

  “No, dear friend. Sionna may be a paragon, but if so, you are a paradigm. You are the quintessence of everything a victorious general, friend, and mother should be…”

  “Mother!” Visola barked. “I ruined my daughter’s life! Because of me she was in a mental institution for forty years!”

  “And because of you she fell in love and gave birth to two strong sons. Both of whom will soon be in training to carry on your family’s great tradition! Everything happens for a reason, Visola. You cannot deny this. Every decision you make cannot be the right one, but as long as the positive repercussions balance with or outnumber the negative ones, you are making progress. Progress is all we can hope for, and it is what you are best at achieving.”

  “You are just saying that…”

  “No!” Queen Amabie said, standing up and raising herself to her full height. She swayed slightly on her feet, indicating that she was a bit tipsy. “You are like the great Empress Jingū!”

  “Who?” Visola asked curiously.

  “Empress Jingū was a great Japanese warrior who conquered Korea after her husband died! Legend has it that she battled for three years while carrying her husband’s unborn child—she waited until she was victorious before giving birth.”

  “Impressive,” Visola mumbled.

  “Cheer up! You, my friend are the Boudicca of the Deep! Our Joan of Arc, our Tomyris…”

  “Only as good as the women,” Visola lamented.

  “No! You are the Napoleon of the Undersea!”

  “Not a big fan of Napoleon,” Visola said as she fumbled to pour herself more sake.

  Queen Amabie’s eyebrows creased in thought. “Alexander the Great. Gilgamesh. Genghis Khan. Attila the Hun! Name the warrior, and you are his very equal, his aquatic counterpart.”

  “Okay. Now I’m feeling a bit better,” Visola said with a sniffle. “Not fair. You know how to stroke my ego better than anyone.”

  “You need to acknowledge your own brilliance. I am lucky to have you as my ally, for I would not want to ever be pitted against you.”

  “Dawww… I love you, Queen Amabie,” Visola said with a sleepy smile. “I wish it changed the fact that Vachlan is going to defeat me.”

  “Oh, darling. That’s the sake talking.”

  “No, I mean it. I do not have the will or energy anymore. If I could just cast aside all of my memories, I could take him on. If he were anyone else but my husband, I would wipe the floor with him and make him eat his own shit while laughing condescendingly. I would carve my name into his flesh. I would jump rope with his intestines, or wear them as necklaces and bracelets while asking him casually how they looked. I would dance upon…”

  “Then do it,” Amabie said. “Cast aside your doubt and do it.”

  Visola reached out and placed her hand on Amabie’s hand. She would normally never be so familiar with the woman, but due to her drinking, the lines of courtesy were blurring along with her vision. She blinked and squinted in order to see more clearly, but this only led to the realization that it was her own mind which was clouded more than anything. She sighed.

  “I can’t beat him, Amabie.”

  Both women were startled when Aazuria burst into the room, dripping wet, her feet pounding the carpet. “Queen Amabie, General Ramaris—have either of you seen Corallyn?”

  “Not since yesterday when I killed her evil mother,” Visola slurred. “Why?”

  “I cannot find her anywhere,” Aazuria said, brushing locks of wet, white hair out of her face. Corallyn was her youngest sister, whose body was of childlike proportions although she was nearing a hundred years in age. “I had the guards sweep the whole palace. She is not in her quarters, nor anywhere else...”

  Visola frowned. “Have you checked intensive care? She probably snuck in to see if Elandria was better.”

  “That was the first place I looked!” Aazuria reached up and grasped her wounded shoulder, battling a bout of pain. Blood was seeping through the bandage due to her vigorous exercise. She was evidently distressed and frustrated by her missing sibling. “What if she ran away? What if she was angry with us?”

  “She’s probably just sulking in a corner because of the stuff with Atargatis,” Visola spoke with a slight drawl. “When your mother shows up out of the blue and kills a whole bunch of people, it’s never easy to deal with.”

  Queen Amabie lowered herself carefully to her chair. “Princess Aazuria, some of my elite warriors said that they were heading to your Mirrored Caves for festivities to celebrate vanquishing our common enemy. Perhaps your little sister is amongst them?”

  “I do not think Corallyn would be celebrating the death of her mother,” Aazuria said with a deep frown. There was terror in her eyes. “I feel within me that something is gravely wrong.”

  Chapter 4: Elegant Crimson Calligraphy

  It seemed that all of Adlivun and all of their Ningyo allies were in the Mirrored Caves, dancing, chatting, and enjoying themselves in the water. They had changed out of their armor, and they all wore brightly colored flowing fabrics which floated in the water behind them like the swirling ribbons of rhythmic gymnasts. The Alaskans wore their malachite green while the Japanese wore bright red or white, depending on their rank.

  Aazuria swam through the cavernous rooms, frantically searching for her little sister.

  Although many of the people in the room did not share the same spoken language, it did not matter. Everyone communicated with their hands in the universal sign language. Speech was a garbled, incoherent burble underwater. The only thing easily discernible was laughter. The sound of distorted, joyous murmurs reached Aazuria’s ears from every part of the Mirrored Caves. Her shoulder throbbed as her bone rotated in the joint, swimming quickly through the rooms. Lights bounced off the mirrors, and she was frequently met with her own troubled reflection. She tried to remember the last words she had exchanged with Corallyn, for any clue to where she might be.

  “Well, that’s just peachy,” Corallyn said with her hands on her hips. “My biological mother tries to kill everyone I love and I’m not allowed to execute her? Why is Visola allowed to do anything she wants?”

  “Hush, Corallyn,” Aazuria answered firmly. “It was for the best that it happened this way. Believe me.”

  “But Elandria could die!”

  Seeing the young girl’s lip quiver, Aazuria reached out and pulled her sister into a gentle hug. “Elandria’s going to pull through; we’re going to be fine. Nothing else matters as long as we have each other. Okay?”

  Corallyn grumbled, embarrassed by the show of affection. “Whatever, big sis. Your mother was some majestic lady, so you don’t know what it’s like…”

  Aazuria placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “I killed Papa. Now I have to live with that. I do not wish the same for you.”

  “He deserved it. He was a…”

  “
Coral, your mother was not always like this. When I first met her, she was an ambitious, dedicated young performer. The worst villains are created from the kindest people when bad things happen to them.”

  “So it’s all Papa’s fault,” Corallyn said quietly.

  “No. Your mother’s actions were her own.”

  “My actions would have been my own as well!”

  “I cannot allow you to make mistakes that you will greatly regret.”

  Corallyn gritted her teeth. “Fine. Damn you! Go make more smoochies with ‘Uncle Trevain.’ Damn Visola too! I’m going to sulk in a corner.”

  Now, which corner could she possibly be sulking in?

  Many of the people Aazuria passed, both warriors and civilians, bowed deeply to her and saluted across their chests before congratulating her bravery and sympathy for her shoulder. They offered condolences and wished Elandria a rapid recovery. Aazuria’s hands automatically formed the gracious signs necessary to acknowledge all of their kindnesses and pleasantries. Her head nodded, and her mouth smiled, but her eyes remained unsettled and anxious.

  Whenever she was engaged by someone who might have known Corallyn, she asked if they had seen her. She described the girl’s appearance and small stature to many of the Ningyo warriors, who shook their heads, profusely apologizing and bowing. Aazuria was growing increasingly agitated, and the swarm of celebrating sea-people only added to her frustration. She turned to exit the Mirrored Caves, and found herself swimming directly into someone.

  Caring green eyes assessed her hysterical state with concern. She felt a small wave of relief run through her because of his understanding gaze. Aazuria reached out and placed a hand on his arm, as if trying to draw strength from him.

  “Did you find her yet?” he asked, slowly and carefully forming the words in sign language. He did not yet have much confidence in speaking with his hands.