“Now I feel like I’m really in a war,” Visola said as she pulled her leather pants on. “Even after countless people dying and barely surviving impossible battles, even after being tortured and crucified, and having my queen abducted, it didn’t feel real. It was pretty easy. It felt like it would be over and fixed soon. But now that I’m a walking zombie, and when I get a spare moment to close my eyes someone rips them open with more tedious chores for me to do… now it feels like a fucking war!”
“I do not disagree with you, love.”
Chapter 7: My Fortune Cookie
“Queen Amabie said…”
The young Japanese warrior was trying to express himself in the universal sign language, but he was badly injured. An attack of pain caused him to grab his bandaged abdomen and utter a piercing cry. Horrified chills prickled the back of Trevain’s neck as the sound penetrated his skull. Sionna had given the man powerful painkillers, but it was evidently futile. Trevain waited for the warrior named Mizugiwa to calm down before pressing him further.
“Please tell me what you know,” Trevain signed. He had learned months ago that it was especially important to be polite to the Japanese mermaids, called the Ningyo, but he could not even force himself to format his sentences in questions. “Tell me if there any news regarding my wife. If you know something about Queen Aazuria, you must tell me!”
Mizugiwa lifted his hands from his stomach with a grimace. “I must not speak to anyone but General Ramaris.”
“Dammit,” Trevain cursed out loud in English. He could see from Mizugiwa’s frown that the word, or at least the expression he wore and the tone in his voice were probably easily decipherable. Perhaps the man knew English. “She’s on her way,” he signed in response. “But it may be several hours until she arrives. She’s on a boat from Alaska. Hang in there, Mizugiwa.”
The younger man nodded, placing his hands on his stomach and gritting his teeth together to keep from crying out. Trevain was seized by a sudden inclination to force the Ningyo warrior to talk. It was a new idea for him, for he had never tortured someone before. He had seen Visola in action. He could not help considering it, even though the man was an ally—he was withholding information. Possibly information concerning Aazuria. It would be easy. All he had to do was stick his fingers in the open wound…
Sionna entered the room, startling him out of his grisly thoughts. She was followed by several other women in dark green hospital gowns.
“This is the best team of surgeons in Adlivun. We’re going to operate on you to stop the bleeding and extract the pieces of metal from your body, Mizugiwa. I’m going to use a local anesthetic, and you’re going to chat with my assistant while I work, okay?”
“Yes, Dr. Ramaris.”
Trevain immediately felt guilty for the direction of his thoughts. He had never experienced such impatience. One of the surgeons was fluent in Japanese and kept up an encouraging discussion with the man while Sionna worked. Trevain watched, partly in curiosity and revulsion of the procedure, and partly in genuine fear for the man’s health. Still, his eyes kept darting to the doorway, hoping that Visola would enter and he could hear the man’s information.
After about two hours of barking succinct orders, Sionna made an exasperated sound and stood up. She began pulling her gloves off, and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Trevain, I need to talk to you outside.”
“Sure.” He followed her brisk pace, and when they were outside, the room, she leaned against the wall. She had the look on her face of someone who craved a cigarette.
“It’s useless,” she said with her hands so she could not be overheard. “He’s going to die any minute now.”
“What do you mean? You seemed so calm in there like you had everything under control!” he responded with a frantic frown.
“It’s my job to be calm, kid.”
“If you tell him that he’s dying, will he share the information he has? We can’t afford to wait for my grandmother, can we?”
“Doesn’t work that way. He’s expertly trained Ningyo, and he won’t say a word.”
Trevain looked around anxiously for a solution, feeling the gritty pressure from the sand that was draining from Mizugiwa’s hourglass. He began speaking before he knew exactly what he was going to say. “Please, Aunt Sio. Can you pretend to be her again?”
Sionna looked at her great-nephew with surprise. She stepped aside to glance back into the operating room and listened for a moment before nodding. “He seems to think the nurse is his father. He might be delirious enough to believe it.” Sionna lifted her hands to untie her tight bun and fluff her hair out around her shoulders. She reached down to the ground and grabbed a handful of dirt before liberally smearing it on her face, chest and arms. Then she pulled a packet of medical lubricant from her pocket, and used it to make her hair look extra greasy and sweaty.
“You have to hurry,” Trevain told her before withdrawing his sword from its sheath and handing it to her. Sionna used the edge of the weapon to make random cuts in her clothing.
“Do I look like her?” she whispered to Trevain for reassurance.
“You’re identical twins,” Trevain reminded her.
“Darling, just because you look exactly like someone doesn’t mean you look anything like them,” Sionna responded in a low voice. “I don’t want to insult that poor man.”
“Just put on the attitude—I’ve seen you do it,” Trevain insisted. He watched curiously as the serious redhead took several deep breaths, shaking out her hands and rolling her neck from side to side to relax her body. Finally, she jutted her chest out and swung the sword over her shoulder as she began to arrogantly strut back into the operating room.
“Yo,” she barked out as she entered the room. She sauntered to the side of the wounded man and leaned down to place a juicy smooch directly on his mouth. “Mizu, baby. You don’t look too good.”
“General Ramaris…” he gasped in strained, heavily accented English. Tears of relief and gratitude came to his eyes as he reached out and clasped Sionna’s hand. “Thank Suijin! You are here at last!”
“Of course, hot stuff,” Sionna crooned as she sat on the bed and reached out to gently squeeze the man’s shoulder. “Wanna tell me what you know, babe?”
Trevain had to blink a few times as he watched this exchange, for the resemblance to Visola was uncanny. It was as though Sionna had become possessed with the spirit of her boisterous sister. He could not help feeling a bit of mild amusement. He wondered if Sionna crudely exaggerated these performances to insult her sister, or if she was just an especially dedicated actress.
“It is all over,” the man said. “Shiretoko has fallen.”
“What?” Sionna asked, almost slipping out of character in her surprise.
“My home has been destroyed. We were attacked by the Clan of Zalcan. They slaughtered our warriors and captured our civilians. They were taken away to be enslaved.”
Sionna glanced over at Trevain with wide eyes before looking back to the young warrior who was speaking through teeth clenched in obvious agony. “Queen Amabie was injured in the fight and remains sequestered in a covert location. The coordinates are concealed in my ring. Please save her. She is your friend. I know you two had a disagreement, but Queen Amabie has sent me to beg for your forgiveness…”
“Beg?” Sionna exclaimed in shock as she thought of the proud Japanese woman. “She would never beg!”
“She knew… that you would say that,” Mizugiwa remarked with a laugh. The laugh caused him visible pain and he turned his head to the side, coughing blood onto his pillow. He gripped Sionna’s hand tightly. “Please forgive my queen. She sends her apologies. She sends her love. She prays for your…”
“Shhh. I will go to her at once. You have done well to bring me this information, Mizugiwa. Your father would be proud.” As she spoke, she was already removing his ring from his finger and handing it to Trevain who was close behind her. She did this deftly between delivering reassuring pres
sure to his hand and soothing strokes to his cheek.
“It is good… to see you one last time. I have always fondly remembered our time together,” Mizugiwa said softly as he stared up at Sionna. “Visola, you are truly a woman of great passion and vigor.”
“Oh. Uh huh,” Sionna said, trying not to sound too surprised. “Well, uh, you too…”
“What about Aazuria?” Trevain reminded Sionna in a hushed voice. “Ask him.”
“Have you heard anything about Queen Aazuria’s whereabouts?” Sionna asked quickly, for the young man’s eyes were glazing over. A strange little smile was coming to his face. “Did the Clan of Zalcan mention anything?” she prodded.
“Yes,” he said quietly, looking through her. “We have heard…”
The man trailed off in speech, and Trevain moved forward to grab the man and give him a little shake. “What? What have you heard?”
Mizugiwa looked from Trevain to Sionna in surprise, as though he had been startled out of a different place. His eyes stared at them unblinkingly. His cracked, dry lips parted in speech.
“Right. About Queen Aazuria. There have been rumors…”
He turned his head to the side, resting his cheek on his pillow, as if speaking had exhausted him. Trevain watched and waited for the man to continue speaking for a whole minute before he realized that Mizugiwa was being unusually still. Disbelief and terror coursed through him as he noticed Sionna making eye contact with one of her assistants, silently telling them to record the time of death.
“No,” Trevain said.
“Sorry, kid,” Sionna said with a sigh. “We’ll find out whatever…”
“He died in the middle of a sentence. An important sentence. Who does that!” Trevain shouted.
“It was not his intention to be rude,” Sionna said, frowning as she reached out to close the man’s eyes. She turned to the other doctors in the room. “You may all leave.” She watched them bow respectfully and walk away. Her eyes returned magnetically to the dead man. “He was pretty young. Just a bit older than your mother, if I remember correctly.”
“Sweet merciful Sedna,” spoke a voice from the doorway. Visola had arrived with her husband, and she rushed to the foot of the bed, putting her hand on the dead man’s ankle to feel for a pulse. “Mizugiwa! Oh, the poor boy.”
“You knew him?” Vachlan asked.
“Of course I knew him,” Visola said. “He was one of the top karo in the Ningyo army. We had a bit of a thing in the 50s.”
“Then it’s probably best that we’re being introduced this way,” Vachlan remarked. He seemed to be sizing the corpse up competitively, despite its obvious lack of threat.
Visola ignored her callous husband as she moved beside her sister to feel Mizugiwa’s cheeks. “Dammit, he’s still warm! If only I’d gotten here sooner I could have said goodbye.”
“I said goodbye for you,” Sionna said, “but I’m afraid there is more bad news. Shiretoko’s gone.”
Vachlan and Visola stared at Sionna uncomprehendingly. They looked to Trevain for confirmation, and the grey-haired man just shook his head.
“Explain,” Visola said, as her lips became tight and stern. A muscle in her jaw twitched before she spoke. “It’s not possible. Queen Amabie—she can’t be…”
“She’s alive—hidden somewhere. She sent Mizugiwa to beg for your forgiveness for turning her back on you.”
“Beg?” Visola sputtered, with eyeballs the size of saucers, echoing her sister’s earlier reaction.
“He also knew something about Aazuria, but he died before he could tell us,” Trevain said, trying to conceal how upset he was. He extended his palm to his grandmother. “There are coordinates in this ring. I can’t figure out how to open it. I figured something would screw off or unlatch…”
Visola placed the ring on a nearby table, and grabbed the nearest heavy object, which happened to be Trevain’s sword on her sister’s hip. She used the hilt to smash the ring repeatedly until the metal was distorted and the opaque gem was crushed into dust. Digging pieces of the gemstone out with her fingernails, she uncovered and extracted a slim piece of paper.
“My fortune cookie says that it sees a trip to Japan in my immediate future,” Visola commented upon reading the coordinates. She glanced up at her husband. “Future as in right now. Coming with me, Vachlan?”
“I’ll get us a plane,” Vachlan said. “Flying will be fastest.”
“Maybe Marshal Landou can help.”
“He wouldn’t be much of a resource if he couldn’t.”
Trevain swallowed as he jealously observed the productive, take-charge manner of his grandparents. “I’ll come along,” he immediately offered.
Visola sent him a pitying glance. “We’re going into a sacked city, kid. You’re all emotional over the sight of one dead body. There will be thousands in Shiretoko, and the stench alone will give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”
“I’m not emotional,” Trevain protested. “We’re all stressed, but I’m keeping it together. I need to find my wife.”
“Trevain, this is what your grandmother and I do best,” Vachlan reminded him. “We were raised in death and chaos, and we have developed thick skin. Believe me—if there is any possible way Aazuria can be retrieved, we will be the ones to retrieve her. I need you to stay here and deal with the APEC conference.”
“They’re right,” Sionna told Trevain, retrieving his sword and handing it back to him. “Whatever Mizugiwa knew—and he said he’d only heard rumors—Queen Amabie surely knows ten times more. We need to let V2 handle this one. They’re the perfect team to go in to Shiretoko.”
“While you and Elandria are the perfect team to deal with the politicians,” Visola reminded him.
Trevain nodded, shifting the heavy hilt around and around in his grasp. “You’re right of course, but Elandria is in no condition to…”
“I don’t buy that.” Vachlan glared at his grandson. “Kyrosed Vellamo’s daughter? It’s rubbish—she has the blood of royal warriors in her. She grew up in conditions of constant manipulation and subjugation that would have disintegrated a lesser woman. She’s far stronger than she believes.” Vachlan moved forward and pushed his finger into Trevain’s chest. “You had better show that to her before it’s too late. You’d better find a way to awaken the bravery in her while she can still make a difference. Devil knows the dumb broad won’t listen to me.” With that, the older man turned and marched out of the room.
Everyone stared after his retreating disgruntled ponytail. Visola sighed. “I think when he said ‘dumb’ he meant… ah, forget it. I’m not going to make excuses for him. He’s a jackass. Not like poor dead Mizugiwa. Nice guys always bite the dust.”
“Agreed,” Sionna said, “but Vachlan is a brilliant jackass.”
Visola turned to her sister and observed her with a scrunched up nose. “Why are you so dirty?”
“Can you drive it?” Visola asked, staring at the massive machine.
“No,” Vachlan said. “At least not one this big. Well, maybe I could, but we should leave it to the professionals.”
“So I won’t be controlling it, and you won’t be controlling it… I don’t trust other people. Can we just take a boat?”
“A woman who rides a motorcycle at 200 miles per hour and wrestles with baby whales for exercise is afraid of a flying machine?” Vachlan asked with a throaty laugh. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her lower body against his.
“Not here, Vachlan—I heard that there are all kinds of rules about these air-stations.”
“Airports.”
“Yes, yes. These air-harbors,” she said with a frown, looking around erratically. She had one hand on the hilt of her unicorn trident, and another hand on the stock of her rifle.
“We’re already breaking all of those rules. Are you nervous, Visola?” Vachlan asked with a smile. “I’m beginning to remember that your language becomes dated and less cool when you’re nervous.”
“I am cool! I am very cool! I just do not like the concept of being carried through the air on a flying machine. Good Sedna! I would rather swim to Hokkaido.”
The stairs were being lowered from the plane, and Vachlan nudged his wife playfully. “Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s faster and more efficient. We’ll be there in a few hours.”
Visola nodded, walking forward. Marshal Landou descended the stairs with a warm smile on his face. He extended his hand.
“Good to see you again, General,” he said in a voice that oozed charisma.
“I can’t thank you enough for helping us get to Shiretoko,” Visola said, gripping the bald man’s hand firmly. “You truly are a lifesaver.”
“Your allies are now our allies,” he responded, returning the pressure. “We will do all that we can. We’re in this together.”
Vachlan cleared his throat when the marshal seemed to be affixed to Visola’s hand with superglue. “What a pleasure to meet you, Marshal Landou,” he interrupted coldly. “I’ve heard good things. I am Vachlan Suchos, advisor to the crown of Adlivun. I am also husband to the general of Adlivun.”
Marshal Landou took the hint and withdrew his hand respectfully. He extended it to Vachlan and gave him a brief, solid shake. “Good to meet you, Mr. Suchos.” He gestured up the stairs invitingly. “I hope you’ll find the jet comfortable.”
“I hope I’ll find my friend alive,” Visola muttered as she ascended. Vachlan moved after her protectively, while Marshal Landou quietly spoke to one of his men on the ground.
“I expect that you will take care of that mission I gave you,” Marshal Landou told the man. “I want to see results by the time I return from Hokkaido.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier said, delivering a perfect salute to the forehead.
Visola turned around and raised an eyebrow at the scene. She could not help comparing the obedience of Landou’s man to the obedience of her own soldiers. The salute to the forehead seemed so much less sincere than Adlivun’s traditional salute to the chest. It was so impersonal and professional. Acknowledging that she was too biased to make this judgment, she realized that perhaps a modern land-based army could not be compared to her undersea infantry. Even the navy was a world apart, as much as they believed they knew the sea.
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