“My wife was killed by the Clan of Zalcan,” said a large man with a buzz cut and prominent patriotic tattoo on his neck. “I have been raising our young son on my own since that day. My first chance to fight those sons of bitches, and I am really gonna let loose.”
Visola smiled sadly. “You and me both, Bain. We have all lost someone by now. We all have a reason to fight—that’s why you were chosen. Not only because we saw the most potential in you, but because you’ll fight with the most heart.”
“I will, General Ramaris,” Bain said, giving the traditional salute and bowing from the waist. “Just teach me, and I will do whatever you command. We all will.”
Visola nodded ardently, narrowing her eyes. “I won’t let this nation fall,” she declared with determination. “If we do lose the American submarines for any reason, we will be all that stands between Adlivun and a watery grave. And we will stand.”
“All twelve of you?” was the dubious query that echoed from the cave entrance.
Visola’s head whipped around to behold the source of the familiar voice. She surveyed the muscular man with a small black ponytail, and released a deep sigh. “Honey, I told you not to bother me when I’m training the Ducklings.”
“Where are the rest of them?” Vachlan asked. “Your flock seems smaller today.”
She waved a hand, armored in a dark green gauntlet. “Most of the men were forced to work overtime on the bridge again.”
“That’s happening more and more often,” Vachlan commented. “Trevain and Elandria should really do something about all these treaty violations. But more importantly, darling, you really need to stop calling your elite military squadron the ‘Ducklings.’ Allow these poor men to preserve a modicum of their self-respect.”
“They were handpicked to receive private training sessions from me,” Visola boasted, sticking her chin out arrogantly, “and we intend to fight for Adlivun. That provides all the pride we need.”
“Really?” Vachlan said, turning to the warriors. “Are you lads comfortable with this arrangement?”
“General Ramaris can call us anything she wants, sir,” Marsden responded promptly.
Vachlan squinted, lifting a hand to rub the back of his robust neck. “Dear wife, I believe these young combatants would fight better if you gave them a less shameful name. Queen Amabie is calling her unit the ‘Water Dragons.’ That sounds far more intimidating to me.”
“For Sedna’s sake!” Visola shouted, tilting her head back to look at the cave ceiling for validation. “We’re a secret army, not a sports team! It’s a codename, dear husband—we’re not permitted to organize, and I believe that the more harmless we sound, the less harmless we’ll actually be.”
“Interesting notion,” Vachlan said. He fished into the waterproof rucksack he carried with him and lifted out a slender laptop. “Viso, I really need your opinion on my latest screenplay. It’s a romantic comedy set in New York, but with a twist…”
“Let me guess: no action, again? Cheesecake, how many years has it been since you wrote about someone getting even a beer bottle smashed over their head?” She emitted a large, exaggerated yawn. “I think maybe you should train with my Ducklings, Vachlan. It looks like sitting on your ass and writing all day is making you a bit soft around the midsection.”
“What!” Vachlan shouted, reaching down to feel his washboard abs. When all the warriors in the room snickered at his reaction, he glared at her. “You will pay for this, woman! Tonight you can tell me again just which sections of me have gotten soft.”
When the men around her burst into laughter, Visola could not resist a grin. “How about I tell you which parts have gotten black and blue?” She cricked her neck to either side before smirking and lifting her hand to point at her husband. “Get him, boys.”
“Oh, great,” Vachlan said as the twelve warriors moved forward slowly to surround him. “I’m really not in the mood for this, gentlemen. But if any of you are interested in reviewing this charming script—”
Marsden was the first to dive at Vachlan, and the dark-haired warrior deftly slipped his laptop under his arm before using one hand to defend against blows, and delivering a swift kick to the man’s chest. The warrior from Bimini was sent tumbling back into another soldier, and they both stumbled to the cave floor, scrambling to get up.
“—and perhaps proofreading for errors or typos—”
This time Vachlan was interrupted by two men attacking him from either side, and he lowered himself to the ground to sweep their legs out from under them as if breakdancing. He pivoted on the palm of his hand, still clutching his laptop protectively under the other arm.
“—that would be of great assistance,” Vachlan finished. “I want to email this off to the studio in the morning.” When Takeshi rushed at him suddenly, Vachlan moved inside his attacker’s strike and used the boy’s own momentum to drive his knuckles into his face. Another man dashed at him from the side, and Vachlan dropped to his knee, grabbing the man with one hand and twisting to toss him into another oncoming opponent.
“Hold this for a second, would you please?” Vachlan asked, handing the wounded Takeshi his laptop. He swiveled and moved so rapidly that Takeshi could hardly keep up with the motions as he tried to process the battle in his mind. Before he could understand what was happening, several of his comrades were unconscious or writhing on the ground, and Vachlan was already retrieving the laptop. “Thanks, kid. Now, Visola Ramaris, what in the vast oceans are you teaching these men!”
She sighed. “They’re just children, Vachlan. Some of them are only about a hundred years old. Lots of strength and energy, but very little experience.”
Vachlan tossed his laptop down onto the body of an unconscious warrior before lifting his hands to arrange the three stray hairs that had escaped his ponytail. Rubbing his temples, he looked around, studying the lifeless forms of the men piled up on top of each other in the few yards around him. He had not moved an inch from where he had originally been standing. “Looks like I raped the Ducklings yet again,” Vachlan observed in disappointment.
“This isn’t the only team,” Visola said, in a tone that was suddenly tired. “We can’t make it obvious that we’re still running military operations, so we have to be discreet and use fresh blood. We rotate the groups frequently too. In addition to Amabie’s squadron, Major Mardöll is training a regiment, and so is Lieutenant Namaka, Geira, Holma, Naclana…”
“On the bright side, at least I had to put my laptop down to defeat those twelve men!” Vachlan noted. “If I can’t do it single-handedly anymore, then I would have to say that they’re improving. By a large margin, and quite quickly. Give these ducklings another few months under you, General Ramaris, and maybe they’ll be able to take me down. They’ll never be able to keep me down for a complete second, but you know—it’s an improvement.”
Visola moved forward, stepping over the unconscious bodies of her warriors. “You should help out more often. These poor boys have learned so much from you beating the crap out of them today!”
“I did help when I suggested we reveal ourselves and get military protection from the Americans,” he reminded her. “That’s working out well, isn’t it? The Clan doesn’t even bother trying to attack Adlivun anymore.”
“But you adore fighting. You used to be all about the backup plans,” Visola said softly, putting her hands on his chest. “Just consider it, love. It’s a really rewarding career—transforming helpless ducklings into vicious predators.”
“Ah, Viso.” Vachlan slipped his arms around his wife’s waist and tugged her close to plant a kiss on her nose. “For centuries they called me the Destroyer. But those days are behind me! I no longer relentlessly pursue ancient vendettas and amass sickening fortunes of sunken gold doubloons. I no longer squash nations just because I can—and have nothing better to do. I’m a family man! I have a loving wife and two foolish grandsons in need of my guidance.”
“Yes,” Visola said, cringing as she
stared up into his grey eyes, “but you also write romantic comedies.”
“Don’t knock them!” Vachlan warned, releasing her waist to waggle a finger. “I’m a very versatile writer, and even Shakespeare diversified his portfolio. People don’t want war and heartache all the time…”
“Sedna spare me,” Visola groaned, throwing her hands up in the air and backing away. She stopped when her feet banged into the skull of one of her soldiers. She began to pace in the few inches of room between Vachlan and her unconscious students. “Did you ever consider that maybe the reason I can’t get pregnant again isn’t because I’m nearly 570 years old? ‘Cause I’m thinking it’s your limp, ineffective sperm. Those little guys used to be so virile, but now they’re wearing petticoats, floating around in your maple-syrup semen, and having fucking tea parties!”
Vachlan recoiled as if wounded. He gestured wildly to the men lying on the ground around them. “Bloody hell, Visola! I just knocked a dozen of your ‘elite’ warriors unconscious almost-single-handedly. If that isn’t manly enough for you, then I don’t know how to give you what you need anymore!”
“I could have done that twice as fast,” she told him, unimpressed. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “When I first met you, you bragged to me that you had balls the size of coconuts. Now that you spend all of your spare time writing sappy mush, I swear they’ve shrunken down to the size of walnuts… maybe jelly beans.”
“You infuriating—!” Vachlan snarled and leapt forward, delivering a side-kick to Visola’s knee and tackling his wife to the ground. They ignored the messy sprawl of bruised, sweaty bodies beneath them as they began to wrestle brutally for several minutes.
Visola laughed loudly as he began to pin and lock her arms, allowing him to feel victorious for a second as she smirked up at him. In one swift motion she brought her leg up, using her flexibility to slam her foot into his ear before prying her legs under his elbows and kicking him off her. She followed, by climbing on top of him, pressing her elbow against his throat and clenching her thighs around his knees. “I miss playing with you,” Visola said mournfully as she choked husband amidst the chaotic pile of bodies. “This is nice. We should do this more often.”
“Just keep insulting my sperm,” Vachlan said as he twisted out from under her elbow. He grappled with her until she was facedown on top of a warrior’s stomach. “There is nothing wrong with my sperm! Maybe if you stopped fighting long enough for a pound of fat to accumulate on your body, your uterus would remember that you’re a woman and it would start working again!”
“That’s a low blow!” Visola gasped with a giggle, pushing the limp warrior out from under her torso. Her face was immediately gnashed into the dirt, and she sputtered and blinked it out of her eyes. Rotating her upper body and curling her abdomen for leverage, she used an arm to grab Vachlan’s neck. “Well, vanilla popsicle, maybe once your sperm stop wearing dresses, my uterus will stop wearing the pants!”
Visola squealed when Vachlan grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back forcefully. Using her moment of surprise, he seized her ribcage and rose to his feet, easily tossing the giantess over his shoulder. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he told the subdued men as he stepped over them. “I will need to take the liberty of dismissing class for the night. A pressing necessity has arisen to demonstrate to my wife exactly why she should continue to respect me.”
Coughing out some sand that had found its way into her mouth, Visola smirked, loving that there was still someone who could wipe the floor with her face. “You jerk!” she whispered loudly. “Don’t undermine my authority in front of my men!”
The ex-conqueror rolled his eyes as he stooped to pick up his laptop with one hand and used it to spank her on the bottom. Visola yelped and struggled to free herself from his grip, but he held her fast over his shoulder. “Don’t say another word, Viso, or I will undermine you in front of your men.”
As Vachlan navigated over the carpet of fallen men on his way to the door, the sounds of cracking ribs were heard as Visola repeatedly pummeled her elbow into her husband’s back. The playwright continued to walk at a comfortable pace, making casual conversation with the woman whose thighs he had clenched under his bicep. When they were gone, the beaten warriors stared after them weakly.
“I’ll never understand their relationship,” said Takeshi, shaking his head in confusion.
“It’s easy,” said Marsden. “He’s the only man alive who can kick her ass, and she loves it.”
“That’s a good point. So remind me—why did we attack him again?” Bain inquired as he nursed a dislocated shoulder. He grunted as he snapped it back into place. “This hurts like a bitch and I have to go to work on the bridge at 5 AM.”
“Because she told us to,” answered Marsden, “and I’m much more terrified of Visola than her husband—she’s the one who gets to beat on us every waking minute that we’re away from that bridge.”
“Fuck the bridge,” said another man, spitting out a clump of blood. “We’re warriors, not construction workers! Vachlan Suchos is a brilliant military strategist, not a romance writer!”
Takeshi looked around nervously. “I heard that he joined up with enemy forces for the past century. Only a few years ago, he was helping the Clan of Zalcan to plot against Adlivun! How can she trust him?”
“It’s okay, boy. The righteous Queen Aazuria, Sedna rest her soul, forgave Vachlan and welcomed him back to this country,” Marsden explained. “Once that woman died, this whole nation went downhill under her harlot sister Elandria.”
“It’s not Queen Elandria’s fault! It’s that man. He extinguished Bimini,” said another warrior, grimacing from where he lay on the ground. “Vachlan is known as the Destroyer of Kingdoms. It is dangerous to have him within the walls of Adlivun—but it is a hundred times worse to have him in bed with the enemy. We can’t afford an adversary of his caliber.”
“I wonder if Visola really loves him, or if she just pretends she does to keep him close?” Bain mused. He tapped his relocated shoulder thoughtfully. “That would be the ultimate strategic maneuver.”
“She loves him,” said a man named Evian. “He was the only man she ever married, and trust me, a woman like that receives thousands of proposals.”
“But he has betrayed every country he ever belonged to,” Takeshi said. “I heard it was an old combat master in Bimini who trained him. Then he used Bimini’s soldiers to conquer Ker-ys—his own birthplace.”
“Yes,” said Marsden. “That’s right. He used Adlivun’s soldiers to conquer the Yawkyawk in Australia, and he absorbed several South American undersea settlements, all within a decade. Then he turned his back on Bimini and Adlivun, and joined with the Clan of Zalcan to destroy the original home of the Japanese mermaids in the 1950s.”
“But have you seen his romantic comedies?” Evian asked. “They’re not so great.”
“They kind of suck. I agree with Visola there—you would think they were written by a thirteen year old virginal schoolgirl.”
The men started guffawing when Bain began to protest, “Hey! That’s not true. They’re not so bad. I enjoy watching those films—they show the raw, vulnerable soul underneath the harsh exterior of the warrior.”
“Oh, Sedna, please.”
Marsden grinned. “Here’s something we can all agree on, men. As long as Visola has a vagina, Vachlan is a harmless kitten.”
“Harmless?” asked the young Takeshi in shock. He gestured around at all the warriors, none of whom were standing, before pointing at his own bloody nose. “This is what you call harmless?”
Chapter 3: Treating the Symptoms
Varia sat at her desk in a corner of the ship’s classroom, poring over a book about geography. She could not help flipping to the pages about Antarctica, and staring at the way the giant white continent was portrayed in the images. It seemed so cold and empty, but to her it had been full of color and wonder. She traced her finger along the outline of the shores, remembe
ring when she had been five years old, and her mother had tried to escape with her, walking for dozens of days and nights with no end in sight. Now she understood why.
What troubled Varia most was that she longed for home. She felt nervous every time a classmate moved too close to her, and she was still overwhelmed by the noise and unusual dialects. Having grown up in captivity with only the sound of her mother’s voice, and occasionally the enemy prince, she did not understand the variations in language very easily and often had to ask people to repeat their sentences. Slang was completely impassable since Aazuria hardly used any. For this reason, she preferred to remain underwater—the universal sign language was much easier to understand than English accented by Japanese, Russian, or the Aleutian tongue. Her mother had taught her enough of these languages to functionally converse in each one, but she was beginning to learn that everything she knew was not nearly enough.
The world was a large and complex place, constantly overloading Varia with new information; she wanted to know every corner—every nook and cranny of Adlivun and beyond—but she had no idea how to begin learning. This contemptible excuse for a classroom was certainly not the right place to start.
“Hey, lonesome girl. Why are you staring at photos of Antarctica?”
Varia panicked. She wanted to look up and respond to the friendly male voice, telling him that she was merely homesick, but her mother had instructed her to be private and withhold all personal information. Her fingers twitched on the Atlas, but she did not respond, keeping her eyes cast downward. She felt suddenly very conscious of the brown wig on her head and wondered if he could tell that it was fake. The wig’s discomfort and itchiness became amplified under his scrutiny.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. What’s your name?”
She did not respond. Varia swallowed, trying to fight the curiosity to see what the boy looked like. She stared at the spot where she believed Lake Vostok was located on the map, wishing for the safety of home.
Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4) Page 87
