“Don’t be upset that she beat you to it. Anyway, the interesting part is that she got everyone riled up with only a few words—”
“She?”
“That’s what I said when Naclana told me! She also killed the man who shot Bain with her bare hands.” Seeing that Visola’s green eyes were piercing through him with keen alertness, he continued speaking softly. “Viso—this woman declared herself to be Aazuria Vellamo.”
“What!” Visola shouted, springing up from the bed. “Zuri! Is it Zuri? Oh Sedna, Vachlan…”
“In all likelihood, she is an imposter,” Vachlan responded gently, “but I admit that no ordinary woman could have accomplished what she did. There are some strange, conflicting stories of the event. Some people say that it was actually a plain-Jane looking girl who suddenly got possessed with Aazuria’s spirit. Others say it was some kind of angel, or goddess who ascended from the waters to avenge Bain and offer them salvation.”
“A savior,” Visola said quietly. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize that things were that bad out there—so dreadful that people would believe just about anything?”
“Worse,” Vachlan answered. “We’re largely protected from it here in Upper Adlivun, and they wouldn’t dare force us to work a double shift, or abuse our crews. But we can’t close our eyes to the fact that it’s been a really rough decade. A lot of our people have died working on this bridge, and it just got brushed under the rug. It had to come to a boiling point sooner or later.”
Visola nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just wish it hadn’t been Bain.”
“It had to be someone important—someone so worthy that they couldn’t take it sitting down. If you look at it objectively, this really needed to happen, and I’m glad it did. We’ll get through this. It’s just another chapter in Adlivun’s history, Viso.”
“I hope it’s not the final chapter,” she responded. “We’re going to lose our American protection unless they return to working on that bridge.”
“Do you want them to return to the bridge?”
“Hell no!” she shouted. “By Sedna’s sunglasses—let the Clan of Zalcan come. I am jonesing for a good fight. We’ll reassemble our army—we’re warrior bees, not worker bees!”
“Glad to see you’re excited about this,” he said softly, “but be realistic, Visola. We cannot win against the Emperor. The bridge is almost complete, and even though it’s difficult on the civilians… it’s not so difficult on us. I would advise you to continue this way, living in Upper Adlivun with American protection, or to abandon this country altogether.”
“Did you seriously just say that?” she asked angrily. “Do you care about this country at all?”
“No,” he answered instantly. “Well, maybe just a little. I care about you, Visola. I’m a nomad at heart—I’m ready to jump off the sinking ship with you and swim somewhere safe. It’s the logical thing to do.”
Visola turned her back on her husband, wrapping her hand around her wrist gingerly. She felt the golden bracelet that encircled the smallest part of her limb, the bracelet she had been given as a symbol of her post as Aazuria’s defender. She had never been able to remove the bracelet, not in all the years since her friend had been taken. She would never accept in her heart that Aazuria was truly dead, even if she publicly acted like it was a known fact.
“Don’t be upset with me, Viso,” Vachlan was saying, moving behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently and placing a kiss on her shoulder blade. “I don’t believe that places are worth anything—it’s the people that make them important. If Adlivun falls, it means nothing to me as long as you’re safely breathing beside me.”
Gazing down at the bracelet, Visola swallowed back a lump of emotion. She could vividly imagine Aazuria’s face. She wondered how she could be happily married to the man she loved, and still feel such a gaping hole in her chest. She knew what she needed to do.
“If it’s her, we fight,” Visola said, lifting her chin and staring at the wall before her. “If it’s not her, we abandon ship at the first sign of an attack.”
“Deal,” said Vachlan, squeezing her shoulders. “As long as you acknowledge that it’s probably not her. You can’t let the fate of a country you love so much rest on one woman.”
“I can. If Aazuria lives, I will be strong enough to do anything. She can rebuild Adlivun with a single smile, and I’ll defend it with my fist. But if it isn’t her, then there’s nothing left for me to fight for. I will kill the imposter for starting a revolution she couldn’t finish and fucking everything up. We will take Sio, Trevain, Elandria, Callder’s family, Queen Amabie’s family, and maybe that young boy Glais—and we’ll run.”
“I have enough gold and diamonds for us to go anywhere or do anything,” Vachlan told her, leaning his forehead against her wavy red hair. “Thank you for being open to this idea, Viso.”
“That woman had better be Aazuria Vellamo,” Visola whispered, “because she’s going to die a very painful death otherwise.”
“You look like shit, man.”
Trevain winced at this probably-accurate description. He felt even worse than that. “Thanks for coming, Marshal Landou,” he said, struggling to sit up in bed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet with you immediately after we heard about the riot. I’ve been fighting this new superbug, and we have no clue what it is.”
“Well, that’s why Sionna told me to bring you some medicine,” the bald American said with a grin. He held up a six-pack of Heineken.
Trevain forced a crooked smile. “Somehow, I don’t think that was exactly what Aunt Sio suggested.”
“I took some liberties when I went to fill the prescription,” Landou joked. When he saw that the weakened king was smiling faintly, he pulled a bottle from the pack and used a can opener to pop the lid off. He stepped forward and extended his hand to deliver the beverage amicably. “Your special tisane, sir.”
Grateful for the friendly gesture, Trevain accepted the bottle. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. But don’t let my wife see that you brought me alcohol when I’m sick—the queen will order your head chopped off.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be pleasant,” Landou said as he uncapped his own beer. He extended the neck of his bottle to clink it against Trevain’s companionably. “Here’s to keeping our heads attached to our bodies for as long as possible.”
“Cheers,” Trevain said, putting the liquid to his lips. It had been a really long time since he had tasted a Heineken, and he was pleasantly surprised at the taste. He had never been much of a beer drinker—or much of a drinker in general, but it did bring back memories of growing up in Alaska and working on the fishing boats. That alone was able to transform the simple green bottle into a sentimental experience.
“So, what’s wrong with you?” Landou asked, studying Trevain’s pale face and bloodshot eyes.
“No one knows,” Trevain answered with a shrug. “Lots of nausea and vomiting. My heart’s beating really slowly and my breathing is slowed as well. I can’t really move around much. They say it’s the same thing that got my mother.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, man. Have you seen any physicians on the mainland?”
“I trust Aunt Sio,” Trevain answered, “but she’s catching at straws. She called in some specialized chemist from Canada to run some tests. Hopefully that sorts this out.”
The bald man nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Sio is a brilliant woman.”
“She really is,” Trevain said. “Speaking of which—how are things going between you two?”
“I’m not even trying to get on base, my friend. I’m trying to get into the baseball field.”
Trevain laughed at this, but it quickly turned into coughing. When his fit stopped, he rested against the pillows in frustration, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’m not sure why she’s so guarded. I hate to say it, but maybe you should just give up on her.”
“I don’t like giving up on people that matter
to me,” Marshal Landou said, fixing Trevain with a shadowy look. “Speaking of which, I suppose we should discuss some matters of state. The woman on the bridge. The workers on strike.”
“I highly doubt that woman was who she said she was.”
“And if she was the rightful leader of this country?” Marshal Landou asked. “That would make her initiative to end the treaty valid and legal. Have you heard anything from her?”
“No,” Trevain answered, growing a bit upset by the subject matter. “Look, Landou. Ignoring the identity of the woman, we need to address the worker’s rights. That treaty needs to be amended badly. It was being heavily violated—”
“The navy has been providing 24 hour surveillance and protection for your country,” Landou interrupted. “I will have you know that not a week goes by that we do not capture a scout from your enemies or foil the attempts of a raiding party to access your city. The Clan of Zalcan still has a hard-on for Adlivun, and our submarines are the only thing standing in the way between—”
“You haven’t mentioned the unarmed Adluvian who was killed by one of your soldiers,” Trevain said sharply. “How does that factor into our agreement? We have a beer together and consider everything fine?”
“I’m sorry, Captain Murphy. I can’t do anything more than apologize. I came here in a gesture of friendship and genuine concern for your health. If I’m bothering you, I’ll just go.” Marshal Landou rose to his feet and began to exit the room. He hesitated. “I am sure you understand that we have already dissolved your protection. By noon, not a single American will be standing up to defend Adlivun. Not a single piece of American artillery will be employed in your defense.”
“That’s just fine,” Trevain responded, wondering what on earth he was saying. He supposed that he could say anything as long as it was not in writing, and just change his mind later. He could just say later that his illness had been affecting his mind, which he felt that it was, but he knew that he had to refrain from doing any damage in this sensitive moment— the marshal was not a man to cross. He tried to force his lips into a slight smile. “You’re wrong anyway. I’m an American.”
“Are you really?” Landou asked skeptically. “Even when you called Alaska home, you probably spent more time out on the water than you did on our soil. I can see that you have very little respect for the nation of your birth.”
“It is hardly a crime to love the water,” Trevain stated. A sharp pain shot through his head and he lifted his hand to his forehead with a grunt. “Tens of thousands of Americans have migrated to the Diomede Islands and people from around the world are willing to wear permanent lightweight scuba-gear so they can live in Lower Adlivun. This is not just another place—it’s a lifestyle and a passion.”
Marshal Landou squinted. “Sure. That may be so, but you and Queen Elandria signed an agreement to devote a certain amount of labor to us.”
“And in the last few years, your men have been demanding more than the stipulated amount.” Trevain suddenly felt foolish when he realized that he was in the middle of an important meeting, and he was dressed in his pajamas with a Heineken in his hand. He extended his arm to put it down on the frozen night table before trying to assume a more professional posture. “You know, there have been several other incidents on the bridge which we have ignored. In addition to work-related injuries and deaths, an average of a dozen workers go missing every year. How do you explain that?”
“Trevain, those are the harshest, coldest waters on earth. You used to be a fisherman…”
“The fishermen I used to work with would die from hypothermia within a few minutes of hitting the water. Or, if they were injured and unable to stay afloat, they would drown. The Adluvians can breathe underwater and withstand immensely cold temperatures. Why would anyone go missing?”
Landou exhaled loudly. “I don’t know. Maybe sharks got them?”
“They’re taught the techniques to wrestle sharks in primary school.”
“I deal with the administration more than the field work, so you should probably speak to the soldiers or engineers actually supervising the construction if you have any concerns. All I know is that the bridge is way behind schedule. It was supposed to be completed in ten years, but here we are and it still requires another one or two. That’s why we have been pushing a little harder—to meet a deadline we all agreed on.”
“I understand that,” Trevain said, feeling a bout of nausea. He tried to gather his composure for a moment, wrestling his body into submission. “But what you’re ignoring is that—”
“You’re not at your best, my friend. Get some rest and we’ll talk about this another time,” Marshal Landou said. “Just be aware that as long as your people are off the bridge, my people are off the subs. If the Clan of Zalcan gets into Adlivun, working overtime will be the least of their problems.”
When the bald man had exited the room, Trevain stared after him angrily. He put both hands in his hair massaging his scalp mercilessly to try and soothe the ache in his head.
“Is that guy as big of a dick as he looks?” a cheerful voice asked.
Trevain raised his eyes to see his younger brother standing at the doorway of his room. He smiled at the sight of Callder’s familiar, goofy face. “Yeah. Even bigger than you’d guess,” Trevain said with a groan.
“You look like a steaming heap of freshly laid whaleshit,” Callder observed.
“So I’ve heard. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, kid.”
“Just hang in there,” Callder said with a smile. “I have a good feeling about that riot that happened. Can you feel the buzz? Like something exciting is about to happen in Adlivun—I keep expecting a loud noise indicating that we’ve won a casino jackpot. It’s electric. You’d better be here when it all goes down.”
Trevain nodded, remembering when he used to have a sense of intuition. He had not trusted his own feelings in many years, and when he stopped listening to them, he stopped having them. But looking at Callder gave him hope. “I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Good. Turn that whaleshit into lemonade!” Callder joked, before proceeding to laugh at his own joke rather loudly. “Okay, I’ve been asked to get you somewhere safe before an angry mob stones you to death with crabs.”
Wrinkling his brow at the imagery, Trevain frowned. “Who said I was going to get stoned with crabs?”
“I did,” Callder said proudly. “I think it would be poetic—you used to catch crabs for a living, so if they stone you to death, they shouldn’t use stones…”
Trevain began searching his bedside table for some painkillers to wash down with the Heineken.
Chapter 9: A Titanic Transformation
“You are the woman we met on the beach in Australia,” Aazuria signed, stepping backwards.
“Indeed. I was the one who gave visions to Visola on the night she met her husband. My queen, you must not pull away—I need to be touching your lungs in order to read your future.”
Aazuria was reluctant as she tried to remember her impressions from that night so long ago. It had been the close of the eighteenth century, and she had been so young and filled with energy. She remembered dancing and dancing for hours in the sand, completely unaware that Visola had been heavily drugged until cannonballs had begun exploding not far from the bonfire on the beach. Only when she sought Visola out did she find the warrior lying flat on her back and having a strangely lucid conversation with the starry night sky that seemed to be responding. A strange man with a British accent had appeared and told her that her father was requesting her presence back at the ship, and that he would take care of Visola. She had been hesitant to leave her hallucinating friend with the tall, dark stranger, but she had felt a hand on the back of her arm.
It had been Mother Melusina who stood behind Aazuria, speaking to her in the universal sign language. “Go on, child. She will be safe with him. As safe as the violent one ever wishes to be.”
Now that Aazuria beheld the
woman who hovered before her, transformed from a foreign pipe-bearing shaman into Adlivun’s high priestess, she could not help but wonder if the woman’s intentions toward her were pure. In addition to the kingdom, Aazuria had inherited copious amounts of hatred from her father’s enemies. She knew that she needed to choose her allies wisely, and be cautious about whom she chose to trust; however, this mystic seemed to know everything without Aazuria even revealing any information.
“I harbor no ill will toward you because of what King Kyrosed did to my people,” Mother Melusina said, as if reading her thoughts. “The sea is my home, and as long as I am within the water, I am connected to the great goddess. The people of the sea are all my people, regardless of their latitude, longitude, or language. I oppose the subjugating sea-dwellers who seek to cast us from the sea. I oppose the discriminating land-dwellers who seek to harm us.”
“Land-dwellers?” Aazuria questioned.
“Hundreds of strong Adluvians have been abducted in recent years, since our country has become known to surface-walking societies. Various organizations have committed hate crimes of vile racism and prejudice against our people. Opportunistic individuals, have created a black market organ trade in which they capture our people and remove their water-breathing lungs, installing them in the chests of land-dwellers as a novelty enhancement.”
Aazuria’s eyes widened at how horrific this sounded. “How do you know about this?”
“I am a seer, my child. My profession is to see.” The woman smiled, her white eyeballs glistening in the darkness of the room as she replaced her ornate blindfold over them and knotted the fabric behind her head. She continued to move her hands in sign language. “Please do not worry about the land-dwellers for now. Dr. Sionna Ramaris is working on the solution to that problem. I need you to focus on the Clan of Zalcan—and to do so, you must let me read your lungs.”
Aazuria nodded, realizing how little she knew about the current affairs. She felt ignorant and helpless, and knew that she would not be of any use to her country without the help of the clairvoyant. Taking a leap of faith, Aazuria moved forward, offering her bare chest to the woman. She did not flinch when both of the woman’s hands darted out to grip her ribcage, bony fingers burrowing beneath her breasts. She stared forward at the woman with stony determination as the hands groped and prodded her flesh, digging for her diaphragm. She ignored the pain of the examination, but during the instant that her eyelids lowered to blink, she was startled by the sensation that the fingers were not on the outside of her body, but actually moving beneath her skin. She felt as though the woman’s hands had traveled into her thoracic cavity, and were squeezing her lungs like giant sponges.
Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4) Page 93
