Her lips parted as she mouthed an answer to Koraline. “I shall do what any sane person would do in this situation: fight.”
Koraline lifted her eyebrows before she moved her hands sarcastically. “One lone woman against me and my whole army? That doesn’t sound too sane to me.”
“Luckily, I do not care what you think.” Aazuria was about to lunge at her enemy when she saw a reflection glinting off the blade she held. Koraline noticed it at the same moment she did, and both women turned their heads sharply toward Adlivun. What had been a flash of green in the corner of Aazuria’s eye was quickly blossoming into a field of green.
It was the most welcome sight she had ever beheld. All of Adlivun’s infantry was up in arms, exiting the volcanic caves in droves. The men and women were wearing their traditional malachite-green battle garb, except that the material had been updated to Kevlar. The armor and helmets were emblazoned with the golden triple-moon symbol which was on Adlivun’s flag. Dozens—no, hundreds of the sea-warriors on the front lines had been newly equipped with underwater assault rifles.
General Visola Ramaris was leading the charge. Her red hair ballooned out around her as she swam forward, bare-headed and grinning maniacally. Aazuria said a silent prayer, thanking Sedna for the mad genius of her best friend. It had been over fifty years since Visola’s last battle, and she could see that the woman was gung ho for combat. Aazuria imagined that her friend had been informed of the approaching attack by her scouts, and had been able to rally the troops just in time. Not in time for Elandria, but perhaps in time for everyone else.
It looked like the troops were sprinkled with civilian militia to bolster their numbers. There were even children ready to launch their bodies into the fray. Her army was extremely outnumbered, but they did have the advantage of new technology on their side, thanks to Visola’s unconventional efforts. Aazuria swallowed. The pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears drowned out everything else, but it was not from fear any longer—it was from witnessing the zealous thirst for battle visible on Visola’s face. It was in times like these that the warrior-woman came alive, and Aazuria knew that her friend was about to create magic with her body. The princess felt a rush of adrenaline immeasurably greater than the one she had felt while dancing on stage—dancing and employing the technique in which she had been instructed by Koraline Kolarevic.
It would not be the first time that a student had bested her teacher; Aazuria was ready to dance. Trevain was in danger. She knew that she could do anything thing she needed to get to him. She would do anything necessary, and then she would go ten steps further and do everything conceivable beyond that. If it was the last thing she did, she would break through that stalwart wall of Clan warriors clad in black, and she would fight her way to Trevain.
She turned back to face her enemy and mouthed to Koraline confidently. “It appears that I am not alone, after all.”
With that, Aazuria swung her arm back, and tightly gripping her stolen knife, she lunged at Koraline’s face.
Chapter 37: Outnumbered and Outmaneuvered
Visola raised her arm, signaling the troops forward. Once the infantry was heading steadily toward their attackers in the formation she had recommended, Visola broke away from their numbers. She headed directly for Aazuria to aid her in the hand-to-hand combat. Koraline had pulled a sword from her side and was expertly hacking and stabbing at Aazuria who was deftly dodging strikes and trying to deliver her own.
Many of Koraline’s elite fighters did the same, rushing to join the fight and protect their leader. Visola quickly intercepted them, using her rifle to riddle them full of bullets. Once they were dealt with, floating motionlessly in the water, it seemed like no one else from the Clan of Zalcan was bold enough to approach the skirmish. She turned her attention back to Koraline. She saw that Aazuria was fighting with unusual tenacity and precision—she had not been prepared for the battle and she was not wearing armor, so she could not afford any mistakes.
Visola pointed her rifle at Koraline, aiming between the blonde woman’s eyes. She made tiny adjustments for the moving target, and positioned her finger over the trigger—but she did not shoot. Koraline was doubtlessly the younger and stronger of the two women, although she looked to be older. Her height and weight were both greater than the Aazuria’s, but she did not possess the speed and the experience. Aazuria had not been joking when she told Trevain that she was one of the fastest swimmers in the world; her whole fighting technique was based on speed. Visola knew that she should take advantage of this free moment to interfere before she had to focus on the main battle again, but she saw the wild look in Aazuria’s cobalt eyes. She instinctively knew that this was the kind of fight that she could not interrupt.
Aazuria was fighting like a woman possessed, and this chilled Visola. She knew that there must be some reason for the noblewoman’s unusually vicious strikes and the indomitable hardness of her expression. Visola feared that something had happened; she knew her princess too well to avoid assuming the worst. Visola accidentally gulped a mouthful of seawater. She could sense that something had happened to Elandria. She felt bile rise in her throat. Adjusting the rifle’s aim as the women spun around each other, she yearned for it to be her turn.
It was rather poetic to watch two ballet dancers fight—Visola could see the way that their art worked itself seamlessly into their swordplay in their powerful spins and kicks. Their posture was flawless. It was natural that the way one used their body the most would be the way they became accustomed to moving. Visola made a mental note that if they managed to survive this, she would take some dance lessons herself and see if it improved her fighting at all.
Not that my technique needs much improvement, Visola thought to herself smugly. She wondered how she had found time to be arrogant in the midst of such a chaotic battle. People were dying all around her, and she was entertaining conceited internal quips. But then, Visola always had time for arrogance. She was positive that even if she was seconds away from death, her final thoughts would be private declarations of superiority. She did not think that today was the day on which she would discover the precise nature of those thoughts.
Visola nearly squeezed the trigger to fire a large caliber bullet into Koraline’s brain when she saw that Aazuria was leaving the right side of her body open. Unfortunately, she was interrupted by an ambush of three warriors at once. She had lost the moment to interfere, and she could only grimace in the middle of her own battle as she saw Aazuria’s mistake. Koraline had managed to thrust her sword directly into Aazuria’s shoulder—the same shoulder, the very same spot where she had impaled Aazuria before. Visola could see glimpses of Aazuria recoiling and quickly switching her knife from her right hand to her left. There was an angry look on her face—Visola knew that Aazuria was conscious of her grave error. To get stabbed in the same spot twice was a surefire sign of a flaw in method. Aazuria had a gigantic blind-spot around her upper right side, and it would surely get her killed.
Having to focus on her own fights for several minutes, Visola missed most of the battle between Koraline and Aazuria while trying to protect her own skin. She swung her rifle onto her back and withdrew the heavy unicorn trident which hung from her waist. Underwater, this weapon was manageable, but on land it was almost impossible to wield. She swung the staff expertly, the way her father had trained her to do hundreds of years ago. Visola aimed at the softest, most vital parts of her attackers’ bodies, shoving the prongs between the strands of shark’s tooth necklaces and using her foot to press against their bodies and rip her weapon out. She gritted her teeth as she used the carcasses of the men she defeated as ladders, stepping on them for leverage in order to position herself better for the next fight.
While she was happy to embrace new technology, the old trident had sentimental value to her. The enemy soldiers were not wearing Kevlar, so it was easy to pierce their clothing. There were just too many of them. Even as she was swamped by the flood of soldiers around her, she di
d not fear for her own safety. She was Visola Ramaris, and she was born to fight. She was only half-focused on her own struggle, and completely focused on Aazuria. Every time she needed to look away from Aazuria’s battle for a second to deliver a killing blow, she felt fear that she would turn around and see her friend’s head severed. It was no secret that Aazuria was not a great warrior. She did not have as much of a zest for training as the Ramaris sisters—even the medically-inclined Sionna was a better fighter than the princess! Aazuria’s expertise was grounded more firmly in the political realm. Visola finally was able to fend off the bulk of her swarm of attackers and turned to swim toward the princess.
She saw Aazuria’s knife strike Koraline firmly in the throat, but the myriad strings of shark’s teeth around the blonde woman’s neck protected her from this blow. Surprise registered on her face, however, and Aazuria exploited this moment to ultimately subdue the woman. Aazuria plunged her knife into Koraline’s gut, and the woman doubled over, clutching her bleeding abdomen. She held her stomach in a vain attempt to stop her dark blood from spilling out into the water. Koraline’s mouth opened in dismay, and dark swirls of blood were emitted from her lips. This meant nothing; the enemy would not stop because their leader was down—she surely had a second, a third, and a fourth in command. That was the way the Clan of Zalcan worked.
“That’s my girl,” Visola signed proudly as she reached the scene, before taking some plastic handcuffs off her belt and using them to restrain Koraline.
Aazuria looked at her friend with panic still painted on her face. “Trevain is in danger! I need to go to his boat—can you spare some troops to come with me?”
Visola frowned, thinking of her grandson. “They massively surpass us in manpower. I can’t spare anyone or we risk losing. The benefit of the rifles is mostly gone since our soldiers are fighting at close range. Now it’s all down to pure skill, and I’ve got my reserves out there. They hardly have any training. We could lose Adlivun today.”
“Actually, sis,” signed Sionna with a smile, having just joined the fight, “look over there, and reconsider that.”
The three women looked in the direction that Sionna was pointing. The most welcome sight that Aazuria had ever seen in her life was quickly dethroned by this one. Hundreds of sea-warriors clad in red were diving off boats which were rapidly arriving on the scene. They all wore the kamon of the Ningyo clan, on their armor and helmets. The emblem of a pearl-white mitsudomoe was their symbol; three spirals connected at the center. The swirls in the symbol had always reminded Aazuria of waves, but like their very own triple-moon, the mitsudomoe had complex spiritual significance to the clan. The colors of red and white had never looked so magnificent to her.
The Japanese reinforcements had arrived, led by the eminent Queen Amabie. Naclana was at the side of the illustrious woman.
The enemy forces had been flanked.
Visola’s eyes began to shine with almost reptilian delight. “Well, that changes everything. The enemy is outnumbered and outmaneuvered.” She kicked the wounded Koraline aside and nodded to her sister. She quickly signed a few words before returning her hands to her assault rifle.
“Go save my grandson. As long as our enemies are still breathing, I have work to do. When you return you’ll find a necropolis, and I expect a bonus.” Visola’s green eyes were so predatory that they sent a chill through Aazuria. Even Sionna could not recognize the exuberant, battle-hungry animal that had been unleashed in her twin sister. “Go!” The red-haired warrior signed a few final, jubilant words before returning her capable hands to grip her assault rifle:
“There will be a fucking bloodbath of drowning mermaids tonight!”
Chapter 38: Unfamiliar Ultramarine Orbs
“Why are we here, Brynne?” Trevain asked, leaning against the wall angrily.
“I wanted a snack,” she said, rummaging through the cupboards.
“I didn’t.”
“Well, you need to eat dinner,” she said, with her mouth full. “We’ve been fishing all day.”
“I’m not hungry. Look, Brynne, is there a reason you haven’t left my side this whole trip? Do you think that I’m emotionally vulnerable because Aazuria left me and I’m going to fall into your arms or something?”
“Here, just relax and let me cook something good for you.”
“I appreciate your concern for my health, but I already told you that I’m not hungry…”
“Hey! That’s funny. Why is there sound coming from this bag of rice?” Brynne placed her ear against the bag. “Weird. It sounds like a clock.”
Trevain frowned and moved over to the bag of rice to listen.
Brynne shrugged and continued gathering cooking utensils. “Reminds me of that story about the captain and the crocodile—he could always tell the crocodile was near because it had swallowed a clock, and he could hear the ticking…”
“Shut up, Brynne.” Trevain pulled a knife out of the drawer she had opened and slit the bag open, causing rice to spill out all over the floor.
“Hey, Trevain! You’re making a mess!” Brynne scolded. “Just because you don’t have to clean anything up around here since you’re the high and mighty capt…”
“Where the hell did you get this?” Trevain yelled, staring at the strange homemade bomb which was nestled in the rice.
Brynne had not turned around, and was continuing to gather ingredients. “Oh, some sweet blond lady on the docks gave it to me…”
“Dammit!” he cursed. “There’s no time.”
“No time?” Brynne asked in confusion. Trevain grabbed her hand and was pulling her into the next room. “What are you doing, Murphy?”
“Get in the bathtub, Brynne!”
“What? Why? I’m not into kinky…”
“Down, now!” Trevain grabbed Brynne and dived with her into the bathtub, covering her body with his and waiting for the sound.
The next second, all that they heard was—nothing. The sound of the explosion was so deafening that there was a moment of intense pain in their ears before they lost the ability to hear. They felt, however. They felt the intense pressure of the bomb exploding. They felt the unbearable heat of the explosion burning their skin and singeing their hair. They felt the bathtub being ripped from the ship, and pieces of debris colliding with their bodies. Trevain felt large objects colliding with his head and back painfully, and he felt his skin being punctured in several places. Finally, he was aware that they were surrounded by water.
It was several seconds before the heat subsided to the cooling water, and a moment later he was finally able to open his eyes. He could barely make out the scared expression on Brynne’s face in the darkness. There was debris everywhere; pieces of the broken ship. His broken ship. Trevain was completely disoriented. It was difficult to figure out where they needed to swim. He could tell that sections of the boat floating near the surface were burning. He looked around for the other members of his crew, trying to get his bearings.
The flames were growing stronger. The ship’s diesel was leaking from the ruptured gas tank. They could not swim to the surface, or they would be burned. Brynne’s face was lit by the flickering firelight as she panicked and tried to communicate with him, but they could not understand each other. As he frantically made hand signals indicating for Brynne to calm down and stay close to him, he was met with only mystification on her face. He appreciated the need for sign language more than ever at that moment. Brynne was freaking out, and she began swimming off in one direction. He was sure that it was not where they needed to go. He tried to reach for her, but he was feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen flowing to his brain. He looked around, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. He could not help panicking as well.
Trevain tried to swim away from the flames, but he could not get very far. The burning diesel had leaked out over the surface of water for what must already be a square mile, and he could not swim that far without taking a breath. Without several breaths. He needed air ba
dly, and finally realized that he was going to drown. He could not breathe underwater; he did not have the ability. He simply did not know how. What Aazuria and his mother were talking about—he wished it was all true, but it was not. Not for him.
He knew that he was about to die. His lungs painfully begged him to take a breath, but he knew that the moment he did, he would drown. Although he had almost wanted something exactly like this to happen to him when he had set sail earlier, he now realized that he had been fooling himself. As demented as he had been feeling, as self-destructive as his intentions, it had all been just a farce. He did not really want to die.
He tried as hard as he could to hold onto his last few moments of life.
A glimmer of white caught his eye, and he saw that an exquisite creature was suddenly before him. Long white hair fanned out around her face, and the purest eyes of blue sapphire stared at him. The lovely phantasm was smiling as she reached out to take his hands; he knew it must be an angel.
It was his angel. He knew her, although she looked nothing like before. She was his Aazuria, his mythical heroine. In the dancing glow of the oil blaze, she was simply too dazzling to be real and he knew that he must be on death’s very threshold. He had heard that people often hallucinated in moments such as these, seeing what they most yearned to see. As she hovered in suspension before him, her skin and hair were almost luminous in the dark water; almost phosphorescent. Perhaps she never had been real. It did not matter—she was firmly grasping his hands, and it sent a feeling of comfort and tranquility through him. He knew that she loved him.
He could see forgiveness and acceptance in her expression. None of the turmoil between them mattered any longer in this pacific moment. In her benevolent gaze, he could finally forgive himself. He smiled at her. Although his vision was fading and the world was disappearing, he could only smile. He tightly gripped her hands to thank her for coming back for him. He could not bear the thought of letting go; he did not want to be robbed of her touch. He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as possible—he tried to keep gazing into the salvation of those unfamiliar ultramarine orbs. So this was what she really looked like, in her element. He wished he could have known her true form. It was mystical.
Drowning Mermaids Page 29
