The Merman's Mark

by Tara Omar

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “Good.”

  Catherine sniffed noisily, looking toward the painted cabinet.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “Incense,” said Imaan, refolding the paper. “I was burning some earlier.”

  “Oh.”

  “In any event, it’s best you return now. If you have any more to say on the subject we can discuss it tomorrow after class. I am grateful you showed this to me, Catherine, but I am afraid I will still have to give you a demerit for wandering alone after hours. That is a rule for which I cannot make exceptions.”

  “Yes, Lady,” said Catherine. She followed Imaan to the door.

  “If Liza is there when you return, tell her I will speak to her tomorrow about your absence,” said Imaan. “Good night.”

  Imaan stood in the doorway, watching as the last shadow of Catherine’s silhouette faded into the darkness. When she could no longer see any sign of Catherine, Imaan again bolted her door. A cool, damp vapour tickled the back of her neck. It smelled of apples. Imaan spun around. Smoke was seeping through the cabinet where she kept her water pipe. It had filled the room.

  Fire! thought Imaan. She rushed to the cabinet and flung open the door. A heavy gust of smoke hit her. She reeled back, watching as the smoke separated into two columns. It began to twist around itself, thickening and changing form. She saw before her a curved X with a lotus and rose hanging from either end.

  Imaan gasped. She grabbed a pen and Catherine’s paper, hastily sketching the floating symbol. The cloud dissipated as she finished her drawing. Everything again looked as it should, with no sign of burning. Imaan touched the leftover charcoals in the tray. They were cold.

  She paced around the room, her mind racing with a thousand questions.

  Was this the sign she had been waiting for?

  “I must see Raphael,” said Imaan. “He is the only one in Aeroth who can explain all of this.”

  She paused. Imaan had a strange feeling in the centre of her chest that she was entering into a history-changing moment—that her decision now may very well affect the rest of her life and the fate of Aeroth. Imaan knew if she followed the sign, the journey ahead would not be an easy one; it may set into motion terrible things that would not be undone.

  Do I really want to pursue this? she thought.

  She threw on her travelling cloak and made for the door.

  C H A P T E R 5

  Meanwhile, in another part of Aeroth, a man crashed into the rushing waves of the Chumvi River. He kicked and paddled with all his might as the current hurled him in every direction, propelling him faster and faster forward. He reached for the knots that bound his feet, somersaulting through the waves as the water poured over his head. As he grabbed the end of the rope, the Chumvi thrust him upward, slamming his chest into a rock and cracking his ribs. He yelled out, gurgling as the river swallowed his body. His head surfaced, but he could not gulp any air. The man sank to the river’s bottom, ready to meet his watery death.

  Then, in a moment entirely unexpected, the man felt something cut his feet apart, releasing the rope that bound him. A thin, rubbery fin grazed his ankle, clamped down and yanked, hard. He felt his body moving. Something or someone was pulling him to the surface. He shut his eyes, fighting hard the urge to disappear into darkness.

  After several long minutes the man awoke, coughing up what felt like buckets of water. He lay halfway up the riverbank, his cheek and arms pressed against a cold, smooth rock near its edge. His whole body felt bludgeoned; his nostrils burned; and his cracked ribs made each breath feel as though someone was hitting him from inside with a sledgehammer.

  A small blur of silver sat atop a nearby boulder, staring at him.

  “I’m afraid it might take more than your heroic efforts to keep me on the right side of existence, my friend,” said the man, wincing as he coughed again, “though I do appreciate the chance.”

  The man leaned toward the motionless blur, squinting. He saw two bright, blue eyes set in a round, furry head. They stared at him from behind a short dog-like snout, which was speckled with oversized whiskers.

  “Are you a fur seal?” he asked.

  His companion barked and nodded, diving into the water with the grace of an acrobat. The seal made a few spins in the river before hopping back onto the rock. Its silvery fur shimmered a whole spectrum of lilac and turquoise as it scratched its back, which shined like the inside of an oyster. The man leaned closer.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have my glasses, would you?” he asked.

  The little fur seal barked and looked away, hiding its eye with its flipper.

  “I thought not,” said the man. “Though thank you for saving me. I was nearly dead back there. I can’t offer anything right now in repayment, but if I do recover, I promise to assist any existing conservation efforts that will ensure the survival of your species. How does that sound?”

  The man shifted himself gingerly, locating a more comfortable spot among the pebbles. The seal barked, chewing the air as it shook its head. The man smiled.

  “You know, you look like a little lapis lazul-eye, my friend,” said the man, noting the resemblance of the seal’s deep blue eyes to the stone. “May I call you that, little Lazuli? I’d call you Lapis for short.”

  The seal looked to the sky and dropped silently into the river. He waited, but it did not return. The man frowned.

  “You know, we could’ve chosen another name,” called the man, “though I’m sure you have more normal, sealy things to—”

  The seal burst through the water, hurtling its small, blubbery body straight toward the man’s head. Before he could react, the man felt the biting sting of razor-sharp teeth tearing away a chunk of flesh on his neck, just below his right ear. If the seal was coming back for more, he did not wait to find out. He scrambled up the riverbank and collapsed against a nearby tree, his shoulder and arm warm with blood. He felt dizzy. Everything went white and then black.

  C H A P T E R 6

  High in the misty canopy of Faerkbërde Forest, Imaan clung fast to a bushy treetop, searching for signs of Raphael. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, frowning at the shaggy web of leaves before her. It was already too late in the morning; her nose itched with the syrupy smell of too many plants in one place, and a dense fog was making tracking the mer all but impossible. She rubbed her fingers together, staring at the prickling blisters that were beginning to form. It would not be long now, she knew, before the forest would recognise her presence and begin vehemently trying to kill her. Imaan resumed her search, rustling through the canopy with added force.

  “Damn that mer and his disguises. I will not let your mist douse that of my pipe. I have waited too long for this.”

  Imaan leapt toward a nearby tree, pulling a large, almond-shaped leaf toward her nose.

  “Toxic,” she said, dropping it to the forest floor. The leaves crackled below her as someone noisily approached. She huffed.

  “Imaan, my Lady,” a low, robust voice called from under her, “only for you would I allow myself to be disturbed in the middle of the night and dragged to the very edge of Aeroth—into the most dangerous, forbidden land in the whole of the kingdom—in search of an exiled mer that uses all available devices so as not to be found. I do hope you have good reason for this.”

  He stopped under the tree where Imaan stood, his cloak swinging dramatically as he turned, looking for her.

  “You did not doubt my reasons when I appointed you king, Saladin,” said Imaan, slipping down from the treetops. She landed lightly behind him.

  “So that’s where you’ve been hiding,” said Saladin, turning around. “As agile as a lemur of Paradise. Ascetic discipline does have its benefits, eh?”

  “It does keep one from sounding like an elephant in an anthill, yes,” said Imaan.

  Saladin laug
hed heartily, slapping Imaan squarely on the back.

  “Lady, you know I can pass unnoticed if needed, though the high chance we will be discovered and killed regardless makes it not worth the effort,” said Saladin.

  “The stealth of a single feather is almost always preferable to the fanfare of an ostrich,” said Imaan, picking through her leaves. Saladin laughed again, snatching the leaves she was holding. Imaan glared at him.

  “Well if you so disagree with my methods, why bother to bring me, then?” asked Saladin. Imaan grabbed for the leaves, but Saladin held them out of her reach. She sighed.

  “I brought you because you are the only well-resourced man who would heed me enough to make detailed travel arrangements in the middle of the night,” said Imaan, reaching again. “I also have a slight suspicion that, given the circumstances surrounding your political appointment, you owe me. Now come, come. Or we shall soon be Faerkbërde’s lunch, and Aeroth will have no king.”

  “Fair enough,” said Saladin, lowering the leaves so she could snatch them, “though I am convinced you like me more than you admit.”

  “You say that of every woman,” said Imaan, looking intently at a leaf. She held it to her nose and inhaled, this time with interest.

  “What is it?” asked Saladin.

  “Rain,” said Imaan, her eyes widening. She pulled another leaf from a nearby branch and held it between her fingers, pressing gently on its waxy surface.

  “I think we’re on the trail now. The leaves are moist, and the air is heavier toward the north-west,” said Imaan, pointing with her chin. “We must move quickly. I believe Faerkbërde is beginning to recognise intruders have passed its borders. This way.”

  “Are you sure it’s not water from the Chumvi you’re sensing?” asked Saladin. “We are very near to it.”

  “Of course I’m sure,” barked Imaan. She sniffed a strong-smelling leaf and coughed.

  “Is my Lady ill?” asked Saladin.

  “No, it’s just the leaves,” said Imaan. Her coughing worsened as she tried to catch her breath. Saladin helped her to a tree root.

  “Have you been smoking that water pipe I gave you?”

  “What?” asked Imaan, rubbing her throat. “You know I do not indulge any base desires. You already abused me by insisting I take such an immoral gift; do not twice insult me by assuming I use it.”

  Saladin shrugged. “I thought it a rather handsome and morally harmless gift, personally,” he said.

  “That’s not all you’ve found handsome these days,” said Imaan.

  Thick silence hung in the air between them, heavy as incense. It was the same silence that had filled a fragrant, candlelit bedchamber only hours before when Imaan had stormed inside, ready to awaken the King and commence the journey to Faerkbërde.

  “Was it the Leviathan’s idea?” asked Imaan, kicking a rock by her foot.

  “Lady, please. We’ve been through this. Gabe passed all the tests. He has no traces of being a mer, any more than you or I have. The only Leviathan lurking in the City is your jealousy,” said Saladin.

  “My jealousy?” scoffed Imaan. “You are more poisoned than I anticipated.”

  “Lady, it is entirely possible that I am making a valid point. You cannot blame every single disagreement on poison.”

  “She was my most pious maiden, and you seduced her!” said Imaan, leaping up from the root.

  Saladin inhaled deeply.

  “Imaan, we are wasting time here. Let’s talk about this some other—”

  “WHY?”

  “Liza and I were only reviewing the Sacred Memories when you interrupted, I can assure you.”

  “Reviewing the Sacred Memories? In a scented, candlelit bedroom in the middle of the night? Do you think I am such an idiot?” asked Imaan.

  “I find the atmosphere meditative.”

  “It’s seductive.”

  “I swear to you I did not touch her,” said Saladin.

  “And if I had not come in? You have a study.”

  “Lady, you know I am king. Every room in the Palace is public and under strictest observation with the exception of my bedroom. I took her to it because I thought, mistakenly, that we could have some privacy. I enjoy her company and did not wish to have to answer for it, as I am doing now. That is all.”

  “You have never been in her company to know that you would enjoy it, Saladin. My maidens are not allowed to speak with men. You like her; there is no other reason. This studying is only to woo her—to get her thinking that breaking rules is helping your soul. Next, you’ll have her thinking that sleeping with you is good for Aeroth,” said Imaan. She sat back down on the root, her coughing returning.

  “Do not excite yourself, Lady,” said Saladin. “Perhaps it would be good for Aeroth, but that is for her to decide. You are too protective of your maidens. These rules of veils and not going out or talking to men are absolutely absurd. Liza is not a vase for your mantelpiece.”

  “But she is for yours, I assume? Or do you think yourself a hero then, filling her with unholy thoughts? Perhaps even a bastard child?”

  “How dare you! You know I would never act thus,” said Saladin, pulling out his blade. “When will you get it through your sorry, miserable mind that every man is not Eli!”

  “Well, in three hundred years of dealing with human misery, I have seen little evidence to the contrary, least of all in you,” said Imaan, tearing a leaf she did not examine. Saladin frowned.

  “Imaan, I love her. I would marry her, if she’d have me.”

  “Love is SACRIFICE!” bellowed Imaan.

  “Love is also a gift,” said Saladin.

  “Will you now preach to me?” asked Imaan.

  “Yes, if I deem it necessary,” said Saladin, sheathing his blade. “And quite honestly, I’ve never seen you so concerned for Liza’s welfare before this incident. She always seemed rather a trifle when you spoke of her previously, yet you are showing an awful lot of passion in her defence for someone committed to self-restraint.”

  “She is my successor!”

  Saladin shook his head.

  “You know as well as I that Liza is not yet vowed. We broke only the laws of decorum, yet you perform. She is still free to choose her path. Are you sure this is about her?”

  “Of course it is. I spent a lot of effort grooming her to succeed me. It will take years to train another to her level.”

  “So let her have it, then. You have always scorned a secular king, wanting instead a holy city under Avinoam. With Liza as high priest and queen, perhaps you will get your wish,” said Saladin. Imaan crunched a leaf.

  “Never in a thousand years will I allow it. Men corrupt women’s minds. There is no doubting that. The poison will take the whole of Aeroth in less than a week if I let Liza have both you and the priesthood. She must decide for either.”

  “And what of your mind? You are a woman; you speak to me often. Are you thus corrupted?”

  Imaan glared at him.

  “Well?” asked Saladin.

  “Why her, Saladin? Of all the women in Aeroth, why must you choose one of my maidens?”

  “Well, it’s not like I could—”

  Saladin’s face flushed red.

  “What? It’s not like you could what?” asked Imaan.

  “Please, my Lady, you should celebrate I chose a woman deeply devoted to her beliefs. It will be good for the kingdom,” said Saladin.

  “And do you have reason to believe she will reciprocate?” asked Imaan.

  “I do,” said Saladin.

  “Then the Leviathan has struck me yet another blow. I have been outdone by a poisoned prince who thinks himself a king,” said Imaan.

  “Why must you continually see the bad in everything when there is so much to celebrate?” asked Saladin. “Look around you—the humans want for nothing
. Together you and I united the tribes in peace and built a great city whereas before the humans were merely vagabonds—a feat not even dreamt of by our ancestors. For the first time in human history we want for nothing. Even now you should rejoice at the prospective union of the Temple and State, yet you are forever preaching about humans being poisoned, forgetful, ignorant. Do you not think yourself paranoid?”

  “You think too much of your successes,” said Imaan.

  Saladin sat down next to her on the tree root.

  “Imaan, you know people are beginning to ask me to preside at sacrifice.”

  “INFIDEL!”

  “I have not accepted! But I know they ask not because of any greatness in me but because of the despair in you. They sense it, and they’re scared of it.”

  “As they should be!”

  Saladin placed his hand on Imaan’s arm, lowering his tone.

  “Imaan, they’re scared of you.”

  She glanced at his hand, thinking.

  “Well, perhaps you should use your popularity to bring people back to the truth, instead of chasing after that which does not belong to you.”

  Imaan tore her arm away from Saladin and disappeared into the trees.

  “Would it hurt you to smile once in a while?” called Saladin after her. He sighed and started in Imaan’s direction. Within a few steps Saladin halted. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he noticed something half buried near a vine-covered tree, something he suspected did not belong to Faerkbërde. He knelt down and brushed away the surrounding dirt, revealing a smooth, flat stone lodged deep into the ground and the side of the tree. The stone tapered inward, then inward again, before curving around to the other side of the tree. Saladin sprang back.

  “Imaan!”

  “What?” asked Imaan. She knelt down to examine Saladin’s findings, following the shape of the stone with her fingers.

  “Is that a—”

  “It is a male human pelvic bone,” said Imaan, looking intent. “And if we follow it upward, I suspect… ah, yes. Here.” She pulled back the vines. “A rib cage. This man was killed by a bambord.”