by Tara Omar
Please feed Fred.
1 tsp.
“One teaspoon?” asked David.
All the bowls had been removed from the bedside table except for a small packet, a silver spoon, and the basin David remembered from the bone mending. He picked up the packet, which was labelled in the same flawless handwriting.
Plankton Pops
“Are you a fan of Plankton Pops, Fred?” asked David, measuring out a spoonful. “Guess I would be too, if I was a sponge.”
He sprinkled the teaspoon over the basin, watching as the crunchy, green specks floated toward Fred. Fred had pulled himself together into a single sponge and was now resting peacefully at the bottom, waiting for breakfast. David smiled.
“Glad to see the mending didn’t tear you apart permanently. I was worried.”
He tipped a few extra pops into Fred’s basin and left for the dark, sapphire-studded library. The room was silent with the early morning; its ceiling swirled with thick clouds. The pool surrounding the staircase seemed to radiate a soft light that pulsed through the whole library. As David neared the pool, he saw a swarm of glowing bells bobbing in the water.
Jellyfish, he thought.
David leaned closer to get a better look, watching as their luminous, ribbon-like tentacles swayed like thick strands of twisted hair. He stepped back, knocking into something both soft and hard. A thick, paperback book dropped into the pool, sending the jellyfish pulsing in all directions.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said David, turning around. A woman with long, white hair and piercing eyes frowned at him; they watched the book balloon to double its normal size as it sank. David bent down and reached for it, but the woman threw her arm out first and snatched it from the water.
“You’ll have to apologise to Raphael. It is his book,” said the woman, pressing the water from the book’s bloated pages over the pool. David looked at the soggy, golden letters.
Mera of the Mers: A History of the Reign of Aribella Elena Nephtali I, Collector’s Edition
He frowned. It looked like a special copy.
“I wouldn’t worry myself too much,” said the woman. “Raphael seems to have several copies of this volume.” She pursed her lips, frowning more severely as she pressed out more water.
“Are you one of the visitors who brought me here?” asked David.
“I am. Raphael mentioned you don’t remember what happened. You still have no memory, I assume?”
“Unfortunately not. At present I’m more curious than you as to how I ended up here,” said David, shrugging, “though I believe thanks are in order for saving me.” He held out his hand. “My name is David, uh, Michelson, I think.”
The woman stared at his hand, her eyes darting from it to him for several moments. She wiped her hand forcefully on her skirt before shaking it.
“You should thank Avinoam more than me,” said the woman. “The probability of us or anyone passing you on the precise day and moment of your trouble was astronomically against you. It was only by sheer miracle that you were found and saved.”
“Well I thank you for being the hands of Avinoam then,” said David. “May I have your name?”
“Lady Imaan. I am the High Priest of Aeroth, which is the highest religious and political figure in the land,” said Imaan, “…under the King.”
“Is it possible I come under your jurisdiction, Lady?”
“Highly. The whole of the land is Aeroth. The more relevant question is from which tribe you come, and unfortunately I cannot place you.”
“Tribe?” asked David.
“The tribes of Aaron, Eliezer, Renault, Octavian, Theodore and Humphrey comprise the whole of the humans. You must be from one of them,” said Imaan, looking him up and down. “There is also a smattering of rebels who prefer to live in the mountains rather than in the comforts of the City, but even they cannot escape their tribal origins entirely.”
Imaan circled him, her eyes focusing as though looking at a specimen.
“You are definitely not a priestly Elite, that is for sure, and you have not the fierceness of an Aaronite, nor the simplicity of a Humphrite.”
She pushed his chin up with the tip of her nail.
“You seem to prefer trouble like an Octavite, though your face does not look thus inclined, and you do not seem rebellious or resourceful enough to be of the mountain folk. Perhaps a Theodite scholar? You do have a nice voice, though, so perhaps a Renaultan also. Though nothing fits as it should. Unless…”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“It is very puzzling indeed.”
“Perhaps the memory loss is affecting me,” said David.
“Perhaps,” said Imaan. “Well, from wherever you come, I suspect the King will want to meet you. He is upstairs.”
“The King?”
“Yes. King Saladin is ruler of the Aerothians, and of the mountain folk, for all practical purposes,” said Imaan. “He saved you and brought you here, almost losing both our lives in the rescue. Raphael thinks he may have permanently damaged his leg. You’ll find him in the aviary,” said Imaan.
She nodded toward a low footbridge spanning the jellyfish pool. It marked the start of the spiral staircase.
“Thank you. Will you please excuse me?” asked David, moving toward the stairs.
Imaan paused.
“Oh, and David,” said Imaan, stepping from the shadows. “I should tell you as someone who knows the humans intimately, there is not a single other person in the kingdom who would have risked so much to save your life. We do not always see eye to eye, the King and I, but I can confidently admit you will not find any human braver or more kind-hearted than Saladin. You were very lucky indeed; I trust you will remember it.”
“I shall,” said David. Imaan nodded and disappeared into the darkened maze of bookshelves. David watched after her, but she did not return. He shook his head and climbed the winding staircase to the upper room, while Imaan stood silently in the shadows, hiding behind a bookcase as she watched David disappear into the ceiling.
“That was a very moving speech for a prospective murderess,” said Raphael, appearing next to her. “Have you come to your senses yet?”
“As a matter of fact I have,” said Imaan. “After what you’ve told me concerning the mark, the plan has come together far better than I could have anticipated. I am now convinced it is the will of Avinoam.”
Raphael frowned.
“Well good luck with that. You will be brought to judgement in either case.”
“Oh you’re going to help me, Raphael,” said Imaan, staring into the dark, “or would you prefer I tell Saladin about your furry little spy in the river?”
Raphael stared at her.
“Yes, I know about the seal,” said Imaan, “and the girl.”
“You are quick with deduction, aren’t you?” said Raphael, his face tense.
“Your books are quite informative. It doesn’t take much to fill the gaps,” said Imaan. “They say she’s quite intelligent and beautiful—a sparkling image of her late mother. Have you seen her of late?”
“Shut up,” said Raphael, turning to leave.
“I can only imagine what she must—”
“Shut up. Just shut up,” said Raphael, closing his eyes.
Imaan sighed.
“I don’t want to patronise you, Raphael, but you are leaving me no option.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Only that you train David—give him the best chance of surviving the task ahead.”
“Was my information not enough? Did it not show you how dangerous your plans are? You will be gambling with David’s life simply to kill another.”
“And why do you care? You have already said these things do not concern you,” said Imaan. “Do what I ask, and you will be left alone, just as you wish.”
“I do not understand how you can so brutally walk over people and have absolutely no feeling about it,” said Raphael. “You are a priest.”
“My job is to protect, Raphael, and I am doing so. All be damned if I again hear the cries of death among my people. I will not allow it.”
Raphael sat down on a nearby couch with his hands between his knees. He looked severely stressed.
“I will train him as requested,” said Raphael, “but only to give David the best chance at survival. What happens after he leaves here is on your head.”
“Fair enough,” said Imaan, turning to leave. “In a few weeks’ time all will be as it should.”
She paused.
“Oh, and I wouldn’t wander far from the library, Raphael. If the King’s eyes are still good, I believe he will call you soon.”
C H A P T E R 1 3
David entered a large room surrounded with heavy doors similar to the library below it, with walls of muted gold and walnut. It was empty except for a few ornate chairs and narrow tables pushed against the walls so that the central focus was the floor, on which was tiled a massive, illustrated map of a world shaped like a hollow geode. The geode was split in two, with water dividing the two halves as well as encircling it. At the bottom of each half was a pocket of dry land; one was marked Aeroth, and the other, Larimar, the sea kingdom. The water that encircled and divided them was known as the Abyss, bedecked on the map in coloured glass and precious stones. David knelt down and brushed his hand over the sparkling tiles, reviewing the map.
As he looked up he spied a heavy walnut door, carved with the image of a bird.
“This must be the aviary,” he said.
He pushed it open to what looked like a picturesque savannah, complete with warm, fresh winds, tall grasses and scattered trees. The light of the early morning was just rising over the horizon, except the horizon was much nearer than it should be, like the walls of a room. A small, pinkish-brown bird the colour of the sunrise was perching near an uncomfortable-looking cot where a man with a bandaged leg was lying. It ruffled its feathers as David entered, but the man did not move.
“Your Highness?” asked David, moving nearer.
“Oh, hello,” said the King. He pulled thick wads of what looked like candle wax from his ears. “You’re looking much better since I saw you last. I’m glad to see it.”
“SQUAAAK.”
A shrill sound scratched through their ears. Saladin swung his arm toward the bird.
“Silence, fluff ball, or you shall find yourself fried extra crisp!” shouted Saladin.
The bird gave Saladin a smug look before taking off toward another tree, revealing neon blue underfeathers that flashed in flight like a firework. The bird landed on the other side of the room and piqued his feathers in protest, like an indignant pouf of candy floss.
“That’s better,” grumbled Saladin. He turned to David.
“Never in my life have I heard anything so awful,” said Saladin. “He goes by the name of Mozart.”
David chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m not sure,” said David, confused.
Saladin gave him a puzzled look
David cleared his throat. “I hear you went through a great deal of trouble to assist me. I’m very sorry I was such an inconvenience and am honoured you bothered. Thank you.”
Saladin shook his head. “If I had been caught in the willow, the whole of the kingdom would have come to help me. I would be a coward if I did not show the same consideration in return. We are all humans, after all.”
He picked up a gleaming machete and glove from the floor.
“Besides, it’s nothing Sargon can’t handle,” said the King. He donned the glove and tapped the blade with the back of his gloved knuckle. As Sargon glowed molten orange, the King expertly spun his fingers around the softened blade, twisting it into a long walking stick.
“Wow, that’s really something,” said David.
“Sargon, tamer of the Oceana. I built the nation with this blade. It used to belong to my father, before the war.”
Saladin twirled the newly-hardened stick around like a baton, pointing it at David. At the end of the stick Saladin noticed a small, tattoo-like marking on David’s neck, in the shape of a lotus and a rose. His face flashed with anger.
“We are all humans indeed,” said Saladin. He drove Sargon’s point into the ground and stormed out of the aviary.
“Mer!” shouted Saladin, hobbling wildly across the mosaic floor. David winced as Sargon clanked mercilessly into the tiles.
“MER!”
Saladin shouted again as he leaned down the stairs.
“My name is Raphael,” said the mer, glaring at him as he came up the stairs.
“Explain yourself,” said Saladin. He grabbed the golden railing and pointed at David with the tip of his walking stick. Raphael looked from it to him, sighing tiredly as though he had just been asked a stupid question.
“Well, you—as in you, yourself and no other—brought me a dying human, to whom out of the compassion of my heart, I opened my home and healed, as requested. I have no control over how the wounds heal.”
“No control?” asked Saladin, pointing Sargon at Raphael. “You did something to him.”
For a split second, Sargon flashed orange, hardening into a curved sword.
“I only healed him as requested,” said Raphael, moving his head back. “I had no idea the wound was the kiss; it looked the same as any other.”
“Could someone please tell me what is happening?” interrupted David.
“He marked you with a sign of the mers,” said Saladin. “The lotus is a symbol of hatred to humans. It is a murderer’s mark.” He held the flat of the blade in front of David, who saw the mark on his neck.
“I am afraid the situation is more complicated than your King brightly assumes,” said Raphael. “As you may notice there is a rose and a lotus present, which means it is most likely the merish kiss, or merman’s mark.”
“Explain,” said Saladin. Raphael gave him the same smug look as Mozart had before continuing.
“There is a book called the Nephil Histories that tells of a silver seal once fashioned from filament by the Silent One. This seal has the power to turn a man into a mer. One seal, one man, one mer. Only one. The bite of this seal, known as the merish kiss, changes the man.” Raphael looked to David, his eyes heavy with emotion. “As soon your feet and wrists are submerged in salt water, you will no longer be human. I am afraid you are only half human now.”
“Half human?”
David’s eyes widened. “That can’t be right. Didn’t we all fall into the pool together? Why am I not a mer now?”
“The kiss takes some time to heal. It is only in the mark form that it is effective.”
Saladin slammed his sword into the railing.
“Leviathan! You create for yourself a spy,” shouted Saladin.
Two low, short growls sounded from the corner of the room, causing them to turn. Lady Imaan was watching the argument from an armchair, and she had just cleared her throat. Saladin tapped Sargon back into a walking stick.
“I swear to you, on what little value my life is worth, I did none of which you accuse me,” said Raphael.
“Do you keep any seals on these premises?” asked Saladin.
“Only corals, a selection of fish, sponges and anemones, Mozart and Patsy,” said Raphael. “You may search the place if you like, though I do not advise it, as some of my residents are mildly dangerous, and none seem to like you.”
“Do you know of this seal, at least?” asked Saladin.
Imaan’s eyes flashed to Raphael. She seemed to be enjoying this argument.
“I have heard of him, obviously,” said Raphael.
“Are there any others of this kind?”
“No, and he can only bite one. The Histories is very clear on that.”
“And what would a seal of this sort be doing in the river?” asked Saladin. He stepped in closer, putting his face near to Raphael.
“It is the Silent One’s seal, why do you ask me?” asked Raphael.
“Change him back,” said Saladin.
“I cannot undo the will of the Silent One.”
“Do you condemn him to death then? He will be killed on sight if any human sees him with the lotus.”
“I can assure you the rose is equally hated in the sea. David will last a maximum of six months before being discovered and tortured. There is truly nothing I can do. Perhaps there are other motives and parties to question.”
Saladin’s eyes narrowed.
“You, did you do this on purpose, getting yourself turned into a mer?” asked Saladin to David. “You are a long way from the rest of the humans. What were you doing in the forest? Who sent you?”
“I—I don’t know. I honestly don’t know,” said David.
“Would you lie to me, your King?”
“Why don’t you kill him, Saladin, if you are so distrusting, and me as well, if it will make you feel better. It will save us all a lot of hassle, to say the least,” said Raphael. “Although I must admit killing him now would look rather cruel given all evidence seems to show that you and only you saved him for this fate. Perhaps you can grant him dispensation to stay on land?”
“I cannot just go granting dispensation, befriending mers for no purpose. Half of Aeroth will ready to assassinate me if I do so, and they would be right to seek vengeance.”
“Send him after the shield,” said Imaan.
“Lady?” asked Saladin, turning.
