The Merman's Mark

by Tara Omar

  Liza looked to the phial in her hand.

  “So why did you come, Liza? You said Lady Imaan gave the message to Catherine to deliver. She is usually very particular about her orders.”

  “Lady Imaan did give it to Catherine to deliver, but the Lady did not know you had left. Catherine is only now learning to fly; she is too young and inexperienced to manage the landing, and the message seemed to be of some degree of importance.”

  He picked up a bowl of pomegranate seeds and a small silver spoon and held it out to her.

  “No, thank you,” said Liza, looking away.

  Saladin rolled his eyes.

  “Liza, either take the fruit or remove the veil. You have had a long journey, and it is still far too warm in here. I will not have you fainting in my presence or during your return flight; either instance would be severely dangerous.”

  Liza stared at the phial in her hand.

  “Oh fine,” said Saladin, exchanging the bowl of seeds for the phial. He held the bottle to the light but became distracted by Liza as her lips slid over the spoon. He trembled slightly.

  “Why did you come, Liza?” asked Saladin, turning to the counter.

  “I have already told you,” said Liza.

  “Is that the only reason?” he asked, turning his chin. Saladin’s hand fidgeted on the tip of Sargon’s handle; his fingers tense.

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “Very well,” he said. “Let us see what the Lady has to say so urgently. To the aquaroom.”

  Saladin limped to a musty, closet-like room off the main sauna, which was just large enough for the curved cherry wood desk and chair it held. The left side of the desk had space for writing and several inkpots and jars of reeds lined neatly in a row. The other side had two copper sinks, each with their own tap. Saladin uncorked the phial and poured the indigo ink over an etched tablet in the first sink, watching as the ink spilled over the tablet and filled various crevices, forming the note the Lady had written earlier.

  “Aquamail is such a remarkable thing, isn’t it?” said Saladin to Liza, who had followed behind him. “The inventions of the human mind never fail to amaze me.”

  As Saladin read the message in the sink his face went very white and then red. He slammed his fist on the desk. The row of inkpots jumped and clanged together.

  “Biy’avi, that woman and her dramatic antics. Is she trying to get herself killed?” asked Saladin, spinning in his chair.

  “What is it?” asked Liza.

  “Read for yourself,” said the King. Liza leaned in and read,

  Dear Saladin,

  I trust you are well. I have left early to make some final preparations for the gentleman’s departure, and will be returning to him shortly, alone. I will manage just as well without your ‘protection’ and think it wisest if I traverse the forest without a companion. Do not try to follow me. May the blessings of Avinoam shine down upon you and remain with you this night. I shall see you soon.

  Imaan, H.P.A.

  P.S. I have taken the liberty of borrowing one of your pteroducks. After watching you fly it on our last trip, I have deemed it easy enough to manage. If a foolhardy king can pilot one, surely I can.

  Liza looked to him as she finished reading.

  “She’s doing this on purpose, that woman,” said Saladin. “She wants me to worry.”

  “I do not understand,” said Liza.

  “Is it so impossible for a man to save a female from her foolishness?” asked the King, resting his head in his hands. “Why must your sex be so obstinate?”

  “I highly doubt Imaan is being foolish, Sir,” said Liza, folding her arms. Saladin looked at her.

  “Gallivanting in Faerkbërde alone after it almost cost me my life? Flying a pteroduck alone when she has no experience? Putting her trust in a—a—foolishness!”

  Saladin swerved in his chair, grabbing a smooth tablet from the second sink and a nearby quill and inkpot. He set the tablet on the desk and began to write.

  “I must warn the mechanics and emergency services to be on special alert, in case we have to scrape her off the sky.”

  Saladin finished his note and placed the smooth, written tablet back in the second sink.

  Liza raised her eyebrows.

  “Are you sure you’re not overreacting, Sir? The Lady has braved many worse dangers than driving without a license, and her judgement is usually very perspicacious.”

  “One cannot be too careful,” said Saladin. He pressed the Palace’s address into a keypad on the wall and turned on the tap marked “Send.” Water flowed over the tablet in the sink, washing it clean as it sent the ink down the drain and into the plumbing, where it would be flushed to a similar aquaroom in the Palace. Saladin watched as the last of the message trickled down the drain. He turned to Liza.

  “This pteroduck is the second thing she has taken from me to which she has no right.”

  “Sorry?” asked Liza.

  “Why haven’t you seen me, Liza?” asked Saladin. “Ever since I left with the Lady you have not come for lessons despite my requests, and when we are in Temple you avoid me like the snake. Has the Lady counselled you to avoid me?”

  Liza stared at the verdigris walls of the aquaroom.

  “I am taking first vows in less than a month’s time,” said Liza, avoiding his gaze. “It is best we find you another tutor.”

  “I prefer you,” said Saladin.

  “It does not matter your preference. Another can teach you just as well,” said Liza. “After the Lady found us, she made very clear to me the terms, and has enlightened me about things I had not considered.”

  “What things?” asked Saladin.

  “It does not matter,” said Liza. “May I have the message back? The Lady requested that it not be washed down the taps.”

  Saladin tipped the etched tablet into a funnel, letting the indigo ink run back into the phial. He corked it and handed it back to Liza.

  “So that is your decision then?” asked Saladin.

  Liza turned to leave.

  “Wait,” said Saladin, grabbing her arm.

  A shivering tenseness shot between them like an electrical current. Liza felt her cheeks turn very hot, though the sauna had cooled considerably. She took a deep breath.

  “I know your intentions, Saladin, and I cannot continue a relationship with you further,” said Liza, closing her eyes. “I have thought it over carefully, and I believe I owe it to the Lady and to Aeroth to follow through with my commitment.”

  “And to yourself?”

  “And also to Avi.”

  Saladin frowned.

  “You are saying simply you do not want me. Is that what you are saying?”

  “No, of course not,” said Liza, frowning. “That is not the point.”

  “It is the only point,” said Saladin.

  “No, it is not,” said Liza. “There are other people to consider aside from yourself, Saladin. I must think of the good of Aeroth.”

  Saladin rubbed his forehead.

  “Liza, no one has more faith in the human spirit than do I, you know that. But even I candidly accept that at the end of the day the human being is as selfish as sin. Do not sacrifice your life for those who neither care for your offering nor would be willing to reciprocate. You must serve yourself before you can serve others; else you commit yourself to an image of humanity that does not exist, a false idol.”

  “It does too exist,” said Liza, fidgeting. “Look at the Lady. She has spent so much time training me for the priesthood. Am I just to throw it all in her face?”

  Saladin shook his head.

  “The Lady does not love you as you think. She is as selfish as the rest of them; only she hides it better than most.” He glared at the sink.

  “The Lady has given her whole life to the people,” said Liza.
“There is no one who has given more.”

  “Yes, and what does she have to show for it?” asked Saladin. “Do not make the same mistake.”

  “Mistake?” asked Liza, squeezing the phial between her fingers. “Is it a mistake to want to love Avinoam through the whole of humanity and not just one person? I have to live what I want, and I want a generous world, Saladin, much more than you. You are asking me to make the same mistake as Eli; his rejection of the priesthood cost us the Sacred Memories. It almost cost us the war. You should know that better than anyone.”

  “Your eyes are not convincing. Is it not better to love with someone, to have another perspective to carry you in despair? Imaan had no one to help her or to challenge her; her logic almost cost us the war.”

  “You will corrupt me,” said Liza.

  Saladin laughed.

  “You speak ignorance, Liza. Besides, when you become high priest you will have to deal with me even more than you have during our harmless lessons. What shall you do then? You know the Temple works closely with the State. You cannot run from me forever.”

  “It will be different then. I will have the vow to protect me.”

  “Vows don’t work that way, darling,” said Saladin.

  “And how would you know? You’ve never committed to anything but yourself.”

  Saladin took her arm again. “Listen to yourself, Liza. Is that not poison speaking if there ever was any? You have a desire for life and for love that has been twisted into self-hatred and callous remarks. You have committed yourself to something that does not exist. Is that not the work of the Leviathan?”

  “It is you with a twisted desire, not me,” said Liza, pulling away. “You should be grateful that you can choose any other woman in Aeroth, instead you are running after the one woman you cannot have. Most men would give their right arm to have your position, and yet you scorn your gift by wanting more, always wanting more. You want to drag me into your ingratitude.”

  “I want what is best for me and for Aeroth. You have wisdom well beyond your years, Liza. You cannot be equalled in that, I know it. You are the best option for both.”

  “You must choose another. The Temple and State must be kept separate, and I will not give up the Temple.”

  “And what of me?” asked Saladin. “Will you leave me tormented for the rest of my life, constantly seeing you and knowing I cannot have you?”

  “You will find another pretty face in time.”

  “Do you think it is so simple?”

  He took a step forward, grabbing her arm again.

  “Liza, I love you. You would be good for the country and for me. I choose you or no one. There is no other.”

  “So says every man that wants a woman,” said Liza. “In a few years’ time when my body is torn apart by children you will not even remember you said such things.”

  Saladin let go of her. “This is the Lady talking, not you. You have not seen enough of the world to know if she speaks sense.”

  “She has seen enough marriages in her time to merit her judgement trustworthy.”

  “Yet you do not consider jealousy.”

  Liza paused. Saladin stepped closer to her so that his body was almost touching hers, gripping her more solidly than before. He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke.

  “I will leave you, Liza,” said Saladin, “if you can tell me you do not want me. Say it to my face.”

  “I must leave now,” she said.

  “Tell me.”

  “Why must you make life so difficult?” asked Liza. “Why must being with you feel so right and holy when I know it’s all a lie? Why must the poison be so strong in me?”

  “Liza…”

  “No” said Liza. “Men abuse and subjugate. That is the truth of it. Good day, Sir.”

  Liza broke away from him, but Saladin caught her arm. He staggered wildly toward the centre of the sauna, pulling her with him.

  “What are you doing?” asked Liza, struggling to free her wrist. “Let go of me.”

  “No. I will not lose you both in the same day. I refuse,” said Saladin.

  “Chair, Aquila,” said Saladin, “and glove, and heat.”

  Aquila placed a chair in the middle of the sauna, facing the pool and the labyrinth. Then he closed the windows and pressed the buttons in the wall. The sphere of ice melted into a flame, and the rocks under the walkways began to glow as the sauna filled with steam. Saladin grabbed the glove from Aquila, who held it out to him.

  “Sit. That is an order,” said Saladin, releasing her arm. Liza sat down.

  “What are you doing?” asked Liza.

  “We are settling this once and for all,” said Saladin, putting on the glove, “me and you, in complete honesty, without any involvement of anything or anyone else.”

  Saladin limped down the cinnamon walkway toward the hazy pool in the centre, stopping just before he reached the edge. He turned to face Liza and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a beautifully etched abdomen. Liza stared, wide-eyed. Saladin smirked. Then he reached for his belt.

  “Sir, this is most indecent,” said Liza, turning her head.

  “To go naked in a sauna, Liza? Hardly,” said Saladin, dropping his belt to the floor. “You have spent too much time cloistered, knowing nothing of the world or of the men you will rule. I will not let you leave here to avow yourself when you have such false ideas of men. Have you ever even seen a man?”

  “I do not need to see anything to make my decision,” said Liza, pulling her veil over her face. “One does not need to try drugs to know they are not proper. The same is true with men.”

  “There is proof of your innocence, if ever there was any. I can assure you men are not so addictive. If they were, there would not be an unhappy man in Aeroth, I’d imagine.”

  He threw his pants on the pile next to him and tapped Sargon with his knuckle until it started to glow. Then he dropped it in the pool behind him; it sent up a whistling billow of steam that sprayed his body with mist and settled in the dents of his muscles like the shining ice on the cherry trees. He threw the glove on top of the pile of clothes, wiped his face and shook the moisture from his hair as the last of the steam floated upward. Then he checked his balance and nodded to her.

  “Come, Liza. I will respect your choice to accept the priesthood once you have better knowledge of your subjects and have been more honest with me. It would be more indecent not to at least give a man a courtesy of a glance when he has undressed for you. We are fragile creatures in the area of confidence, you know.”

  Liza stared away with the veil pulled over her face, still squirming as she tried not to smile. Saladin rolled his eyes.

  “Come, come, Liza. There is no glue holding you to the seat; if this was so offensive you could have left long ago. Do not sit there giggling like a schoolgirl. Tell me honestly what you think of me, as a man.”

  Liza dropped her hand from her face and turned to him, sighing as she opened her eyes.

  C H A P T E R 1 5

  Imaan trudged through the barren expanse of the Marah, knee-deep in the hot, shifting sands. The sun pressed its rays against her, baking even the smallest patch of exposed skin. Fierce winds whipped glassy specks into her eyes; she wrapped her scarf over her nose just as her foot caught in a patch of sinking sand. The Marah gripped her and forced her downward.

  Quicksand, thought Imaan.

  She threw her arms over her face and held her breath as the desert swallowed her body, her insides trembling for lack of oxygen. Almost too late, she felt the sands loosen around her feet and Imaan fell through the air, landing on a hissing pile of sand at the top of a dark, sloping tunnel. A uniformed man approached her, offering a hand. Imaan could see the standard onyx-handled blade banging against his thigh, marking him as a member of Ibex, the Aerothian police. She shook her head.

  “I’
m alright. Thank you, Sergei,” said Imaan, standing up.

  “May I ask what brings you to the border today, Lady?” asked Sergei, clicking his pen.

  “I am here to see Tristan,” said Imaan.

  She scanned the row of mining carts parked across the width of the tunnel. Each cart was attached to a set of skis with a thick spring. The guard stepped back politely, pulling a weathered pad of paper from his pocket.

  “Which is the fastest ski-cart?” asked Imaan.

  “The one on the far left, my Lady. Number eight.”

  “Thank you.”

  She climbed into cart number eight and lowered the safety bar.

  “Have a good day.”

  “And to you, my Lady,” said Sergei. He pressed a button on a kiosk against the back wall of the tunnel, releasing cart number eight from the row. It began to slide downward into the dark. Sergei pressed another button on the kiosk. A clunky typewriter and microphone popped upright in an onyx basin, punching his words onto a smooth, marble tablet underneath it. He leaned in closer, speaking into the microphone.

  “This is 937 reporting from entry point 201. Mama Tetchel has just exited 201 with cart 008 and will be arriving at Ibex Alpha in approximately 4,3 minutes. Repeat, 4,3 minutes ’til Mama Tetchel, over.”

  As soon as the typewriter had punched out the last of his message, water leaked over the tablet, washing the newly-written ink into the drain. The ink blot rushed through the pipes in a stream of water en route to Ibex Alpha, racing to beat ski-cart number eight, which was quickly gaining momentum.

  Focus, Imaan, focus, she thought, swallowing the urge to cough. It will all be over soon.

  Imaan pulled her scarf tighter around her shoulders, trying to keep her breathing calm as the swaying cart carried her deeper and deeper downward. She was on her way to the edge of the continental ridge, which marked the border between Aeroth and Larimar, some 366 metres below sea level. Imaan had visited Ibex’s head office many times before, and she knew the reinforced steel and concrete walls had been made more than double the standard at her insistence. Still, knowing that 230 kilograms worth of the Oceana was pushing on the walls from all directions made her slightly queasy. She stared ahead at the growing square of blue light in the distance.