Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  “Okay, folks, today’s the last day to turn in your essays for the contest by The Historic Elegiac Society for the Preservation of the Ancient World,” said David. “If you would just… David paused. There was a thick stack of papers piled neatly at the centre of his desk. He read the top one.

  Snakes and Boobies: The Very Old Tradition of Circus Acts and Exotic Dancers, by Winston Smith

  “Are these the entries?” asked David.

  “Collected them for you right this morning, Mr M. They’re all ready to go to the old fogy ladies, just like you wanted,” said Winston, more commonly known as Baggy Jeans.

  David frowned. Several weeks ago, he had promised his students that if any one of them won the art history contest, he would jump off Skeleton Bridge. He scanned the class suspiciously.

  “Show of hands, how many of you did an entry for the essay contest?” asked David. Over three-quarters of the class held up their hands. David raised his eyebrows and sat down. It was a very unusual feeling—having done something right. David’s insides were tap-dancing with excitement, but he shook it off, remembering to keep his cool.

  “Okay, everyone continue working on your spherical drawings. I’ll call you up each one by one so you can briefly tell me about your essay,” said David, grabbing the top paper off the stack. “Jeans, we’ll start with you.”

  He turned to the first page, where a statue of a woman with naked breasts was staring out at him. Her arms were stretched out to her sides with a writhing snake in each hand. David looked at the photo.

  “So, tell me about your essay,” said David. Jeans took a deep breath and started.

  “Well, you see, back in the day they used to do these circus acts that involved exotic dancers twirling snakes, just like in this statue, which was a souvenir you could buy when the, uh, act was finished,” said Jeans.

  David nodded. “Interesting. Did you do any research at all, Jeans?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Never mind. Good effort,” said David, setting the essay aside. “Next up is Wendy Solomon. I see you also wrote about the Snake Goddess. Wendy?”

  Jeans swaggered back to his seat as Wendy started to tell David about the figure commonly called the Snake Goddess, an ancient statue that had become the central figure in a famous crest—which crest David could not remember, but he knew it was important.

  David remembered listening with a slight awe as Wendy explained her essay, clearly impressed with the work she had done. The essays that followed were no less impressive; and, by the end of the hour, David’s desk was covered with photos of art and surprisingly passable explanations, with Jeans’ made-up story about circus performers being the worst of the lot. He stifled a laugh as he looked down at the photo of the busty woman. The classroom and students faded away. In his mind David saw Petra Jacobson standing in the casino with her naked breasts exposed, her arms outstretched like the Snake Goddess, speaking to him.

  “These symbols do not stray far from their meanings,” said Petra, “no matter from which world you come.”

  In his mind David saw Petra, the photograph from the essay and the figure in Gabriel’s fountain come together as one image. David shook his head.

  “The Snake Goddess…” he breathed, “the Triumph of Reason.”

  He looked around. He was standing in the gold map room with Sasha and Natalie, the reed that adjusted the mosaic floor still in his hand.

  “Are you okay?” asked Natalie.

  “The central figure in the fountain at the Zodic, I think it’s the Snake Goddess,” said David. “It’s from a crest.”

  “Which crest?” asked Natalie.

  “I don’t remember, but I think it belongs to a family—a powerful one,” said David.

  “If the image in Gabe’s casino is also in Paradise, Gabe must have dealings on the Island,” said Natalie.

  “I bet that’s where all his innovation comes from,” said David. “When I was hiding in Petra’s office, her son was complaining about how no one can match him.”

  “Do you remember anything else?” asked Natalie.

  “No, but—” David paused as he looked at the young mera, thoughtful. “I think there are mers on the island, too.”

  “What?” asked Natalie.

  “I came to Raphael’s house knowing merish sign language,” said David. “How else would I know the signs? I was human then.”

  “But all the mers left that side of the Abyss before the eruption,” said Natalie.

  “Maybe some stayed behind?” asked David.

  “They’d all be dead now, unless they started a colony or unless…” Natalie gasped.

  “Unless the mers on Paradise are—”

  “The Disappeared,” said Natalie. “My mom might still be alive.”

  It was as though something inside her chest had cracked open. A warm, comforting feeling spread through her body; Natalie felt like a small child being embraced for the first time—the thought of a living mother almost too perfect to be real.

  David smiled. “We have to go to Paradise.”

  “I see your point, but it doesn’t look like there is an easy way in or out, and when this volcano erupts, it’s going to wipe out everything,” said Sasha. “You could get stuck on the wrong side.”

  “There has to be some way in,” said David. “How does Gabe communicate with the Island? How did I or Petra get here?”

  “Maybe there is, but if it was easy, surely Imaan would have found the route long before,” said Sasha. “No offence, but there’s nothing particularly special about us. Many intelligent people have long wanted to reach Paradise Island. To think we can somehow figure out what legions of people before have not, doesn’t bode well in our favour.”

  “Haven’t you heard? David is the One,” said Natalie with a smirk. “He’s the One who will bring deliverance.”

  Sasha frowned.

  “We have to try,” said David.

  “See if you can zoom in more,” said Natalie.

  David tapped the mosaic floor with the reed, but the tiles did not move. He tapped again.

  “Can I help you with something?” asked Raphael.

  David jumped. Raphael was standing on the stairs, his eyes glittering like purple fire.

  “No, nothing,” said David. “I was just showing them where we are in Faerkbërde.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Raphael, taking the reed from him. “It’s interesting especially since my home is on the other side of the room, here.”

  He struck the floor. Natalie, David and Sasha flinched as the mosaic tiles shifted like a wave under their feet. Raphael stared at them, unmoving, as they stood in awkward silence. Sasha cleared his throat.

  “I’m just going to go work on fixing your bridge,” said Sasha.

  “I’ll help you,” said Natalie. The two disappeared down the stairs, leaving David with the glaring mer. David shrugged.

  “I was just wondering if you need anything,” said David. “May I go fetch any plants for you, perhaps?”

  “No, you can clean the excess algae off the windows in the moat,” said Raphael. “The snails look overfed.”

  C h a p t e r 7 3

  David swam in front of the colourful coral reefs in the moat outside Raphael’s house, scraping fuzzy, green specks from the wobbly walls of glass surrounding the tunnel that led to the front door. Natalie and Sasha were busy fixing Buttercup and the bridge on the other side of the glass, while tropical fish watched from cracks and crevices in the coral. Several snails crawled ahead of David’s tiny brush, munching on algae before he scrubbed it away.

  David felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around but saw no one. David went back to scrubbing, but someone tapped his shoulder again, this time on the other side. He turned around and saw the bright, yellow button eyes of a long, yellow eel.

  P
atsy? Is that you? signed David.

  The yellow eel nodded and swam around David like a twirling ribbon, a squishy sea sponge held tight in her tail.

  You look different, he signed. Is that Fred your holding?

  The eel nodded again. She offered the sponge to him and pointed to the glass.

  David felt a bit rude using Fred to clean the algae, but it was considerably more efficient than the small brush Raphael had given him, and he dared not disobey Patsy, who considered herself the boss of the moat. The last time David had seen Fred, he had accidentally bitten him in two when Raphael was mending his broken ribs. He glanced toward the window of the room where the mending had occurred, somewhat nostalgic. Liza sat in the same room, watching the reef like a lifeless doll in a display case. He waved in her direction, but she closed the curtains.

  Later that evening, David curled up in the tall grass in the aviary under a ceiling full of stars, his fingers and wrist sore from brushing. Kiwi, Crusty and Raphael’s bird Mozart had hidden themselves away hours before and were sleeping peacefully among the scattered trees. He pulled his blanket over himself and rolled toward Natalie, who was lying in a nearby cot.

  “What are we going to do about Raphael?” she asked.

  “Silence, you read my mind,” said David, fluffing his pillow. “I was just wondering the very same thing.”

  “Do you think we can trust him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible he’s working with Gabe if he had that brochure from Paradise and was involved with the Disappeared. I know Lady Imaan said she could trust him, but I don’t trust her, so I really don’t know.”

  “I know what he testified in court, but after meeting him, I just can’t see Raphael as a criminal,” said Natalie. “He seems so harmless.”

  “You said yourself people lie,” said David.

  “Yes, but the question still remains if he was lying then, or is he lying now.”

  “Maybe he has two sides,” said David. “I mean, Raphael isn’t even his real name.”

  “Maybe,” said Natalie, thoughtful.

  “And what about the shield?” asked David. “Do you think it was really necessary for him to destroy it?”

  “Liza was basically dead when we arrived. Whether it was necessary or not, you can’t fault him for doing what we asked of him.”

  “Yeah, but how did he know high temperatures would destroy it?”

  “Maybe he took a chance. Either way, we still don’t know if we can trust him,” said Natalie.

  “Do we have a choice also? We’re certainly not safe anywhere else in Aeroth. Should we go back to Larimar?” asked David.

  “I’d rather not if we can avoid it. We’ll have nowhere to go if we get caught planning to go to Paradise, and we might endanger my dad,” said Natalie. She glanced at the glass of water near her cot, which was sporting a tiara-shaped bendy straw.

  “Well, we can only stay here if Raphael isn’t allied with Gabe or an evil psychopath,” said David. “Any ideas on how we can figure that out?”

  “I have one idea, but it’s highly unethical,” said Natalie.

  “What is it?”

  Natalie shook her head. “No, no, I don’t think I can do it.”

  “You can’t physically do it, or morally you can’t?” asked David.

  “Obviously, I can do it physically, or it wouldn’t even be a suggestion,” said Natalie.

  “And you’re hoping I’ll corrupt you into doing it anyway,” said David.

  “I do really want to do it, but I shouldn’t want to, morally speaking. Ackh! There must be some other way,” said Natalie, hugging her pillow. David rolled his eyes.

  “Just do it, Natalie. I’ll take the blame if you’re worried,” said David.

  “You can’t do that. Besides, you don’t even know what I’m planning yet,” said Natalie. “How can you even say that?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure Raphael can weather anything you’ve imagined,” said David. “I don’t think you’re that mean.”

  “Well, we don’t really have time to think of another option, so I guess I’ll have to go for it.”

  “If it’s going to keep you up all night, can I maybe do it for you—whatever it is you’re planning?” asked David.

  “No, it’d be better if it’s me,” said Natalie with a frown, “though I will need your help.”

  C h a p t e r 7 4

  David and Raphael ran across a cement-block room surrounded by tiny beams of light, each holding an elegantly curved racket. A small, rubber ball bounced between them. Raphael leapt into the air like a dancer, and slammed the ball into a light beam on the wall, the light shifted and the scoreboard changed, which ran like a caption above their heads.

  Master of Larimar to Light Beam One, plus fifty

  David ran to return the ball with an awkward gait reminiscent of a jellyfish sulking through peanut butter. He hit the ball with the handle of his racket; it bounced flatly off the wall, missing the beams. The scoreboard changed again.

  Minion hits wall, plus zero

  “It’s okay, David! Keep trying!” shouted Natalie, clapping from a bench in the spectator’s area. Kiwi, Crusty and Mozart hopped alongside her, chirping. They ran back and forth along the bench following the match. Raphael hit another light beam with a graceful flourish; David swung wildly to return the ball, sending it up over the long, glass wall behind them and into the spectator’s area. The birds screeched in panic and jumped into Natalie’s hair.

  “I’ll get it,” she called.

  Raphael shook his head. “All that time spent in Larimar, and you still play like a monkey.”

  “Am I supposed to be offended by that statement?” asked David.

  “Of course,” said Raphael. “In fact, you’re supposed to be so offended you’ll skitter away and never bother me again.”

  “Come on, you know you’d miss us,” said David. “There’s no one else this side of the Abyss you could beat so definitively at squelsh.”

  “On the contrary, I could beat everyone at squelsh,” said Raphael.

  “Incoming,” said Natalie, tossing the ball over the glass barrier. Raphael caught it and prepared to serve. He threw the ball over his head and jumped up, forcing it forward with a hard swing of his racket. As it bounced off the wall, Natalie reached into her pocket and nodded to Kiwi. The bird let out the loudest, shrillest, most piercing of screams as David hit the ball. Raphael flinched and the ball slammed into his temple, knocking him flat on the floor.

  Natalie ran to his side, carrying her backpack. She pulled a syringe from her backpack and injected it into Raphael’s arm.

  “Get the door. I don’t want Liza or Sasha to see what we’re doing,” said Natalie.

  “Is that untraceable sedative?” asked David.

  “Yes, I took it from Norbert’s shelf while he was injecting the human,” said Natalie.

  “Sneaky,” said David. “You’re turning into quite the criminal.”

  Natalie glared at him.

  “I thought the ball swap went very well, and my aim was better than expected.”

  “I controlled the ball’s velocity and direction via a remote in my pocket. There’s no way, you could’ve hit with that accuracy,” said Natalie, pulling out a mass of electrodes from her backpack. “That’s why we swapped the balls.”

  “I know. That’s the point of the joke,” said David. “Lighten up, Nats.”

  Natalie ignored him, looking solemn as she attached the electrodes to Raphael’s head and chest. She connected them to her goldfish computer.

  “So, what are we doing anyway?” asked David.

  “We’re recording a 4-D film,” said Natalie.

  “You mean like Norbert Bransby’s A Herbal Epic?”

  “Yes,” said Natalie. “The fourth dimension in these films is time. We’re
going back in time through Raphael’s memory.”

  “Is it accurate?”

  “Extremely. We’re tapping directly into the stored retinal images, not the brain’s interpretation of them,” said Natalie. “The computer programme will act as a brain and sort it out, either projecting the memory as it was seen or with the subject at the centre, depending on your settings.”

  “So, we’re going to know exactly what happened?” asked David, leaning nearer to the fountain screen. “That’s awesome.”

  Natalie snapped the clutch shut.

  “No, David, it’s not. It’s extremely intrusive,” said Natalie. “The technology is fairly new, so we don’t yet have a full understanding of the ethical implications, and it’s usually conducted under very strict parameters set by the person whose mind is being read.”

  “So they can control which memories you access?” asked David.

  “When they are awake and with a normal running of the programme, yes,” said Natalie. “Also, the mind reading usually is done by a close friend, to further safeguard the subject.”

  “Which in Norbert’s case was Gill,” said David.

  “Yes, but Raphael has no such safeguards, and he’s unconscious, so we can virtually direct the subconscious anywhere,” said Natalie. “Oh, this is such a betrayal of his hospitality.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for Raphael, but if someone were going to hack into my brain, I can’t think of a better person for the job than you,” said David.

  “So, you’d have no problem with me poking my nose into everything you’ve ever seen or done—all the embarrassing regrets, mistakes and awkward situations? David, we don’t even go there with our own minds. Why would you willingly let someone else there?”

  “Hmm… you have a point,” said David, “though I’m sure you’ll be very discreet.”

  Natalie shivered. “Let’s just get on with it.”

  “What would you like me to do?” asked David.

  “Hmm… maybe just send the birds out, and stay near Raphael’s head in case there’s an emergency. I don’t know how he’s going to react.”