Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  “Can do,” said David. He shooed Kiwi, Crusty and Mozart from the room and hurried back. Natalie watched as the chattering birds filed from the squelsh court, trying to suppress the sick feeling that was bubbling in her stomach.

  Come on, Nats, you’ve got this, she thought. She plugged in the last wire and opened the clutch.

  C h a p t e r 7 5

  A young Raphael stood over a bed in a shadowy room inside a mountain cave, stuffing clothes and small, glass bottles into a canvas bag. He glanced around as he packed, looking distressed and anxious, as though afraid he might be caught. On his wrist was wrapped a familiar, greyish-black band. David gasped.

  “He had the shield?” asked David, watching as Raphael’s memories played out above his head. “When did he have the shield?”

  “Shh, David, we’re recording now,” whispered Natalie. “We can ask questions later.”

  Raphael threw the bag over his shoulder and hurried from the room. At the entrance to the cave, he stopped. He shivered and then began to tremble. Raphael dropped the bag and started convulsing. Natalie looked down at the real Raphael, who was shaking under the tangled mass of electrodes. She hastily typed into her computer.

  “What’s happening?” asked David.

  “The computer’s sending uneven electric signals to Raphael’s brain,” said Natalie, typing frantically. “It’s inducing a seizure.”

  David turned Raphael on his side and held his head. Natalie continued to type.

  “Should we just rip the electrodes off?” asked David.

  “We can’t; it may cause brain damage,” said Natalie, looking scared. “Oh, I should’ve known better than to risk this. The computer’s wiring is all whacked from the journey through Faerkbërde.”

  Raphael’s body snapped like a suffocating fish, knocking a drink bottle near the squelsh court over himself and the electrodes. The wires sizzled. Natalie swore.

  “Can you do something?” asked David.

  “I’m trying,” said Natalie. “I’m trying to reprogram the computer to run around the glitches. It’s restarting in three…two…”

  Raphael’s body sunk into a quiet calm as the computer rebooted. He stopped twitching and lay flat, as though sleeping. Natalie sighed.

  “I’m going to pull him out now,” said Natalie, her hands shaking. “This was such a bad idea.”

  “Wait, what?” asked David, catching Natalie’s arm. “You can’t stop now. He had the shield.”

  Natalie stared at him, horrified. “Did you not just see what happened now?”

  David glanced at Raphael and shrugged. “He looks fine to me.”

  “He just had a seizure, David,” shrieked Natalie.

  “And we may never have this opportunity again to find out what—”

  Raphael screamed and held his arm out as though ready to punch. Natalie, seeing the position of his hands, grabbed David by the arm and flung herself behind a bench. The room exploded with curved blades as Raphael fired them in quick succession from his wrist. David recognised them as the weapons the mers had used in war to torture the humans. Unable to kill humans outright, if a blade struck the skin, it would cause unceasing, excruciating pain until the victim eventually killed himself. David crouched with Natalie behind the bench, shielding Natalie as a blade whizzed past his ear.

  “Silence, is the mer mad or what?” asked David.

  “The seizure must have triggered his memory of the war,” said Natalie.

  “Can you sedate him?” asked David.

  “He’s already sedated,” said Natalie.

  A blade stuck into the front side of the bench as Raphael continued to fire like a madman, trapped in his wartime memories. David hugged Natalie tight as another blade whirled past them.

  “We have to do something Nats. We won’t survive much longer.”

  “Um…”

  “Do you have any ideas?” asked David.

  “I’m thinking…thinking.”

  Natalie glanced at his wrists. “Can you spin?”

  David tightened the muscles in his forearm, feeling a tiny wisp of filament building under the skin. He nodded.

  “Yes, but it won’t be strong. My arms aren’t very wet.”

  “Great, I need you to make quicklime,” said Natalie.

  “Quicklime?” asked David. “I don’t know how to make quicklime. I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Calcium oxide,” said Natalie, pulling a nearby rubbish bin toward them. “The method is basically the same as spinning chalk. Calcium carbonate denatures into calcium oxide. The one makes the other.”

  “But how do I switch the filament from one to the other?”

  “You just do,” said Natalie, pulling a half-empty water bottle from the bin. “Just try.”

  “Okay, lime…lime…” David repeated the word over and over in his head. As he did, he could feel his arms growing hot around the wrist. A shivering, blue strand emerged from his wrist and hardened into a white lump. Natalie tossed it into the water bottle and shook it up. Then she took clear plastic liner from the bin.

  “Okay, I’m going to need you to hold Raphael down, aim his wrists away from us while I work near his head. Do you think you can manage?”

  “I can try,” said David.

  “Right. Let’s move.” Natalie shouldered the bench they were crouched behind, moving it a few centimetres forward. David also pushed against it and the bench scraped farther along the carpet like a giant, crawling shield. Slowly David and Natalie worked their way toward Raphael, who was still firing blades with reckless abandon, stopping less than a metre away. Natalie pulled out an empty, rubber sandwich box from her backpack. “Are you ready?”

  David nodded.

  “Now!”

  Natalie and David rolled out from behind the bench. David dove for Raphael’s arms and aimed them toward the wall, wrestling with Raphael as he fired more toxic blades. Natalie pulled the plastic bag over Raphael’s head and slid the sandwich box filled with limewater inside the bag. She held the plastic tightly around his neck. David turned.

  “What are you doing, Nats?”

  “I’m inducing hypoxia,” said Natalie. “The reduced oxygen level should cause a euphoric state. I’m hoping it will calm him.”

  “You’re smothering him?” asked David. “Won’t that make him panic more?”

  “No. The limewater’s scrubbing the excess carbon dioxide out of the bag. He doesn’t know what’s happening.”

  “Isn’t this really dangerous?” asked David.

  “Yes, it is,” said Natalie.

  David leaned across Raphael as Natalie tightened the bag. Without warning, Raphael smiled and lowered his wrists. Natalie ripped the bag from his neck and slapped his cheek. The mer gasped and breathed normally, lost in a dreamless sleep.

  Several hours later, David sat near the window of Raphael’s library with a book on the history of Aerothian music on his lap. He glanced at a few words without really seeing them, preferring instead to watch the fish outside swimming around the coral. Kiwi, Crusty and Mozart were bickering about something indiscernible at his feet. He threw a few sunflower seeds from his pocket to the floor as the door to the squelsh court creaked open. Natalie emerged with her backpack and clutch, looking ashy and pale.

  “Are you okay, Nats?” asked David.

  “I’m fine,” said Natalie quietly. “I’ve destroyed all the blades. Everything is back to normal. How’s Raphael?”

  “I just left him a few minutes ago,” said David. “He’s really angry at me for hitting the ball at him, but from what I can tell he has no memory of anything else.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Natalie.

  David smiled. “Don’t worry, Nats. We’ll get it right next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” said Natalie. “I am never doing t
hat again.”

  “But you have to, Natalie. We’re so close to knowing what happened,” said David.

  “I—I don’t care,” said Natalie. “Let’s just trust the belief that he’s a good mer.”

  “But what about the war and the disappearances? Just because he had a bit of a rough go this round doesn’t exonerate him. Don’t forget Raphael pled guilty to such horrible crimes—”

  “We almost killed him, David,” said Natalie. “I almost killed him.”

  “But—”

  “Leave it, David, please,” said Natalie, on the verge of tears. David gave her a hug.

  “Okay, we’ll talk in the morning,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. Natalie trudged up the spiral staircase toward the aviary, looking as though a heavy weight lie on her shoulders. David watched her with a jumpy, irritated feeling, his curious mind racing with questions.

  C h a p t e r 7 6

  In a nearby room, Liza watched the reef turn various shades of silvery-blue as the night rose. Most of the smaller fish were hiding in cracks between the coral, while the larger ones floated lazily near the bottom. Patsy, the bright yellow ribbon eel, buried herself in the sand, offering a quick flick of the tail as a last goodnight. Liza hugged her knees as she stared at the quiet reef. She grabbed her pillow and removed the pillowcase, tearing it open to resemble a veil. She wrapped it around her head and stared out at the water, hollow and emotionless, like a body in a shroud.

  Back in the City, Dominic clenched his teeth as he strained against a pulley, knee-deep in orange-brown mud. He was lifting a terra-cotta bowl of clay weights above the mud pit in the Jungle Gymnasium and Health Club. Each time the bowl lowered, another weight rolled into the bowl via a bamboo rail. Dominic checked the changing scorecard as he pulled, raising the bowl again.

  “Fifty-one point three kilos…not bad,” said Gabe, taking a seat at the edge of a bench. A gym attendant hurried to his side, offering a glass of water.

  “Thank you,” said Gabe. “Please make sure this side is undisturbed. His Majesty needs his privacy.”

  The attendant nodded and left, closing the glass doors in the pathway behind him. Dominic pulled the bowl of clay up again.

  “What brings you to the Jungle, Gabe? Don’t you see enough of me?” asked Dominic.

  “I came to ask you about Beatrice,” said Gabe.

  “Beatrice? What do you want with her?” asked Dominic, straining under the weight.

  “I want to know how you feel about her,” said Gabe.

  “Why, are you sweet on her?” asked Dominic with a smirk.

  “Please answer the question,” said Gabe. “Do you like her?”

  “I don’t dislike her, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Would you ever consider marrying her?” asked Gabe.

  “Me, marry?” asked Dominic. “After the disaster that was my first marriage, I don’t think I’m the marrying type.”

  Gabe sipped his water.

  “You look displeased,” said Dominic.

  “Given the recent events, I think you may have to consider another marriage. It will appease the people.”

  “How so? Saladin ruled for years without a wife,” said Dominic. “I see no reason why I cannot do the same.”

  “You are not Saladin.”

  “Damn it, Gabriel, do you really think I don’t know that?” shouted Dominic. He released the rope, sending the bowl crashing down onto a rock and shattering it to pieces. Dominic stared at it angrily as the clay melted into the mud.

  “Apologies, you know I only have your best interest at heart,” said Gabe.

  “I am sick and tired of being compared to that old man,” said Dominic, attaching another bowl to the rope. “If my uncle was such a wise and venerable ruler, he would’ve never ended up dead.”

  He pulled a nearby lever, sending a row of clay weights rolling into the new bowl. Dominic turned.

  “So why even bring up this topic in the first place? What sinister, ulterior motive are you scheming?”

  “I would never—”

  “Oh, shut up, Gabriel. You know I’m only joking,” said Dominic with a grin.

  Gabe sighed. “Of course.”

  “So why bring up Beatrice?” asked Dominic. “Do you want her for yourself now?”

  “Didn’t she tell you?” asked Gabe.

  “Tell me what?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  The rope slipped in Dominic’s hands. Dominic caught it before another bowl crashed onto the rock. He stared at Gabe.

  “You’re joking,” said Dominic.

  “No,” said Gabe.

  Dominic shook his head and chuckled. “That little slut.”

  “She claims you’re the father,” said Gabe.

  “What? That’s ridiculous. I can’t possibly—”

  Dominic paused.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Damn,” whispered Dominic. “It only happened that one time.”

  “Please say you’re not serious,” said Gabe.

  Dominic shrugged. “I was in a bad space, Gabriel. She was very comforting.”

  Gabe shook his head. “This is troublesome, Dominic. The girl is very committed. She will make trouble for you if her child is not recognised. I think she’s even prepared to say you took advantage.”

  “That’s not what happened,” said Dominic, “and if anyone took advantage, it was likely her of me. I was grieving, after all.”

  “I don’t know that the Rosy Herald will see it that way,” said Gabe. “Your support is down since Liza’s death.”

  “Sort it out,” said Dominic, straining as he pulled on the rope. “I’m sure you can manage.”

  “It’s not so simple,” said Gabe.

  Dominic’s arms quivered as he pulled on the rope, straining under the weight. He leaned back to hold it steady but the rope slipped. The bowl full of weights crashed onto the rocks and shattered. He shook his head and pulled himself from the pit.

  “Well, if you can’t make it go away, I’m sure as King of Aeroth I could find someone else who could,” said Dominic, wiping his hands on a towel. Gabe grabbed his arm.

  “Now you listen to me. This is not a game that looks kindly on childish conceit,” said Gabe. “A thin crack in Imaan’s façade gave you the throne. Do not hesitate to think that others may seize the same opportunity with even half the advantage.”

  Dominic looked at Gabe’s hand, which was grabbing his arm with uncharacteristic harshness. He swallowed. “What do you propose I do?”

  “Marry her in a discreet and private ceremony,” said Gabe, letting go. “We can sort out a harem for you later if you are unhappy.”

  “Are you sure that’s the only way?” asked Dominic.

  “It is the best way, yes,” said Gabe.

  Dominic headed toward the showers, looking glum.

  “You know it’s really a fine choice when you think of it,” said Gabe, thoughtful. “Beatrice comes with similar credentials to ‘the first one,’ but she is much more respectful of you. In fact, I think you will work well together. Your minds are very similar.”

  “Oh, I do hope not, else you might have a lot more scandals to sort out in the future,” said Dominic, “but it’s fine. Make the arrangements.”

  “So, you’ll marry her?” asked Gabe.

  “Yes,” said Dominic, “though I’d rather it be sooner than later, if you’re in a hurry. I don’t want to marry her when she’s all…you know…large.”

  He turned on the tap as Gabe turned to leave, calling after him over the spray of falling water. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” asked Dominic with a smirk. “I’m getting married.”

  C h a p t e r 7 7

  Raphael sat in front of an ancient-looking loom in a room full of tapestries, pushing delicate silk threads t
hrough the taut strings on the loom. A round, purple-black bruise had risen on his temple. He barely looked up as David entered with two cups of rooibos tea.

  “How are you feeling?” asked David.

  Raphael glared at him. David smiled awkwardly and set a cup of tea near the loom. “It’s a pity you don’t have any broken ribs for me to mend,” said David. “I’d so like to practice.”

  “I’d rather die of the injury than trust my bones to an imbecilic half-breed like you,” snapped Raphael.

  “Well, then, I gather you’ll be happy to know Natalie and I are making arrangements to leave,” mumbled David, sipping his tea.

  “Finally, some good news,” said Raphael.

  “We’re planning on going to Paradise Island before returning to Larimar,” said David. “I’d like to know more about the portal you mentioned in your letter—the one you claimed would take me back there.”

  “I never said it would take you to Paradise,” said Raphael. “I said it would take you to your former world, which is a quote from the Nephil Histories.”

  “While we’re on the subject, what kind of book was this Nephil Histories?” asked David.

  “Utopian fantasy,” said Raphael.

  David stared at him. “You mean to tell me that I could have died because you imagined something in your fantasy novel and claimed it might exist?”

  “In the letter to which you refer, I simply quoted a fantastic work of fiction in between statements of fact, one of which warned you that the venture isn’t entirely honest,” said Raphael.

  “So, you basically admitted you lied and then lied some more?” asked David.

  Raphael shrugged. “I didn’t know a merman existed until you showed up in my moat, and I wrote about them in the Nephil Histories. I also wrote about a portal in the same book, so given the former, perhaps it can be correlated that the latter may also exist.”

  “You know, after all this, I think I prefer the humans,” said David, rising to leave. “At least I know where I stand with them. Unlike mers, humans usually try to kill me outright instead of hiding it behind an argument.”