by Jim McCann
Rising a mile high in the center of this magnificent city was a pointed spire that appeared to be made of pure silver. It was lit by radiant energy that pulsed from it and through the city. At the base was a large opening with a circular energy wheel lighting what appeared to be a grand throne room, open on three-quarters so that whoever sat on the throne could gaze out upon the massive kingdom.
Arthur turned to Mera, his jaw so open she thought his beard might touch his lap. She simply smirked in response.
Mera brought the ship closer to the wall. Looking around, Arthur saw all manner of races he’d never encountered before, riding various sea creatures or in vehicles that those on the surface could never have dreamt up. There were mer-creatures that were half humanoid, half fish or shark or dolphin—any number of combinations, Arthur noted—some humanoid on the top half and even some reversed in their combinations. All were headed to the gates of Atlantis’s capital city.
Arthur reflexively gripped his mother’s trident harder as his eyes fell upon figures from his darkest childhood nightmares. Although he was only three years old when he saw them last, the image of Atlantean guards in their white-and-silver armored suits was seared in his brain. Surrounding the wall were dozens of these sentries, mounted on large armored sharks.
“Why build a wall and bridge underwater?” Arthur asked, tearing his gaze from the soldiers.
“The Gateway Bridge is a remnant of the old world. And it’s the only way in or out of Atlantis.” Mera was still surprised at how little the son of Atlantis’s former queen actually knew of his birthright kingdom.
Arthur snorted in derision. “Can’t they just swim over the wall?”
“Security getting into the city is impenetrable. Even if someone were to sneak past the guards, they’d never make it far enough to evade the hydro-cannons.” Arthur gave her another questioning glance at this.
“People are always trying to get into Atlantis. Everyone wants to live in the greatest capital in the world.” Mera’s voice was filled with wonder at the last part. Arthur let out another grunt, not swayed by her words.
They approached a border guard at his check post. Tension rose in Arthur again. Sensing this, Mera waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I have diplomatic clearance.”
Arthur was sardonic. “Right. Princess. Almost forgot.”
Mera ignored him as they moved into Atlantis proper. Neither noticed the border guard as he gave her ship a second glance, raised his scanning device, and recorded their entrance. He punched in a code, and the scan was beamed to his superiors, Mera and Arthur none the wiser.
The city was even more astounding inside. Arthur turned to see crustaceans as tall as him walking about. Even more sea-animal/humanoid varietals jostled and navigated their way through the city, swimming in lanes that went in all directions, at all angles. His head whipped around as he caught sight of a hydro-powered train zooming past, filled with more residents.
Once they were sufficiently away from the wall and mixed in with the crowds, Mera spotted a clear path and angled her craft down into the deeper parts of the city. Here the city grew darker as the bioluminescence of the jellyfish and other creatures above faded. The craft’s lights revealed a far different world than what existed mere meters above. Crumbling ruins littered broken paths that looked as though they were once streets. Arches cracked, rubble blocking whatever entrances remained to the buildings that once stood there. There were carvings similar to the warrior statues that stood towering above, but these were more simplified, and long forgotten.
“Guess the cleaning crew forgot this area,” Arthur said.
“This is what’s left of the Old City,” Mera offered by way of explanation. “There’s a safe house here. The Highborns never venture to the seafloor.”
“Highborns?” Arthur raised his eyebrow. “Seriously?”
Mera ignored him, pointing to a hulking shadow ahead. “We’re here.”
As they grew closer, Arthur realized they were steering into a blown-out hole in the side of a huge sunken sailing vessel, centuries old. Like the residents surrounding it, the ship was long forgotten. Docking alongside it, Mera and Arthur—still holding his trident—ejected from her ship and swam into the blown-out hole. As they entered, Arthur felt the water . . . end. Suddenly, he was standing on the floor of the ship, breathing oxygen again.
“What—?” Arthur looked around. Everything around them was dry!
“An added layer of protection,” Mera said, pointing to the bubble that Arthur now noticed surrounded the ship. “Only Highborns can breathe in both water and air, thus the pocket barrier.”
“Plus,” a voice came from the shadows, “it helps keep the animals out.” Vulko stepped into the light, revealing himself. He was beaming at the sight of Arthur.
Arthur gave his mentor a smirk. “Finally got your wish, Vulko. I’m here.”
Darkness crossed Vulko’s face. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”
“I can’t believe Orm attacked—” Mera blurted out as Vulko raised a hand to stop her.
“Oh, that wasn’t an attack. It was a warning to the surface world.”
“Provoked by what?” Mera asked.
“Your father and King Orm were attacked by a surface submarine. It fired upon them as they met in the old King’s Gathering.”
“What?!” Arthur was incredulous. “That’s impossible. To the surface, Atlantis is just a myth. An old wives’ tale at best. They’d have no way of knowing how or where to attack!”
Vulko gave Arthur a sad look. “I was there.”
Arthur and Mera were stunned by this. A first-hand account?
“Nereus now sides with Orm.” Vulko delivered the news to Mera, who looked down, shoulders slumped for the first time since Arthur had met her. Vulko turned to Arthur. “If we’re to prevent this war, you must dethrone Orm now.”
Arthur looked at Vulko as if he’d grown fins. “You want me to become king?! I was just supposed to come down here and beat some sense into a half brother I’ve never met. Or clear the way for you, Vulko.”
“The throne is not mine to claim, but it is yours. By birthright.”
Vulko had given him the same argument multiple times as he had tried to convince Arthur to join him in Atlantis.
Arthur scoffed. “They don’t know me. How could they ever accept a half-breed as their king? If I even wanted it.”
“By winning over the people. Orm rules by might. You are driven by your mother’s side: heart.” Vulko placed a piece of aged sharkskin on a nearby table. It had been used as paper, an ornate trident drawn on the surface. “And by retrieving this.”
Arthur lifted his own trident. “Already got one, thanks.”
Vulko smiled, a gleam in his eye. “Not like this one. This is the Lost Trident of Atlan.” Vulko spoke with a reverence Arthur had never heard.
Arthur gave him a pointed look. “I know this one. It’s the only story my mother told me that I remember. I used to pretend I was Atlan, waving around a wooden fork, like a complete dork.” Arthur’s face flushed in embarrassment as he let that last part slip.
“You brought me down here to chase after a bedtime story?” he asked, annoyed now.
“The surface world thinks Atlantis is a bedtime story, do they not?” Mera asked, a sly grin crossing her face. Checkmate. “That is what you said, right?”
“That’s different,” Arthur snapped back.
“Is it?” Vulko asked, playing referee. “This is just as real as the impossible city above you.”
“All right. So Atlan’s mighty trident was the most powerful thing down here, if I’m remembering. Then he got all power-mad and Atlantis broke apart and sank into the Seven Kingdoms.” Arthur stifled a grin as he caught Mera’s impressed look. “Now, I’ll bite. What happened to it?”
“It disappeared with Atlan. Disgraced, he left Atlantis to live his days in exile, taking the trident with him, fearful that another might abuse its power,” Vulko said.
&
nbsp; “But if we can retrieve it, the bearer of Atlan’s trident can unite the Seven Kingdoms once again,” Mera said, optimism creeping into her voice.
Arthur remained unconvinced. “If it’s so powerful, why hasn’t Orm gone after it?”
“Because he would rather rule the Seven Kingdoms by sheer force, uniting them under a banner of fear and war.” Vulko’s voice was grave. “A goal he is close to achieving. And a war that only you can stop, for only a descendent of Atlan may wield the trident—a son of Atlanna.”
“Atlantis killed my mother for giving birth to me! No ancient fork is going to change that, even if I could find it!” Arthur erupted.
Vulko pulled out a cylinder from the folds of his robe. “Loyalists of your mother—yes, they exist—have been scouring the seas for clues. They recently found this. It’s an ancient codex that needs further translation. It bears a destination on it. Not the location of the Lost Trident, I fear, but we believe it leads to a clue to where the trident can be found.”
As Vulko was about to hand the canister to Arthur, the trio heard a loud BOOM from the other side of the ship, followed by voices.
“Last scans indicate they came this way. Must be here somewhere.” The voice was muffled, as if spoken through a helmet. As the meaning of that dawned on Arthur, panic crossed Vulko’s face.
“Atlantean guards!” he hissed.
“How? I thought you said so-called Highborns don’t come down here.” Arthur was confused, though he raised his trident, preparing for battle.
Vulko winced. “I may have been followed,” he whispered. “Since the surface attack, Orm has been paranoid—security has been airtight.” He jammed the paper into Mera’s hand then grabbed her arm. “Hurry, Princess. You mustn’t be discovered down here.”
“What about me?!” Arthur hissed back as the two ran around a corner. He was about to follow them when a concussive blast of water blew him back, slamming him against the wall. Blearily, he looked at his approaching attackers, their cannons aimed at him.
A smile crossed the face of one, dressed differently from the rest. His armor was more ornate and skintight. His slender yet muscular body seemed to glide as he walked to Arthur and knelt down, face-to-face with his prisoner.
“Welcome home, Aquaman. Yes, I’m quite aware of who you are. I am Murk, captain of the Royal Guard. In the name of His Highness, King Orm, I place you under arrest.” Murk’s almond-shaped eyes were alight with joy at his capture. With a flash, they changed to a violent glare as he jammed a shock baton into Arthur’s chest, sending a painful jolt of electricity through his body.
Arthur stiffened in shock and two guards approached the stunned hero. Murk grabbed Arthur by the hair, expecting to find an unconscious land dweller.
Arthur was smiling.
“That was supposed to hurt? Cute.” Swiftly, Arthur hit Murk in the jaw with a massive uppercut. He grabbed the stun baton and ran up the wall behind him, flipping at the last second, parkour-style, to land behind them. With a one-two jab to each, he felled the Atlantean guards.
Arthur was turning to tell Mera and Vulko it was safe when he saw a blur of motion. A series of kicks bashed him repeatedly in the face: Murk’s training as captain of the Royal Guard was in full display. Arthur slumped back to the ground.
“Cute moves yourself. But I’m better.” Murk upped the voltage in the stun baton and slammed it again in Arthur’s chest. This time, Arthur fell to the ground.
The last thing Arthur saw as he drifted into unconsciousness was Mera’s ship, through a small port window, speeding into the distance.
Waking, Arthur found himself in chains, shackled to a dungeon wall. It was filled with water, cavernous and rocky. He looked around and saw other prisoners lining the walls as far as he could see. None of them were human—non-Highborns, Arthur guessed.
He turned to the prisoner on his left, a decrepit wreck of a creature, a humanoid puffer fish, whose spines looked as though they had been ripped out violently.
“Don’t suppose you’re down here for planning a regime change, too, huh?” Arthur asked the creature. It turned away from him, terrified to even look Arthur in the eye. “Worth a shot. S’okay, I got a few friends here . . . somewhere.”
The sound of armored guards approaching alerted Arthur that he was not receiving friendly visitors. The guards kicked the puffer fish creature, even though it wasn’t in the way.
Arthur yanked at his chains, enraged. “What the hell was that for? Look at him! He couldn’t hurt anyone, unlike me. I’m going to—” The shock from a baton coursed through Arthur’s body, halting what it was he planned to do—something likely involving ripping limbs from the guards’ bodies.
Stunned, Arthur could barely lift his head as the guards unshackled his chains from the wall and began to swim upward, out of the dungeon, dragging Arthur behind them. The light ahead grew blinding to Arthur as they swam up a corridor and through an ornate door.
Suddenly, Arthur found himself flung to the ground. Four guards surrounding him chained each arm and leg to the floor, forcing Arthur to kneel before their king. The glow of a giant energy wheel made it difficult for Arthur to focus. Gathering his bearings, he struggled against his chains, but the guards kicked him back. Arthur looked around, noting he was on a dais made of gleaming polished silver. His stomach sank as he remembered seeing this place from a distance when he first entered Atlantis in Mera’s ship.
He knelt at the foot of a dozen steps, atop which was a throne on a large platform. On that throne sat a man with chiseled features and shortly cropped flaxen hair. The man was looking down at him, a menacing grin crossing his face. The man spoke, and Arthur’s blood rose at the words.
“Welcome to Atlantis, Brother.”
Seven
The throne room stretched out to nearly fifty feet, side to side, by Arthur’s estimation. The platform on which the throne sat was at least twenty-five feet across, with seating on either side of the throne. The throne itself had seven spikes rising above it in the shape of a trident, each spike representing one of the Seven Kingdoms, with the middle spire, presumably Atlantis, rising higher than the others. Arthur thought the throne looked spotless, as if meticulously polished. Two wings stretched out beyond the dais in either direction. Behind the throne was a giant glowing wheel. It looked like a smaller version of the battery that powered the capital city.
On the throne, dressed in golden armor and with a crown resting on his head, sat Orm. The king had not taken his eyes off his brother as Arthur took in the sheer majesty the throne room presented.
Arthur was about to speak when two figures rounded the corner: Vulko, with Mera on his arm. His mentor was dressed in his purple robes lined with golden scales, the attire of a royal adviser. As Vulko led Mera past Orm, the king smiled at the princess, but his smile never reached his eyes. Mera was wearing the same green-scaled armor Arthur had met her in. Her hair was bound up and a golden tiara sat upon her head. A warrior and a princess to the core.
The division between royalty and the rest of the population has never been clearer anywhere in the world, surface or below, Arthur thought. This was what his two allies who now flanked Orm wanted him to become? Arthur vowed never to parade himself like that.
Orm stood.
“Brother.” To Arthur’s surprise, he saw that Orm was smiling at him. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I’ve heard stories, all my life, of the son my mother bore with a surface dweller. A son who refused to acknowledge his other half, the Atlantean blood that runs through his veins. I was ashamed to have such a brother. Angered, even. But now that you’re here, I have to admit . . .”
Orm’s voice trailed off. He stared at Arthur for a moment before finishing his thought.
“I am conflicted.”
Arthur lunged at him with a speed and force that nearly caught the guards unaware. They yanked his chains back just as he was inches from Orm’s face. Orm didn’t flinch.
Lips curled, Arthur looked upon his bro
ther with nothing but hatred. “You want conflict? Unchain me and we’ll see who’s left standing!”
At Arthur’s words, Orm’s shoulders dropped slightly. Vulko couldn’t help but notice. Neither could Arthur. Orm looked at the weapon one of the guards held.
“I see you brought our mother’s trident. Is that why you came here at last? To challenge your own brother?” Though Orm tried to mask it with bravado, there was a stung tone to his voice.
“I came to stop a madman from destroying the world and getting us all killed,” Arthur said flatly.
Orm straightened. “I see. And just how do you plan on stopping the surface world from destroying us?” He began to walk around Arthur. As he spoke, the water shifted and glowed, holographic images forming, laying out the scenes he began to describe.
“For a century, they have polluted our waters.” An oil spill from a broken tanker formed, then melded into speared whales. “Killed our children and those who dwell in harmony with us.” The sea turned to fire around Arthur. “Now their skies burn and the oceans boil.” The flames parted as Orm turned and leaned into Arthur. “These are who you side yourself with over your own kind?”
Arthur held his head up defiantly. “There are no sides in a war like this.”
Orm scratched his cheek and sighed. “Arthur. Do you realize your mere presence here presents a challenge to my throne if you are not here to join me?”
“I’ll do what it takes to stop your war.” Arthur glared at his brother.
“Brother.” Orm tsked. “I had wished this would turn out differently. I was prepared to offer for you to join us. But you’re making it difficult.”
“Good. I want no part of you.” Arthur’s words stung. “If getting you off that throne saves the world, then I’m down, ‘brother.’”
