by Kara Dalkey
Finally, her parents finished eating. Tyra struck a chime beside her dining couch, and Sala, their housemaid, who was of the Shrimp Clan, came in and cleared dishes away.
With a couple of flaps of his arms and tail, Pontus raised his girth from his couch. “We are off to see to Garun again,” he announced to Nia. “But your, uh, your presence won’t be needed there. Try not to get into trouble while we’re gone.”
Nia forced herself to smile. “I won’t.”
“You might begin thinking,” Tyra said, “of what you will say to the Master of Archives when I arrange an interview with him for you. You want to be sure to make a good impression.”
“I will,” Nia promised. “Wish Garun good luck for me.”
“He won’t be needing luck,” Pontus grumbled. Again, Tyra touched his arm, concern in her face.
Why is Father so on edge? Nia wondered. She decided to make a graceful exit before she set him off further. “Of course. Have a good evening. I’ll just be in my room, reading.” She swam off to her sleeping chamber.
Mermyd homes, by tradition as well as necessity, were built rather like the structure of a coral reef. Each clan had its palace, and individual families’ homes branched off from the palace. Each branch was a series of connected rooms. Because of the need to keep water flowing, there were very few solid doors in a mermyd home. Sometimes cloth would be used to cover entryways, and windows would be covered with a fine mesh net to keep out the occasional inquisitive dolphin, sea turtle, or mermyd child. But this meant that privacy was a rare thing in mermyd life. So Nia had to actually go into her sleep chamber, nestle onto her hammock of silken cord net, take up her kelpaper journal, and pretend to read until she was certain her parents had left the family branch.
When Nia felt secure that they were gone, she undid the netting on the window and slipped out.
Dyonis, as befitting his rank as elder and former Avatar, had the entire uppermost floor of the Bluefin Palace as his residence. Ordinarily, visitors would enter his dwelling by way of a swimwell within the palace itself. But Nia, ever since childhood, had always entered through the north window, and Dyonis had never seemed to mind. It was a long swim up—Nia was not one of those mermyds so skilled at getting oxygen out of the water that she could levitate using air in her lungs. But she did not mind the exercise. And the view from on high, near the crest of the Dome, was spectacular. The whole city glittered below her.
Sure enough, the north window was unnetted. And when Nia swam in, she was greeted by the smiling head butler, Keril of the Ramora Clan, who was dressed in an elegant pearl-gray tunic. “Ah, Lady Niniane. We have been expecting you.”
“You have?” Nia had known Keril almost as long as she’d known Dyonis, and she felt as comfortable with him as she did with her grandfather. “He’s not mad at me, is he? For the way I’ve behaved about Garun?”
Keril’s smile grew broader. “Oh, no, no. He’s been hoping you would come visit so that he might explain matters to you. Right this way, if you please.” Keril guided her to Dyonis’s study, even though Nia knew the way as well as she knew her own home.
When she entered, Dyonis was standing at a huge window, his back to her, overlooking a tidal-pool garden of bright anemones, sea cucumber, and coral. It was a display of wealth to have such a garden, for in order to re-create the conditions of the shallows, one had to supply more light and less pressure, and this was costly. The window itself was cut and polished from one piece of crystal, also very costly.
“Master,” said Keril, “Lady Niniane is here to see you.” And then he turned and swam away, leaving them alone.
“Good evening, Grandfather,” Nia said.
Dyonis turned around then, and Nia could see the weariness in his eyes. He looked even older than he had the last time she had seen him. He smiled, but joy did not fill his eyes. “Ah, Nia. I’m so glad you finally came to see me.” He swam over to her and gently hugged her.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, and no. But isn’t that always the way of things?” He held out an arm to indicate the garden beyond the window. “We see the beauty of the colorful array, without thinking of the struggles of nature that cause such colors to be.”
Nia scrunched up her face. “You sound very philosophical tonight,” she said.
“It’s a time for reexamining one’s philosophy,” he commented. “Now, you’re here, I assume, because you wish to know why Garun was chosen over you. Am I correct?”
“Well, yes, if it isn’t too rude to ask,” Nia said.
“You may ask me anything; Nia, you know that,” he responded.
Truly? Nia wondered. I may put that statement to the test. “So,” she prompted, “why was I not chosen?”
Dyonis smiled gently and grasped her shoulders. “Please understand. Were circumstances different, you would have been my first choice, and the other elders would have agreed.”
“Circumstances?”
Dyonis sighed. “Now and then, it will become apparent to the High Council that a particular sort of Avatar is needed, for the sake of balance or because of a particular quality. The Councils will encourage the elders of each clan to look for candidates who have the needed quality or personality. Not every clan will choose to follow the Council’s recommendation, of course—”
“But those who do have a better chance of seeing their candidate Ascend,” Nia cut in flatly.
Dyonis blinked. “Oh, dear, what you must think of me. No, no, that is not the reason. I am—was—an Avatar, and I have served on the Low Council most of my life. I know how vital it is to have minds that can work together, with traits and talents complementary to one another. Therefore, alas for you, when the Councils made such a recommendation to the Bluefin Clan, I was more willing to listen than other elders.” Dyonis took her hands in his. “The quality they seek, Garun has.”
“And I do not.”
Dyonis paused. “Correct,” he said.
“What? What don’t I have?”
A sad, ironic smile played on Dyonis’ lips. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but there are things the Councils choose not to reveal about their decisions.”
Nia threw out her hands in exasperation. “Well, if they’ve found the candidate with the personality they want, why bother with the Trials at all? Why not just declare Garun the new Avatar and be done with it?”
Dyonis shook his head. “Garun must still prove himself. He may have weaknesses we have not perceived that may become apparent during the Trials. And there may be some obscure candidate from some other clan whom the Councils had not noticed, who may prove him- or herself even better qualified. If anything, the Trials may be more necessary than ever in this instance.”
“I see.” Nia crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the floor. “I had been hoping for so long to become an Avatar like you, and now, because I lack some particular quality that I had no way of knowing would be needed, that chance is gone.”
“I know it must seem terribly unfair, Nia. But Fortune is all too often unfair. Try as we might to force justice upon the world, Fate confounds our efforts. Please believe me when I tell you that it is all for the best.”
“How can I believe you when you can’t even tell me why?” Nia burst out, her voice rising. “Lately it seems this perfect home, this perfect world of Atlantis is filled with . . . half-lies and secrets.”
Dyonis stared at her with raised brows. “Ah. You have come to the end of illusion,” he said. “That is a difficult time of life. But nations have secrets for the same reason families have secrets, Nia. To protect those in their care.”
Aha, Nia thought. He admits our family has secrets.
“Believe me,” Dyonis went on, “despite what you may think, the government of Atlantis is outstandingly benign, particularly when you compare it to the governments of land-dweller kingdoms. We have dwelled in peace for centuries here beneath the waves, while above us kingdoms rise and fall like the tides of the sea. So tell me, Nia
. What other secrets have you uncovered that have led to this new way of looking at your world?”
Now I can ask him . . . but how do I ask without getting Cephan in trouble? “Well, while talking to me after his political history lecture today, Master Zale at the Academy let something slip . . . that maybe he shouldn’t have,” Nia began, figuring it was the safest way to bring up the topic. “About how not every Avatar has resigned voluntarily.” Nia realized that she could now be getting Master Zale in trouble, and as unpleasant as the instructor was, he surely did not deserve that. But it was too late now.
“Ah,” said Dyonis softly. “Ma’el. He was probably referring to Ma’el.”
Nia’s heart raced. “Yes, um, I think that was it. Who was Ma’el?”
Dyonis sighed a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t speak of him either. But I have already kept so much hidden from you. And perhaps Ma’el’s example may help you see your current situation a little more clearly. But this story must be repeated to no one, do you understand?”
“Yes, of course.” Nia nodded.
Dyonis paused a moment before beginning. “Ma’el was as you are when he Ascended to the Low Council. He was intelligent, curious, strong, determined. He was training to be a physician when he joined us, and his skills in healing were phenomenal. He was already known, in the Academy, for his work in dissecting fishes and studying their inner workings. Very often, the subjects of his studies survived to swim again, thanks to his deft hands and quick mind.
“He was in the top two in nearly all of his Trials, except for the Fifth—the one of wisdom. This should have been a warning, but we paid little attention. Every one of us in the Low Council thought him admirable and were glad to have him joined to Joab, his Farworlder king, and serve beside us. His knowledge of healing was a great asset when the Councils were called upon to use their powers, and he seemed always willing to learn from the rest of us.
“It was not until he had served with us several years that we became aware of his . . . unusual philosophy. Somehow, Ma’el felt more keenly than most Atlanteans that we had been ill served by history. He felt the Sinking had been a mistake, that it had been a cowardly act to run away from the barbaric land-dwellers. He felt that Atlantis should resurface and that we of the Council should use our powers to conquer the land-dwellers and impose our civilization upon them by force.
“Ordinarily, an Avatar’s king will mitigate such strong judgmental emotions. But unbeknownst to us, Joab was strangely attuned to Ma’el’s beliefs. They began to spend more time in secretive seclusion from the rest of the Councils. It was reported he was using his skills to . . . enhance the abilities of our open-sea spies. The number of ships sinking near Atlantis began to increase and we discovered that Ma’el and Joab were using their telekinetic powers for evil purposes. Obviously, we could not allow an Avatar and king with a philosophy so at odds with the peaceful charter of Atlantis to continue to serve on the Councils. I was the one to first recommend Ma’el’s removal. I think he never forgave me for that.”
“Oh,” Nia said, not sure what else to say. Is that why Ma’el found me so “interesting”?
“So Ma’el and Joab were removed and punished,” Dyonis went on, “and part of the sentence was that we do not speak of them.”
“Why . . . I mean, what was their punishment?” Nia asked, though she knew perfectly well. “Were they banished?”
Dyonis chuckled sadly. “And unleash an Avatar and king at full power among the unsuspecting land-dwellers? We feared what he and Joab might do, so we could not banish them. But we do not execute mermyds. Therefore, they continue to live and work in Atlantis. But I will not tell you where, for that would be a grave crime, and even I would suffer for it.”
“A grave crime,” Nia repeated, feeling fear creep coldly around her heart. What if I’ve endangered Cephan already?
She glanced around the dark study and saw light from the tropical garden glimmering off a long, narrow object hanging on the wall. Nia swam over to it.
It’s a sword, she realized once she was closer. A land-dweller weapon. She’d heard of such things in the Academy and seen them carried by guards on ceremonial occasions. Apparently they were effective in air, but in water they were nearly useless. She’d never noticed this in her grandfather’s study before. “Why do you have this here, Grandfather?” she asked. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Ah, well, now, that has an interesting story,” Dyonis said, sounding more like his old self. “It was made long, long ago, before the Sinking. Legend says it was forged by an Avatar, working with a land-dweller blacksmith. It is said that the Avatar’s Farworlder king died just as the sword was being finished. As the Avatar was not long for this world himself, as a final act of friendship, he removed the oculus gland from the dead Farworlder and placed it into the hilt of that sword. It has been said ever since that the sword thereby retained some magical power of the Farworlder, particularly toward encouraging peace and friendship.
“It had been intended that the sword be given as a gift to the first land-dwelling king that the ancient Councils deemed worthy as a peace-bringer. But then the Sinking occurred, and there was no longer any chance to use the sword for that purpose. Now the sword is carried on ceremonial occasions as a symbol of the hope for peace. I brought it out for display since it will be . . . well, since it might be needed in the Ascension, if our clan is elevating one of our own.”
Again, a strange comment about Garun, Nia thought. And this time from her grandfather. But right now, her attention was held by the sword. “A weapon as a symbol of peace?” she asked.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Dyonis said, winking.
“What is this inscription on the blade?” Nia asked, running her fingers over it lightly.
“It was put there by the human maker. It is in an ancient land-dweller language. I believe it reads ‘Eikis Kalli Werr,’ which translates roughly as ‘May you possess the peace of the Great Waters.’ Ah, you are about to be treated to a great honor. Someone has joined us.”
Nia felt a presence behind her, and she turned around. And froze. There was Ar’an, Dyonis’s Farworlder and former king, hovering just an arm’s length away from her. The creature was longer than she was tall, its bulbous head alone longer than her torso. Its eyes were a reddish-gold, and its skin was brown with olive-green blotches. It reached out with one tentacle and lightly touched her hand.
Nia’s heart pounded, and it was all she could do not to flinch from the Farworlder’s touch. It had been one thing to face Joab separated by a wall. But it was even more unsettling to be so close that a Farworlder could touch her. She could not forget that it was an alien creature with a mind infinitely wiser than hers. She could not forget that those tentacles undulating gently on the water current could surround and crush her in an instant. She couldn’t help wondering at this moment if she really would have been able to get past her fears if she’d been made an Avatar. Nia swallowed hard and stammered, “It . . . it . . . is an honor, M-Majesty.”
A strange feeling washed over her, as if her mind were being bathed in freshened water, her thoughts soothed, her fears pushed aside. And then Nia realized it was Ar’an reaching into her mind, just as Joab had. Oh, no! Even Ar’an is doing it! How much can Ar’an read my thoughts? Can he tell that I was lying? Nia, unable to help herself, became even more agitated than before.
“Nia?” Dyonis asked, concerned. “What’s the matter? There’s no reason to be scared. Believe me, Ar’an would rather die than hurt you. You are perfectly safe.”
“I—I know. I just . . . I should be leaving. My parents are expecting me. I—I have to go now. Thank you, Dyonis. Thank you, Ar’an. I have to go.” Nia bowed to them both and swam as fast as she dared out of the study and out of the north window.
Is Fate trying to entrap me? she wondered frantically as she swam down to her home. Will every Farworlder I am ever near now help itself to my thoughts? Have I just doomed Cephan and myself? What am I going to do?
/> Nia slipped into her sleep chamber window and carefully replaced the netting over it. Fortunately, Tyra and Pontus had not come home yet. Nia curled up tightly in her hammock and tried to think.
Chapter Seven
“Are you sure this is allowed?” Nia asked. She looked up at the huge statue of one of the founding Avatars of Atlantis, Poseidonis, who straddled the great archway. He seemed to be staring down at her in grave disapproval.
“No, it’s not allowed,” Callimar replied. “That’s why we’re doing it.”
It was the day after Nia’s disturbing visit to Dyonis, and when Callimar and a few of her friends had stopped by to invite her out for an adventure, Nia had been happy for a chance to be distracted. But sneaking into the Great Arena while the competitors for the Trials were doing their training didn’t seem like the best idea. Nia had done enough forbidden things recently, and adding more to the list was clearly tempting Fate.
It was also going to be painful to watch the other mermyds training. Nia still wished so much that she could be among them, getting ready for the Trials. On the other hand, it was a chance to possibly see Cephan—at least from a distance. That thought had finally made her decide that the trip was worth it.
Callimar was flirting like crazy, doing her best to distract the Orca guard at Poseidonis’s feet. Callimar’s friends—Thalassa, another Sunfish, and Pelagia, of the Mantaray Clan—took Nia by the arms and led her toward a secret entrance they knew about.
The Great Arena had been constantly rebuilt and enlarged as the population of Atlantis had grown over the centuries. Rumor had it that land-dweller architects had been consulted long ago, Farworlders not caring much for buildings. The Great Arena looked impressive and seamless from the outside, but in truth was a hodgepodge of buildings and styles, one on top of another. This meant there were occasional gaps and unintentional tunnels, as well as stairs or doorways that led nowhere. Crime was not a real issue in Atlantis, and the builders had had no reason to see that every possible entry was sealed. So a reasonably clever and curious young mermyd could always find a way in.
