by Dima Zales
“She still has not been informed that the king is dead. Did you send someone, Visola?” Aazuria asked, through clenched teeth.
“I did send a representative out to look for the Clan of Zalcan… but she never came back.” Visola sighed. “I will try again… but it seems like a useless sacrifice. Diplomacy never works.”
“The ones who got away will tell the others not to take us so lightly,” Sionna said. “Atargatis has a black eye, and a few of the others have bullets lodged in them. Maybe things will be different, and they will be a bit more communicative. I think assault rifles have that effect on people.”
“Viso,” Aazuria whispered. “I can never repay you for the armor and weapons. I am alive because of you. Adlivun will remain safe because of you.”
“Aw, shucks, Zuri,” Visola said, bashfully yet proudly. “What’s a right-hand-woman for?”
27
Trevain trudged up the stairs after returning from his fishing trip. He was having difficulty processing what exactly had happened. All that he knew for sure was that Arnav Hylas had been killed. The Coast Guard had told them that it was just a bad season. The same thing had been happening to many other fishing boats. Two other boats had been completely lost. There was no sign of them at all, and nothing had been recovered. The press had not even heavily covered these tragedies; it was just the way things sometimes happened in Alaska. It had been that way for dozens of years. “Count yourself lucky,” the man at the docks had said.
“Just a bad season,” Trevain repeated bitterly, pausing halfway up the staircase. His hand on the railing tightened its grip. “Count yourself lucky!” He felt bile rising inside him as he smashed his fist into the railing of the staircase, causing the wood to break and splinter. He was immediately upset with himself, remembering that a child now lived in the house.
He tried to calm himself down, but failing, he decided to take some sleeping pills. He just wanted to talk to Aazuria and go to bed. It had been a long few days. He needed to not be awake for a while. When he reached the landing, he saw that Corallyn was sitting on a chair in front of Aazuria’s room with a book in her hands. This set off alarms of concern in his mind. He moved across the corridor quickly, with a worried expression on his face.
“Corallyn, what’s wrong?”
The young girl closed her book and stood up. She responded rapidly as if the sentence had been rehearsed. “Aazuria has become very ill and cannot see you at the moment.”
“Does she need a doctor?” Trevain asked. “What happened?”
“My sister has already seen her own private doctor. Mr. Fiskel also gave her some of his pain-relief medication. She will be healed before long. We must allow her to rest.”
Trevain stared at Corallyn with puzzlement. He had never seen her act so formal and cross. She was completely serious, and almost unblinking in the deadpan stare she gave him.
“I think I know what this is about,” Trevain said with a sigh. “She’s still angry at me for not listening to her and going to work.”
Corallyn remained expressionless.
“Well, she was right. I should have listened. I need to apologize…” Trevain had started to move forward, and Corallyn stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Stop. Aazuria does not wish to see anyone. She is unwell and she needs to rest.”
“Coral, please. What’s going on?” He reached for the doorknob with a frown.
Although Corallyn was perhaps a third of Trevain’s massive size, she resolutely placed herself in front of the doorknob, and pushed her hand into his abdomen to restrain him.
“Uncle Trevain! She is extremely ill. She cannot receive you now. Please respect her wishes and go.”
“Fine,” Trevain said, with slight annoyance. He turned around and headed for his own room, slamming the door behind him. He ran a hand through his hair. He felt a slight pang of concern for Aazuria, but he also felt suspicious that she was not sick and just avoiding him. Yet, he wondered why she had placed Corallyn outside her door standing guard as her pint-sized sentinel.
Trevain walked across the floor to his window, and placed his hands on the wall on either side of the glass. He took deep jagged breaths, causing the window to fog up. He felt anger, not sadness. He had not been able to understand why he had lost Leander and Callder, but now he did. It had not been natural. It had been the work of men, not the sea. Arnav Hylas had been a clever, animated young man with a bright future. He would have achieved great things someday. Trevain had been tremendously fond of the kid. He needed to find out exactly what was going on, and who those women from the submarines were. He wanted revenge.
Submarines. Although Doughlas had been in the navy, and he knew about things like this, Trevain was somehow not completely sold on the submarine theory. He only wished he could come up with some other sort of feasible explanation. The image of the white-haired woman came to mind. He saw her holding Arnav up sorrowfully in the water. “I could not save him.” Although her hair had been the color of snow, he knew that she was not old. It had been dark, but he remembered that her ivory skin had been perfectly smooth. As smooth as cream-colored satin. He vividly remembered her striking steel-blue eyes and the dark limbal ring around her irises. She reminded him vaguely of Aazuria.
Heck, who was he kidding? Aazuria was lovely, but she had nothing on this woman. Maybe it was the mysterious circumstance which was clouding his judgment. Being thrust into a dangerous situation together, having to fight to defend each other—it was a rather thrilling way to meet. Trevain remembered the rush of adrenaline he had felt when he punched the blonde attacker in the face to save the white-haired woman.
Atargatis. That was the name he had heard a third woman call her. He vaguely recalled the name, and had looked it up on his smartphone on the boat as soon as he had been dried off and warmed up. He found that it was the name of a Syrian sea goddess. When he informed his crew of this, Doughlas had shrugged and easily explained it. “Yeah. No big surprise, Captain. The military likes to use fancy code names like that for their covert ops. People always turn to old mythology for naming new technologies. Even new discoveries or whatever—planets, comets, spaceships, and etcetera. You know.”
Trevain had nodded, for it made sense. The women in the water had just been women; strange women with weapons, but women nonetheless. Despite this, he believed that the white-haired woman was the closest thing to a sea goddess which he had ever beheld. She had been trying to protect him from the woman called Atargatis. She was his aquatic guardian angel. Something about her albino-like coloring had been unquestionably supernatural.
Beyond her appearance, there had been such an ethereal quality about her. And her kiss! Her kiss had been voracious. He had never felt such passion from any touch or caress as he had from that one modest, momentary contact. She was a confident woman, not a timid adolescent girl.
Trevain stared out of his window, lost in thought about the enigmatic lady for several minutes. It was a while before he realized what he was doing. He immediately began to scold himself for fantasizing about this stranger he had briefly seen. She had only kissed him to thank him for saving his life—even though she had still gotten badly hurt. He hoped that she was not in too much pain, wherever she was. If he had the faintest clue where she came from, he would be heading there now to make sure she was being well cared for. The look in her eyes, and the sound of her voice were both so unforgettable.
He wondered if he would ever see her again.
He drew a large X in the fog his breath had created in the window. So what if he did see her again? Would he forsake Aazuria, to whom he had grown so close, along with her sisters whom he considered his own family at this point, for a complete stranger? Was he that fickle? No—his fishing trip had been dreadful and he wished to speak to Aazuria to calm his nerves, and she would not even see him. She was the one forsaking him in his time of need, just as she had done before when Callder died. No wonder he was wishing to be with another! He knew thi
s was faulty logic, and that his thoughts could not be justified. He immediately reprimanded himself for holding the unknown woman in higher regard than Aazuria.
Maybe I’m not ready for marriage if I’m going to spend all night thinking about the mysterious woman in the water. I don’t think it would make a difference if I was married to Zuri… I’d still be mentally cheating on her right now with the silver-haired sea goddess.
Trevain cursed and swung the back of his hand into an expensive lamp sitting on a nearby night table. He watched the lamp smash to the ground, and he swore repeatedly in anger at himself and his own inconstancy. Aazuria was sick; that was why she would not see him. He was being completely insensitive to her condition. He hardly recognized the callous person he was becoming. But wouldn’t three deaths do that to anyone?
He turned and walked across the hardwood floor briskly, exiting his bedroom. When he was in the hallway, he saw that Corallyn was still guarding Aazuria’s room—he supposed that she would be doing so all night, or until her sister was better. He sighed, admiring the young girl’s devotion. “Coral, will you do me a favor? Tell Zuri that I’m sorry; I should have listened to her. I shouldn’t have gone back to work so soon.”
Corallyn gave him a soldier-like nod. “I will tell her when she wakes up.”
“Also… could you please tell her that I love her and I miss her?”
The young girl gazed at him for a few seconds, observing his expression. Finding only sincerity there, she allowed the smallest of smiles to barely touch her lips. It was the first time that the hard expression on her face had broken since she learned that it was her own mother who had tried to kill Aazuria. She nodded.
“She loves you too, Uncle Trevain. So for God’s sake, listen to her in the future when it comes to anything regarding the water and fewer people will get hurt… uh, emotionally.”
28
Aazuria was restless.
She had been confined to one small room for weeks. Only Elandria and Corallyn had visited her to tend to her wound; they had each taken shifts guarding her to make sure that Trevain did not find out about her impaled shoulder.
Trevain had gotten the hint that something was very wrong a few days after her injury when he saw Elandria leaving Aazuria’s room with a pile of blood-soaked clothes and bandages in her arms. When Elandria made eye contact with him and her face froze in fear, he knew that the girls were hiding something. Fearing for Aazuria’s health and well-being, he had headed for her room. Elandria had tried to put herself between Trevain and the door, but he would not be stopped.
Reaching around Elandria for the doorknob, he had aggressively turned it. Finding it locked, he had frowned. “Aazuria, open this door!” he had shouted. “I’m coming in! I need to know that you’re okay!”
“Please do not do this,” Elandria had asked him softly.
He had frowned at the quiet girl. He always paid close attention when she spoke. This was probably the first time he had heard her voice since he had asked her for advice on proposing to Aazuria. This was perhaps the only time that her silent, gracious plea would go ignored.
The pile of bloody clothes in her arms was more convincing than even her heavenly voice. “Aazuria!” he had shouted. He looked at the doorknob, and saw that it was impossible to pick the lock or open it from the outside. Even the hinges of the door were on the inside. He scowled and did the first thing which came to mind. He slammed his shoulder into the door. After doing this several times, he managed to break the door open.
Aazuria lay in bed, with the blanket pulled over her up to her chin. There was a slight blush on her face. “Trevain, what is the matter?” she had asked him softly.
“You tell me!” he said, walking over to her quickly. “Why is Elandria smuggling bloody clothes out of this room?”
“Well… it is… a female thing,” she lied. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hoped that her visible embarrassment would help to validate her story. Even though she was wearing a conservative nightgown that covered the fresh bandages over her injured shoulder, she was terrified that he would somehow find out.
“Aazuria, you’ve locked yourself in here for almost two weeks. I’m worried. What’s going on? You have your sisters guarding you like you’ve got some deadly virus…”
“I do. I do not want you to get sick as well,” she quietly lied. She wanted to talk to him; she wanted to see how he was handling Arnav’s death. She wanted to hear how he had made sense of what had happened in the water. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She could not believe he had broken her door down. “Trevain, please go.”
“Tell me the truth, Aazuria; are you physically injured in some way? Because you’re clutching that blanket to you pretty tightly, and I’m starting to think you may have lost a limb or something.”
She laughed, realizing that she was indeed holding the blanket so tightly that her knuckles were white. The laughter caused her torso to move, jostling her shoulder and sending fresh pain through her body. She sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly, trying to keep from wincing. “I am fine. Please, just let me be alone for a while.”
He saw that her laugher had caused her pain, and he pried the blanket away from her fingers. He pulled it back, and looked at her body for any visible injuries.
“See? Two arms and two legs.” Her own weakness frustrated her, and she looked up at him miserably. “You had better go wash your hands before you get the bubonic plague, smallpox, cholera, or the Spanish flu.”
“She means swine flu,” Corallyn corrected, sticking her head into the door. “Smallpox was cured like fifty years ago, Zuri! Even I know that.”
“I had forgotten,” she said tiredly, “but they still have bubonic plague, right?”
“I think so!” Corallyn chirped.
“Okay, good. It might be that one, then.” Aazuria groaned, turning to lie on her good shoulder. Her movements were uncomfortable and awkward. She had been running a temperature which caused her whole body to ache.
Trevain had observed the strange way she moved, and he saw the angular protrusion of her shoulder and hip through her nightgown. “You’ve lost weight,” he accused with concern. She had been slender to begin with. “I need to call a doctor.”
“No!” Aazuria protested. “Please. I have a doctor, and she said I would be fine. She also said I should be temporarily quarantined.”
“Is there anything at all I can do for you?” he asked, growing more upset by the minute. It bothered him to not know what was wrong. “Can I get you any medication or…”
“I just need to be alone. I do not want you to see me when I am unwell,” she said dejectedly. “Forgive me for being reclusive.”
“You know… you’re denying me the opportunity to take care of you when you’re ill. I’d like for that to be my job.”
Aazuria sighed, and looked at the ceiling with vacant eyes. “I just need time.”
“There has been a lot of death in my life lately, Aazuria. I’m not strong enough to deal with another. You had better not dare…”
“I can assure you that hell is not on my itinerary.”
Trevain leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Come to me when you’re feeling better,” he told her. “I miss you like mad.”
Now, she lay in bed, staring up at the same ceiling she had been looking at for weeks. It had been a while since Trevain had broken down her door, and she wondered if she was feeling better. She had long since memorized every inch of stucco and had come to the conclusion that stucco was not very interesting; neither did it hold the secrets of the universe. She had stared at the dancing shadows around the corners of the curtains until she started to attribute characters and personalities to them. Every corner of the small room had been cemented in her brain.
When the wound had closed up, and Aazuria was positive there was no risk of infection, she had begun to move about the room and do gentle exercises. She had dismissed Corallyn and Elandria from guarding her, and she had begun to t
ake baths on her own. She wore only extremely conservative clothing with turtlenecks and long sleeves in case Trevain ever happened to see her. She kept the curtains open, and stretched and massaged her arm and shoulder while sitting in the starlight. She knew that the bones and muscles needed more time to heal, but she could not help trying to push herself every day until she could do nothing but lie in bed writhing in pain. She frequently swallowed the maximum dose of Mr. Fiskel’s prescription painkillers. Even more frequently, she exceeded the maximum dose.
Aazuria knew that if she had been in Adlivun’s infirmary her injury would have already been completely healed. The rejuvenating hot springs suffused the body with all kinds of nourishing minerals while the heat improved circulation. She often felt like a complete invalid on land even when she was healthy; she was not used to having so much pressure on her legs and such a lack of buoyancy. Now the feeling of feebleness was increased fiftyfold.
Worse than the frailty was the loneliness. Aazuria could sometimes hear Trevain’s footsteps as he passed by her room. Her hearing was not special like her eyesight or lungs, but she could easily discern his heavier stride in comparison to others in the house. She wanted to go to him, but she was afraid that he would somehow find out about her shoulder. She was afraid he would touch her in some casual way, and she would flinch, and he would know. Part of her liked to ask: So what if he knew? He saved my life that night. He let me kiss him even when he thought I was a stranger. Does he not deserve to know? Another part of her would always find ways to negatively answer these questions and counter every argument until she was deflated and dissuaded from telling him, or even being around him.
Aazuria now sighed. She could see the bottom half of the crescent moon from where she lay. The winter sky was incredibly clear. Sea-dwellers often named their children after stars and constellations. Orion the hunter shone brightly right outside her window, forever chasing the Pleiades. Was there any more inspiring constellation? It was over, she suddenly decided. She was releasing herself from her own mental penitentiary. She was going to stop hiding, and she was going to stop using her injury as an excuse to seclude herself like a leper or criminal in solitary confinement. Life was short—even shorter here on land, and she would not waste any more days.
