Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  “Here, let me hold that,” Hasmik says gently, taking the water glass back from her.

  I exchange a concerned glance with Aeson who is frowning but also thoughtful as he watches his sister, and see the others staring at Manala with varying degrees of alarm.

  My God . . . it occurs to me. She has a Logos voice.

  “Manala, come, you’re not—” Aeson begins speaking in a gentle, calming tone.

  “No!” his sister screams at him. “I am! I am! Horrid! I should die!” Suddenly Manala straightens and her eyes are wild and almost unseeing as she glares at all of us. Her hands are trembling, and she clenches them into fists, then starts striking herself, and erupts into horrible weeping.

  “Oh, Manala! No, im senet, you are the best little one—let’s go wash your face—” Aeson crosses the distance between them and leans down to embrace her, even as Manala continues to beat herself with her fists and struggles against his strong, loving hold. He then leads her gently to the back of the suite and around the corner to the bathroom. Giving me a meaningful look, Hasmik stands up and goes in to help.

  Moments later we hear the water running in the sink as Manala attempts to splash water on herself and continues to wail.

  The rest of us are somewhat shell-shocked.

  “Ho-o-oly crap,” George says with a frown, leaning backward in his seat. “Does she do that often?”

  “Not like that! Wow . . .” Gracie whispers, widening her eyes and glancing around at all of us. “I’ve never seen her out of control like this.”

  “Poor child.” Dad rubs his forehead thoughtfully. “Should someone contact the parents? Or, her mother, at least? She might need—does she take medication?”

  I shake my head negatively at Dad.

  “Child? Wait, how old is she anyway?” George asks.

  I pause to think. “I believe, she’s twelve.”

  “Twelve? Really? Seems too old for twelve. . . .” George’s frown deepens.

  “Oh no, sorry,” I amend. “She is twelve in Atlantean years, which is approximately sixteen Earth years.”

  “Okay, that’s more like it.” George taps his fingers on the chair armrest. “But the maturity level here is nearly on par with Gracie’s.”

  “Hell, no!” Gracie glares at George. “I don’t do tantrums like that! And I’m fourteen!”

  “Fourteen in Earth years,” Gordie puts in. “So yeah, she’s older than you in Earth years.”

  “So?” Gracie continues to give us hard looks, craning her head sideways, and then throws a nervous glance at Blayne.

  Blayne meanwhile just observes the conversation calmly and says absolutely nothing—though, I do believe there’s a tiny fleeting smile on his lips as he looks at Gracie.

  I consider how best to explain Manala, and finally speak up. “Here’s the thing—it’s not really a tantrum. Manala is—unique, for lack of a better word. In many ways she’s more mature than all of us. The way she perceives things—the world, everything—it is all so sharp and real to her. She is super-intelligent but also very sensitive to everyone’s suffering and very empathetic—in a good way. So much so that there’s no room for humor or sarcasm, only blunt honesty.”

  I speak quickly, keeping my voice down, so as not to be overheard—because the last thing Manala needs now is to feel even more betrayed by the fact that people she cares about are talking about her behind her back. “Part of the problem is,” I continue, “as an Imperial Princess she’s been completely sheltered for most of her life, not permitted to make friends, and she doesn’t know how to handle emotional situations. So, not really her fault that she overreacts. She’s in genuine pain.”

  “Ok, but you must admit, that, right there, that was a lot of drama,” George says.

  I take a deep breath. “It’s not just drama. Right now, not only is she worried about Khemji for good reason, but this cat of hers is also very, very important to her. In many ways, he’s her closest companion and friend—maybe even her only friend when we’re not there. So, let’s not blame her for being very upset. I would be too. To be honest, I’m kind of upset right now myself—on her behalf and the poor cat’s behalf, so—”

  In that moment Manala returns into the room, followed by Aeson and Hasmik, so we stop talking. Her expression is still tormented, but her face has been cleaned and she is somewhat more composed now.

  “So, Manala,” George says after a slight pause. “Where exactly is your window located? The one through which Khemji took off?”

  Manala looks at George with a renewed frown. “I—I don’t know. I mean—it’s in my bedroom.”

  George stands up and goes to the nearest window in this suite. He peers outside—squinting at the still bright but now late afternoon sky, barely starting to fade from white to teal—looks up, then down. “Where would that be exactly, in relation to this room? Upper floor? Lower floor?”

  Manala blinks. “It is the floor directly below this one. The Imperial Princess’s Quarters.”

  “Okay.” George nods comfortably, continuing to squint outside, shading his eyes with his palm. “Can you come here and tell me where your bedroom is? Can you see it from this window?”

  Manala’s tragic expression becomes exasperated. However, she complies, and goes to stand next to George, trying to peer down below. “I don’t know. Maybe over there. Yes, that row of balconies.” And she points down and to the right.

  “Well, good,” George says. “Now this lets us have a better idea of Khemji’s itinerary. First thing you need to do is set out a dish of elephant cat food on that balcony—as a lure.”

  Manala looks away from the view in the window and glances at George, furrowing her brow in confusion. “Elephant cat food? Why do you say elephant? Is it not an Earth herbivore mammal? Khemji needs a more concentrated protein than your elephants. Or do you think that kind of vegetation might lure him better?”

  George’s expression doesn’t change as he watches Manala’s transfixed face, but he pauses momentarily before continuing. “Elephant cat food here refers to the fact that Khemji’s size is so large for a cat that he might as well be an elephant.”

  “Oh. . . .” Manala considers this, then says, “Does that mean that elephants are considerably smaller than I thought? Because I thought they were the largest land creatures on Earth, not little ones the size of Khemji.”

  “Okay.” George’s mouth parts. “Well, no. You are absolutely right in your original understanding of elephants, so, let’s just . . . never mind.”

  While this curious conversation is happening, I glance around the room at the others—at Dad and Aeson and Hasmik.

  Aeson gives me a silent nod.

  Manala appears to be sufficiently distracted by what George is saying that it is safe to assume that her composure has been fully restored for the moment.

  Taking advantage of the respite, we all decide to continue searching for the prodigal cat. Only first, we make sure there are dishes of Khemji’s favorite food placed in several strategic spots outside, waiting to tempt him.

  By the time it’s dark—and still no sign of Khemji, unfortunately—we give up the search for now and return to the guest quarters occupied by Dad and George.

  Aeson calls for a late dea meal or early niktos meal—at this point I can’t be sure which—and Blayne and Hasmik have to leave since they have work tomorrow.

  Gracie and Gordie, as my immediate family members, have tomorrow off, so they stay longer. Manala refuses to eat but stays in the suite with us.

  “The two of you should go back to your own apartments and relax tonight,” Dad repeats quite a few times, speaking to me and Aeson. “No need for you to be here, we can manage. Go, use your wonderful private time. Don’t squander your honeymoon hours.”

  “We’re happy to be here, Dad,” I say, glancing at Aeson to make sure—but he smiles at me in complete agreement. And then he looks briefly in Manala’s direction, keeping an eye on her.

  It’s late evening when Aeson and I
finally return together to our own side of the Quarters. Despite the best efforts of the Imperial staff, Khemji is still missing. But there’s not much more that can be done. A new shift of people has been deployed to search, more cat food treats scattered all around the balconies and railings, and Manala has been sent to bed with strict orders to get some rest.

  Aeson and I wander into the Imperial Crown Prince’s grand master bedroom suite, which has now acquired some intensely wonderful memories for us. At once, both of us are taken by a sudden, mutual urgency . . . so we help each other shed our clothing.

  Pulses hammering, we get in the huge bed, barely taking the time to pull back the luxurious covers in our Wedding colors of warm white and gold. And then we are consumed with one another.

  Again, the world narrows with tunnel vision. . . . Blinding white fire rushes in, overflowing my mind. . . . Our bodies strain and struggle in sweet, hot agony . . . flesh on flesh, limbs entwined. My memories of those moments are scalding me even now.

  Eventually he collapses, just as I’m also swept away by the inner storm, and it is done. We lie entwined, breathing hard—I, with my face down, cheek pressed deep into the pillow, he cradling me from behind, his mouth panting against the back of my neck.

  “Ah . . . im vuchusei Gwen . . .” he manages to utter. It’s a sensual and somewhat intimate term of endearment in Atlanteo that means “sweet, tasty, pleasurable, soulful” all in one word. And hearing Aeson’s deep voice say it, completely undoes me, so that I turn into warm honey. In mindless need, I turn and reach for him. . . .

  Needless to say, we resume our intense activity and don’t stop for quite some time.

  The next time I remember being aware of anything is deep into the night, sometime after Midnight Ghost Time, when I wake up in darkness, next to my husband. Aeson is sitting up in the great bed, nude to the waist and covered only by our blanket. The greenish-blue light of his wrist comm illuminates the surrounding translucent fabrics of the canopy overhead and his thoughtful face, locked in concentration, as he scans the bands of moving holo-data.

  “Aeson . . . is everything okay?” I ask, feeling a twinge of undefined worry, even as I sweep my hand up to caress the hard muscles of his upper arm. “Is it about Khemji? Did they find him?”

  Im amrevu looks at me with an immediate comforting smile. “Not yet. But—it’s okay, go back to sleep,” he tells me.

  “You first,” I say with a yawn, tugging him to me.

  “Just a second. . . .” He taps the device on his wrist, and the light disappears.

  And then, with a chortle of surprise followed by pleasure, I feel my husband’s warm lips covering mine.

  Chapter 68

  Khemji is still missing in the morning when Aeson and I wake up around seventh hour. Increasing worry about the cat strikes me particularly hard this morning. I frown, sitting up in bed with the sheets around me, as I watch Aeson check his messages on the wrist unit.

  “Khemji?” I ask.

  Aeson gives me a serious look. “No. They didn’t find him yet.”

  And so, with a sinking sensation this new worry takes permanent residence in my gut. “Oh, poor Manala,” I whisper. “Please keep searching!”

  “Of course,” Aeson says. “No one is giving up. This may take a while, even a few days. Right now, however, I am very concerned about my sister.”

  “I am too.”

  Because of this ongoing situation, we don’t linger in bed, and only exchange quick kisses before getting in the shower and then getting dressed.

  Today is the second day of our married life, and under normal circumstances we would still be enjoying a leisurely time—even as the rest of Atlantida gets back to work. We would also be getting ready to move out of the Imperial Crown Prince’s master bedroom and back to the estate in Phoinios Heights, making permanent arrangements for my Dad and older brother, and dealing with all the rest of our routine issues.

  But we can’t go today. We can’t leave Manala like this. Besides, Aeson needs to deal with the most recent SPC incoming reports. . . . I’m not sure if it’s something serious—he doesn’t tell me—but he does have a certain super-focused look on his face which I’ve come to know well.

  As has been our habit for the last few days, we head to the guest suite on my side of the Quarters to share eos bread with Dad and George, and also Gracie and Gordie who are still staying here in the Palace.

  We pass by the workroom and Aeson tells me to go on ahead and that he’ll join us after he checks with the astra daimon on duty—Erita is one of them. I see Gennio and Anu are at their desks this morning, and Anu gives me a curious, extra-awkward look before returning to stare at his monitor where I notice a series of visuals of the ghost moon.

  “Nefero eos, Anu,” I say, coming up to him and pretending to stare at the orbital trajectory data. “Tell Laronda to call me, okay?”

  “What?” Anu’s jaw drops and his pasty white face immediately flames red.

  I shake my head at him with a soft laugh, and then head to my own bedroom on the way to the guest suite.

  When I get to Dad and George’s, I can smell the aroma of fresh cooking in the corridor, wafting from the open doors even before entering. The eos bread service is already in place, and the Imperial servants are busy with the sizzling griddles and pans.

  My father, Charles Lark, is standing next to Princess Manala, speaking in a soft, consoling voice, while the young girl stands immobile near the window, staring numbly at the growing whiteness of early morning daylight.

  George gets up from the sofa and nears me as soon as I enter the room. “Morning, Mrs. Kass,” he says teasingly, even though there’s a serious undercurrent in his eyes. “Gordo and I are about to head out to take another quick look around for the big cat.”

  “Did you eat already?” I ask, glancing from my older brother to Gordie who’s standing with an empty plate near a food station, waiting for something to be cooked.

  “Not yet.” George looks arounds also and nods to Gracie who is rummaging through one of their boxes brought from Earth. “We were going to eat when we got back. This is just a quick exploration on the floor directly below, a test of my feline-brain hypothesis. I’ve a hunch I want to check out before the day gets too hot.”

  “Okay,” I say with a meaningful glance at Manala. “I really hope you find him.”

  “So do I,” George says thoughtfully. “So do I. . . . Okay, Gee Three, put the plate down, we’re heading out. I promise, we’ll return before they finish flipping whatever’s on that griddle.”

  Gordie complies, and my brothers leave the suite.

  I approach Dad and Manala and try to say things that might make her feel better, even though I know they are meaningless at a time like this.

  Manala attends to my comforting words with a listless expression, and nods occasionally. I have a feeling she’s not even hearing me.

  A few minutes later, George and Gordie return. They appear lackluster, so no good news and no sign of Khemji.

  Immediately, Manala turns to them with brief animation, then regains her downcast demeanor.

  “Don’t give up hope, Manala,” I say. “Back on Earth we’ve had cats go missing for weeks and they still return.”

  Hearing this, Manala’s lips begin to tremble and a fat tear slides down one cheek.

  Aeson chooses this moment to appear at the doors, and he’s followed by Xelio. The distraction of their arrival is sufficient that Manala catches her breath and stops mid-sob.

  Aeson gives me a meaningful look, then glances at Xel who watches our silent exchange with amusement. I raise one brow, then glance from them to Manala.

  “Nefero eos, Imperial Lady Gwen, Imperial Princess Manala, Ter Lark, and everyone,” Xel says with a nod to my Dad and siblings, and a seemingly casual look at Manala, then heads for the food station where he picks up an empty plate. Meanwhile, our Dad crosses the room slowly and sits down in his usual chair with a tired exhalation.

  “So, t
he search for Khemji continues,” Aeson says loudly, in Manala’s direction.

  “Thank you, Aeson,” his sister replies quietly. She then casts a slightly spooked glance at Xel—but the astra daimon has his back turned as he fills his plate, and his black mane of hair is all that’s visible.

  I approach Aeson, widening my eyes, with the pretend intention of running my hand along his upper arm, just as Aeson leans near my ear to whisper, “I asked him to come by . . . and talk to her.”

  And he glances at Xel.

  “Okay, good . . .” I whisper back.

  At this point there’s little doubt for most of us that Xel has a powerful effect on Manala. Whether it’s a first crush or something else, such as a strong affinity since childhood, we cannot be sure. But she definitely has feelings of some kind when it comes to him—as was made apparent during our Wedding reception, when Manala got so upset that she fled the room when Xelio did not ask her to dance.

  And now, Xel takes his food and a mug of lvikao and heads for the sofa. Here, he puts his feet up on an ottoman and starts eating. Periodically he glances over at Manala who continues to stand awkwardly near the window with a most dejected expression.

  “My dear Princess Manala, come, sit here, have something to eat,” Xel says in a friendly voice, popping a syrupy dumpling in his mouth and chewing heartily.

  We all try not to stare too obviously but pay careful attention to Manala’s reactions. At the first sound of Xelio’s voice addressing her, she freezes, then shakes her head. “I’m not hungry, thank you.”

  “You didn’t have anything to eat all day yesterday,” Aeson says, moving closer. “You really need to eat. Or I’ll inform Mamai that you’re not feeling well.”

  Manala frowns at her brother. “No! Khemji has not had anything to eat either. I am not eating.”