by Mira Zamin
Calista awoke to a heavy head and chapped lips. She licked them and was surprised by the salty burn on her tongue. She cracked an eye open and grit tumbled down her cheeks; only a sliver of light filtered in. Calista tried to move her arms up to rub away the sand but she may as well have tried to move columns—her arms felt like lead. Cool silk sank into her bare flesh.
And then memory flooded back.
To think they had managed to escape the villa so easily and the board the ship with equal facility. To think she had thought that the clear sky, obscured only by a few wisps of feathery translucent cloud, portended a fair voyage.
That night, the mercenaries had hotly pursued the merchants, but the Orpheus had managed to dart away before any severe damage could occur. But the illusion of safety had been shattered. She had thought they would be safe once they had reached the Orpheus: nothing could have been more wrong.
The family wandered the decks, ecstatic at their freedom and unwilling to waste their first few hours of liberty sleeping. With Pyp and her mother on another side of the ship, Calista had turned away from Portus Tarrus and was now gazing at what lay ahead. Dreams of Rome littered her mind, but she turned around at a sharp cry. Three ships were bearing down fast, forming a pincer to capture the Orpheus. Images of Avaritus clouded her vision. “No,” she whispered. She could never return there—unless it was to remove the bastard from Portus Tarrus.
Efficiently, Claudius barked for their smaller ship to prepare to increase her speed, chivvying the rowers bound to the different levels of the ship. Meanwhile, their hunters closed around them like a vise ready to shut on Calista and her freedom. Her hands burned and chafed against the rope, but she hung on relentlessly. She would not release it until they were away from the mercenaries. And if we are captured, they will have to slice my hands off, she thought.
Calista watched in horror as Avaritus’ men came closer and the Orpheus sat in the water placid as a duck. Her heart pounded. She could not even scream. Then, she heard the furious sound of synchronized splashes, and the ship lurched beneath her feet. Supported by the rope, she did not fall, but still stumbled straight into Claudius.
“What the…?” she breathed.
Claudius firmly turned her by her shoulders to face the trio of triremes. Too slow to fully change their trajectories, the ships worked frantically to avoid collision. Even in the faint strip of the greenish pre-dawn light, Calista recognized that it was an impossible task. The sharp sound of wood scraping against wood filled the air.
Closing her eyes, Calista murmured, “Thank the gods.” Claudius’ hands tightened briefly around her shoulders.
Just as they sighed in relief, Calista gaped, feeling as if buckets had been upended on her. The dove grey of earliest dawn suddenly grimaced to an angry greenish-black and dark grey clouds, seemingly conjured from nothing, unloaded rivers of rain.
Calista was soaked and her stola flapped wetly in the violent winds that threatened to overturn the ship. Alarm gripped her insides.
She tried to comfort herself, This is just rain. We eluded the ships. This is a minor problem. But the blinding sheets of rain whipped around by a howling wind and the frantically working sailors belied that. Grabbing Claudius, Calista feared she would be blown into the sea by the force of the gale or toppled into it by the Orpheus’ heaving. She gave thanks that her mother and Pyp were below the decks.
A great gust tore at their clothes, which billowed like sails and pushed them to the edge of the ship. Calista clung to Claudius and tried to reach something to anchor her to the Orpheus and stop her from slipping. Just as Claudius’ weight crushed Calista against the railing of the ship, the Orpheus stopped rocking. The sea abruptly calmed, and the sky lost some of its bruised color. Sailors began to relax, moving about routine checks and candidly explaining to Calista that the storm had blown itself out as autumn storms are wont to do.
Brushing back wet hair from her forehead, she chuckled shakily to Claudius, “Why anyone would choose such an existence is beyond me.”
A determined gleam appeared in his eyes and he grasped her chin. Calista could feel her stomach to her toenails as his eyes bored into her and he moved closer. Closer.
…And the ship lurched viciously and the winds howled again, more furiously than before. Already at the edge of the ship, it had taken just one furious roll to pitch Claudius and Calista into the froth of the churning sea.
Opening her eyes in the water had been painful but necessary even though she could only see murky grey bubbles. With the undertow threatening to sink her and currents pushing and pulling, Calista could hardly determine where her feet were let alone the direction of the surface. She knew she would have to breathe soon and sending a prayer to Neptune, she picked one direction and kicked towards it. Swimming was not her forte but her survival depended on it. Bubbles spouted from her mouth as she struggled to hold her breath.
Black and silver stars danced before her eyes and the thought of letting the ocean have its way with her had become tempting when finally her head broke the surface. She breathed in that fresh, cold air hungrily. She could never have enough of it. The winds still blew fearfully and waves drenched her by the second, but she pedaled her feet to keep afloat.
Something clammy wound about her arms and with a shriek, thinking of squids and sirens, she tried to shake it off.
“Calista!”
“Claudius!” She tried reaching out her hand to him.
Another wave took them and when Claudius emerged again, he spat out a mouthful of bitter seawater.
“By Jupiter!” she swore after realizing that the winds, if they continued with this persistence would return the ship to Portus Tarrus. The Orpheus was already out of sight. Another wave sunk them.
Calista remembered struggling through the water to return to the surface but the crush allowed no respite. Finally, after a long battle against the overwhelming blackness, the cold, the muscles throbbing with exhaustion, she lost consciousness.
Now, she was lying here (wherever here was), on a bed of black silk surrounded by four walls of gleaming obsidian. Sacrifice, she thought with a shiver. Above her, a dome of water rippled with greyish light. She stared at it. She could almost say that she had never seen anything so queer in her life, but...it seemed familiar, like something she had seen in her dream but as the thoughts came to her, they fluttered away. Brushing the last of the sand from her eyelids, she pushed herself up and wound the sheet like a toga. Every muscle in her body protested at the effort. Pyp’s necklace still swung from her neck and she could feel it emitting the same heat it had only a few nights ago.
“Where am I?” she whispered aloud.
“My dear, you are home and I welcome you,” announced a melodious voice from behind her.
Calista tumbled off the bed and landed on the hard floor with a thud. “Where are my mother and brother? What am I doing here? Who are you?” Calista lowered her eyes in embarrassment. The woman’s robe was as sheer as a dancing girl’s.
“I am Melba. The winds returned the ship your mother and brother were on to Portus Tarrus.”
Calista blinked, aghast. All their plans, swept away! Her mother and brother returned to that evil man while she was...wherever here was. Without them. I must return to them! she thought furiously.
Ignoring Calista’s shocked silence, Melba said, “Now, I am sure you are wishing for clothes. Yes? Well, come along now, we cannot keep you filthy, can we?”
The plump golden-haired woman led Calista from the room and into a maze of halls. Unlike the dark stone chamber where Calista had woken, the rest of the building was formed of many-hued marble, with high ceilings vaulting to watery domes above. Calista stared in fascination. She did not know where she was, but she was certain that there was no place like this in the Roman Empire.
Calista examined the woman before her. She had the same hair as Calista, a sunshine gold. Her eyes, though not shaped much like Calista’s, ref
lected the same clear blue. Despite her plumpness, she walked with a smooth grace—in that, at least, she bore little resemblance to Calista. All of this, when combined with this otherworldly setting, was more than enough evidence to conclusively convince Calista she had gone mad.
Opening a door of sea-hardened wood, Melba ushered Calista inside. “Robes have been provided for you in that trunk. There is a sunken bath behind that ebony door. You will have to use your old sandals though. We could find no women’s sandals in your size,” she explained regretfully, “and your mother was loathe to have her daughter wear men’s sandals. Now, go make yourself presentable. Here is a comb: brush out those snarls!” She offered Calista a coral comb.
Staggering from the verbal onslaught, Calista took the comb from the woman’s hand. As Melba turned to leave, Calista called, “What of the man I was with?”
“Your mother is attending him separately. I have not seen my son yet either. Only your mother is permitted to before the presentation.” Melba sighed regretfully, a musical sound. “It has likely happened already for him.”
“Your son? By Jupiter!” Calista swore as she sagged to the tiles. She then registered the reference to “her mother.” “My mother? Olympia Tertia?” Hope surged. This fancy was insane but at least she was not alone it.
Melba twisted her rosebud lips in confusion. “Olympia Tertia? No...and you will do well to know that we only swear by Neptune here. The sea is his domain after all! I shall knock on your door in twenty minutes time. Be ready!”
The door pounded shut and Calista was alone in this mad, mad world.
What lunacy have I stumbled into? This is the absolute strangest hallucination—but at least it includes a bath.
Cautiously, Calista stepped through the ebony door. The obsidian sheet fell to her ankles as she removed her sandals. Golden illumination sparkled on the large pool, highlighting the inlay of tiles in a square spiral Greek design that wound around the edges. As Calista slipped into the bath, which was easily double the largest pool in the Portus Tarrus villa, sweet steam wafted around her. Calista’s skin opened in response.
Neptune’s domain? It was utterly mad. I must be hysterical. Scraping her skin with pumice, she mused, I do not know which would be worse: to know this is a dream and that I am still Avaritus’ prisoner or to understand this as reality. Even as this frenzy of thoughts wormed through her mind, one question was constant: Where is my family?
The water rolled off her as she stepped from the bath. She shivered, hurriedly grabbing a towel. What a mess of a hallucination! Neptune? Claudius’ mother? My mother? But the thought of meeting this woman who was not Olympia Tertia Volusus sent a quiver of anticipation through her. This cannot be real!
She dipped her sandals in the water, swirled them clean and then shook them dry. Wrapping her towel around her wet hair, Calista crouched to open the chest of clothes. Her fingers ran pleasurably over the fine materials. It was lana pinna, she realized, a fabric drawn from the shells of Mare Nostrum. From the bottom, she tugged out a snowy stola with delicate gold embroidery parading along the border. This hallucination is detailed and strange enough for Homer, she thought wryly, combing her hair with one hand and strapping on her sandals with another.
A smart rap sounded at the door. Calista opened it.
Melba sucked in her breath. “A true daughter of Atlantis. Your mother will be pleased.” Reaching out, Melba moved Calista’s pendant and bulla so the two gold chains hung prominently above the neckline. Calista noticed that Melba wore a similar piece around her neck as well.
“Atlantis?” Calista croaked. Homer, indeed. Closer to Plato. Closest of all to madness! “How…if, that is to say this is real and not…how did I get here?”
“The tides and currents carry whom they will, where they will, and if Neptune commands it, they will safely carry people from Portus Tarrus to Atlantis,” Melba replied, clearly enjoying the air of mystery.
Now certain she was dreaming, Calista decided she very much wanted to wake. She pinched herself but to no avail.
Arriving at a lavishly carved entryway flanked by a pair of burly men, they entered a vast hall. Calista was nearly blinded by the shining walls embedded with pearls and gems that refracted the torches’ burn.
At the front of the room, sat a large, bare-chested man, who easily topped ten feet, on an immense gold throne. A gossamer-garbed bevy of unearthly beautiful women, each blonder than the next, surrounded him. His long white hair and longer beard had been braided with seaweed and…shells? If Atlantis then why not this? Upon his brow, rested a broad coronet of simply crafted gold.
Calista was speechless.
Unaffected by the surroundings, Melba proclaimed, “Lord Neptune! As you commanded, I have brought Calista, known Above as Calista Tertillia Volusus.” The woman pushed her forward until Calista was at Neptune’s feet. It did not strike Calista to wonder how Melba knew her name.
Suddenly, the fearsomely pronged weapon he hefted in his left hand looked awfully large. With Neptune examining her, seemingly prizing out all of her secrets with his cold blue-grey eyes, Calista would have fled from the room had not one of Neptune’s ethereal companions—nymphs, or rather, Oceanids, Calista supposed absently—stepped forward with tears in her eyes.
She enfolded Calista in her perfumed grasp. “Daughter, you return to me after so long,” cried the woman.
Something about the lilting accent clicked with what Melba had said. “Mother?” Calista said cautiously, doubtfully. Olympia’s warm face swam before her eyes. She could feel Neptune’s stare weighing on her like a boulder.
“Sixteen years. Too long to have been parted from you.” The woman paused and then breathed her name like the sweetest of words: “Calista.”
Still in her arms, Calista patted her awkwardly. She had wished to know the truth of her parentage but this was altogether too odd to understand. She wanted to drop to the ground and bury her face in her hands and will the insanity away. Is any of this real or am I trapped in my own mind? Here she was, somewhere? Atlantis? Below the sea, standing before Neptune, being introduced to a nymph who said she was her mother. It was too much. It was unbelievable. It could not be real.
“Well, Evadne, introduce my daughter to me,” rumbled Neptune, all of the crashing and roaring of the sea melded into one many-toned voice.
His daughter? Her mind fell into impenetrable blackness. She blinked blindly, her mouth sagging. She could not even think of a curse proper for the situation. This had to be a dream. There was no way this could be happening. Her? The daughter of Neptune? It was the deepest madness. The idea of being the daughter of a nymph started to seem believable by comparison. She looked around wildly, waiting for the dream to dissolve, to be shaken awake by Olympia.
Her umber robe undulating as she floated forth, the woman who claimed to be Calista’s mother announced formally, “My lord Neptune, may I have the pleasure to present your daughter Calista.”
Calista trembled with confusion. To have known that she may not be a Volusus was one thing, but to be thrust into this world with a stranger claiming to be her mother and a god claiming to have sired her was quite another.
“A pretty young thing, what say you Evadne? The resemblance between mother and daughter is striking.”
Calista recalled with stunning clarity how she and Olympia looked nothing alike.
Neptune stroked his long beard, finally deigning to speak to Calista. “Welcome to Atlantis, daughter. It brings me great joy to welcome you home. Now, you must meet the Waveguide. Go follow Melba,” he instructed.
Following Melba out docilely and avoiding looking at any of the other people in the chamber, Calista was led like a dog on a leash. She began to consider the prospect that this was, in fact, reality. Her feelings were too acute, the details of this place too sharp, for the blurred realm of dreams.
They passed through a dark tunnel of reflective obsidian lit by a series of flickering lanterns. The tight space reminded Calista s
o forcibly of the pipes through which she had escaped from Portus Tarrus that homesickness welled up in her. Thrusting it aside, she listened to Melba, hoping to glean some knowledge of Atlantis. Atlantis! She touched the wall, trying to convince herself of its solidness.
“You have no idea how anxiously Lord Neptune has been awaiting your arrival!” Melba said amiably.
She’s lying, Calista thought.
Melba slid her a knowing look, those cornflower eyes seeing all too much. “Neptune is not the most expressive of gods, even after an eternity. Do no expect verbal assurances of esteem but he will be good to you, even when he is absent, as he his to all of his children, as he will be for Claudius.”
All of his children! I am his child. This cannot be a dream for even I am not so arrogant as to believe myself a child of a god. And I know if I were with Pyp, he would never let me sleep long enough to allow me to sink so deep into a dream. Wait— “Claudius?” Calista repeated.
“He is also Neptune’s son, of course. Why else would he be summoned alongside you? He is your half-brother and it warms my heart that you two are as close as you are already.”
Dread staggered drunkenly through Calista’s veins. She thought of how her heart had raced the first time she had seen Claudius, the look in his eyes on the Orpheus. “You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered.
CHAPTER XI