by A. L. Knorr
There was a heavy silence and Shaloris was aching to peek around the column to see their faces. Did Hypatia realize her error?
“You mean…I will be the first and only siren in Atlantean government,” Eumelia said. Her voice was soft but it was edged with steel.
“Yes, of course you. That’s what I meant.” Hypatia spoke quickly, skimming over her slip. “Even now Sisinyxa is weaseling her way in through Nestor, the idiot.”
“She is Sovereign,” replied Eumelia, with some shock in her tone. “Do you feel no love for her? No tie to the power the Salt gave her?”
“The Mer were meant for far more than those miserable, dank caves,” Hypatia replied. There was the sound of flint on tinder and Shaloris knew they’d moved to the lighting of the three torches. Her voice softened a little. “You’ll see. We have given you a great gift, your father and I. He understands what it means. I’ve explained it to him.”
“Explained…” Eumelia sounded as though she wanted to ask the question but was afraid of getting bit.
“What it means when an Atlantean and a siren really love one another. What it means for their child.”
“You mean my gifts.” Eumelia’s voice moved to the far side of the temple.
Atlanteans who truly believed in the Atlantean pantheon would never talk so much in the temple, and certainly not about such political things in such a vulgar way. The Mer in the city did not really believe. Shaloris could see that, and it was obvious here in the way Eumelia and Hypatia went through the rituals of the temple so carelessly.
But then, would an Atlantean––one who truly believed the gods could see all––be hiding and eavesdropping within the temple, either? Shaloris felt shame heat her cheeks and wished she hadn’t hidden herself. Why had she given in to such a childish impulse? An impulse borne of her desire to be invisible, unjudged. She had expected them to move through the rituals in silence and leave her in peace. Now she was in a bind. She wished she could run away, sneak out the back and hear no more. She didn’t really care about the gift Hypatia was referring to, and she didn’t want to hear any more of the siren’s schemes. But she was stuck, and so she kept still.
“When the king chooses his heir, that heir will be accepted by the government. You’ll be given a place on council, the place that Sisinyxa is trying so hard to claim.” Hypatia’s tone had grown thoughtful and searching, attempting to paint a clear picture of the future for her daughter. A path to power.
“You won’t be given any say at first,” she went on. “You’ll have to wait until you are eighteen. But then you’ll have a voice. Your words will carry more and more weight as time goes on. When he sees fit to step down, you’ll be ready. I’ll make sure of that.”
“What of Shaloris?” her daughter responded.
Shaloris tensed, pushing her back up against the marble and making fists at her hips.
“What of her?” Hypatia’s voice was dismissive. It sent a barb of anger through Shaloris’s heart. “She is not suited to rule. She hardly speaks to anyone in public. She doesn’t attend the parties hosted by the councilors or make the right friends, the way we’ve been doing since you were old enough to cut your food with your own knife.”
“Father loves her,” Eumelia responded, her voice earnest.
Shaloris squeezed her eyes shut and her heart swelled. She missed her half-sister. Eumelia was fiery and haughty, but they had grown up together. Every year that passed took them closer to womanhood and further from one another. They were on opposite sides of a war between only four people. A war most of Atlantis was unaware of, except for maybe its most astute politicians, the ones who could look ahead and predict things.
Shaloris wanted to leap out from behind the pillar and tell Hypatia that she was being awful. Tell her that she––Shaloris––did not want the throne anyway. There was no need for the scheming or the politicking. Couldn’t she just leave them both alone?
“Of course he loves her, but that will not be what he bases his decision on. It will be based on strength, your willingness to step up and take power, wield it with confidence. King Bozen admires courage and tenacity, boldness and craftiness.”
“And what, if I should be chosen, would you want me to change? Atlantis is already the most powerful nation in the world. Is there so much work to be done?”
Hypatia cackled dryly and its sound was like ice-chips hitting Shaloris in the eardrums.
“There is always work to be done. Ousting all the wretched humans, for one thing.”
Shaloris stifled a gasp of horror. Atlanteans and humans had built this city side by side. They had toiled together for hundreds of years to turn Atlantis from a small seaside village into a powerful nation where peoples of all kind were welcome. It was the Mer who had come along later, after the city had become what it was today. And now Hypatia was talking about getting rid of them? They were more than half the population and they were needed. They made up the bulk of Atlantis’s inventors, creators, doctors, builders, lawyers. Without them, the city would not be Atlantis at all. And more humans entered the city every day, bringing their children and setting up homes and businesses in the city’s bustling ports. They joined the army, delivered cargo, farmed the arable lands outside the city’s borders, and fished its abundant seas.
Dislike was one thing, but why Hypatia could possibly want to get rid of them was beyond anything Shaloris could understand. The poisonous attitude had taken root in Eumelia at a young age. Shaloris had seen her draw back from them in the street, shudder when they passed, sniff as if she couldn’t stand the smell. Eumelia’s learned mindset was that humans were fragile, they died too quickly and easily, they had no magic. They were good only for serving, making things. They were like horses or cattle.
Shaloris’s stomach clenched and her mouth felt dry. She was sickened by what she’d heard and she wondered if she had the right to hide any longer. Not from Eumelia and Hypatia, but from her destiny and her magic. Did she not have a duty to protect the humans of Atlantis if they were in danger? Did a human not deliver her from her mother’s womb? Did a human not feed her and care for her and teach her all manner of wonderful things?
Something quaked deep inside Shaloris and now she was afraid. Afraid of what it would mean if Eumelia became King Bozen’s heir. But she was also afraid of what it would mean if she stepped up and showed that she wanted it. What would it mean if she claimed her magic? How would she change? Would it give her the courage she lacked?
Twenty
The day of King Bozen’s name day baked under the summer sun, heat bouncing off the white marble at the center of Atlantis.
Atlantis was a sprawling but organized metropolis, with a main port to the ocean and an outer and inner ring of riverways. These passageways for deliveries in and out of Atlantis were wide and deep. With many ports along its waterfront, it was easy to distribute goods and travelers to anywhere in Atlantis. The very center of Atlantis was reserved for wealthy residences, glittering temples, and rich gardens fed with freshwater diverted from the high waterfalls to the north. Fresh spring water both hot, from the thermals, and cold, from deeper underground, was fed through pipelines to every home. Everyone, no matter how young or old, how rich or poor, had access to fresh water. Every family was given a small plot of land for a garden. Sometimes only a few square meters of soil, but it was enough to feed four if well-tended.
At the heart of Atlantis was an exquisite temple with fat white pillars and a huge dome with an oculus. This way nothing would be hidden from the gods and all activities would be lit with either sunlight or moonlight. Directly beneath the oculus was a pool fed directly from the ocean itself. Saltwater, though a deity for the Mer, was also revered by Atlanteans, for the ocean is what gave the nation its power.
Shaloris stood beside her mother, Valgana, both of them resplendent in white robes. Their long dark hair was half piled on top of their heads and festooned with white flowers. Valgana held a golden goblet inlaid with the stone of Atlantis–
–aquamarines. At her throat was a fine golden chain from which dangled an aquamarine pendant.
The temple was abuzz with excitement as the most elite citizens and guests from afar partook of the King’s feast.
Shaloris was full to bursting after the feast. It had included fish baked in lemon and butter, roast lamb, tender sea vegetables, soft salty cheese from the northern highland goats, fresh cucumbers dressed with sweet vinegar and fresh herbs, and sweet wine made from almonds. Within reach at any moment were trays carrying piles of black and green grapes, bowls of olives soaking in oil, fresh soft figs, and tender roasted chicken on little wooden skewers. The place smelled of many tantalizing foods, as well as salt from the ocean-fed pool in the center of the party.
King Bozen had come down from his seat to drink with his councilors.
Hypatia and Eumelia leaned against a pillar on the far side of the room. Whenever Hypatia’s gaze passed over King Bozen, her eyes filled with a longing so obvious that Shaloris flushed and turned away. It was embarrassing. Shaloris tried several times to catch Eumelia’s eye, but her sister was pointedly ignoring her. Instead she and her mother were in near constant whispered conversation as Hypatia educated Eumelia on the who’s who of Atlantean aristocracy.
Valgana had already introduced Shaloris to each guest in turn, taking her time and moving slowly through the party before the meal began. She’d told Shaloris that people would remember her better if they were not distracted by the food. Shaloris thought this was probably true. So the bulk of their mingling was finished before the incredible platters of food were brought in. Shaloris felt exhausted from all the talking and smiling and wondered when it would be okay to leave the party and go back to the quiet of her home. Maybe even climb the cliffside to the high temples overlooking the ocean and relax in the stillness while most people were occupied with the nighttime celebrations. She knew better than to ask her mother for permission to leave.
Valgana took Shaloris’s hand and led her to a place not far from the king’s right hand. There they’d have a good view of all the wonderful things the king would be presented with. At the mention of gifts, Shaloris glanced at Hypatia and Eumelia again, and noticed they were maneuvering themselves to the edge of the pool.
Representatives of surrounding nations and beyond jostled themselves into position, waiting to present the gifts they’d taken great pains to bring from as far away as the Pelopponese cities, the sea-states of the Aegean and the Mediterranean. Even the exotic and unimagined places of the south where skin was dark, the languages unique, and the magic mysterious and earthy.
Men and women in colorful costumes and headdresses gave skins of spotted animals; huge ivory tusks decorated with gold; yards and yards of brightly dyed handmade textiles; barrels of fine spirits, nut oils, and vinegars. Colorful spices filled the air with warming scents. One king from an island with a name Shaloris could not pronounce led a great stallion that looked like he’d been painted with gold. When the sun’s rays illuminated the animal, the crowd gave a pleasing gasp, for the truth was revealed. The horse had not been painted, but had a naturally glittering coat, even to the curly long hair over its hooves. King Bozen appeared appropriately awed.
When Shaloris and Valgana took their turn, King Bozen was effusive with his appreciation for the tailored and newly dyed purple robe they’d had made, and the tunic of aquamarine silk. Once Shaloris had returned to her place, she felt she could relax and enjoy the rest of the celebrations with her part out of the way. She took a sip of the wine a servant had placed on the table beside her and made herself comfortable in her seat.
When the king’s herald announced the Sovereign of Okeanos, Sisinyxa of the nation of the Mer, Shaloris straightened and strained for a good view. The herald also announced Sisinyxa’s husband, Ajax.
They approached King Bozen in a little more silence than the other guests. The Sovereign of Okeanos was a great mystery. Shaloris had heard that no one even knew where Okeanos was, that it was completely hidden beneath the water, that it was a place of great rich mines.
Sisinyxa was a striking woman with a powerful bearing. She was not overly tall, but with her shoulders back and the way the light illuminated her flawless complexion, she was positively regal. She wore a simple dove-gray dress fastened at one shoulder with a clasp made of the precious yellow metal from her own mines. The fabric was not embroidered or dyed, just flowing and clean. It fell to the floor and moved like a ghostly curtain as she walked on unadorned feet. Her hair fell in gleaming waves over her shoulders, and a fine circlet of the yellow metal encircled her forehead.
Every male eye followed the Sovereign of Okeanos the way moths throw themselves against candlelight.
Shaloris tore her hungry gaze from Sisinyxa to drink in Sisinyxa’s husband, Ajax. Tall and lean, with the same unblemished skin as his wife, Ajax walked silently across the marble. A dark-blue skirt covered him from waist to knees, but that was all. He moved the way Shaloris had seen cats pick their way across the rooftops. Smooth and liquid. He looked like a statue come to life. In his hands he carried a beautiful, tall box that was strange in its own way. Only the frame of it was solid, while the sides were made of a rough fabric pulled tight and fastened to a frame of yellow metal.
Sisinyxa spoke. It was brief and she did not raise her voice, so all those present strained to hear her. Shaloris thought her voice was like music. Sisinyxa wished the king a happy name day and a prosperous year.
Ajax set the box upright and it was nearly as tall as Ajax himself. With a tug, he unfastened the fabric and it fell away from the box.
A murmur passed through the crowd as their eyes took in the bright yellow armor. Aquamarines lined the neck of the gleaming breastplate. The set included a scabbard, greaves to protect the shins, vambraces for the wrists and forearms, and a perfectly round shield which was so bright in the sunlight one could hardly look at it without squinting. Aquamarine gemstones had been laid in the shield, outlining the shape of Atlantis––three concentric circles.
As King Bozen thanked and embraced Sisinyxa and Ajax, and could not keep himself from trying on the set of vambraces, Shaloris whispered in her mother’s ear.
“It’s so yellow, surely it’s not gold.” Shaloris knew that solid gold made poor armor. Some wealthy Atlanteans plated their armor with it because it was pretty and a sign of wealth, but gold itself was too soft to be good protection in battle.
Valgana whispered back, “It’s orichalcum. It’s much harder, and more valuable even, than gold.”
When Sisinyxa and Ajax had done their part, Shaloris watched them slip to the back of the room and wait there a few moments until the stares dropped away from them to focus on the next gift. Then they quietly slipped away.
The gifting was coming to an end. Remarkable and exotic things piled up on the tables at the outer walls behind the king’s seat, and servants had begun to slip in and take them away.
Shaloris fought to keep her eyelids from drooping. She was full and tired. She stirred when her mother’s arm slipped around her waist and squeezed her, bidding her to pay attention. One gift was left, and Eumelia and Hypatia had stepped forward. Shaloris came fully awake. Of course Hypatia had waited until the very end; that way Eumelia’s gift would be the last one to be given and the one soonest remembered.
“King Bozen, may your years be long and prosperous and your name day full of joy,” Hypatia began, launching into a rather drawn-out birthday blessing.
Shaloris stole a glance at her father’s expression. King Bozen had retreated to his seat and reclined with one hand resting at the base of his goblet of wine. His other hand was at his jaw, his knuckles curled under but his index finger poised thoughtfully against his lips. His kind gray eyes focused only on Hypatia as she spoke. Shaloris saw with some disappointment that his expression was dripping with love, even if it was tinged with sadness.
She felt her mother stiffen beside her and wondered how painful it was for her to see the king gazing upon her riv
al with such affection.
Shaloris wanted to ask why the king had set aside Hypatia if he loved her so much. Was it because she was Mer? The rumors of the city said she had magic to hold him, something beyond even the magic sirens had over humans. Perhaps his own councilors were afraid that she had been controlling him.
Both Hypatia and Eumelia had empty hands, and there was no gift box or basket anywhere near them.
“Our daughter, the Princess Eumelia, wishes to bestow upon you a gift of great value, one only she can provide. I beg you wait and watch with some patience, my King.” With this, Hypatia gestured dramatically to where her daughter stood at the ocean pool’s edge, directly across from King Bozen.
Bozen’s eyes moved from Hypatia to where Eumelia stood with her head held high and proud. Shaloris could see her chest rise and fall. The skin of her forehead and cheeks glowed with a thin sheen of perspiration. Eumelia lifted her hands slowly, her fingers moving elegantly, but she did not tear her eyes from her father’s face.
The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for…what? Was she going to dance and sing? Atlanteans loved theatre, and leaned forward eagerly, their eyes on the young woman with the hair like fire and skin like marble.
Shaloris’s skin prickled and her pulse quickened as Eumelia’s eyes shifted from green to bright blue. A moment later, the room reacted with a sigh of amazement. King Bozen leaned forward in his seat, enthralled.
“Look the water!” someone cried.
The water in the ocean pool was moving in a circle. Little sloshing sounds began to fill the air as the whirlpool picked up speed. A divot formed in the centre as Eumelia’s hands moved in the air, manipulating the water…bending it to her will.
Another gasp rose as a thin line of water, no wider than a pinky finger, crept upward from the centre of the whirlpool. It climbed and climbed, defying gravity until it reached eye level. At the top of the staff of water, a bright blue glow appeared like a star. It grew bright but never lost its teal color. It began to fatten and crawl outward in both directions, making an intricate symmetrical pattern. The bright blue thing widened and then curled upward at the edges. A hole appeared in its center, making a ring. Not a ring…