by Lexi Ander
Shaneva shared a grin with him. She wished she could be there for the reunion, but she dared not.
“Poseidon is removing Nethus as Canry’s tutelary.” Arion seemed to be more ally than enemy. But still, she had to plan as if he would not be useful to her.
“Both Azaes and Mestor told me they encountered Poseidon in the Dream.” He looked uncertain. “I confess, I was unsure if they remembered true. Poseidon… I had always assumed he was an Ancient who had passed into the fade long ago.”
There was so much history her people did not know, information the Numina ruthlessly kept to themselves when it should belong to all the peoples of Atlainticia.
“He is very much alive but does not come to our world often. Our Waters do not call to him because they have remained strife free.” An illusion she planned to break to gain Poseidon’s attention.
Only Poseidon could prod the unification of the Numina and Mar’Sani and not cause bloodshed. When Canry had taught her how to open a portal and travel the Ways, she had searched other waters for Poseidon, always returning home empty-handed. The Numina watched her closely. Her relationship and access to Canry made her useful to them. Nethus ignored her travels and allowed her passage to the Numina citiplex where he and Canry resided, though she was constantly viewed with suspicion and hostility, which she returned wholeheartedly, if secretly.
Her lack of reverence galled the Numina, who viewed themselves as superior to those from the shore. She feared them but she still had to remind herself to seem meek, a lesson Nethus tried time and again to drill into her. Though his intimidation, and barely veiled threats, caused her to cower and shiver, she was not completely broken. If he caught wind of what she planned, he would do everything in his power to break her. But until then, Shaneva would fight for her people’s future.
“There are a couple of things I can show you while we are here on Valespia, but not now. Neither one of us has the time tonight and we both need rest. We will meet again tomorrow night. After you have reached Haven, I will contact you. For now, please keep this between us.” Sohm’lan’s quizzical expression dropped, becoming the neutral mask she knew all too well. “If you can guarantee that Mestor can follow my lead and not act, then I will not ask you keep this from him. But be aware that if he knows, then so will Azaes eventually. Then he will tell his future mate, Ariafella. It is better that they do not know about this until I am ready. But if you think Mestor can keep quiet, then I will trust your judgement.”
“Can I ask why I cannot tell your family? These people, the Numina, would not know, especially since I do not have a geas chip.”
She sighed. “The short answer: clues from Canry’s farseeing.”
He gave a grim nod. “I see.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Nethus Qalupalik. Qalupalik. Is that not the same as our fairy tale of the qalupalik who carries a pouch so they can take young away from the shore?”
“Yes.”
The tale was told to young who played along the shore, to keep them from entering the water without supervision. She had thought it myth until she learned that in the early days, after Pegasus the Explorer left the seas to explore land, the Numina were dismayed by how many followed Pegasus. They snatched the young of the unwatchful, hiding them in the citiplexes of the deep waters. The Numina no longer practiced the snatching, at least not that she knew of. They valued their secrecy more than having young, that was until Nethus took Canry and the Numina uncovered a yearning for that which they could not have. The people had doted on Canry, even as they reviled his origins. They liked to pretend he had no ties to the shore, that he was not Mar’Sani, but were ever reminded who he was when she visited.
Sohm’lan did not need her confirmation, his countenance darkening. “Come with us,” he said with a vehemence that told her he would kill Nethus if she suddenly disappeared. “If Canry is in danger, then so are you.”
“This is not just about the two of us,” she replied, sighing heavily. She had carried this knowledge for so many summers, but it was not yet time for her to put the burden down. “The People of the Longing and others need me. I cannot abandon them. If my planning goes correctly, then they will all be free. Until then, I will remain.”
“Does this people want Canry because he is powerful?” Sohm’lan’s gaze swept the shadowed plain now covered in death’s blood. “What he did… the song. My father talked about the old legends of a Siren’s Song, a tactic used by Poseidon and his descendants in the Arthro War. Are the Terrens dead?”
She explained what Canry had done and that the Terrens were safe. They were not the enemy. Many were forced into a duty they did not want. “There are many reasons Nethus and his people want Canry, but at this time only Nethus will attempt to return Canry to the depths. If he succeeds, I do not know if I can do anything about it. A new tutor has arrived but until he takes over, Canry needs to remain on shore.”
She wanted to apologize for dragging Sohm’lan into this mess, but she held her tongue. If given a choice, she would do it again. She needed him, his strength and integrity.
As if he read her mind, he enclosed her in his arms. “There is nothing that I would not do for you, Waterdaughter. Never hesitate to ask for my help again.”
She hoped he would never come to rue the day he said those words.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mestor
* * *
When he next woke, he did not know how much time had passed. The doctors were not too happy when they noticed he was semi-conscious in the cryochamber. He made some slurring remark about not keeping him down, not realizing his father was in the room. Haven physicians were nothing like the Mar’Sani. No backbone whatsoever. They fled like a flock of birds when Valdor hiss-clicked and gave an impressive roar.
“The purpose of the cryochamber was to put him in stasis so the poisoning would not do further damage, and yet no one noticed it was working poorly?” The question was more of a bellow and any who had braved the initial warning quickly followed their colleagues.
His father stalked to the capsule and started typing on the attached data pad.
“Sohm’lan?” Mestor asked, eyes drooping closed.
“He is doing well, my son. You need to stop fighting and rest. The battle is over, and your warlord will be bringing not only Zeus but Canry here in a couple of days. Your Meme, Ariafella, Azaes, and I are handling everything else. I am sending in a couple of Monticore to heal you after you have been more thoroughly cleaned. The poisoning needs to be seen to by the virologists.”
Mestor panicked. “No. No, Father.” He had meant to sound more forceful, but his denial came out in a near whisper. “No. Do not let another put their mouth on me. Only my amor, please Father, I need Sohm.”
With great effort, he pried his eyes open. His father’s face was on the other side of the glass, so close yet not. His sunrise-yellow eyes looked exhausted, though he smiled.
“I do not know if I should sedate you and have your wounds healed despite your demand or let you be a foolish youngling. Do you think Sohm’lan will care how you are healed?” His father’s scowl was a bit frightening. “I have never known my best friend to be a jealous nob, but if he—”
“Not him.” He tried to explain. Sohm’lan, once he decided to be Mestor’s amor, gave everything of himself to Mestor. His attention was intoxicating, and Mestor was the one who struggled with jealousy. “Me. He is my amor. I only want him touching me.”
Valdor’s rising fury evaporated. “I know he is your amor. Your Meme told me your plans when you did not.” The mock scowl reminded Mestor of when his father attempted to be stern with him and Azaes but was secretly laughing at them. “I guess I will follow your wishes, but if you are not getting better, I will overrule your wishes and command you as your emperor.”
He knew he could not get a better agreement and sighed in relief. Willingly he returned to the dreamless sleep.
“Easy now, Prince Mestor.”
He was pulled roughly from oblivion by excr
uciating pain. He was snarling before he opened his eyes. Dr. Solon leaned over him, holding his torso down, crooning in his earhole. Exactly what, he did not know, since his whole attention was being held by what felt like fire in his veins. Was this the poison they were worried about? Was he dying?
“Mestor!”
He recognized that booming snarl. He blinked, trying to see his father but Dr. Solon was in the way. “You will cease moving this instant and give your full cooperation to the doctors,” Valdor commanded as he moved to where Mestor could see him.
He gulped air, trying to do what his father and emperor ordered, but he hurt so damn much. Azaes joined them and his expression flashed between fury and pain.
“They were not expecting him to come out of sedation,” Dr. Solon explained, slowly rising as if unsure whether Mestor could remain still.
He ground his teeth, breathing as deeply as he could. Azaes grabbed his hand, sharing his strength as well as taking some of Mestor’s pain. Perhaps the agony was making him sentimental, but he had the best family. No one could top the Vondorians.
“It seems that more than one of my young are resistant to chemically-induced sleep,” Valdor said. Later he would feel a bit of pride that he could not be incapacitated for long, but at the moment he loathed the ability. None had known Zeus was resistant to anesthesia until the Chtichlians had tried and failed to use it. Mestor had a better appreciation for what Zeus had endured. He had known it was terrible, Zeus had had nightmares for weeks, but to experience the same gave him a new perspective.
When Dr. Solon stepped away, he saw he had been plugged into a couple of machines. Dr. Solon checked the vidscreen. “The poison is aggressive, and the physicians decided to give him several vials of reparative nanites, and that caused him more pain than anticipated. We will need to provide him with a building solution that the nanites will use to force the poison out of his system. It is not something he can consume. If he is not sedated properly, then…” Dr. Solon spread his hands in surrender as Valdor hissed. The treatment would be more painful than receiving the wounds had been.
Mestor wished for oblivion.
“Brother. Come to me.”
He quickly glanced around at hearing Shaneva’s voice. Had she somehow found a vessel to carry her from the Waters to the infirmary? Wait. She was on Atlainticia, or had Canry brought her with him to Valespia?
“Mestor?” Azaes queried, glancing around as if he’d heard what Mestor had. Suddenly straightening as if something had just dawned on him, Azaes looked at their father. “Can Mestor be placed in stasis?”
The answer to the situation had been simple. He thumped the end of his tail in frustration. Could he concentrate enough through the pain to put himself in stasis?
“Father?” The concern Mestor could not put into words was in his voice.
“Dr. Solon. Close the door and stop the recording devices,” Valdor commanded, taking Mestor’s free hand.
Dr. Solon rushed to do as ordered, closing the door in the face of the curious and fearful alike.
His father started the chant, the words in the old tongue vibrating in the air until Azaes entered the song. Everyone was taught the hymn of balance as soon as they could speak. Legends said it was the first song Poseidon had sung when he first stepped into Atlainticia’s waters, making them his, the Waters of Poseidon.
Dr. Solon stood at the foot of the surgical bed, grasping both of Mestor’s ankles. The words of the chant layered on top of one another as Mestor concentrated on breathing deeply, slowly.
“It is time for you to let go of your burdens. Come rest with me,” Shaneva’s voice beckoned and he closed his eyes. “I will keep you from all harm, big brother. Trust me.”
He did, even though he had been injured the last time he had visited the Dream. But that had been different, and though Shaneva did not have the ability that he, Azaes, and their father had, her strength lay in the Dream and dreaming. She was the Vondorians’ soulcatcher, and, in the Dream realm, she was queen.
His heartbeat slowed to an intermittent rhythm. The sound of the chant rose in volume, vibrating in his bones until his spirit was gathered up, Shaneva’s familiar presence wrapping him in safety. In the next breath he was in the Dream, floating in the warm Waters of Poseidon.
“There you are.” Shaneva pulled him so that he floated on top of her. Expertly she kept him from sinking into the depths. He had no more energy here than he did in his own body.
“Greetings, little sister. Sorry to bother you like this.” He hated being weak. He had underestimated a V’Saar and almost paid for it with his life.
“Nonsense. Who else would tell you how Sohm’lan and Zeus are?” She stroked his brow, her hand cool against his hot scales.
He had no idea how much time he had lost while in cryosleep. He brushed away the frustration that rose at the thought. There was nothing he could do about that. Instead he focused on Shaneva and her offer.
“Have you seen them?”
Her eyes glistened with pride and a fierceness he had never seen in her before. “Oh, the story that I have to tell.” She began with how she and Canry had been gathering their small force in anticipation of Zeus calling Canry for help.
There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, such as how long had she known where to find Canry? Why had she not told the family? He knew Shaneva, she would not have kept such a secret willingly. So then, who had coerced her into complying? What was the price she paid?
But he said nothing. Thankful for being pain-free even if he was as weak as a beached octopus. He listened to her story, sucked into the expert re-telling like a tailless youngling hanging on her every word. He wished he had been there to see the Terrens running to the sea to be embraced by the People of the Longing. He bet Canry’s Siren Song was beyond beautiful. And Zeus… his stupid brother almost got himself killed. Mestor grinned wide. He hoped someone recorded the whole battle.
Then Shaneva told him about Sohm’lan and quickening. His humor fled as he listened intently. When she asked if he wanted to learn how to speak telepathically, how to control the fires that burned within him, he said yes, vowing that they would talk later about these secrets she held. Perhaps she would trust him with not only her knowledge, but with herself.
“Speak to no one but Sohm’lan about this,” she pressed, and he agreed, unwilling to give her a reason to take away this little trust she had placed in him.
The gentle rocking of the waves caused drowsiness to creep in no matter how he fought to remain alert. As he fell asleep, she whispered other stories, ancient tales about their people and Pegasus the Explorer. He struggled to stay awake, needing to ask her so many things. She was sneaky, probably the one who lulled him to sleep. Had he not thought earlier that the Dream was the realm in which she was queen? If the queen did not want to answer questions, then she would not until she was ready.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mestor
* * *
The next time Mestor woke, his pain was a dull ache, not the all-consuming one that threatened to steal his sanity. He was not alone. When he blinked his eyes open, the low light did not blind him. His father sat nearest to him, head tilted back as he snored softly. Azaes was on the sleeping platform with him, curled against his side, holding Mestor in a protective embrace. He did not want to move and awaken his, clearly seeing Azaes’ exhaustion.
Doctor Solon slipped into the room and noticed he was alert. Smiling brightly, he checked the vidscreen before looking at the circular pads adhered to the scales of his chest. Zeus had worn something similar after he had been injured in the battle to free The Gorgon from the pirates. The pads helped the medtechs track the nanites’ progress. Satisfied that they were still secured, Dr. Solon pulled a couple of containers from a hidden cabinet and then mixed a substance Mestor suspected was a nanite feeding solution. The drink held the building blocks the nanites needed to do what they were programed to without cannibalizing Mestor’s healthy tissue.
&nbs
p; He sat on the platform next to Mestor, and the movement of the mattress caused Azaes to tighten his arms, putting pressure on Mestor’s lower abdomen and causing him to hiss softly.
Valdor was immediately on his feet, his gaze pinning Mestor in place.
“Empress Ashari and Ariafella are on their way to relieve the two of you,” Dr. Solon told Valdor while he silently insisted that Mestor take a sip from the canna reed. The concoction was barely palatable, but he ignored the taste and gulped more. “I will give a full report when they arrive.”
He tried to assess his injuries. His dislocated shoulder felt twice the normal size. Or perhaps not. He was unsure if the general aches of his body were making the minor injuries feel bigger than they truly were. He remembered a metal bar piercing his thigh then being jerked off it by an enraged bug. He tried to wiggle his toes, worried when he did not feel much from that side.
“Stop squirming,” Dr. Solon chastised.
The door opened and Meme entered as if she were going into battle. Behind her, Ariafella looked just as determined.
“Great. Everyone is here.” Dr. Solon rose when she approached. He gave her the bottle Mestor had been sipping from.
Ashari pressed her forehead against Valdor’s and suddenly Mestor could see how tired they both were. Ariafella sat in the place Dr. Solon had vacated and pressed her forehead to Mestor’s. “You gave us all a fright, brother-to-be. You just might find yourself grounded to Atlainticia after this.”
He knew better than to give a disbelieving snort. Everyone had worried about him. He thought about his actions and did not see anything he should feel guilty about. He was a warlord, the next Chief to the Emperor of Atlainticia. There would be other battles and other chances for injury. Only a lucky few came away unscathed. With the S’aae’s death the other V’Saar reverted to inaction, allowing his soldiers to defeat them quickly. If given the chance, he would do it again.