by Judi Fennell
He’d gotten the damn shorts in place just as Valerie returned triumphantly with a set of keys and Livingston swooped in from his lookout on the motel’s sign.
“All clear,” the gull said. “But let’s hurry. Daybreak isn’t too far off, and I want to get as far as possible in this thing before someone realizes we aren’t still here.”
The truck was roomier inside, although there was no backseat for Livingston, so the bird settled in between them.
“Do you want to drive, Rod?” Valerie held up the keys. “I know what guys and pickups are like.”
Livingston snorted.
“You can, Valerie.” Rod glared at the bird. “I have every confidence in you.” And none in himself to operate this vehicle. There hadn’t been the time to learn, and, frankly, he wasn’t planning to have any reason ever to need to again.
“So, Livingston…” Valerie said, running her fingers through her damp hair, fluffing the curls around her face. For a second—just one—Rod allowed himself to remember how soft those curls had felt in his fingers. “What did you find out about the accident?”
Livingston’s curse would have shamed a docklurker—and those barnacles had heard a lot of Human curses.
“It was no accident,” Livingston said.
“But how? How could an albatross roll not one, but two bales of hay into the middle of a road? It’s not possible. They’re too heavy.”
Rod almost laughed. Her argument wasn’t that JR was a bird, and birds shouldn’t even consider rolling bales of hay onto an interstate to intercept the people trying to outrun them, but that the bales were too heavy for him.
Perhaps learning she would inherit a tail wasn’t going to be too hard for her to accept.
Livingston stood up and shook his head. “JR didn’t do the manual labor. Deer did. He held some of their fawns hostage while their parents did his dirty work. Make no mistake, JR’s not one to leave anything to chance.”
“He did what?” Valerie fumbled with the stick shift, the truck jerking as it lost momentum.
“Hostages?” Rod caught Livingston before the gull hit the dash and set him on it instead. “He took young ones hostage?”
“Yeah, makes you sick, doesn’t it? There’s not much he won’t do if he’s doing that. I bet that’s how he’s controlling the avians.” Livingston clacked his beak shut. “You’re going to have to deal with him, Rod.”
“There is no dealing with that. We don’t negotiate with terrorists and we don’t deal with kidnappers. JR will face a full accounting of The Council, be found guilty, and pay the penalty, just like any other criminal, his past be damned.”
Okay, she could not process this. Fawns? Hostages?
“Rod.” She reached out for his arm without thought. “Please tell me something that makes sense of all of this. I mean, I know it’s happening because I’m living it, but I don’t understand why it’s happening. What country are you from where birds and deer and manatees are equal to humans?”
“Hey! I resent that,” said Livingston, hopping onto his webbed feet. “Just because we don’t have legs or hands doesn’t make us inferior. Why, we can fly, something you Bipeds can do only with a lot of preparation and technology and gas—thereby fouling up the environment for the rest of us.” Livingston got so worked up that he started moulting on the dashboard. “If anything, Humans are inferior to all those creatures you mentioned. At least we only take from the environment what we need, but you people… you damage it. You don’t take care of it. You waste it. You wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of Atlantis!”
The bird swooped his wings over his beak, but she heard the “oh shit” beneath them.
Atlantis?
Okay, Rod was right. She wouldn’t believe this.
Explain the talking seagull, then.
She worked the truck back through its gears to get up to speed. She couldn’t explain the talking seagull, and that one thing—or four if you tossed in the fish bombs, the air-assault peregrines, and the blanket-carrying crows—allowed her to consider there might be the tiniest smidgen of truth in his words. When Livingston had opened his beak and she’d seen for herself the bird could talk—and plan and reason—she had been willing to give Rod the benefit of the doubt, but…
She looked over at him, knowing her eyes were probably as big as saucers and unable to do anything about it. “Atlantis?”
Rod grimaced. “You’ve heard of it.”
She wrapped her hands around the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white and looked out the windshield. They didn’t need another accident. “Who hasn’t? It practically has its own bookshelves in the sci-fi section of the library. Assuming, that is, that you’re not talking about the resort in the Bahamas?”
Livingston made an odd choking noise but didn’t say anything. Good. He’d said enough for today.
And if that statement didn’t just add to the craziness of this moment…
“No. That Atlantis doesn’t begin to compare. But this isn’t science fiction, Valerie. It exists.”
“I’m glad you believe that. The rest of the population? Well, we’re just a tad skeptical. But then, we don’t have talking seagulls or manatee spies or mercenary albatrosses to convince us.”
“You think I’m making this up.”
She sighed. “I wish I did.” She really really did. “That’s the crazy part. I don’t, even though it’d be so much easier to accept that you’re an escaped lunatic, but after Livingston and the fish and the peregrines? You don’t need to hit me over the head.” She chuckled, but not with amusement. “Actually, maybe you do. Getting hunted by peregrines is pretty convincing. But you’re going to have to do some convincing of your own to prove to me that a civilization the rest of the planet thinks is imaginary exists. I mean, exactly where is this myth?”
Livingston choked again.
“In the Caribbean.” Rod hated lying. Atlantis wasn’t in the Caribbean, but Val would never believe that it was near Bermuda. There wasn’t anything near Bermuda but Bermuda, and he couldn’t very well tell her it was under Bermuda. Now, as long as Livingston kept his big trap shut, which he should have done in the first place, Rod might be able to pull this off.
“Okay. In the Caribbean. Where? Is it an invisible island? Floating one, maybe?”
“No, not floating, and not invisible.”
Livingston wheezed as if he was having trouble breathing.
Good.
“Okay, well, that’s good. So… any reason why the rest of the world doesn’t know of its existence?”
“We don’t advertise its location.”
“Right. Lack of advertising. Pity. You might want to think about that. Could bring in all sorts of tourism dollars.”
She hadn’t looked at him yet.
But he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She was holding up surprisingly well. “We don’t encourage tourists.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, I guess if you have diamonds the size of that one in your pocket, you really wouldn’t want to have tourists knocking on your door, now would you?”
“You certainly sound as if you think I’m crazy, Valerie.”
She exhaled and finally did glance his way. “Actually, Rod, I’m wondering if I am. I’ve been following the directions of a seagull, of all things. Dodging fish falling from the sky. Now, Atlantis? It’s the stuff of legends. I’m half-waiting for you to tell me the Bimini road really does lead to it.”
Rod glared at Livingston to keep his beak shut. The undersea road had fallen into disrepair since the gods had created the Travel Chambers, but he’d taken a high-school field trip there once. Ah, the memories of “getting lost” with Marquesa…
He could tell her all that, but she was already dealing with enough as it was.
Why hadn’t her mother told her? This could have been so much easier if she had. The woman h
ad seen Lance; she’d known what he was. But she hadn’t told Valerie, and The Council had decreed he couldn’t, since right now—technically—she was Human. Humans could not know about Mers, the primary law of his world—with which he was intimately acquainted.
“A lot of this you’re going to have to take on faith, Valerie, until I can prove it to you.”
“At the beach. Right. Providing I don’t swell up like a puffer fish and end up flopping around on the dock like said fish out of water, you mean.”
“I promise you that’s not going to happen.”
She turned back to look at the road. “That promise and your Atlantis story need five bucks to get me a cup of coffee.”
“What?”
She shook her head and her shoulders fell. “Sorry for the sarcasm. I’m trying hard to believe you. Go ahead.”
He wanted to tell her everything, but The Council was right. He couldn’t risk her deciding he was crazy or thinking this was too much to take in and leaving. He had to get her to the ocean, now more than ever. Never mind that he could fail and never gain Immortality. JR and whoever had hired him now knew who she was and where she lived. She’d never be safe. He couldn’t leave her to JR’s mercy.
Rod brushed her shoulder with his fingertips. “I know this is hard for you to believe, but I promise you I can prove everything.”
She looked more resigned than believing, but at least she wasn’t turning the truck around. “How, Rod? How do you prove a legend?”
Rod withdrew his hand to run it through his hair, taking the time to formulate his response.
Livingston, thank the gods, tucked his head beneath his wing and stopped choking.
“Atlantis, the original Atlantis, the one you’re familiar with, was the center for commerce in its day. Everyone flocked there, bringing their nations’ greatest exports. The country grew rich. So rich that certain… dignitaries of the ancient world,” the gods forgive him for denigrating them to mortal dignitaries, “decided it should be the center of the known world. Others didn’t agree.
“There was a war, but because Atlantis was so small land-wise and most of its people were merchants, they lost. To the victor go the spoils, and they carted off everything of value, including the people. Legend says the downfall had been written in the stars. Then a great flood covered the island, taking anything left alive with it.”
The legend of the flood, so pervasive in almost every culture’s myths and parables, had indeed caused massive destruction for the residents of Atlantis. Only Poseidon’s Mers had survived.
“But, like the phoenix, Atlantis rose from the ocean bottom.” Not that they’d risen all that far, and definitely not to the surface, but one thing at a time. “This time, they were determined to create a world where such greed and jealousy could not take hold. All ancient peoples were invited to send a delegation, to rule in harmony, and to protect Atlantis from the outside world. Their descendants continue that way of life today. That’s why your kind, er, people don’t know about it. That’s why we allow the myths of Atlantis’s demise to continue. We were once the center of the world, and it was our downfall. We don’t wish to lose our heritage or our paradise again.”
“So you live in a utopia.” She glanced at him, the lift to her eyebrows more surprised than disbelieving. “You actually think you can create a world with no jealousy? You’re making a good argument for being crazy, you know, Rod. That’s just not human nature.”
In that she was correct. Human nature was, at its most basic, greedy. Greedy to survive. Greedy to infiltrate and expand upon the earth until it covered every habitable place and destroyed the environment, just as Livingston had said.
Which was why it was imperative that he get her to Atlantis to fulfill The Prophecy and save the world.
Now if only JR didn’t have any more tricks up his wing, they could do that.
Charley left Fisher’s house with a heavier heart than the one he’d gone in with. He swam through the anemone park across the street, the beautiful colors there a balm to his spirits, as was the greeting he received from the starfish family he’d helped last week. Echinoderm limb regeneration was always a mood pick-me-up. He wished this last visit to Fisher’s home had been, too.
At least he’d brought good news—unlike during the middle of the night, when he’d found out Rod had been injured and had to wake the family… That’d been bad.
Even worse was his inability to explain what was really going on.
The night had been spent on fins and needlefish—and restraining Fisher from using the Travel Chamber while they waited for Livingston’s report.
He sighed and reached for a young sand dollar who’d moved onto the path, returning him to his pod. Just like a youngster, setting out to seek his fortune. Fisher had been that way once, but he was getting old. Worn out. This job took its toll. Delivering the news that Rod was fine hadn’t brought the relief Charley had hoped for.
He’d listened to all of it—Fisher’s despair, the frustration, yes even the anger at the gods for putting Rod and his family through this nightmare.
And all along, Charley couldn’t say a word.
It’d been tough. Probably the toughest task he’d ever had to perform in all his selinos of Advisory. But it was for Fisher’s own good. Rod’s, too. And, of course, ultimately, the Mer race. So, his fins were tied.
A school of damselfish twirled in figure eights around him, showing off their latest stage show. He clapped when they were done, wishing he could set aside all his worry to truly lose himself in the beauty of that dancing rainbow. Sadly, he couldn’t.
He knew how the gods like to toy with their creations, how they liked to taunt them, manipulate them, reward and punish them. There were no guarantees how this would all play out.
If only Zeus had told him the whole plan.
Chapter 28
Thank God, the ride to the airport was uneventful.
Although, honestly, Atlantis would be hard to top.
Atlantis. Of all things. What was next? The Loch Ness Monster?
Val wouldn’t bet against it.
And now she was about to get on a plane to go to the coast to meet this Atlantian contingent who’d known her father. What had happened to her life?
“Okay, so you understand the plan?” Livingston waddled after them through the airport parking garage, trying to pass for just another seagull begging for food. The pigeons were looking at him funny.
The fact that she knew that showed just how far her reality had shifted.
“Livingston, I’ve flown before, if you recall.” Rod slid the truck’s key beneath the tire well.
Hey, even if no one stole it, the desk clerk was already ahead of the game. And if someone did, he’d have the insurance money and a thick wad of bills to get something nicer.
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. Being a twin comes in handy. You do have the identification, right?”
“Yes.”
“And the tickets. You have to buy the tickets.” Livingston lunged as a pigeon hopped too close to a piece of flattened popcorn that, apparently, had Livingston’s name written all over it.
Rod hoisted their bags onto his shoulder. “Livingston, relax. You’re on runway detail. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Famous last words in her world. And with the way her world was going right now… “Rod? Maybe you should knock wood or something, you know? No sense tempting Fate.”
“The Fates are not deterred by knocking wood, Valerie.”
“No, for that you need a good bottle of ouzo,” Livingston snickered as he grabbed a piece of bread crust before the pigeon could.
The pigeon said something in Pigeon that Val didn’t need a translator for.
“I’ll meet you at Reel’s as soon as I can,” Livingston said with the crust wobbling up and down. He needed to work on his manners. “Don’t do an
ything st—er, rash before I get there.”
Definitely so, if he was calling Rod stupid.
“And what do you consider rash?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about taking a running dive off a short pier before anyone’s scouted the area?”
Rod laughed and wow, what it did to her insides. Or was that fluttery feeling the residual effect from the whole Atlantis discussion? It could be, but she wouldn’t bet it. The man was more than gorgeous, and she’d been wrapped around him…
Okay, those kinds of thoughts were not getting her anywhere but hot and bothered, and the last thing she needed while digesting Atlantis was adding hormonal upheaval to the mix.
“Guys? We still have to get through security, so we’d better get going.”
A few more last-minute instructions from Livingston, something about the chief of the Council Guards, and they headed into the terminal.
Security was light since it was early. Too early even for the coffee shop to open, so Val had to make do with a soda, which didn’t have quite the caffeine kick she’d like, but after yesterday, then last night, then this morning, then the drive… letting her metabolism chill out was probably a good idea.
Waking up next to Rod hadn’t exactly contributed to chilling out, but she wasn’t going to think about that when she was facing a few hours shut up in close quarters with him. She was going home when all this was over, remember? Going back to Mom’s store and, for once, sticking to the plan.
They boarded the plane, Val still trying to swallow the sticker shock at a last-minute, first-class ticket price—times two—that had barely made a dent in the wad of bills Rod still carried around. She’d been half-afraid they’d get stopped at security for the bulge in his pocket.
Okay, something else she didn’t need to think about.
So, instead, she opted to think about Rod’s father knowing hers. How, and what did it mean?
The flight attendant delivered her coffee, thank God, and yet another glass of water for Rod sans the salt. “Rod, if your council knows my father, does that make him Atlantian?”