“You’re disgusting,” Visola said, before looking down at the chessboard. She was so disturbed by the mental image of sleeping with this man whom she so despised that she did not take enough time to choose where to move her king. She moved it one space backwards in retreat.
“You should consider being with me, Visola. We could have great fun together. I hear I am extremely skilled with my tongue.” Kyrosed leaned forward and smiled at her lustfully. “Check.”
“King Kyrosed!” Visola rose to her feet, slamming her hand on the table and making the pieces all jump. “We have had this conversation countless times. If you mention it again, I’m going to take my sister and go to Yonaguni,” Visola told him. “Queen Amabie would treat me much better than this.”
“Bullshit. You would never leave Aazuria. You have been her protector since you two were children, and you are far too attached.”
“But do I love her more than I hate you?” Visola said with a sneer.
“That is no way to speak to your king, Colonel Ramaris. You’re in check, by the way,” Kyrosed said with a smile. “You forget that I know you. You hate learning new languages and your Japanese is poor.”
“I would manage.”
“I have contacts in Japan. I would send them to kill you if you ever left Adlivun.”
“Who?” Visola demanded.
“For one, Kishibe.”
“I have heard of him. He is a ruffian with a drinking problem. He could never kill me.”
“Kishibe is a great warrior. If he can’t manage to kill you, there’s always the more vulnerable Sionna.”
“Don’t you dare bring my sister into any of this! If anything ever happens to her, and I even suspect you are responsible, I will castrate you!”
“Curb your insolent tongue, child! Show some respect to your superiors, and move your damned king out of check!”
Visola clamped her mouth shut, seething with anger. She looked down to the chessboard, her eyes blurry with emotion. It suddenly occurred to her that Kyrosed was provoking her so he could win the game. That would be just like him. She sat down again, and tried to decide what to do with her king. She noticed that she could still take his queen with her knight, and she did so.
“Excellent move,” Kyrosed said. He moved his bishop to take her knight. “Be calm, Visola. When we return to Adlivun I will raise your salary. You and Sionna and your father will be very wealthy.”
“What about Uncle Sigarr? Will you end his exile and let him return?”
“No.”
Visola sighed. She ran a hand through her hair before moving her rook. She had been bored in her quarters, and had petitioned the king for a game of chess, but now she regretted it. Loneliness was better than the maddening intensity of his company.
“You know, my new advisor mentioned to me that he fancies having twin redheads. Together,” Kyrosed told her, as he moved his bishop again. “Check.”
Visola swallowed her angry retort. She looked down at the chessboard, considering whether to fight or surrender. She moved her rook. “This goes against tradition, King Kyrosed. The Ramaris and Vellamo families have been close for millennia. My ancestors have died for your house, and yours have died for mine. You should not treat my Uncle this way.”
“The world is changing rapidly, and so must we. Checkmate.”
Visola was glad that the never-ending game was finally over. She rose and marched to the door, yearning to be away from Kyrosed’s aura of slime.
Chapter 13: Sort of Alive
Visola followed the young dark-haired girl through the halls of the ship. They had returned from visiting with the Yawkyawk leaders and spending several days in their territory. Even though it was not as luxurious as Adlivun, and even the ship was more comfortable, Visola had enjoyed their stay immensely. She regretted having to return to Kyrosed.
“Papa!” Aazuria called as she entered the room. Visola followed behind her twelve-year-old body with a deep scowl.
“My darling daughter!” Kyrosed Vellamo exclaimed, opening his arms in a gesture of welcome. “How was your mission in Arnhem Land?”
Aazuria gave her father a demure smile and a deep curtsey. “It was enlightening. Papa, I fear I cannot condone your plans to absorb the Yawkyawk. Their way of life has been unchanged for thousands of years. I have never seen so many people so happy and content with themselves and their environment. The relationship between the sea-dwellers and the land-dwellers is intricate.”
When Aazuria paused to gather her thoughts, King Kyrosed turned to glance at Visola. He rolled his eyes skyward, indicating that he did not care about his daughter’s opinion. They had travelled with a small campaign from Adlivun after communicating through emissaries for years. His intent was clear, and he would not leave until he achieved his objective. He began nodding to appear attentive when he realized that his daughter had begun speaking again.
“The land-dwelling people consider the Yawkyawk to be spiritual guides of some sort. They believe that the water has magical properties with respect to fertility, and they believe you can become pregnant by just going near to the water.”
“That’s fascinating,” King Kyrosed remarked, but Visola could see that he really believed it was dumb.
“What actually happens is even more interesting. The natives go on these ‘fertility quests’ where they lie by the water, and smoke a certain herb. They go days without eating, hoping for a water spirit to appear to bless them with a child. The Yawkyawk mermen come out of the water and make love to the land-women, but they believe that they are only spirits in a dream. They imagine all kinds of fanciful beasts and creatures, and tell the most outlandish stories about the origin of their children. One woman told me that her son was given to her by a creature called a muldjewangk, and that is why he is such a fearsome warrior.”
“That’s all very well, Aazuria,” Kyrosed responded, with a frown, “but I don’t see what it has to do with us. We need to bring these people home with us.”
“Papa, we cannot,” she said quietly. “They are set in their ways—it will ruin all of their beautiful beliefs and fantasies.”
“Aazuria, my dear, we left the Nordic seas when they became uninhabitable. Now the Yawkyawk must leave the seas of New Holland if they wish to survive. This land is being colonized as we speak, and the natives are being subjugated just as they have been everywhere else. Why can you not see that?”
“Why would you send me to learn about them if you were just going to overrule and disregard any advice I gave to you?” Aazuria asked angrily.
“I sent you to learn about how to make them see things our way.”
“You sent me because I look like a young, innocent, pretty girl, and you wanted to use me to try and control them,” Aazuria corrected. “Well, I will not do it. Adlivun does not need for you to increase its population by importing slaves. So if you want to lie to them and tell them life will be better for them in frozen Alyeska than in the land they love, you may do it yourself, Papa.”
“I intend to do just that,” he told her.
Aazuria turned and marched out of the room. Visola smiled, and moved to follow her when Kyrosed stopped her.
“Colonel Ramaris!” he called sharply.
“Yes, Father Kyrosed?”
“It is essential that you keep Aazuria indoors tonight. Do not allow her to leave the ship. I will be running errands on land, and I need to trust you with her safety,” he said. “Is this understood?”
“Yes, of course, Father Kyrosed.”
“Very well. Go after her and do not let her out of your sight. There are penal colonies here, and that means there could be prisoners and convicts anywhere. Both of you must stay on the boat.”
Visola saluted the king, and left the room. She walked through the halls of the ship, heading for Aazuria’s cabin. She knocked on the door, and receiving no answer, she opened the door and entered. Aazuria was lying on her back on her bed, and staring up at the ceiling.
“I am so u
pset, Viso,” she said quietly.
“I know,” Visola said, closing the door and moving over to sit on Aazuria’s bed. “That man makes me angrier by the day.”
“There is nothing I can do,” Aazuria said, “except dance at the billabong.”
“What?”
“There will be a party tonight—a beach party at a lake. Will you please come with me, Viso?”
“Father Kyrosed says that we are to stay on the ship tonight,” Visola told her.
“Since when do you listen to him?” Aazuria asked, turning to face her friend. “I do not care what he wants.”
“I am not really in the mood, Zuri.”
“Do not be a spoilsport. There will be dancing. You must come with me; you know how I love dancing!”
“Personally, I can live without it.”
“You would not let me go on my own and be unprotected in a dangerous land, would you?”
“Of course not, but I have instructions to keep you from going out at all. He seemed serious.”
Aazuria looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess you don’t want to see all of those half-naked, well-muscled, exotic men indigenous to the Southern Continent. There is always the next trip.”
Visola sighed.
“A pipe for the princess?”
“No, thank you,” Aazuria signed politely to the older woman who was offering.
“What exactly is that?” Visola asked, studying the curiously shaped pipes and containers of herbs.
“It is some kind of hallucinogen. Rather similar to opium, I believe.”
“Why don’t we try it, Zuri?” Visola asked with a grin. “I mean, when next are we going to be in New Holland?”
“Substances that distort reality are the same all over the planet, but reality is not.”
“Spoken like someone who has never tried a good substance.”
“I cannot!” Aazuria whispered. “Papa would be so disappointed.”
“And he’d be cheerful if he knew you were dancing on the beach with naked men?”
“He should not have insisted that I learn to dance if he was never going to permit me to do so.” Aazuria said, with a small smile. “Besides, I know you will not tell him.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“He is already cross with you. You do not wish to let him know that you are betraying his trust and letting me gallivant instead of keeping me under lock and key.”
“You never ‘gallivant,’ Aazuria,” Visola said with a roll of her eyes. “I bet you’re here with some secret ulterior motive. Cultural observation? Or something altruistic.”
“I am here to dance to the sound of the drums in the light of the full moon,” Aazuria declared. “Will you join me?”
“Dancing is not really my thing.”
“Oh, how I wish Elandria had come! She could have enjoyed singing with the musicians.”
“I think Elandria’s type of singing is a bit more refined than this, Zuri.”
“It might be healthy to forsake precision for one night for the pursuit of pleasure.”
“Go on then, you little hedonist,” Visola joked.
Aazuria smiled at her friend, and ran out to the beach where the land-dwellers and sea-dwellers were both dancing around an enormous, raging bonfire. There was no other place on earth where the two cultures blended together so effortlessly. Here, the land-dwellers did not fear or suspect the sea-dwellers of being evil or somehow against them. They considered them benevolent spirits. While the two peoples lived in their separate worlds for most of their lives, once a month they would come together to dance.
The drums were strangely affecting.
Aazuria’s tiny ankles seemed to be constantly spinning around each other as her bare feet swirled and pounded the sand. Visola’s eyes narrowed in a considerable effort to keep up with the swiftness of the girl’s lithe twelve-year old body.
When Aazuria threw her arms up to the moon, and laughed as she spun around, Visola realized just how much her friend had needed this. She had needed a moment’s release from the constant pressure and insidious plotting of her father. Aazuria could not be as innocent and oblivious to Kyrosed’s downward spiral of morality as she seemed. In fact, she was probably more troubled by her father’s increasing depravities than anyone.
Many rumors had been circulating in Adlivun about the reason that Aazuria’s younger sister Elandria had recently developed nervous conditions. Aazuria had been tight-lipped about the situation, even around Visola, but everyone was saying that Kyrosed Vellamo had forced himself upon his younger daughter. It made sense to Visola, although she had no concrete evidence, for she could think of no other reason that Elandria would have locked herself up inside of the castle, refusing to see anyone. The girl had not spoken in years, and she seemed to be trying her best to make herself disappear. Murmurs of “Poor Elandria” were often heard throughout Adlivun, but never around Aazuria who grew upset and insisted to everyone that her sister was perfectly fine.
Now Visola could see everything clearly in the way that Aazuria danced. Sometimes the princess politely allowed the Yawkyawk men to pick her up by the waist and spin her around in the air—they were fascinated with the foreigner. She interacted graciously among the women, and even joined hands with the children, moving joyously with them. The firelight played on her face and skin like the warm hues of a painting. All of this was lovely, but in the moments that Aazuria was alone, Visola could see the sadness in her friend’s eyes. This sadness was always there, but now it was suddenly defined and outlined. She was trying her best to dance it away, and with any luck, she might succeed. It was a fine strategy.
It occurred to Visola that there was nothing more powerful than the rhythmic sound of those drums, and the enchanting flicker of the bonfire. There was no way that two people could dance on that warm beach together in the nighttime and still remain enemies. It was peaceful. The sounds of people chattering in a strange tongue, the music, and the quiet waves on the beach were all hauntingly peaceful.
That is why Visola did not dance; she was not a peaceful person. In another life, she might have liked to be. She might have liked to be less tense and querulous, but it was her job to be on guard. This is why her hand flew to the hilt of her dagger when a shuffling noise was heard very close to her. Visola turned and saw the old woman who had previously been selling drugs.
“Would you like to know your future, violent one?” the woman asked.
Visola’s lips cracked a smirk at being called this. She briefly wondered how the old woman knew that she was violent, but then she figured that Aazuria had said something.
“I do not have anything to pay you with,” Visola responded apologetically.
“You do not need to pay me,” the woman responded, seating herself beside Visola comfortably. “On the night of the full moon we give each other gifts. It can be very healing to give gifts to another person. Consider this fortune a blessing from a stranger.”
“Alright,” Visola signed, feeling a small amount of healthy curiosity. “What do you have to tell me?”
“Let me look into your lungs,” the woman said, and her hand darted out to collide with Visola’s breastbone. Visola was surprised by the speed and force of the old woman’s motion, but she did not protest. She was sure that the drug-peddling clairvoyant was relatively harmless.
“You will be killed by the man you love,” the woman said after a minute. She looked up at Visola as if she was greatly startled by what she had seen.
Visola’s eyebrows rose. She waited to see if the woman would explain herself, but no explanation came. “What do you mean? I have never been in love. There have been men… but no one of importance.”
“Hush, I need to read your lungs,” the woman signed before her hands shot out again and grabbed Visola’s ribcage. Her fingers traveled upwards and generously groped the undersides of her breasts.
“Well, this is weird and uncomfortable,” Visola said out loud to no one in particular, knowi
ng quite well that the woman could not understand English.
“Right now, you are elsewhere,” the woman told her, with a confused look. “You are far away, and you are dying. You are surrounded by flowers. Can you not smell them?”
Visola sniffed the air. There was nothing except the smell wafting over from men smoking pipes. It seemed to her that this woman was deeply under the influence of whatever substance she was peddling. “I seem sort of alive to me. I could be wrong.”
The old woman rubbed her nose in frustration. “I need more information. Tell me, which stars are calling out your name?”
Visola understood this question. She looked up at the sky, and noticed for the first time since they had arrived in New Holland that she did not recognize much. She felt a sudden wave of dizziness as the stars seemed to blur and move in her vision. It might be that the smoke from the people near to her was influencing her senses.
“I do not know these constellations very well,” Visola told the woman. “I am from very far north, and most of the stars are different there.”
“It is not knowing, it is feeling. Listen to what they say!”
Visola sighed, and glanced over to make sure that Aazuria was still fine. Seeing that all was well, she stared back up at the sky, figuring she had little else to do to kill the time. She scanned the dark foreign skies thoughtfully. “Those ones.”
“Ah. I see. You are firebird masquerading as mermaid.”
Visola frowned at this cryptic diagnosis.
“You are marvelous at flying, violent one. You are marvelous in both air and flame, but this is not the time or place.”
“I do not understand…”
“You must swim deeper now than you ever have before."
“Right now?” Visola asked, in a joking tone. “I’ll get a headache.”
The woman held up her hand as if to indicate that she had something important to say. Her body began to shake, and her irises rolled back until only the whites of her eyeballs were visible. Her hands moved quickly in sign language as she trembled.
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