Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  Plainly thinking otherwise, Lorea continued her crusade. “I'll make sure the fate of marrying the likes of Lasbow and becoming a sham Merqueen does not befall me. I plan to wrest my stepfather's kingship off him. No longer will I tolerate Uncle Cerdic dominating me."

  Detecting a hint of personal acrimony in Lorea's resentment, Durgay simply put her loathing down to petty jealously. Six years earlier her father Anwhorl, the reigning Merking, was tragically killed in a spearfishing accident. His only surviving male relation, Cerdic, immediately filled the vacant job spot, shoring up his newfound kingship by tying the reef knot with his brother's widow. The child princess could not have easily accepted her uncle as a replacement father figure stealing her mother's affections, let alone taking over the Cetari leadership to boot.

  Returning to the crux of the matter, Lorea commanded Durgay's full attention when expounding, “Which is why I manoeuvred you here to this place and moment, old-timer. I require your expertise to navigate the lagoon. I possess only eavesdropped, second-hand accounts to guide me. You have actual experience piloting these waters."

  "In my youth certainly."

  "That is sufficient for my needs."

  Admirably upholding the subject-to-royal relationship, Durgay professed, “Princess, entering the Landhopper shallows is a hazardous undertaking for even a trained Seaguardian.” No idle boast, the “measuring up” trial of the Seaguard initiation rite was a testing solo, nighttime infiltration of the atoll's inner sanctum fraught with shark attack and other grisly dangers. Those hopefuls surviving the final audition made the grade, while the failures never even made it home. “I can't imagine what you hope to gain by doing so."

  "Dispelling merman bigotry for starters,” she rejoined in a challenging tone. “Mergirls can do anything."

  A simple Fisher way out of his depth, Durgay struggled with the concept of equal opportunity for the sexes. “Merwomen haven't the build for the adventurous stuff."

  Quicker than a striking sea snake Lorea lunged at Durgay, catching him by surprise. Twisting the trident out of his hands humiliatingly for a second time, she levelled the three prongs of intimidating barbed bone at his throat. “I've secretly watched you instructing the Seaguards in fighting techniques. I'm more than able to copy those moves and handle myself."

  Not doubting that for a second, the disarmed merman expressed grave reservations swimming headfirst into the mouth of trouble. “Just what draws you to risking life and fin braving Harvest Shallows?"

  "Excitement. Danger. Showing the Merking up."

  "There's more to life than showboating, Highness."

  "Now you're getting my drift, Durgay."

  The old Seaguard did not know what was more shocking; the princess acknowledging his name by using it, or the inference he was thinking like a teenaged mergirl.

  Barefacedly slagging off the Merking, Lorea's candidness bordered on treason. “Cerdic is a spineless, sponge of a merman about as ambitious as the foundation rock of our seamount. Expansion, not seclusion, is the key to future Cetari prosperity."

  "Expanding where?"

  Lorea threw her arms open wide. “Here, naturally."

  Feeling as if he was sinking into the abyss, Durgay floundered with the foreign concept. “Castle Rock is home to us, and always will be."

  "Only because we limit ourselves to Bounty Reef,” contended the princess, escalating passion animating her voice. “Open your mind and consider the possibilities. Cetari flourishing unopposed on two reefs, colonising Pah Ocean as far as the flying fish glides.” Noticing Durgay cast doubting eyes over the wasted corals littering Desolation Reef, she inveigled him, “Use your imagination. Under Merqueen management the hoi polloi will have no trouble clearing the starfish, replanting the seagrasses, fostering new coral growth, reeling the fish back in."

  Commoners indeed formed the backbone of the oceanic industry. The monarchy functioned on the graft of ordinary merfolk. Without them, the sovereigns ceased being influential. Tides ran two ways however, and everyday Cetari depended on the royal family for inspirational headship.

  An old truism popped into Durgay's mind. The current of life enriches stagnant water. On an innate level Lorea's hankering to flout convention weirdly made sense. Progress never came easy to a society steeped in tradition, where revolutionary ideas for bettering the status quo were stiffly resisted by those innovation frightened. Durgay was such a one terrified of change. Cosseted by the sea of perpetuance, he lived in a world of blue and white uncomplicated by shades of grey.

  Returning to his simpler way of thinking, Durgay posed the problem, “Displacing the Landhoppers will be no easy eviction. It'd be harder than coaxing a conch out of its shell."

  Thinking she gained a convert, Lorea eagerly advocated, “That's where Lasbow's Seaguardians come into play. It is difficult to wage a war without warriors."

  Her naivety astounded Durgay. “Whoa your seahorse right there, Princess. Members of the Seaguard follow a strict code of conduct, serving to protect, not provoke. We are defenders only."

  Shaking his trident at him, Lorea spat, “All mermen crave to domineer. It's their nature."

  Again Durgay got the unsettling impression the princess's rancour was much more than job related. He went rigid. “Captain Lasbow is an honourable merman. He'd never go along with such a radical and seditious scheme."

  "When I turn on the charm, he'll do anything I ask of him,” Lorea believed, flaunting her two prized assets brazenly. “Sex is the most powerful weapon of all."

  "There is the numbers game to consider, Highness. The Landhoppers are as numerous as starfish."

  "Right wins over might any day,” she parried, “as I intend proving."

  Durgay reciprocated by sparring with another maxim. “Don't count your fish eggs before they hatch."

  Realising she had read the veteran Seaguardian wrong, Lorea worked to turn the mistake to her advantage. To hook a fish required the right bait. “You are sworn to the service of the Merking."

  Pride raised Durgay's squarish chin. “It is the privilege of the Seaguard to serve His M—"

  "Spare me the eulogising. You pledged to shield Cerdic from harm.” The last lodged in Lorea's gullet like an unpalatable fishbone. “Should that not include protecting the Merking from his own stupid inaction?” she lowed persuasively.

  Confliction tortured Durgay. Technically, Lorea's argument was without fault. What he found hard to reconcile was the Seaguard oath broadening to saving the Merking from himself.

  Capitalising on his dilemma, Lorea compounded Durgay's inner turmoil. “The vow you took can be interpreted to comprise the royal family too."

  "Obviously, Princess,” mumbled the distracted merman.

  "Then, by way of proxy, you must assist me in liberating the Cetari from Cerdic's lacklustre rule. Supporting my cause benefits Castle Rock, and ultimately Pah Ocean, tremendously. Not only can a matriarchy be installed, the oceans will be well rid of the Landhopper scourge. Help me to usher in a brand new reign of richness and I guarantee Nupterus, God of Seas and Skies, rewarding your soul in the afterlife."

  Thoroughly bamboozled by Lorea's clever double-talk, trapped between a reef and a dry place, Durgay reverted to age-old Cetari beliefs cushioning his unrest. Whalebone was venerated not only as a functional commodity charged with mysticism. Merfolk religion subscribed to the belief that the spirits of their dead infused whalebone as reward for leading a wholesome life. Those unworthy were cast out into everlasting aerial purgatory. Sceptical she possessed the power to either save or sentence his immortal soul, the Merprincess was still of royal blood and ostensibly Durgay's better.

  Finding no comfort in religion, Durgay clung to the life raft of duty. Swamped by clashing emotions aching his brain, something could be said for unthinking obedience dispelling confusion. Bowing solicitously, he said, “I am yours to command, Princess."

  Precisely the reaction she planned for; Lorea's victory smile was as perturbing as a shark's gape. �
�Smart move. You will be hailed a visionary hero under my queenship."

  Or condemned as traitor when the Merking learns of my complicity.

  Either way, right or wrong, Durgay felt obliged to be the consummate Seaguardian. Besides, Lorea was the one holding the trident.

  "Do you feel that, grandpa? It is the tide of change."

  Durgay indeed perceived a shift in the ocean's rhythm. Incredibly sensitive, Cetari skin easily assimilated the nuances of the sea, registering minute variances in water temperature, salt content, and flow. Drifting thirty yards offshore from the coral ring encircling Lunder Atoll and the breach providing sole access to the lagoon, he experienced an exhilarating thrill of adrenalin. The changing tide heralded the green light to go and once underway there was no turning back; at least, not until the outgoing tide seven hours from now.

  Experiencing a rare flash of insight, Durgay supposed, “Princess, is there something else you're seeking in Harvest Shallows other than emancipation?"

  Lorea fidgeted in the gathering current. She picked Durgay for his geographical knowledge, fighting skills, and unquestioning compliance, not his brainpower. Resolving never to underestimate any mermale again, as time was running out she decided to come clean. With one revealing click she dealt the old Fisher a stunning hammer blow. “Grohial."

  Durgay sagged. If not for his watery surrounds, he would have keeled over from the eye-opener. “That is just a myth,” he managed to croak, gill flaps working overtime to supply enough oxygen to keep him from fainting.

  "Only to the masses,” Lorea disclosed. “We royals have kept the secret for generations. The Grohial is as real as the seawater we breathe. I aim to regain it and make it mine."

  No wonder the princess was hell-bent on not only risking her skin but his as well to get at the fabled relic. Stemming from an epoch entailing the creation of the Cetari, when Nupterus moulded the Adam and Eve of the merfolk from the sediment flooring the abyssal plain, gifting them with life and love, the Grohial was a holy artefact of unknown origin and composition. Discovered at the bottom of an oceanic trench by the deepest diving whalebone retriever of all, an ancestral Fisher of mythical proportions by the name of Hulcer, the Cetari instantly revered the sacred object. Any item recovered from the near bottomless seafloor warranted unconditional worship. Succumbing to his pressure injuries sustained during the marathon dive, the heroic diver passed into martyrdom shortly after delivering his portentous find into the clutches of his companions. Electing to transfer their hallowed catch to a place of safekeeping, the pod of Fishers were waylaid by a war party of Landhoppers and slain to a merman, bar the grievously injured survivor who lived to tell his discoverers the sorry tale afterwards. During the tussle the dying keeper of the Grohial selflessly plunged headfirst into the Deep, returning the objet d'art to the undisturbed seabed, forever denying the Landhoppers opportunity to defile its purity. Legend grew that whoever recovered the Grohial again would be empowered with the ability to overcome the Landhoppers in victorious finality, ruling over the Cetari until the end of time when the skies burned, the seas boiled and dried up.

  Durgay shook his head in disbelief. “If the Grohial truly exists, it lies beyond our reach in the deepest, darkest, coldest waters. No merman I know can emulate Hulcer's epic feat."

  "Not so,” the princess contested. “The Grohial did not sink beneath the waves to the unplumbed depths with its mortally wounded carrier, as commonly believed. An audacious Landhopper warrior robbed him of it and returned to Lunder Atoll with the prize."

  "But the legend..."

  "A cover story concocted to downplay Landhopper success. Nobody wanted treasure hunters riling up the walkers by staging raids in their home waters.

  And so the Grohial has remained in their custody."

  Daring to quiz his blue-blooded better, Durgay wondered, “You know this for fact?"

  "The lore passed down true to successive Merkings, of whom none had the gumption to act on it."

  Durgay needed further convincing. “No Fisher in living memory who penetrated the Landhopper lagoon and escaped with his life, myself included, ever reported seeing the Grohial.” The fact every attempt was made in the dark of night when visibility was at its lowest did not factor into his refusal.

  "It was purportedly glimpsed dangling over water on the end of a bamboo pole upriver as a constant taunt to us."

  "Who by?” It was a valid question on Durgay's part.

  Lorea did not think so, snapping her displeasure at being grilled by a mere commoner. “A daring Merprince of old, grouper-head, obviously back when mermales were real mermen with flukes of mettle."

  Not taking his shaming well, Durgay retorted with, “It'll prove impossible to recover, unless you're planning to swim upstream in suffocating freshwater, launch into the air with the winged grace a flying fish, and snatch the Grohial like a shark robbing a bait hook."

  The smile Lorea gave her patsy was purely crocodilian. “We aren't. You are."

  I swam right into that one. In Lorea's mind, expendability was another of Durgay's qualifying attributes.

  "Once I retake possession of the Grohial in the name of the Cetari, Cerdic will be shamed into relinquishing the throne to me. No Fisher worth his salt will tolerate the rule of a gutless Merking, making possible my advocating the queenship as the only viable alternative.

  Remembering his friend's ambitions, Durgay argued, “What of Lasbow? He's the obvious choice to swim into the fins of Cerdic and does come across as a mermanlier candidate."

  Scoffing at so-called male superiority did not preclude Lorea from making concessions. “To get the mermen on side I'll wed him, but the captain will function as my consort, never as Merking. Mark my words, Fisher. As holder of the sacred equaliser, merfolk will follow me to the ends of the ocean. Starting with you. So, lead on."

  Egged on by the push of the incoming tide at his back, Durgay headed intrepidly for the gap in the reef crest escorted by the armed princess, instructing as he went. “Swim precisely in my wake, Highness. The undertow hereabouts is treacherously strong when the tide is running and can sweep the unwary into the abrading corals. That'd certainly roughen up your pretty skin and validate the Merqueen's caution about currents."

  "My mother has all the nouse of a brain coral,” Lorea scoffed.

  Unclear whether the princess was partnering or shepherding him, Durgay started channelling all his powers of concentration on the demanding task at hand. Body surfing the crisscross of currents agitating the Surge required flair and boldness. Reliant in part upon previous experience, the shortfall was made up by his superb echolocation ability.

  Even in the clearest seawater light dispersed over short distances only, limiting the usefulness of eyesight. Underwater sound waves, travelling faster and carrying farther than in the medium of air, provided a happier alternative. Emitting a pulse of clicks focused into a forward projecting beam of directional sound by the oil-filled melon bulging his forehead, Durgay picked up the returning echoes bouncing off objects, such as shoals of fish, with his fatty lined jaws. By altering the pitch and frequency of the acoustic scan he “saw in sound” his 3-D environment, the biologic sonar enabling him to visualise a safe path through the labyrinth of interlocking currents.

  The break in the algal ridge was perilously shallow, funnelling the tidal flow across twenty yards of the reef table in a paltry eight feet of water, the resulting vortex taxing the swimming expertise of even the ablest merman. Only high seas made egress into the lagoon possible, for the outgoing tide fully exposed the reef crest, emptying the channel of seawater and affecting the route impassable for all creatures fishy. Zigzagging deftly through the turbulence, skilfully rebounding off current margins, Durgay gained the halfway mark of the harrowing run when a squeal of fright sounded behind.

  Princess Lorea was in dire trouble.

  Flipping onto his back, Durgay saw her floundering in the strands of the unforgiving undertow after jinking left instead of right. With
no hope of backswimming against the surging seven-knot current to lend her a helping hand, he watched powerlessly Lorea being sucked downwards to the sandpaper corals lining the bottom. Just then, Nupterus smiled on his ambitious daughter and spared her a painful hull scraping. Captured by the gyrations of a whirlpool off to the side of the main underflow, the princess completed six rapid revolutions in the marine whisk before shooting out of it with the speed of a cast-off torpedo.

  Popping to the surface like an unstopped cork, Lorea found the Sea God's intervention rather fickle. Swamped by a nine-foot wall of saltwater rolling inshore against the resisting downstream flow from a low-lying river, she tumbled over and over in the foaming mixer, swept uncontrollably landward across the lagoon. Immersing to escape the steep wave front of the tidal bore, the spluttering princess descended through the underwater turbidity, her gills forced to ventilate distasteful freshwater tainted with silt. Emerging from the clouds of stirred sediment muddying the river mouth, Lorea instinctively fought her way back against the pushy current to the seaward side of Harvest Shallows, disoriented by her ordeal but retaining sense enough to blindly paddle for clearer waters.

  Looking out for her, Durgay waved frantically for the dazed princess to join him twenty feet down in the sluggish eddies west of the Surge. Splashing about in the atoll swimming hole was not without its natural discomforts. Sunburn posed a very real health risk for the delicately skinned Cetari, the ultraviolet light reflecting harshly off the glary white sands filling in the lagoon bottom. Water temperature was exaggerated to a near intolerable level by the combination of baking sun and heat-amplifying seabed. Hypersalinity was another issue for the visiting merfolk, who could endure the lagoon's heightened saltiness only for brief periods.