Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  Sunrise came disturbingly quick, lightening the watery black into milky greyness then a clearer blue. Gold sparkles rippled the underside of the surface sea, a transient shimmering of morning glory before the stifling heat of the day kicked in.

  Hurt wrenched the despondent Seaguardian from the black hole of wretchedness he had sunken into as groping hands winched him up out of the water, his numbed tail stem bearing the brunt of his unsupported weight. Incapable of shielding his unprotected eyes from the kindled eastern sun, Durgay whimpered miserably. It was as if a spiny puffer fish rubbed against his eyeballs, blinding him to all but indescribable pain.

  If death was this unpleasant, he willed it to be speedier.

  * * * *

  Eskaa leered wickedly. A new age might be dawning this day for the troubled Piawro if only his machinations dropped into place, and everything hinged on the captured Fish-with-Hand's dangling pathetically before him. Such a prize falling into his lap was a windfall the adroit Subos never expected in his dastardliest scheming. Ever the opportunist, Eskaa counted on playing this wild card for all its worth and have a devilish amount of fun dealing it.

  "Cut his bonds,” he ordered one of his burlier hangers-on. “Give him freedom to express his pain."

  Snapping his stumpy fingers, another flunky placed the wooden haft of a burning brand into the magician-priest's palm. Eskaa delighted himself waving the torch in the face of the unshackled Cetari who, though unable to see, flinched whenever the fiery heat neared his body, jerking his arms about stiffly. “Before we begin chatting proper, let me establish who your master is,” he croaked evilly.

  With that utterance, he stabbed the merman's midriff with the brand.

  * * * *

  Durgay writhed in torment. Spared the stink of seared flesh, he fully experienced the white-hot pain inflicted by Eskaa's sadism; an excruciating heat nightmares sprout from, setting his abdomen afire with agony, charring and blistering the hypersensitive skin. Flames were as alien to the Cetari as walking. Defenceless, gasping for every ragged breath in the waterless air, the anguished merman had never felt this vulnerable, this afraid.

  Again, he only wished to die swiftly.

  * * * *

  "That's enough, Eskaa!"

  Whirling to berate the interrupter of his play, the piqued Subos submissively lowered his bristling eyes as Ryops, escorted by a full contingent of thirteen Shurpeha, bore down on him. Chulib deftly sent a half dozen bodyguards fanning out ahead of the hopping-mad chieftain, dispersing enough of Eskaa's ragtag groupies loitering on the beachfront to create a debating field in front of the suspended Fish-with-Hands, the remainder taking up station in a semi-circle behind the approaching Dokran Teh.

  Hating confrontation, Ryops nonetheless held nothing back when laying into his errant magician-priest. “Found a new way of barbecuing fish? Your perversity knows no bounds. I've put up with your deviant ways far too long. No more will I turn a blind eye."

  Always one hop ahead of his competitor, Eskaa was anticipating, counting on, the Dokran's arrival. Suspecting Ryops, certainly not the blockheaded Chulib, of planting a mole amongst the temple junkies to monitor and report on his activities, the wily Subos had by process of elimination marked the informant. Even now his fanatical Inner Circle acolytes were meting church punishment out to the culprit, horrifically flaying him alive using a thorny vine whip in an out-of-the-way jungle spot where his flogged corpse could remain undiscovered for days, perhaps weeks.

  Shrugging off the tirade, he flashed his tiny, upper maxillary teeth in a charmless grin. “You have the sorry look of a leftover tuna carcass, Ryops. Not enough beauty sleep last night?"

  The sexually drained Piawro chieftain pinned his smarmy Subos with red-rimmed eyes. “I'm alert enough to deal with you.” Glancing over the distraught Fish-with-Hands squirming in soundless pain, Ryops demanded, “What's the meaning behind this?"

  "A simple interrogation."

  "There's nothing at all simple about you, Eskaa."

  Boy, what an understatement! In Eskaa's head ticked a complexity of thoughts unparalleled anywhere on the isle. All through their froglet years his demonstrable intellect dwarfed that of the upcoming Dokran Teh, instigating their lifelong competition, each striving to outsmart the other, with Eskaa typically coming out on top. Genetics assured Ryops’ ascension to power; luck played the pivotal factor in Eskaa's elevation and shrewdness kept him in place. Randomly picked from a multitude of analogous tadpoles to befriend the hatchling chieftain throughout infancy into adulthood, his brainpower propelled Eskaa into minor stardom via the pole position of the priesthood. Ordained Subos on account of his undying devotion to the Piawro, dedication was the glue keeping the shaky partnership of faith and rule between Eskaa and Ryops from coming unstuck.

  Of late, their fractious relationship was worsening. Eskaa made no secret of his envying the chieftain, making Ryops insecure. Constrained by custom from openly challenging the undisputed leader of amphib society, the troublesome magician-priest worked behind the scenes to inconvenience Ryops as much as possible. Religion and politics made prickly bedfellows.

  "You were told to make a meal of both Fish-with-Hands,” Ryops said, struggling to eyeball the gangly Subos.

  "Fish is the family dish,” acknowledged Eskaa.

  "Slit his throat then and cut him down. Better that my Shurpeha munch on an early breakfast than a late dinner."

  "I think not."

  Eskaa's blatant refusal floored the Dokran Teh. “You disobeyed yesterday's command to kill the Fish-with-Hands. Don't repeat that mistake today."

  "I don't intend to waste my talking fish on your hungry goons, Ryops."

  Chulib came on edge, eyes bulging with preparedness. Flicking hand signals ensured the regimented Shurpeha matched his heightened state of alert.

  "Have a care, Subos,” warned Ryops, a dangerous lilt to his croak. “Opposed as I might seem to needless violence, I am not above disciplining any noncompliant Piawro. Insubordination is a serious offence."

  Taking full advantage of his taller stature, Eskaa glowered down at his cautioning Dokran Teh in a bullying manner. “Yesterday you wanted a show. Today I'm ready to give you a spectacle!"

  That pledge spelt trouble for Ryops. Nervously skimming the surrounding beach, his eyes widened at sight of hundreds of amphibs flocking to the face-off between church and state. Hoppers were dispatched throughout the sleeping atoll in advance of the Dokran's arrival, spreading word of the likely altercation and inviting all early risers to attend with promises of priestly showmanship to brighten up their mundane lives.

  Ryops glared accusingly at his manipulative Subos. Eskaa merely shrugged. “I work better with an audience."

  He enjoyed that anyway. Thousands of terns flitted sunward through the horizonless dawn, their sooty plumage etched memorably against the fire-tinged blue. Annually winging to the nearer offshore islet from their shoreline rookery every nesting season, the crowding seabirds temporarily colonised Castle Rock, breeding pairs selecting to raise a brood in crevices amongst the outcrops or excavating burrows in the mounds of guano heaped on the ledges of the stack from years of accumulated droppings. In times past raiding parties canoed out to the Rock to poach eggs and nestlings, but treacherous currents and marauding sharks plaguing the strait long put paid to that practice, drying up a crucial supplementary source of protein.

  Refusing to be distracted by the cloud of terns fishing for their needy chicks, Ryops stayed focused on Eskaa. Smiling insidiously at his galled chieftain, the Subos spoke plainly. “Making a move on me now will only increase your unpopularity. There's nothing quite as unprofessional as castigating the spiritual head of the tribe in public. That should be saved for when behind the Bamboo Curtain.” Eskaa's smug grin broadened. He effectively hamstringed Ryops.

  The Piawro chief realised it too. Thanks to his gift of the gab and flair for the dramatic Eskaa cupped the hearts and minds of the populace in the palms of his grubby little hands.
Making Ryops out to be the insensitive leader ruled by practicality boosted Eskaa's squeaky-clean image no end. Tarnishing the magician-priest's carefully cultivated persona of potential redeemer served only to put the people further offside, and once lit insurrection spread like wildfire.

  Hissing insistently, Ryops barely contained his rankle. “What game are you playing, Eskaa?"

  "One you can play along with or lose to your cost. Choose fast, Dokran, it's almost show-time."

  While Eskaa ducked away behind a screen of groupies to prepare for his performance, Chulib leaned close to his fuming boss and whispered guardedly. “Mishaps occur every day. I could arrange for a tree to “accidentally” fall on our illustrious Subos."

  Surprised Chulib could come up with such a devious idea, let alone have the nerve to propose it, Ryops quashed the suggested assassination. “Piawro no longer kill fellow Piawro. It's simply not kosher."

  Disappointment gloomed Chulib's mug. There was more at stake than expediently bumping off Eskaa. If not for the mystique generated by his bodyguards, Ryops could never maintain control over the dissatisfied islanders. Shurpeha inscrutability needed to remain intact, unsullied by even a whiff of political murder.

  Emerging from his living blind, Eskaa paraded about regaled in his temple finery. Whatever the Subos had planned was intended to be a showstopper. A tapa cloak draped fussily about his scrawny shoulders down his hunchback, spilling to his unshod heels in a fall of patchy red, fastened about the neck with a glossy clasp of pearly abalone shell. Imprinted with leaves dipped in bright yellow dye, the gaudy bark cloth reflected Eskaa's flamboyance. The outrageous headpiece accessorising his nominal outfit capped that ostentation. Fashioned from lightweight breadfruit trunk-wood, the U-shaped helmet embraced a rusting cone of metal in its four upswept arms, the sunrise glinting off streaks of silver peeping through the corrosion.

  Glowering at the preening Subos tightening the chinstrap keeping his showy headgear from toppling off his noggin, Chulib critiqued, “He looks farcical, like a bird of paradise on heat."

  Ryops expressed a different opinion. “He looks exactly the part."

  "Playing what, Dokran?"

  "A magician about to stage the show of a lifetime."

  Puffing out his chest, Eskaa proclaimed in a booming croak, “Gather unto me, brethren, for the Vessel of the Elements and Speaker of Truths shall enlighten thee!"

  "That's a gross misrepresentation,” muttered Chulib.

  Appreciating his guard captain's acerbity, the Piawro chief eyed the assembling amphibs with a mix of mistrust and sadness. Poverty was the breeding ground of desire and the hopeful were nothing if not gullible. Easily led around by the halter of faith, Eskaa's followers were as pliable as wet sand.

  Sermonising to the gender balanced masses—in Piawro culture equality for the sexes went unsaid, from division of labour to religious fervour, but power remained the province of the frogmen, despite a sorceress-priestess ordained in less chauvinistic times—Eskaa grandly intoned, “Last night I did have a vision!"

  "Drunken hallucination more like,” came Chulib's interpretation.

  Ryops fidgeted, his own sobriety the night before severely impaired by communing with the arrack “spirit."

  "Visited was I twofold by The Forces That Have Always Been, The Powers That Ever Are. Divine Enayres seeped first into my dreams, our God of Water and Blood delivering to thine servant a dire caution.” Exchanging the torturing brand for his staff, Eskaa shook the rattly wand at the slowly suffocating merman. “"Behold the demon in fish form” did Enayres warn, “for he alone doth bring famine and pestilence to mine chosen people, doth cause the bloody wrack and ruin of the Piawrod. Heed mine caveat, lest there be no morrow for thou Blessed Isle"."

  Eskaa paused for dramatic effect, allowing Ryops to gauge the early reactions of the spectators. From the biddable looks on their faces, clearly the lionised Subos preached to the converted. Temple criers spent the night indoctrinating the swayable poor while their chief lost himself to his sexual intoxication. Eskaa's resumption brought home Ryops’ laxity to him.

  "Terrible Vhello did follow His holy brother's visitation. Eyes aflame with hateful passion, God of Fire and War thundered with rage. “Who doth lead the darkish fallen back into the light of redemption?” He did ask. “Who wilt restore mine children to prosperous glory?” I know not, Lord,” said I, quaking before His mighty wrath. “Fear not, favoured child,” said He, “for righteousness shalt cleanse the seas of thine enemies. Knowest this of thy appointed saviour; poison is his rod and warrior be his name!” His gaze directed squarely at Ryops, the thespian priest summoned up his most persuasive voice and extolled, “I give you Ryops, empowered by the Gods of Blood and War to prevail over tyranny, hopping forth to forever vanquish destitution."

  Confusion played across the faces of the audience. They expected Eskaa to be their deliverer, not wishy-washy Ryops. Mutterings of discontent circulated throughout the crowd, swollen now to a thousand eager listeners seeking salvation.

  Eskaa continued lauding the chieftain's virtues. “Follow your Dokran Teh devotedly. Only he can fill your empty bellies, only by his efforts will your sickly froglets be cured. Just as Kiondo the Forceful swam his tribe here to Lunder Atoll from the Desert Forest for the betterment of all, so too will Dokran Ryops forge a channel to the Waters of Life. He alone is commanded to lead us to victory over the devil Fish-with-Hands in the Hundred Spears War!"

  So that's your game. Ryops was well and truly sucker punched by the magician-priest into heading an unwanted fish fight.

  Lukewarm murmurings of approval followed Eskaa's hard sell of the largely unliked Ryops. Required to go the extra mile for the sake of implementing his far ranged scheme, the Subos gulped down his pride, announcing to all, “Let me confer my private blessing upon our esteemed liberator.” Planting his staff in the pristine white sand, he embraced the startled chieftain convincingly.

  Forcing himself to hug Eskaa back, Ryops whispered hoarsely into his dastardly priest's earhole, “What have you landed me in?"

  "Fame,” returned the Subos. “After my makeover you'll be the second most popular Piawro in history."

  "Who's the first, Eskaa?"

  Disengaging from the Dokran's clinch, he hopped back a jump, smirking. “Need you ask?” Climaxing his gig, Eskaa shouted out, “Brothers and sisters! Go now ... take up the call for kith and kin to ready for war. Come sunup four days hence—a day's grace in homage to each of the Elementals—this Fish-with-Hands, this shark in a turtle's shell, will be sacrificed to honour Vhello and invoke his blessing. At that same ceremony Ryops the Liberator will outline the campaign to restore Piawro health and wealth! Bring everyone. See you here."

  Spontaneous applause erupted from the assemblage, much to Eskaa's relief. Betting all on that last gambit left nothing in his bag of tricks with which to persuade the remaining sceptics. They would disperse to spread the word throughout the masses. Gossip was as infectious as disease.

  Astonished at seeing Chulib heading the cheerleading section, Ryops’ clapping guard captain shrugged unrepentantly and said, “I'm caught up in the moment, chief,” before jumping away to supervise crowd control.

  Left to themselves, Dokran, Subos and Cetari made an unhappy threesome. At a word from Eskaa the tortured merman, passed out from the combination of pain and water deprivation, was lowered back into the restorative lagoon, giving Ryops and Eskaa the chance to talk privately.

  Maintaining a smile of acceptance for the benefit of the disbanding crowd, Ryops seethed. He imagined the shell jaws of a giant clam clamped shut about his feet. “You've just backed me into waging war against stupid beasts! How can there be glory in slaughtering animals?"

  "Think of it as a cull,” suggested Eskaa. “At the very least you'll be taking advantage of an untapped food source. I'm sure your hungry tribe will be most appreciative and not turn rebellious. Do you want to go down in history remembered as the only Dokran Teh to be unanimously o
usted from power by his dissatisfied people, or the crusading conqueror who brought the Piawro back from the brink of oblivion?"

  "What's with the Hundred Spears War label?

  "Like it? Thought it up myself.” Eskaa beamed immodestly.

  "Super,” sniped Ryops. “Any particular reason behind the title?"

  "How about a hundred Shurpeha wielding obsidian-tipped javelins spearheading the war effort."

  Suspicion staggered Ryops. What possible motive drove Eskaa to advocate enlarging the bodyguard corps, the proverbial thorn in his hide? “What's your gain from campaigning for war, Subos?"

  Spreading his hands in supplication, Eskaa craftily answered, “Goodness is its own reward, Dokran.

  "We've been at loggerheads our whole lives, Ryops, to the detriment of the tribe. It's time to set aside our petty differences and put the interests of the island first. We're sitting on a simmering pressure cooker waiting to boil over, and I'm not talking about Mont Plaas. You know I speak true. The people are starved of not only food but also hope. Diverting their attention away from the concerns of hunger and housing is a must to defuse the situation before it erupts into civil strife. Accomplishing that involves fighting a common foe."

  "With you promoting the Fish-with-Hands as our enemy."

  "There are worse fish to declare war on. I believe them to be a beatable, eatable adversary."

  "We don't even know how many roam Westsea."

  "Infest is a more apt term.” His shifty eyes straying to the rope tethering the dunked merman, Eskaa intuited, “He does and I'll take a census from him."

  "Back on to that subject."

  "Unfinished business bugs me. Wanna hear me make him talk?"

  "You've wasted my morning so far. Go ahead and disprove your point. I could do with a laugh."

  "Haul him up again!” Eskaa barked to his hangers-on, determined to demonstrate Cetari vocabulary.

  Contemplating the surfacing merman, Ryops griped, “Hunting armed fish won't address the shortfall in huts."