Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  Left to twiddle her thumbs in the bothersome company of the curious fish, Najoli folded her arms crossly and fumed. Even Cerdic will be having a livelier day than me.

  * * * *

  "What d'you mean, escaped?"

  Lasbow calmly weathered the berating Merking's volatility. “They knocked out the guards and took off into the blue,” he described with measured composedness.

  Enriching the colourfulness of the corals in full splendorous bloom, the streamers of midmorning sun warming tropical Pah Ocean did nothing to dispel the chill unsettling the captain's heart, as he presented himself deferentially to Cerdic in the royal gardens.

  "You dare report to me that an over-the-seamount Fisher, along with a pup of a mergirl, overcame two Seaguards in their prime? Such a thing's preposterous!” blustered the outraged monarch. “Captain, what possessed you putting a convicted murderer and that tart in the same cell?"

  "Two inmates are easier to guard if they're jailed in the same spot."

  "Apparently that is not the case,” Cerdic scorned. “I assume you are taking action to find and return them to custody."

  Lasbow spread his hands in placation. “What with the plans to blockade the Landhopper headquarters, I haven't the mermanpower spare to devote to the roundup of lost prisoners. The Fishers are working overtime to salt away food, as foraging off Desolation Reef is impractical. Similarly, our merwomen farm their fingers to the bone stockpiling provisions. As it is, Sire, Castle Rock will virtually be left with just a token force protecting it when we do commence the siege."

  Cerdic was in no mood for excuses. “Bad things always come in three's,” he muttered. “First Lorea's lost to me, next her killer, and then his prison bitch.” Pointing his finger commandingly at Lasbow, he decreed, “Find them. I want them hauled back here and judged anew, this time sentences effective immediately. Have the Seaguards who let them escape be punished for their laxity by hunting down the fugitives."

  "They'll be only too willing to redeem themselves."

  "They won't be all that eager after you inform them not to bother returning empty-handed. Catch the criminals, or carry on swimming off the reef. Pass it on."

  Lasbow signified his acceptance of the order with a tilt of his head. To Cerdic's annoyance he did not withdraw from his presence. “You're scheduled to supervise the drilling of the Seaguard,” Lasbow reminded him.

  The Merking did not dilute his crabbiness. Petulance was clearly a royal trait. “Can't you manage that alone?"

  "Regrettably no, Sire.” Retraining the Seaguardians had become a difficulty not envisaged. The cornerstone of the Rock's security was always the fluidity of its defenders, acting independently as combatants for the common protection of Bounty Reef. Mobilising as a single fighting formation proved unnatural to them. “My mermen carry out your orders as best they can, but only you can properly convey your vision for an army."

  "I was planning to spend some quality time with my family. That has to be put off until later, I suppose."

  "Afraid not, King Cerdic,” contradicted Lasbow. “Afterwards we have a strategy meeting. The scouts are halfway through mapping the ocean surrounds of Lunder Atoll. While the picture is incomplete, their reconnoitring thus far does give us a head start in the planning stakes."

  "Since making the decision to take the Landhopper's to task over Lorea's murder, I've spent precious little time comforting Princess Ahlegra or her mother."

  That's the whole idea schemed Lasbow.

  Directing the disgruntled Merking to the patch of sandy seafloor set aside as the parade ground for the rehearsing Seaguard, Lasbow momentarily excused himself. Rounding the other side of Castle Rock, he found the two disgraced jailers loitering dejectedly where he had earlier ordered them to wait. Their disfavour was evident in the half-hearted salutes they gave their descending commander.

  Glossing over their inattention, Lasbow made the two of a kind an offer they could hardly refuse. “I'm giving the pair of you the chance to get out of the dogfish-house and make amends for your incompetence."

  They brightened at the prospect of getting back into their captain's good graces.

  "Officially, you'll be swimming after Durgay and his accomplice to recapture them. Unofficially, off the record, you're undertaking a scouting mission for me.” Seeing their disappointment at being denied payback for their humiliating trouncing, Lasbow pacified his mermen's ruffled gills. “It'd be a waste of time chasing them down, boys. By the time you caught them up, Durgay and the mergirl would be feeding the fishes. How long do you reckon an aging Fisher and the anchor around his neck can last out in open water?"

  Their understanding surfaced in a shared leer of mutual malice that distressed Lasbow. Even the common merman harboured a submerged propensity for cruelty.

  "What do you want us looking for, Cap?"

  Taking in hand the forward speaking Seaguard, Lasbow answered in all sincerity, “Atlantis."

  * * * *

  Corakk Jungle flamed up into ash. The traditional slash-and-burn technique used to deforest potential cropland burned out of hand. Fanned by favourable trade winds, the supervised fires blazed unmanageably, cindering the western slopes of Mont Plaas as swirling windblown sparks buzzed the remainder of the torched isle. Ironic that a volcano should fall victim to a case of unintended arson!

  Ryops ought to have been concerned by the day-old uncontrolled inferno threatening to engulf the entire atoll. Chulib was shouldering that worry for him, directing the fire-fighting effort, which consisted of bucket brigades lining smoke-choked pathways from the beach to the interior, dousing the conflagrant vegetation with pails of seawater. Beaters on the margins thumped with palm fronds at smaller pockets of flames hungrily licking the flammable greenery, aiding the desperate effort to keep Lunder from being razed to the coral. The amphibs may as well have been spitting into the sun for all the good they were achieving. Short of a tidal wave, no amount of saltwater carried by the bucketful could extinguish a blaze of such magnitude and intensity. All that the frantic islanders could really hope to accomplish was restrict the spread of the wildfire, dampening down hotspots until it burnt itself out, hopefully before the island wound up completely denuded of foliage.

  Tucked safe and sound inside his eastward facing compound away from the irritating smoke drifts, Eskaa's droning supplication resonating through the adjacent temple wall as the magician-priest wastefully petitioned the God of Water to quash his fire-brother's mischief making, the Dokran was troubled by nothing so trifling as a firestorm.

  The Fish-with-Hands capture team had failed to return.

  Fully a week overdue, Ryops had given the canoeists enough leeway to net at least a dozen of the manimals. As each new day dawned he bounded optimistically down to the lagoon, anxiously searching the foamy breakers crashing against the walling reef for sign of their homecoming. And every morning the mockingly empty ocean turned him away unsatisfied, a sense of foreboding weighting his return hops.

  Secretly delighted by their disappearance, for their send off upstaged him terribly, Eskaa publicly lamented the loss of such a fine body of frogmen. Ryops instantly declined his Subos’ offer to conduct a memorial service for the gallant amphibs lost at sea. The Dokran Teh was not ready to give up on his missing “sons” yet, especially when the expedition leader was a promising young Shurpeha whom Chulib mentored.

  Hunkered down meditatively on his recently renewed palm leaf mat, Ryops became acutely aware that the chanting next door had ceased when a sticklike figure jumped uninvited into his roundhouse from outside.

  "It's rude to enter without knocking, Eskaa,” he croaked inhospitably.

  "Put a door up and I'll rap on it till the cowfishes come home,” the Subos rejoined, standing there uncaringly.

  Ryops blinked owlishly. “Finished praying so soon?” He inhaled a whiff of the trailer of smoky air that followed Eskaa through the swaying bamboo curtain, newly installed, and coughed overdramatically. “Can't have worked. Vhell
o obviously isn't listening to a word Enayres is saying."

  "Leave interpreting the gods to me, blasphemer. I'm better qualified."

  That's laughable.

  "You didn't retreat up here just to pray for rain,” the Dokran accused his opposite. “It's not mere coincidence that your temple is fire and weatherproof."

  Eskaa could not hide the wryness tingeing his pervasive eyes. “You took refuge inside your residence for the same reason."

  "I came here to reflect on matters!” Ryops snapped back with giveaway quickness. “Something you don't have a clue how to do, since you haven't a conscience."

  Squatting unasked next to Ryops, symbolically sharing the leadership mat, Eskaa made the observation, “This fire is somewhat of a blessing in disguise for you, Dokran."

  "I fail to see the advantages gained from any disaster, particularly this one. Corakk nourishes the island. If what's left of the jungle is razed to the ground, our hardships mushroom prematurely."

  "Ryops, think short-term benefit. The fire is taking the minds of the suckers down there off your unfulfilled promise to deliver them a live sacrifice. A timely diversion, hmmm?"

  "Surely you didn't set it as a distraction!"

  "I can't take the credit for an act of the gods. Oh wait, as Subos I can."

  Ryops was immediately suspicious. “Why should my getting off the hook please you?"

  The magician-priest leapt into the break that opened up. “It'll permit you to focus on the real issue, the concern you've been irresponsibly ignoring; that the Fish-with-Hands enjoy demonstrable intelligence."

  "Jumping to conclusions again, Eskaa."

  "When will you concede they're smarter than the average fish?"

  "When you present me with something more convincing than a staged sideshow."

  "Two missing canoes should be proof positive they're capable of organised attack."

  "There are any number of rational explanations for them vanishing. A freak wave, hassles with sharks."

  "Or ambushing Fish-with-Hands."

  Ryops snorted indifferently, refusing to budge from his standpoint. Although Eskaa's claim might indeed have merit, he would not freely admit so.

  Seeing he was getting nowhere, that it was futile arguing his case with the obstinate chieftain, Eskaa surprisingly gave up the ghost. Ryops’ usefulness was coming to an end, so there was no point expending effort trying to sway him. The unbelieving Dokran Teh would be hit with the devilish truth soon enough.

  He was on the verge on hopping back to his side of sanctuary when Chulib appeared in the doorway, grimed in sweaty soot, brushing the strands of hanging bamboo forcefully aside. The Shurpeha boss was visibly alarmed at finding Eskaa on his lonesome with the under protected Dokran Teh, Knalli holding the fort alone at the front gate while his comrades helped battle the fire; a case of all hands to the buckets. Chulib took small comfort from the fact Eskaa's acolytes were also pressed into firefighting service, denying the crooked Subos his goon squad. He counted the unaccompanied Subos a dangerous foeman.

  "Any developments, Chu?” Ryops asked, interrupting the lead guard's consternation.

  "A mixed bag, Dokran. There's a wind shift fanning the fire back on to itself. Luckily flames won't feed off ash. It should peter out by tomorrow."

  "That is good news,” nodded Ryops. “What's the downside?"

  "The changing wind direction caught us off guard. The flames overtook fifteen citizens. Nine burned to death, the surviving six all horribly maimed.” Chulib ribbited acerbically at Eskaa. “The Subos is needed below to minister to the victims,” his mordancy sticking to the magician priest like mud.

  "Finish your thought, Shurpeha,” Eskaa baited him.

  Subtlety never really his thing, Chulib swung from the hip. “Honestly, what good are prayers? Chanting won't bring back the dead nor ease the suffering of the injured."

  "Another unbeliever,” Eskaa harrumphed and rose off the mat. “Didn't it occur to you, Chewlip, that Soruca graciously intervened, taking as payment for sparing our isle those wretched half dozen souls?"

  Chulib narrowed his watering eyes, stinging from prolonged exposure to heat and smoke. “The God of Wind and Death will be claiming more than those poor beggars before the day's over. I'm betting the six who somehow crawled from that hellhole lit up like fireflies will be leaving the island of the living in a short enough time."

  "Their burns are that severe?” Ryops worried.

  "They're burnt almost to a crisp,” Chulib grimly affirmed.

  Devoid of empathy, Eskaa let out a wearisome sigh as he made for the door, compelling Chulib to grudgingly hop to one side, making way for him. “The last rites passage is sooo depressing,” the magician-priest jadedly moaned, sidling past the Dokran's minder. “Death is such a downer."

  "Especially for the corpse,” muttered Chulib.

  "You're deplorable, Eskaa. Show some compassion."

  Halted in the doorway by the denunciation, the Subos responded to Ryops’ snipe with a contemptuous glower before firing a question at Chulib. “Those that fried belonged to which group?"

  "Burrowers mostly, with a couple of Diggers dragged in."

  "Therefore not needing my sympathy. The subclasses know their place. They're disposable. But for the sake of appearances, I'll pretend to give a damn about them.” The self-centred spiritual keeper of the Piawro sashayed out, answering his priestly calling.

  "Gods or no gods, we copped a lucky break."

  Sensible Chulib! Ever the pragmatist. “Sounds like we had a close call today,” Ryops gathered.

  Chulib gave him a confirming bob of his head. “If that wind change hadn't had blown in, R'bat City would have gone up in smoke. Dokran, weren't you aware of the extent of our peril?"

  Feeling shamed, the amphib chieftain mumbled apologetically, “I've been preoccupied.” Lifting his downcast eyes, Ryops trusted Chulib to supply an accurate and thorough appraisal of the situation. “How extensive is the destruction?"

  "Pretty widespread. Corakk has taken a nasty battering. At a guess, I'd say half the jungle is scorched earth. The villagers in those grass huts outside the city are left homeless. The Burrowers should cope best, as they're used to living under the ground.

  "Food is going to become a problem. Stray embers ignited the plantations. Three quarters of the crops were lost before we extinguished the fires. The remaining plantings suffered smoke damage. While not tasty, they'll be edible, if in short supply.

  "We're not out of the woods yet. While the main fire is dying off, there are still the odd flare-ups in need of stamping out. And a lot of our people are sporting minor burns, not to mention coughing their lungs out due to smoke inhalation."

  Proving the point that passive smoking is hazardous to one's health.

  "This'll be a significant setback to the invasion plans,” Ryops ascertained, unintentionally sounding like his callous Subos.

  "Also, the lumber camp got incinerated,” added Chulib. “Nearly all the dugouts are smouldering, worthless ashes. Weeks of hard labour, gone poof."

  Robbed of vital provisions and transport, imminent cancellation of the Hundred Spears War was on the cards. Originally unsupportive of Eskaa's deviously contrived crusade, Ryops appreciated its distractive value after putting the full weight of his public image behind it. The amphibs were pulling together as one. Without that offshore conflict to bind them, Piawro unity would fall apart under the strain of caste jealousies. The Landhoppers would depart this life starving, feuding creatures divided by class loyalties that were in the end ultimately meaningless. Scrapping the war was not an option.

  "You say half the jungle is left standing?"

  "Roughly that, Dokran."

  "Rebuild the fleet from what remains. The monsoons may still be far enough away to allow us sufficient time for that. Replant crops in the newly cleared forestland. Cindered timber makes excellent fertiliser. Fresh greens might be harvestable by the time the rainstorms pour down to drown everything. B
ring the dispossessed Diggers into the city. We'll make room for them somewhere. R'bat will be home to all amphibs, as originally intended. It's time to water down this limiting class system of ours."

  Motivation fired the Dokran's farseeing eyes, his incentive blazing brighter than the wildfires instigating the plans for reconstruction. He gloomily imagined the burnt husks of those fire-frogmen charred by the fiery beast they had battled, blackened bodies macabrely contorted by the convulsions of an excruciated death, mournful companions preparing to shroud the corpses in white-dyed tapa wrappings ready for burial. Ryops pictured a happier image next. The warm, mothering waters of Crater Lake teeming with renewal, multitudes of wriggly tadpoles recently hatched, striving for the future. A great many would die before maturing into froglets, but a greater number would survive to perpetuate the amphibs.

  From death springs life.

  Ryops startled Chulib when abruptly jumping to his feet. Obviously fired up, the reinvigorated Dokran Teh clenched his stubby fingers into fists that shook with determination as he made this fierce vow. “The Piawro shall arise from the ashes a stronger, more energised entity. And Gods help any handed fish who swim in our way!"

  Chapter Ten

  Plans were in motion everywhere. Ryops, Chulib and Eskaa plotted their invasion of the sea. Cerdic and Lasbow schemed to blockade the island. Durgay and Najoli simply strove to survive.

  Adrift from Castle Rock on their fourth day of flight, the couple pensively approached the cape marking the windswept extreme of the shielding continent. Legendary as the limit of chronicled Cetari voyaging passed down in songs of lore, the rugged point of curving rock represented more than turning the corner into unexplored adventures, much more than the boundary of charted southern ocean waters ending. This singular finger of land pointed to death itself.

  Her adventurousness evaporating like water droplets in the desiccating sun, Najoli lagged behind Durgay, mooing unsurely. “Maybe we should've gone north instead."

  Braking, Durgay turned to face his unenthused companion, puzzlement greying his jet-black peepers. For the last day or so goading him forward, Najoli had seemed eager to take the plunge into Tlan Sea. And now she was appreciably reluctant to continue their speedy pace.