Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  "For you to parade about in as Dokran of the High Seas?"

  "Hmmm, some of Ryops’ dry wit rubbed off on you during your seasons of lackeying. That pleases me. I'm glad to still have someone to trade insults with."

  It was Chulib's turn to wryly smirk. “There'll never be a shortage of insults for you in my camp, Eskaa."

  The Subos was unbothered. “I'm not here to be popular. You'll captain my super canoe. Some moons ago I had carvers select the largest tree in Corakk to sculpt—clandestinely of course, since Ryops would have only labelled it an absurd expression of my vanity—into a dugout unparalleled for magnificence. There are certain Climbers I hold sway over. This is a war boat that'll strike terror in the hearts of our gilled enemies. It's gigantically unsinkable. And you, Chulib, get the honour of steering the paddlers out of the lagoon into the strait with impunity. Not even a thousand Fish-with-Hands could scuttle this baby."

  "This canoe of yours will carry what? A hundred Piawro, at most."

  "One hundred and thirty, including paddlers."

  "If five hundred amphibimen can't trounce your handy fish, one canoe-load stands no chance whatsoever,” scoffed Chulib.

  "But the invasion fleet it will be leading does. Check out what's moored in the lagoon."

  Shading his eyes with the cone of his helmet, Chulib stared at Lunder's salty moat. Corakk's woody splendour resided now in the flotilla of dugouts recently anchored in the sheltered waters, the felled boles given a new lease of life as watercraft. Thirty and fifty footers comprised the bulk of the armada, with a score of two-frogman canoes making up the rest. Exceptionally good with numbers, Chulib did the maths. “Filled to capacity, we should be able to transport over a thousand warriors!"

  "Nearly twice that many if we rope a line to the stern of each canoe and tow support rafts."

  Eskaa planned for everything it seemed, except the obvious. “We haven't that amount of trained fighters.” Knalli missing in action left Chulib eleven professional soldiers on the whole island. Not enough for even a hockey team.

  "They aren't required to be skilled combatants. Just zealous fishers."

  "There aren't nearly enough spears left with which to arm them."

  "They'll use stick and stones to fight with, their teeth if I tell them to. For someone who was in favour of this fish fight, I'm getting vibes of reluctance off you."

  "The wasteful deaths of frogmen I've been chummy with dulls my enthusiasm."

  "Find it again. I'm told revenge is the surest motivator."

  Being the Dokrany's hired muscle infused Chulib with self-worth. As the chieftain's enforcer, he sustained Ryops’ lofty ideals. He was a do-gooder, one of the good guys. That seemed a lifetime ago now he had sold his soul to Eskaa, his job description changed to that of rented goon. But a warrior's heart beat in his boneless chest and the hankering to do battle undeniable. True, Chulib had switched masters, but not codes.

  He did have one niggling doubt that demanded answering. “Subos, had you prior knowledge to sending the army off that the fish blocking us in schooled in superior numbers? Be truthful, if you remember how."

  "I'm a cleric, not clairvoyant."

  Sighing, the option-less Shurpeha returned the prickly helmet to his head. “I'll break the siege with my bare hands, even if it means having to gut and scale every Fish-with-Hands barring my way."

  "That's the spirit, Chu. I can call you that? Ryops used to.” Chulib's unreceptive scowl warned Eskaa not to over jump the mark. “No matter. You won't be alone. There'll be an army of frogmen backing you up."

  The chief Shurpeha gritted his smallish teeth. “My only hope is that there's enough of them to do the job properly this time."

  "Don't sweat it.” That was a silly statement, as frogs do not sweat. “Trust your Subos. All you need is faith."

  * * * *

  The Cetari victory had the stigma of defeat scabbed on to it. In the wake of Cerdic's demise the mermen rapidly abandoned their precariously tenable siege and hightailed it back to Bounty Reef.

  We won by the skin of our teeth Lasbow reflected on the tussle, waiting agitatedly in the throne room for Queen Minoh to make an appearance.

  A sprinting messenger, ensuring a fitting reception greeted the arriving warriors, carried word of the battle's outcome ahead of the Fishers” homecoming. Emerging from her reclusion, Ochar organised a pod of mermaids to nurse the wounded, herself personally approving the treatments dished out. The valiant dead, the purpled Merking included, were cut free from their towage lines and interred in the sombrely lit grotto at the bottom of Castle Rock reserved exclusively for that sad function. The capacious sea cave quickly filled to overflowing.

  So many wasted dead.

  Lasbow's unspoken lament encompassed the Landhopper lives expended in the needless scuffle. Perhaps he was subliminally aware how the fates of the Cetari and Piawro, like tangled fishing lines, were hopelessly entwined. What befell one, consequentially affected the other. The repercussion of today's bloodletting was the severest form of racial convergence imaginable. Frogs and fish had concurrently lost their leading man and, robbed of their traditionalist ruler, turned to unconventionality to plug the gaping hole created by the void of an unfilled heirdom. For the amphibs that meant elevating their priest. A more radical solution faced the reeling merpeople.

  A gliding mergirl slipped gracefully into the cavern and Lasbow bit his lip in confused surprise. “Princess Ahlegra, I am expecting your mother."

  "The Merqueen sent me to convey her apology, Captain. She shan't be receiving you."

  Trying his best to be tactful, Lasbow probed, “Minoh's aware of the losses incurred on Desolation Reef?"

  "She's learnt her husband is dead."

  "And we are presently kingless and without direction."

  "Mother knows that too."

  "Then she must realise it's imperative I consult with her. Hard decisions affecting Castle Rock need to be made without delay.” He floated forwards. “Where is she, Highness? Hiding out in the royal quarters?"

  "She'll refuse you admittance.” The Merprincess steered clear of meeting his hardened eyes, but missed avoiding him grabbing her arm.

  Lasbow's curt clicks openly bore his frustration. Squeezing Ahlegra's wrist, he implored her, “I must see the Merqueen! The very future of the merpeople is in jeopardy."

  "You're scaring me, Captain."

  Appalled by his actions, the Seaguard officer yanked back his offending hand and turned away in disgust; he imagined himself above hurting any merwoman. Did that despicability lurk inside every mermale, itching to break out?

  Shyly, Ahlegra reached out to reassure Lasbow and stopped short of touching his shoulder. She never was as forward as her sister.

  "Ahlegra...” He fumbled his apology. “I'm not sure what came over me."

  "Your sense of duty, Lasbow.” The Merprincess went red in the face. “It's what I admire you most for."

  "You've admired me?"

  The dashingly handsome Seaguard captain was desired by every mergirl old enough to blush. “Easy to do from the background.” Fearing she revealed too much, Ahlegra clammed up.

  "Castle Rock is in the gravest danger,” Lasbow reminded her. “The Landhoppers will come against us again, next time in overwhelming force."

  "But you defeated them."

  "One successful skirmish doesn't win a war. The Rock is in dire need of strong leadership and Minoh is heiress to Cerdic's rule."

  Ahlegra smiled benignly. “We both know the absurdity of that notion. Never has a merwoman governed the Cetari. You Fishers would never float for it."

  "Let Minoh become the first,” Lasbow advocated. “She's already queen. Investing her with the king's powers makes perfect sense."

  "Lorea would've made a better proposition. Her bitchier temperament was ideally suited to such a role. She confided in me that indeed was her dream.” Pouting, Ahlegra regretted thinking badly of her protective big sister. They were alike in nature once, tw
ins in all but age. But Lorea blossomed into a feisty, opinionated mermaid, Ahlegra remaining a wallflower. Lorea selflessly sheltered her little sibling from their depraved uncle's attentiveness, and Lasbow carried on shielding the younger Merprincess unasked.

  "My mother is terribly distressed and in no fit state to decide anything. She's still coming to terms with Lorea's death, let alone wanting to take in Cerdic's downfall. It's all too much for her to bear at once."

  "I heard they weren't terribly close, the king and queen."

  "You aren't the only merperson obliged by duty.” Easing herself behind the black coral podium of power, Ahlegra coyly asked about her stepfather's demise. “Did he linger?"

  "Cerdic fell ill soon after slaying the prince of the Landhoppers, from a venom the frogman somehow him injected with at the moment of his death."

  "Like the prick from a lionfish spine?” The neurotoxins from any of the scorpionfish family packed a painful, albeit non-lethal, punch for the careless.

  "Only quicker and deadlier,” Lasbow passed on. “The Merking went numb and blind moments before his heart stopped beating."

  Cerdic expired from the toxicant genetically peculiar to the Piawro Dokrany. Ironically, he died at his own insistence. Strangling Ryops brought his skin into unavoidable contact with the chieftain's fire engine red throat sacs. Accidentally squeezing the membranous pouches enabled the poison excreted to seep directly into his pores. Paralysis of the respiratory system followed with swift lethality. With no antidote, no cure, Cerdic doomed himself. The Merking became the victim of unwitting suicide.

  "I'm glad Cerdic suffered. He deserved that and much more besides."

  Ahlegra's iciness troubled Lasbow. A mermaid this youthful ought to be fun loving and carefree. The teen princess was far too young to feel so jaded. “The Merking won't be preying on anyone ever again,” the captain muttered gratefully.

  Lasbow took a moment to study Her Shyness. By no means stunningly beautiful, Ahlegra possessed a demure plainness unspoiled by her kinsman's lechery that the captain found far more attractive than her looker of a sister's hard-bitten gorgeousness. How could he have not noticed Ahlegra's understated allure sooner? Simple; she stayed lost in Lorea's overshadowing wake.

  That was all in the past.

  "If the Merqueen has no interest in assuming the duties of the sovereignty, the next in line is logically you, Ahlegra."

  The mermaid clutched the podium from shock. “Me? Preposterous!"

  "You are Merprincess."

  "We've been over this. Castle Rock is a patriarchy and just as immutable as the sea stack our home lies beneath.” The reality of that was manifest. So too was the solution Ahlegra pointed out. “You are the best merman for the job, Captain. No other is fit to take over the kingship. Was that not your intent all along anyway?"

  Lasbow made his confession and cringed, waiting for the fallout. “I admit I only wooed your sister for her crown."

  "That was plainly obvious, even to an eyeless river dolphin.” Ahlegra came out of hiding from behind the living plinth of jet polyps, the active light-fish caged overhead prettying her plainer looks with its bobbing glow. “And then you redirected your charms onto me."

  Feeling transparent, Lasbow stammered defensively, “M-My intentions weren't impure. I was acting only in my professional capacity as Seaguard commander, as your protector."

  "Then you have no personal agenda related to me, as you did with my sister?"

  "The situation's entirely different. There's no comparing you with Lorea. I mean that in a good way.” Lasbow took Ahlegra's hands in his and assured her. “Corny as it sounds, I completely respect you."

  She gazed into his equally sable peepers. “Mother gave me a message to pass on. She asks that you wear the crown with pride. There, Lasbow. It's said. You've the Merqueen's full support. What more could you want?"

  "My heart's desire."

  "You have achieved your lifelong ambition, Captain. No need to romance me."

  Lasbow persevered. “And if I choose to?"

  She touched his cheek tenderly with a timid hand. “I always played second blowfish to Lorea.” Lasbow went to click something, but she placed a trembling finger on his mouth. “The firstborn is naturally privileged. I accepted that right off. Big sister eventually enjoyed the popularity and learnt to exploit it. It was also Lorea's bane. Being the eldest attracted the kingfish to her. But I can offer you what she could never have given ... genuine love. All I ask in return is for you to honestly love me back. Are you capable of that?"

  "If you let me try, we could find out."

  She tittered.

  "What amuses you?"

  Understanding the awful difficulty conducting a waterspout, the marine version of a whirlwind, romance in the present climate, Ahlegra said, “Dearest Lasbow, you'll have your hands full directing the defence of Bounty Reef."

  "They say love conquers all."

  "Will it vanquish the Landhoppers?"

  To that, Lasbow offered no reply. Anxious to adopt the kingship, he steered the conversation back to the bottom line. Time was critically of the essence and questions of love would necessarily have to wait. “How do we proceed from here, getting me crowned?"

  "You brought the royal hat along with you?"

  Lasbow's no came with a shake of his head. “It rests with the Merking's body lying in state below."

  "Go there, remove his crown and place it on your own head."

  "That's it? No fanfare, no formal coronation?"

  "The urgency in your clicks tell me we'll have to forego ceremony for the time being."

  There was that racial convergency again, invisibly linking Cetari to Piawro, the new leader superseding the old without so much as a hurrah.

  "Mother speaks highly of your thoroughness. I take it you have in mind a game plan for defending Castle Rock you'll want put into action as swiftly as possible. To achieve that requires expediting your ascension."

  Thinking Ahlegra too petite to be a kingmaker, Lasbow raised a valid point. “I'll need witnesses verifying my appointment."

  "Unnecessary. Your Seaguard, the Fishers also, will accept your kingship without proof.” Ahlegra flashed a yellowy smile. “You're that likable, and no doubt aware of your charisma. The mermen will do anything for you, follow you anywhere. The mermaids too."

  Lasbow was convinced her waiflike winsomeness could warm the coldest of seas. My sight's been clouded, but now has cleared. “How did you get to be so seaworldly, Ahlegra?"

  "Observing. You can glean a lot simply by watching."

  "You'd have made a formidable Merqueen. Sure you won't reconsider?"

  Clinching Lasbow in an embrace that made his mouth go dry and his pulse race, the princess whistled promisingly, “I can picture myself soon becoming queen anyway ... after a suitable period of courting, naturally. Must do things properly, my Captain. Although I couldn't have foreseen winding up a war bride."

  A conundrum smacked Lasbow. As Merking, he would have to officiate at his own wedding!

  Chapter Sixteen

  "They aren't down there."

  Leaning over the side of his newly wetted war canoe, Eskaa reached out and meanly tweaked the eyeball of the scout. “Where did they go then, fool?"

  Clamping a hand over his scrunched eye, the trilling frogman whined, “I haven't the froggiest idea, Subos! I dived right to the bottom of the reef, checked every sea cave all the way down. The grottos are emptier than my belly. There's no sign of the Fish-with-Hands anywhere. It's as if they simply vanished into fresh water."

  Eskaa thumped a fist into his open palm. “They can't be gone!” The dynamism of his campaign hinged on the handy fish being in place at the ascribed fishing hole. The Piawro craved seafood and Eskaa dared not disappoint. If he failed to dish up the tailed takeaways, his own butt would end up in the frying pan. Glancing westward, the lowering sun going out in a blaze of glory, its heavenly fires set to be extinguished by the placid sea after dipping below the h
orizon, further fumed the Subos. The looming sunset imposed insoluble time constraints on storming the reef before the hampering dark of night fell. “Chulib! Belt up."

  Grimly silent, the Shurpeha chief rose nakedly. Like Eskaa, he dressed down for the occasion, attired solely in his birthday suit. Rope armour was well and good for putting on a show of strength landside, but amphibious operations required sleekness and freedom of movement.

  Well, mostly.

  At a click of his stubby fingers, a helper looped a weight-belt comprising holed rocks of even size and heaviness strung along a length of sennit cord about Chulib's middle-aged spread. Tying it off with a quick release hitch knot, he adjusted the cumbersome sinkers until they sat comfortably over his hips. All across the fleet other frogmen were readying for action, likewise strapping on their own girdles.

  Another of Eskaa's bright ideas, getting stoned was part of his rapid deployment plan. The weighted down warriors would descend with swifter purpose, the buoyancy of the saltwater no longer an impediment to the incursion. Ultimately, for this phase of the operation it mattered little if the Fish-with-Hands were at home or not. In fact, the Landhopper takeover of Castle Rock and the outlying reef unopposed simplified the invasion immensely. Establishing their undersea beachhead quickly and quietly enabled the Piawro to track down the errant enemy at their leisure.

  Hoisting the newly adopted spear over his head, pointlessly wishing it was his preferred macana, Chulib gestured for the waves of belted amphibimen to drop off into the sea. In groups of ten and twenty, fifteen hundred fighters brandishing everything lethal from spears to stakes, clubs to coshes, hit the water greened by the overcasting greyness.

  The wind picked up, a gusting westerly that slewed the anchored canoes and satellite rafts about their shoaled moorings. Imparting a nod of salute to his new lord and master, Chulib jumped fearlessly overboard, two Shurpeha backup splashing after him.

  "Happy hunting,” Eskaa sincerely wished him. The other regulars remained onboard the giant dugout guarding their Subos. With nothing left to do but wait for reports on the invasion's progress to surface, Eskaa made the most of his free time thinking up a new title to describe his tyrannous clout. “Gods” Son has the right ring of authority to it,” he snootily decided.