Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  Lasbow detected a hidden meaning and said so. “Sound as your rationale is, that's not the only reason for turning down my proposal, is it?"

  "Call me old fashioned, but seeing how miserable my stepfather made Mother during their sham of a marriage convinces me the key to wedded bliss is this simple truth: marry out of love, not convenience.” Coming out of her shell, Ahlegra speared the Merking with a glower comparable to her glary sister's. “I expect a first-class courtship from you at the appropriate time."

  "A princess merits no less,” conceded Lasbow. “Unfortunately, roving about the ocean as drifters leaves me no time to woo you."

  "Then if you want to make an honest merwoman of me, you'd better resolve our homelessness. Have you any inkling of where we can go?"

  "Unlike a blind flying fish, I'm not winging this,” he retorted, her faith in him buttressing his shaky self-reliance. “I do happen to have a safe haven in mind."

  A racket like hailstones thrumming against a corrugated tin roof drowned out further conversation. Topside, the strait the Cetari were midway crossing the breadth of cowered under a squally sky burdened with the thunderheads the regional weather conditions typically produced. The bucketing rain unleashed by the roiling clouds pelted the choppy seas, causing the overlaying din that cancelled any dialogue. Curtaining the rugged cliffs walling the saw-toothed bays and inlets lining either side of the channel dividing the northern and southern continents, the passing rainstorm bridged sea and sky, tenuously linking salt and freshwater before the funnelled gales severed the correlation.

  Connecting Pah Ocean to Tlan Sea, the tempestuous waterway granted the nomadic merpeople easy access to a fresh new life in hopefully safer waters. If only they could hear themselves think! Signalling to those behind to descend for a rest stop, Lasbow arched backwards and, hand in hand once more with his uncrowned queen, dove to a quieter depth where the muted clamour was less intrusive. Doubling as protectors and providers, the hardworking Fishers flanking the refugees herded them downwards, the adults bearing the light-fish lanterns coaxing their peers and offering the children clicks of encouragement to mollify their inhibition at plunging into the darkish deepness.

  Ahlegra was unsurprised when the Merking excused himself from restarting their disrupted discussion. She knew firsthand just how busy duties made the life of a royal. “I need to consult with Ochar,” he announced after slowing to a halt, “to have her confirm a few details concerning our destination."

  That did come as a surprise. “What possible help could the Sea Witch provide?"

  "Don't say you believe in the reef gossip, princess."

  "I am a mergirl, Lasbow. Gossiping is our second biggest pursuit."

  "What's the first?"

  "Netting a husband."

  "I'll pass on your regards to Ochar.” Chuckling, he left her and wended his way through his disgruntled subjects, imparting a heartening smile here or a whistle of hope there to ease their anxieties. Ahlegra was correct. The Merking needed to appear confident, to visibly exude a rock-solid, dependable presence others could lean upon and count on. He could do, and be, no less.

  Passing by Minoh, he bowed solemnly. She returned his acknowledgement with a perfunctory nod, followed by, after a moment's hesitation, a cheeky smile, a sparkle of her old self peeking through the folds of grief layered about her. Lasbow assuming the kingship created its own unique problem for the Merqueen, now two times widowed. Lawfully, she and the new sovereign were partners, at least in royal parlance. The monarchy was the sum of equal parts, founded on the unshakable concept of a king and queen. Until Lasbow wedded what cruel circumstance had culled into being her only daughter, Minoh upheld her queenly rank and discharged all the duties her regal station entailed. Except for conjugal rights. Bonking his prospective mother-in-law had never been one of Lasbow's fantasies ... at least, not a fancy he shared with his buddies.

  Ochar regarded his approach warily. Bringing up the rear, the oldest merperson afloat enjoyed the unobtrusive company of the Seaguardians acting as rearguard. Respecting her reputation and reclusive nature, plus her refusal to be towed, they gave her space to swim alone and unassisted. To her credit, the elderly widow swum as hard and fast as she dared, but at the end of the day the crawling pace of the Cetari flight northwards was set by her arthritic slowness.

  Foregoing pleasantries, Lasbow opened with, “Are you ready to start talking to me now?” The aged merwoman had not forgiven the replacement king for organising her forced eviction from Castle Rock. Unspeaking, she glowered at him with rheumy eyes.

  "Evidently not,” he surmised, pulling up alongside. He searched her blank, emotionless face for recognition. “You do remember who I am?"

  "The same rascally, teenaged whippersnapper I clouted about the earholes for raiding my coral garden, so as to give your latest floozy back then a posy of coloured polyps,” she finally deigned to answer him. “Your aren't too old for me to clout you again for misbehaving."

  Lasbow tried apologising for the umpteenth time. “I did it for your own good, Ochar. The Landhopper ruler would have had you hauled from your grotto—"

  "As opposed to your goons dragging me out,” she griped.

  "—and then killed for sport,” he finished saying.

  "At least I would have had the comfort of dying at home, instead of waiting to expire out in this wastewater,” she further condemned his actions in an angry mutter. “In case you haven't noticed, I am no girlish mermaid. I'm set in my ways and, like a sea fan, cannot stand to be uprooted and transplanted elsewhere. I flourish only on home coral. You should have left me to my fate."

  "You are far too valuable a resource to be squandered, Ochar. Cerdic never appreciated the wisdom your oldness brings to our community."

  "Pointing out my age isn't flattering me."

  "Now I'm Merking, I intend making full use of the rock pool of knowledge lodged inside that stubborn head of yours."

  "Even though that pool has sprung leaks,” Ochar pointed out. “My memory is as worn out as this old body of mine and not at all what it used to be."

  "I'll take what I can get,” Lasbow clicked. There was a tinge of desperation in the king's avowal.

  Ochar nodded her understanding. “You've been steering us in a northerly heading. Are you intentionally following Najoli and Durgay's course?"

  Intrigued by the mention of his renegade mentor and female accomplice, Lasbow quizzed the old merwoman. “I thought they fled south, in the opposite direction."

  "So they did. I just wondered on the off-chance that your scouts might have swum across some sign of them."

  "Unlikely. It's a big ocean out there.” Now she had pricked his curiosity, Lasbow's suspicions grew. “They were escaping southwards, weren't they?"

  "Sure. At the start, anyways."

  "Had they a different destination in mind?"

  "Maybe."

  "Tell your king."

  "Didn't take you long to acquire airs and get uppity, Lasbow. Only bullies throw their weight about."

  "Ochar, tell me."

  "I forget."

  "Ochar!"

  "Well, I am forgetful."

  "I command you to tell me!"

  "Alright, alright. Keep your crown on. By now, they've hopefully made their way upwards into Mystsea.” She employed the archaic name for the frigid polar waters.

  Lasbow did not. “Arctica Blue? Odd place to hide out in,” he mused. “They'll freeze their tails off up there."

  Folding her arms guardedly, Ochar challenged the Merking. Age, sex, or social position was no barrier to her effrontery. “You didn't come back here to just shoot the current. What can I do you for?"

  "I require your counsel,” he admitted, forgetting for the moment the jailbreakers. “I'm looking for a legend."

  She flashed a toothless smile crooked with age. “That is a much better attempt at flattery."

  "You misunderstand,” he said, shaking his crowned head. “I seek—"

  "Don't tr
ouble yourself. That quest is well underway,” Ochar interrupted, wrongly guessing Lasbow's inference.

  Scratching his temple, the Merking felt confounded. “I think we've got our seagrasses crossed."

  Realising her mistake and, for reasons entirely her own, not wanting to give away Najoli's search for god, Ochar played on her cracked memory, pretending her mind was wandering. “Pellish ... is that you calling, dear? I'll be but a moment for dinner."

  Lasbow snapped his fingers in front of Ochar's bemused face. “Stay with me in the here and now, old mergirl. You're no use to me, or for that matter the merpeople, losing your thoughts, letting them float off elsewhere.” Her babbling ceased, eyes turning annoyingly vacant. “Such a loss,” he sighed.

  "I'm suffering from amnesia, not death!” The senior citizen snapped back into coherency.

  Putting his hands on his hips, King Lasbow smirked at his own cleverness. Making Ochar upset plainly cleared her addled mind of cobwebs, the anger sharpening her dulled memories. “Welcome back,” he said.

  "Did I go somewhere?"

  "No, but with a bit of help on your part we might all find sanctuary. Are you up to answering a question or two?"

  "You didn't say the magic world."

  "Please?"

  "Not that one, the other one."

  "Oh. Back to that again. Okay, I'm sorry."

  "Like you mean it."

  "I'm sorry my saving your life made you homeless,” Lasbow huffed.

  "Thank you, Pellish.” That delusion was not feigned.

  Frustrated by her merry-go-round memory, the Merking clenched the hilt of his sword, whitening his knuckles. “That's just great. She's popped out again."

  "Which merwoman has?” enquired Ochar. “Anybody I know?"

  "Somebody near and dear to you,” Lasbow muttered despairingly, swimming away.

  "I thought you wanted to pick my brain, King Lasbow."

  Stopped by Ochar's seesawing lucidity, he turned, optimism softening the angles of his scowl. “Atlantis,” he blurted, anxious to take full advantage of her clarity before she relapsed. “Share everything you can summon up from your recollections of the tale."

  Astonishingly, her recall turned out to be extensive. “A mythical reef alleged to be the crowning glory of Tlan Sea, claimed by singing storytellers to have sunk ages ago due to a cataclysmic seaquake. Passing into legend, believers assert Atlantis is not lost, merely settled at the bottom of the ocean waiting to be regained."

  "Does the legend rightly presume to know where it sank?"

  "Surely your Majesty doesn't give credence to the story. Atlantis is nothing more than a common fable."

  Lasbow responded to Ochar's scepticism by reciting a Cetari maxim: Where there's blood, there are sharks. “If the sunken reef exists, it'll make the perfect place to relocate our merfolk. The Landhoppers, as far as I'm aware, aren't privileged to our mythology. Even if by some unlucky fluke they learn that particular aspect of Cetari folklore, I'm betting they won't bother chasing down a folktale."

  Knowledgeable as age made her, Ochar expressed reservations. “What if Atlantis is just that, a tall tale? I've been alive long enough to learn unconditional belief in a story, even a yarn passed down in legend for generations, doesn't necessarily make it real."

  "I'm prepared to take the gamble.” Lasbow glanced around at his weary people, deprived of home and hope. “What have we to lose by believing?"

  Applauding his conviction, Ochar quoted her own truism. “Faith can move seamounts."

  "Even if it doesn't, we'll be far enough away from the Landhoppers for them never to be a concern again. Is the legend correct in narrowing down the final resting place of Atlantis as somewhere along the eastern coastal waters of Tlan Sea? In the wake of Durgay's arrest and his warning me how any war with the Landhoppers can never be winnable, I dispatched a pair of my Seaguardians to debunk the Atlantis myth on just that assumption."

  "Smart merboy, but the legend also recounts the dangers associated with seeking it out. A kraken reportedly haunts the ruins."

  "I hadn't heard that part,” said Lasbow, rubbing his chin musingly. “That might well explain why there's been no word from them."

  "Monsters are just as mythical as Atlantis, Merking."

  "Only to the unbeliever. I've talked to enough shaken whalebone retrievers to reach the conclusion they believe leviathans exist and are scarier than anything portrayed in a horror story. Their fear, while unfounded, is genuine and affects performance.” Lasbow's grimace stemmed from his fretting. “The trailbreakers ranging far ahead of us are diligently scouting for any telltale sounds of mermen presence. Thus far their hails go unanswered. There's no sound of the missing explorers. It's as if they've vanished, swallowed whole by the Deep."

  "Perhaps the fabled kraken gobbled them up. Even myths must get hungry."

  "That joke is in poor taste, Ochar."

  A smile of apology from the regretful geriatric smoothed Lasbow's ruffled scales. “I never took pragmatic Captain Lasbow for one to put stock in a fishy-tale. You never were one for recklessly sticking your head above water."

  "Merpeople do change,” he stated, expanding on his risk taking. “Every story needs a happy ending and, by Nupterus, I'll find us a new, safer home if we have to search the length and breadth of the Three Seas."

  "Donning the crown made you regal and religious. Care for some advice from a silly old merwoman?"

  "Would it hush your mouth if I said no?"

  Not one for respecting convention, Ochar cupped Lasbow's face in her stiff hands. “Majesty, in your former role as Captain of the Seaguard, you've gotten used to having your orders obeyed with unquestioning compliance. Being king invests you with a substantial increase in that authority, but when issuing commands you need to employ a modicum of empathy."

  For Lasbow, his intended met that shortfall in his character. Ahlegra was empathic enough for them both. That deficit covered, he remained politely attentive as Ochar continued imparting a measure of her vast wisdom.

  "That was Cerdic's greatest failing and strength. He thoughtlessly imposed his will, uncaring if the situation warranted a tactful approach. While well and good when dealing with uncomplicated issues, a heavy hand is unneeded every time. Delicate matters require a softer touch."

  Pausing, Ochar's gill covers flapped rapidly out of nervousness. Bouts of mental clarity, free of rambling, came so infrequently she feared leaving a spoken train of thought unfinished. She hurried her counsel along before forgetfulness reduced what she was talking about, plus the relevant conversation, to a disjointed memory.

  "The merpeople will accept and carry out their king's wishes without so much as a whistle of complaint, if they're told the why for a command. Acting out of hand, instructing without explaining or justifying oneself is fine when leading the Seaguard. They'll blithely follow any order given them, promptly and without timidity. Your subjects need to hear the reasoning behind your decision-making, especially the major pronouncements. Personal understanding is the key to their obedience. To date, you haven't fully explained your actions and unwisely keep the populace in the dark."

  "Only to stop needless worrying on their part."

  "Instead, your reticence fosters insecurity. Listen to their grumbling, Merking. They worry regardless. Do the wise thing, give their unease a foundation on which hope can be built."

  Lasbow took her advice onboard. “Ochar, you are indeed a rare pearl in the sand,” he praised her, naughtily stealing a kiss. Kingliness emboldened him no end!

  Her hand lingering on her fulsomely lipped mouth, Ochar's gentle scolding held a distinctly humorous tone. “Get away with you, merboy. I'm old enough to be your grandmother."

  With a swish of his flukes, the Merking returned to the head of the stationary convoy. Along the way he collected the Merqueen, courteously offering Minoh his arm. Parting to give him access to their mistress, Minoh's handmaidens scurried after the pair of stately royals, whispering to one another behi
nd raised hands their speculations over what the determined look in Lasbow's eyes boded. They pulled into their wake interested onlookers, the crowd enlarging in size and curiosity until the entire Cetari race, including those Fishers patrolling the flanks of the caravan, stopped in suspense when the king and queen slowed and turned.

  Lasbow faced the expectant throng, ignoring Ahlegra's mystified gaze. In a voice booming with confidence and amplified by his biosonar abilities, the Merking called attention to what he was about to proclaim. Public speaking did not unnerve the new king, as he scaled down the massed Cetari to an imagined squad of huddled Seaguardians being issued with fresh orders. The speechmaking trick of picturing your audience naked stumbled when applied to the unclothed merfolk.

  "Fellow merpeople, my attention has been drawn to the inexcusable fact of my being rather remiss in keeping you informed of our current plight. The time has come to amend that.

  "I need not point out how the Rock is in the hands of the Landhoppers. I gather there are many amongst you who disagreed with my choice not to mount a dedicated resistance, even though those defenders I commanded made sure the enemy suffered appropriate losses in order for them to occupy our home. Entitled as those complainers are to their opinions, you would all now be the main course at a Landhopper seafood banquet if we had opposed them fully."

  Lasbow shrewdly let that unappealing fact sink in, allowing his listeners to digest the scary reality that fighting back would have ended in their inglorious suicide. Noble as that effort would have seemed, the end result was indisputable. To sacrifice themselves in vain achieved nothing, as the Landhoppers conquered the reef regardless. This way, the Cetari nation lived to swim another day.

  Time to construct the hope Ochar suggested, Lasbow decided. A fast learner when it came to political machinations, behind Cerdic's back he lurked as the old Merking's understudy. Which was why he purposely placed Minoh alongside him now, carefully presenting a united front to the doubters. Image, foolishly so, counted for much when swaying public opinion.