Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  "It is reasonable to presume I myself slew the Landhopper's substitute king, just as Cerdic eliminated the surrogate's predecessor. Making them leaderless again so soon most definitely kept them disorganised for a time and off our backs. We did right to take advantage of their confused state by fleeing. For certain, we lost our home and our reef. What we did not lose to them were our lives."

  He could see by their reactions they comprehended the soundness of his argument. The hushed patter of rain overhead, the only indication of the severity of the shrieking thunderstorm topside, softly underscored their acceptance. Howling winds whipped across the churning sea, channelling the furious gusts into twenty-foot waves rolling and crashing against each other in a loudening display of frothy agitation. Undersea, the calmness existing from time immemorial crept sluggishly along, focusing Cetari meditation.

  "We must also not lose the head start we shed so much blood to gain,” said the Merking. “Once the Landhoppers recover and regroup, they will come at us anew. Seizing Bounty Reef will not satisfy their lust for blood. They'll seek us out wherever we swim, hunt us down like dogfishes. They won't ever stop until every last Cetari is killed and accounted for."

  "Why? What have we ever done to them to deserve such antagonism and persecution?"

  Lasbow identified the mutterer as Dribben. As good a Fisher as they came, he was prone to bouts of depression which disqualified his entry into the Seaguard. Shrugging, the Merking said, “They're predators that hound for sport, driven by the enjoyment of the kill. That's enough of a reason to keep out of their way."

  "By swimming away as cowards,” moaned Dribben.

  "As survivors,” Lasbow contradicted the whiner. “And for us to stay out of the net requires this migration."

  "To where?” Dribben clung to his fears and doubts like a billfish hanging on to bait. “There's nothing out here but black water. Or are we to ride the currents as nomads forever?"

  "That detail is soon to be sorted out. Fishers are now scouting for a suitable place where we can resettle.” Though deception troubled him, Lasbow realised total honesty from a ruler was never advisable under any circumstance. The public could never objectively handle the utter truth. He rationalised his deceit by arguing that technically he had not lied, only misled. Ochar would surely disapprove, if she remembered to.

  "How are we to find our way in foreign waters?” Dribben certainly was a persistent cynic.

  Ahlegra, gliding in from out of the gathering to take up position on the Merking's free side and completing the royal trio, startlingly answered for him. Always the background royal, her name and face known without the public taking further interest in her thanks to her wilder sister's antics and higher profile, she habitually refrained from drawing attention to herself. The invisible workings of time and situation wrought changes on even the shyest individual. It came as no shock this crisis made each and every adult merperson dig deep within themselves, drawing forth their best and worst facets. In Ahlegra's case that meant revealing her hidden fortitude, a resolve she courageously showcased.

  "Faith will be our guide,” she said with unaffected sincerity, her hand automatically slipping into the Merking's, that simple act humanising the stolid and stuffy image mantling Cetari royalty. “We remain the chosen people of Nupterus and He will not abandon us. Bide by the Sea God. For whatever unfathomable reason, He has us returning to what most believe is the cradle of Cetari creation. I don't profess to comprehend the workings of god's vast mind. Perhaps He means to remodel our society, improving it, and bettering us in the process. All that we need to understand is the unchallengeable belief that our Merking acts as the medium of His will. King Lasbow is the Sea God's voice. Heed them both."

  Associating the kingship with the Cetari divinity did the trick, with the accepting populace dispersing and settling to enjoy the remainder of their break. The Fishers not on guard duty took the opportunity to forage, catching only what they could carry on their transoceanic trek. Pickings were slim, what with such a large body of merfolk scaring off the fish along their forced travels, and they bagged a few paltry blenny and damselfish that barely kept hunger at bay.

  Returning the regal merwomen to the guardianship of the royal shepherds, Lasbow moved out into the channel, shadowed by his obligatory escort. Spending most of his adult life chumming with the Seaguard meant he gave their presence scarcely a second thought, even with the nature of their relationship changed. Going from captain to king affected the bodyguards” perception of Lasbow, compelling a shift in attitude. While their level of obedience remained steadfast, they functioned differently, operating as minders more than dutiful colleagues.

  Buffered from the raging seas, screaming winds, and pelting rain by the tiers of cushioning saltwater, the Merking floated pensively in limbo. Sonar mapping relayed back to the main body of Cetari by the advance scouts revealed a narrowing of the strait at its eastern end, pinched by the remnants of a land bridge which recently spanned the brace of continents. Disintegrated by the same tectonic forces that created the upthrust, its leftovers comprised a series of craggy islets battered by relentless wind and waves. In time, the pounding seas would finish the demolition job and erode the giant stepping-stones into nonbeing. Until then, the isles of deformed and barren rock, which grew nothing but shrinkage, withstood the pummelling channel weather, posing a minor navigation hazard.

  King Lasbow gazed steadily eastwards, as if he might locate Atlantis simply by staring in that direction. More than the fate of the merpeople rested on finding the legendary sunken city. Before leaving her, Princess Ahlegra whispered an ultimatum in the Merking's earhole, a good-natured demand his emotional happiness depended on being fulfilled.

  "I'll happily marry you,” she teasingly said, “only when Atlantis is found."

  Never had Lasbow earnestly wished for a myth to come true.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hardly the first instance of reviving in a strange place after being overpowered and knocked out, Durgay was not alone this time around. His concern for Najoli's welfare notwithstanding, the merman was glad for her company.

  His senses returning to him in increments of sight and sound, feel and touch, itchiness no longer maddening his skin rubbed raw in places from frantic scratching, he found they were secured in a circularly walled tank of tropically warm saltwater, fenced in by the same peculiar “black ice” contouring the entrance tunnel. Floating face down, his befuddlement deepened when he realised the pool was softly lit from below by captive stars embedded in the artificial seabed! What in the oceans was this alien place lodged in the innards of an iceberg and implausibly warmed by miniature underwater suns?

  Wallowing unconscious in the tepid water at his side, the seagrass bag slung over her shoulder acting as a sea anchor, Najoli looked as unhurt as he felt—not counting the slight, after-effects headache mildly thrumming his skull. Seeming so peaceful and serene in her forced slumber, he loathed having to disturb her. But here they were, imprisoned in an undersea ice cave by an undisclosed captor. She needed to be up and on her flukes, ready for any further surprises.

  "Rise and shine, sleepy beauty,” he coaxed, gently shaking her shoulder.

  The mermaiden stirred, muttering, “I am neither sleeping nor feeling beautiful,” looking slightly the worse for wear, her skin just as patchy as Durgay's from brushing away the imagined irritant.

  Pleasantly startled by the surprising warmness of the water, she took a moment to familiarise herself with the changed surroundings. Looking about their ten-foot deep confinement using regular rather than sound sight, she shuddered. Appearing to have been drawn deeper into whatever trap they blundered into and imprudently sprung, Najoli did not care for the mechanics of their kidnapping; only the outcome of what was befalling them. Perturbed she should feel so ill at ease in what could only be the house of god, her assumption based solely on the otherwise inexplicable strangeness of their surroundings, the mergirl put aside her shaming sense of guilt to challen
ge Durgay's preparedness.

  "Where's your trident? There's a creepiness to this place that sets my teeth on edge. We may need to defend ourselves."

  Dismayed as he regarded his empty hands, the merman's searching eyes found no trace of his weapon anywhere on the pool bottom. Looking powerlessly at the sealed hatchway linking their detainment tank to the lengthy entrance tunnel, he lamented, “I must've dropped it when that Bureal charged me."

  Not content to mislay his exclusive first-time sea spear, irreplaceable in terms of sentimental value alone, Durgay had managed to lose Ochar's generously gifted loaner to boot. Clicked and whistled words could not adequately express the disgrace weighing upon his heart, for as a Seaguardian, even an excommunicated member, such incompetence besmirched the name and values of mermanhood. In itself the trident was an object only, but steeped in venerable Cetari essence it assumed a lauded spirituality. Was the universe again telling Durgay he came up short of honouring the memory of his ancestors and race, was unworthy to be counted a Fisher, a Seaguard, or a merman even?

  "Might not be a bad idea to tie it to your wrist next time,” Najoli dryly suggested.

  Durgay moped. “I won't get a third chance. Pellish's trident is as unrecoverable as my virginity."

  Slipping her arm around his, Najoli purred, “I trust that loss was a darn sight more enjoyable."

  Failing to get the joke, the grimacing Fisher's unshakable moroseness put a downer on the revelational end to their questing for divine intervention. On the verge of uncovering the actuality behind Cetari religious conviction, of hopefully coming face to face with the true maker of all creation, Najoli baulked. What if Nupterus was at best indifferent, at worst devilish?

  Fretting her finding religion might backfire, the young merwoman clutched Durgay fiercely. Rediscovering her self-reliance just as forcefully, she pulled the catfish out of the seagrass bag, so to speak, pluckily drawing the bone-handled shark tooth.

  "What about a weapon for me?” Durgay whined.

  "You can't be trusted not to lose it,” she teased him. When he sulked like a schoolboy not getting the toy his heart was set on, Najoli thrust the haddock his way. “Try not to lose this one. It'll be lunch later on."

  Indignant, the Fisher spluttered, “I'm not wielding a wet fish!"

  "Take or leave it, lover. Only don't beat any attacker about the head with it too much. Bruised food isn't all that nice to eat.” For all the good it did her, Najoli took another gander about their holding tank, compounding her bafflement. “Durgs my love, just where have we beached?"

  "At the Ice Station,” a clanging voice answered frighteningly from all sides.

  Jumping nearly out of their individual skins, the frantic Cetari were perplexed by the arrant emptiness of their pool. Plainly they were alone submerged, so from where was the intruding talker speaking? On impulse, Durgay popped his head above water to be confronted by the weirdest creature yet encountered on their marathon transoceanic journeying.

  Humanoidal and no solider than an amphibiman of average stature, the straight-legged oddity standing nonchalantly by the tiled edge of the pool was, to Cetari eyes, skinned nakedly in a coat of glistening, reflective water. The unsophisticated merfolk could be forgiven their erroneous first impression of the robot clad in its outer casing of chromed metal fastidiously polished to a mirror finish. Operational machines, in stark contrast to the marine derelicts rusting on the ocean floor, were inconceivable.

  Opening wide its smoothly jointed arms, the movement accompanied by the faintest whirring audible to the flabbergasted merman in the waterless, gaseous air, the automaton articulated its greeting even as Najoli surfaced, her permanently wide-eyed gaze scarcely taking in their host's robotic otherness. “Welcome home,” it saluted in its unaccented clanking speech, the volume politely dialled down to a tolerable listening level. “Long have I anticipated your return."

  Feeling light-headed, Durgay sagged in the shallow water. Grabbing him about the waist, Najoli somehow overcame her own amazement to keep her giddy lover afloat.

  Observing the merman's dizzy spell, the synthetically crafted “metalman” tilted forward its unsmiling head. “Was it something I said?"

  The robot's shiny metal phizog had an owlish cast to it, in a hideously abstract way. A sharply defined ridge split the heart-shaped face straight down the middle, mimicking, in general outline, that of a bird's beak, before terminating in a meshed covered square doubling as an audio speaker and receiver, not to mention an olfactory receptor on the side: a mouth, ear, and nose rolled into the one compact package. Talk about economising! Bridging the apex of the perpendicular nose-line where it flowered into a pronounced V, the diverging edges circling the crown of its domed skull to link up again at the back of the head, bulged the orb of a sophisticated camera lens functioning as the automaton's eyes. Able to see in all visual spectrums, including the infrared and ultraviolet wavelengths invisible to the naked eye, the manufactured man appraised its guests using conventional vision, delighting in viewing the dumbfound merfolk in all their coloured, albeit optically enhanced, glory.

  The chromium-plated humanoid's fascination grew into concern. “Is your male companion okay?” it asked the obviously womanly mermaid. “Does he require medical assistance?"

  Having found her courage, Najoli had no trouble rediscovering her vocal attitude. “Don't worry about, Durgay. He's just feeling a bit faint. Bit of a mergirl, truth be told."

  The cyclopean robot did not consider advocating the use of smelling salts to revive the faintish merman. That remedy would be wasted on a patient without a nose and allied sense of smell. Clasping its disturbingly mermannish hands together in front of its gleaming, angular waistline, it suggested to Najoli she lower her knife. “I harbour neither weapons nor the inclination to harm either of you."

  Feeling foolish, she did so. How effective was a tooth going to be against the might of god anyhow? “You did abduct us from the cave mouth,” she pointed out.

  Its countenance frustratingly unreadable, the mergirl had difficulty picturing a puzzled frown wrinkling the robot's static face. “Oh, you mean the access tube leading from the sea door. I merely transferred you both from there using the most expedient means at my disposal. If my method of relocation ... distressed you, I express my sincerest regrets.” It quickly maintained, rather defensively, “But you are, by and large, unharmed."

  She accepted the machine man's apology and returned one on Durgay's behalf. “You'll have to excuse my merboyfriend. He has a problem acting properly in the presence of strangeness. Fortunately for you I don't, having had experience with royalty.” A bad experience that is.

  Initially confused by what she was alluding to, the robot quickly cottoned on as Najoli stared deferentially its way. “And just who do you think I might be?” Its query carried a chime of amusement.

  "You're Him,” she succinctly clicked, as if that phrase explained everything.

  It was not elucidatory enough for the robot. “Him?"

  "Yeah, Him,” Najoli repeated. “The Sea God, Lord of Seas and Skies, Creator of Winds and Waves ... do you want me to draw you a sonar picture?” Her cantankerous dealings with the Merking were certainly coming in handy about now!

  "Good god! The Almighty Clause actually germinated,” the robot chuckled bafflingly.

  Grasping she had missed something important, Najoli hazarded the guess, “You aren't Nupterus, are you? Of course not! I should have realised. The absence of wings is the most obvious clue. That and your looks."

  The robot's puzzlement returned. “My appearance...?"

  "Sorry to say, you define the word “ugly", pal. I've seen lovelier hagfish."

  Roused by the interplay, Durgay lifted his lolling head to gripe, “Najoli, do you have to butt heads with every male who enters your life? I'm out for a moment and wake to find you insulting god Himself!"

  Letting him go to float on his own, Najoli brought the merman up to speed. “Only he seems not to be. Isn't
that right, stranger?"

  Accepting its demystification, the robot confirmed. “I can honestly say I am not this god you were clearly expecting to find at the Station.” It paused meaningfully to add, “However, I am His secondary,” before introducing itself as Abe.

  "Queer sort of name,” Najoli rudely rejoined. “What's it short for?"

  Not the least bit offended, the robot's response was actually inflected with humour. “Ready, willing, and able.” The machine man, while expressionless, was not emotionless.

  Coming fully alert, Durgay breathed a bubbly sign of relief. “So we bumbled into the right cave after all.” The import of their find impacting on him like a breaking comber, he snatched an impromptu hug off Najoli. “We made it! In spite of sharks and Shagroth, we found god's grotto. Nupterus is real!"

  Disengaging herself from him, the mermaid burst his bubble. “Curb your excitement, Durgs. We've yet to actually meet Nupterus.” Bobbing in the agitated water, sloshing over the rim of the round tank level with the floor, she put to Abe, “He is here, right?"

  Before the robot had the chance to reply, Durgay's thrill waned. “It'll be just our luck to have come all this way only to find He's not at home."

  Abe kindly allayed that concern. “It's safe to say your creator's definitely here. There's no question of that. But don't be alarmed if He's not exactly in the style you've imagined."

  Their suspicions raised, Najoli was the one to ask, “In what manner then?"

  "I'll call Him, so you can see for yourselves,” accommodated the robot. “Dog, are you listening in?"

  "Don't you mean God,” Durgay interrupted, attempting to correct the automaton.

  "No, I meant to say Dog. He's dyslexic."

  Not knowing what that meant, the uncomprehending Cetari gazed past Abe at the room their heated pool was centred in. Matching the robot for undiluted queerness, the chamber was octagonal in plan and boasted banks of floor-to-ceiling networked data storage and processor units arrayed along burnished alloy panels partitioned by the wall-mounted, vertical fluorescent strips supplying excessive, but regularly spaced, illumination to the reception area. A double archway off to one side divided into two short corridors, each leading off to an individual antechamber barred by a round, heavy gauge steel door inscribed with unintelligible red block lettering. The oxygen rich air vibrated softly with the unidentifiable, at least to the technologically retarded merfolk, background hum of powered up life support machinery pumping breathable gases into the normally airless chamber. After all, what use had an organically inert being for air? The overall feel the room generated was one of conjunctive geometry; a sensible patterning of oblongs and circles, curves and angles, where frivolous colouring did not detract from its uncluttered and pleasing simplicity, instilling in the visitor the distinct impression its unaffected designer had not been an architect, but a mathematician.