Three Times Chosen

by Alan J. Garner

  "Quit prodding it!” he carped at the hooligans, dropping the unpalatable piece of shell. “The firebird is obviously a dead duck."

  "The Subos knows what manner of fowl this is,” one of the onlookers exclaimed.

  "Of course he does!” snapped another. “He is all-knowing and all-seeing."

  "Can we eat it?” hoped a third.

  A field of searching gazes faced Eskaa. A marvellous opportunist, he instantly capitalised on this misfortune to change it into his good fortune, turning it to his advantage. Compost was only raked manure, after all.

  Jumping atop a conveniently handy flat-topped boulder, the Subos clapped his empty hands to secure the crowd's attention. In his hurry to get here, he had left his rattly staff behind. This was a show he would have to put on without benefit of props, relying totally on his speechmaking skills. Eskaa grinned openly. He relished a challenge.

  "Behold! Lying before you is the earthly manifestation of the Elementals, merged into a single form. Enayres, Vhella, Soruca, Ceteras ... brother gods all. United in divine purpose, joined now in death."

  Shock muted the assembly, the jabbers taking a hasty jump back from the desecrated corpse, every amphib in attendance hanging on their Subos’ indigestible words of clarification. Even those reformed Shurpeha present were stunned into silence, indoctrinated as they were in the conviction that their idols influenced every aspect of daily life. Taking the gods” immortality for granted, none of the commoners ever considered the impossibility that the spirits might one day vanish.

  "In the days of our ancestors, the volcano god prevailed. But eventually his overlordship came to an end when the Elementals displaced him,” Eskaa cleverly reminded his listeners. “And now their time is up. Like the seasons change, so do the gods. We must accept this conversion without anxiety or panic. Our forebears abided their changeover without complaint and we, their proud and righteous descendants, shall do the same."

  Judging his verbal guile was not having the desired effect by the aghast looks of his audience, Eskaa made the uncharacteristic decision to dial down his haughtiness a notch, to project himself as an ordinary amphib striving to come to terms with an unbelievable transition. Hopping off his makeshift stage, he forwent Shurpeha bullying and physically ingratiated himself with his people, sowing the seeds for his off the cuff delivery.

  "I realise it's a big ask,” he began over, artfully not talking down to the common folk but addressing them as equals. “The four gods have been around for ages, a vital part of ourselves like the air we breathe or the water we drink. I'll miss them especially. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I'm sure each of you had a personal favourite too. Out of the brothers, mine was the blood god. The holiness of Enayres still binds us together. We're all blood brothers and sisters."

  Draping an arm around the shoulders of a shortish amphibiman, Eskaa noted with satisfaction the others pressing in, straining to hear his words, the immediate listeners surrounding the Subos relaying his sentiments to those in the back ranks. He had them in the palm of his hand, willingly eating the bullshit he fed them.

  "It's hard to imagine our world devoid of them. When Ceretas heaped this vision on me, like you I initially refused to believe. Surely the gods must be jesting! How can immortals possibly die? But nobody lives forever and even spirits fade away eventually.

  "It was then I realised that they were relying on the trust built up between them and me over the years to make the acceptance of this unthinkable thing easier to swallow, to make the coming transition bearable all round. The Elementals won't be leaving us in the lurch and godless. Just like when the explosive mountain god was banished to his rest after their victorious takeover bid, so will the brothers” vacancies not go unfilled. Difficult as it is to acknowledge, the gods are replaceable. Only this time the current retirees have a say in who is going to supplant them."

  Sidetracked by wishing he was caped and costumed to enhance his stage presence, Eskaa mustered his best oratorical voice, raised his arms theatrically and intoned, “The winds of change are blowing and time cannot stand still. Lunder is our hopping stone to a better, brighter future. Already we control the seas, next we reclaim the mainland. The Elementals made this achievable through my efforts and I am to continue their godly works. They have conferred the stewardship of the Piawro on me. Look upon your leader. I am the Lord incarnate. Bow down and worship me!"

  You could have cut the ensuing silence with a macana. Ideally equipped to do just that, the Shurpeha were first to move. Kneeling in their inverted way on their inward bending legs, they lay down their defining weaponry and lionised their Subos with beatifying homage. In their adulating eyes Eskaa had indisputably converted from mortal into god. To them it was a natural progression for the spiritual leader of the Piawro to make, ascending to a loftier holiness.

  Slowly following suit, the other amphibs surrendered their will to Eskaa and knelt in reverence. The majority did so out of faith, believing in Eskaa's escalated divinity. A small contingent, mostly maltreated Climbers, prostrated themselves out of necessity. In a single hop the reviled Subos, already untouchable, rendered himself completely immune from public criticism. His critics dared not speak out against him anymore, lest they find themselves on the receiving end of religiously guided persecution. The very survival of their harassed caste hinged on demonstrating compliance, even when their hearts cried out sham. To them, Eskaa remained an ordinary amphibiman flawed with everyday failings and weaknesses. No more a god than anyone else, he nonetheless held sway over the brainwashed populace. Their combined resolve deified him and the minority would have a devil of a time trying to reverse that ingrained conditioning. Better to appear as live followers than be crucified dead heretics.

  Except for one intrepid Climber. Fed up with Leaper dominance, unwilling to tolerate living a lie, he rose with deliberate slowness, flaunting his refusal to idolise Eskaa. “Subos!” he spat, shouting his contempt for all to hear, pointing accusingly at the mildly surprised magician-priest. “You are a fraudster with a big mouth and an even bigger ego. Can you not see him for the fake he really is?” he entreated the gathering, fishing for support.

  The crowding amphibs sensibly kept their eyes and bodies downcast—apart from the Shurpeha, sprouting from the mass like weeds reaching for the light, swords and spears quivering in budding rage.

  "It appears you are alone in your opinion, friend,” remarked Eskaa, lowering his arms and smiling his contempt for the debasing outburst. The fool was digging his own grave.

  Uncomfortably aware of his isolation, the impugner put on a brave face and pursued his character assassination. The point of no return had passed the instant he stood. “You're a liar and a bully,” he croaked, his voice as shaky as his stance. “I wouldn't put it past you to have murdered the gods for their powers."

  At that a frogman leapt up, delivering a vicious backhanded blow to the Climber. Eskaa's tightly wound goons made no move to interfere. Why should they when a civilian was punishing the decrier for them? Thinking the same, Eskaa gleefully watched his heckler stagger and fall over a companion to end up on his backside. When he tried to rise, his attacker sent him sprawling with a kick to the head.

  "That'll do,” Eskaa abruptly said. Wanting this to play out his way, he motioned the closest Shurpeha to rein in the righter of wrongs. Waving a macana in the assailant's face instantly curbed his enthusiasm.

  Lurching to his feet, rubbing his bruised jaw, the outspoken Climber stared defiantly at Eskaa, but there was recognisable fear in his eyes. “You always were good at putting on a show. Prove yourself. Do something godly,” he dared the conceited priest.

  Accepting the challenge, Eskaa nodded grimly. “You wish me to demonstrate my powers? Fair enough.” Hopping back onto his rock platform, he exploded into full rhetorical swing. “Rise up and smite the blaspheming infidel, in the name of your lord and god, Eskaa!"

  The unleashed host surged, swamping the doomed Climber under a deluge of angry bodies
and flailing limbs, in minutes reducing him to a bloody, lifeless pulp no longer identifiable as Piawro.

  Folding his arms, Eskaa laughed raucously at sight of the heaving throng and the demonstration of his powers of persuasion.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  "Durgs, please wake up."

  Stirring, the merman struggled to rouse from his enforced slumber. A womanly voice hovered on the edge of his awareness, adamant and nagging.

  "Durgay! Wake up!” she insisted.

  "I'm up, mother!” he barked, jolting awake and thrashing the water about him. “I promise I won't be late for school again.” Momentarily disoriented by his unfamiliar surroundings, Najoli's amused giggling brought him back to reality and he quieted down.

  "Dreaming about your mother is an unhealthy fixation,” remarked the mergirl. She floated upright about ten feet from him, her smiling face edged with concern.

  Rolling on his side, it was all the queasy Fisher could do to keep from throwing up. Seeing that she appeared unhurt was a great relief to him. “I feel terrible,” he complained.

  "So did I when I first woke, but the nausea will pass. A little food helps."

  Durgay turned green around the gills at Najoli's suggestion. Desiring female company more than fish, he found the willpower to weakly flick his flukes and make for his mergirl.

  "No, wait...” she cried out, too late to stop him bumping headfirst into an invisible wall.

  "Ouch, cod-dammit!” he swore, rubbing his forehead. “Who put that block of ice in my way?"

  "It's not ice, Durgs. The water we're in isn't cold enough to freeze."

  Durgay stopped rubbing to think about Najoli's statement. She was right. The lukewarm water that filled their overlarge pool matched the tepidness of tropical seas, as it had when they were first caught. The merman thought harder. Only now did he realise they were being held in a different holding tank than the one in which Nupterus and his shiny servant had greeted them from above water. While bigger in size by at least a third, this tank differed also by being compartmentalised by the transparent panel of ... what?

  Examining it first with his biosonar, followed by his tentative fingertips, Durgay established that the visually indiscernible wall was as solid as sheet ice but weirdly warm to the touch. Beyond his understanding, the toughened clear acrylic pane sectioning the pool outwardly had the look of frozen water while being nigh on unbreakable. Quite why the Cetari deity elected to separate him from Najoli escaped Durgay, and he took scant comfort from the religious platitude that the Sea God's mysterious ways were often beyond mortal comprehension.

  Approaching her side of the divider, Najoli pressed her palm against the unbendable pane. Durgay did likewise, the layer of see-through acrylic frustratingly giving them the illusion of touching while firmly preventing that comforting feel.

  "Why have you parted us, lord?” he whistled in aggravation. Uselessly waiting for an answer, that soon became clear was not coming, angered Durgay further. Slamming his fist against the barrier only gained him a sore hand to partner his throbbing head.

  Pitying him with sad eyes, Najoli startled her merboyfriend by announcing, “We aren't the only Cetari in this pool. Take a look behind me."

  Gazing past her, he became aware of a dejected merman senselessly swimming the perimeter of his own partitioned section at the far side of the shared pool like a bored aquarium shark.

  "He looks familiar,” mused Durgay, unable to place the face.

  "So he should,” said Najoli. “That merman happens to be one of our old jailers."

  That stunned the Fisher. It took him a moment to recover his wits enough to ask, “What's a Seaguardian doing so far from home waters in this place?"

  Najoli's shrug was a wordless, I don't know.

  "How did he get here ahead of us?"

  "I couldn't begin to hazard a guess. He hasn't said anything to me since I woke from my deep sleep, not even a friendly hallo. I'm pretty sure he's the one I brained with my chunk of rock during our jailbreak. So he's likely miffed at me for knocking him out."

  "Things definitely keep getting weirder,” murmured Durgay, puzzled that Nupterus was showing his favoured creations such inhospitality by caging the three of them and withholding information.

  "Maybe you'll have more luck than me talking to him,” intimated Najoli. A bit of mermale bonding might see him open up."

  Trying just that, the rebel Fisher hailed his compatriot. The fellow merman ignored the shouted greeting and continued swimming in unproductive circles. Hollering again only made Durgay's throat hoarse. Whistling loudly and continuously finally got his attention and the ignoramus halted, staring hatefully at the noisemaker.

  "What's your name?” Durgay asked him.

  His refusal to answer prompted Najoli to butt in and have another crack at him. Her impatience made it so that she could not help herself. “What's the matter, merboy? Catfish got your tongue?"

  Banging on the pane, Durgay glowered at her to keep quiet. She crossed her arms huffily and zipped her mouth shut. “You must know who we are,” he said to the former guard. “Suffice to say we have fishtory. What harm can it do to tell two acquaintances your name? We're caught in the same net, after all."

  Measuring Durgay's worth with his discriminating stare, the tight-lipped merman relented. “I'm Jumo."

  Asking the obvious question first, Durgay desired to know, “How did you come to be here, Jumo?"

  "We left you back at Castle Rock napping on the job,” wisecracked Najoli, her mouth getting the better of her again.

  Directing his unfriendly gaze on to the flippant mergirl, Jumo vowed, “And I'll get you for whacking me on the head with that stone. It bloody hurt."

  "I was just adding one more to the rocks already in your head,” Najoli remarked confrontationally.

  Durgay cut back in. “Must you madden everyone who is male?"

  "I don't discriminate, Durgs,” she said with a smirk. “Except for you, I loath all mermen."

  "You hit me twice,” griped Jumo.

  "Actually, fish head, it was three times, but I guess it's not entirely your fault that you can't count proper. You weren't really conscious for the third blow."

  "Then you owe me three times over,” he vowed again.

  Placing hands on hips, Najoli scoffed, “It's not as if you're in a position to do anything about it."

  Jumo thumped his side of the barrier, grinning when she jumped.

  "I want to know how you swum from there to here so damn quick,” demanded Durgay, returning to the topic at hand. “Even taking into consideration that me and Najoli took the scenic route getting here, you had no way of divining where we were headed."

  Jumo gave a slight shake of his head. “You arrogant sod, Durgay,” he clicked irately. “Are you so egotistical to think that Captain Lasbow would expend time and energy hunting you and your mergirly misfit down?"

  Durgay seemed genuinely put out by the assertion.

  "Trust me, runaways were the last thing on the captain's troubled mind when he sent Spid and me out into the open ocean. True, we were on the hunt, but not for the likes of you."

  "Las had you seeking out the Sea God too?"

  Jumo looked at Durgay as if he was an idiot. “Nothing so crass,” he sneered. “He ordered us to search for Atlantis on the sly as a way of redeeming ourselves for such sloppy guard duty."

  "But that's a myth, just a fairytale. It doesn't exist."

  "We're floating in the bowels of a giant ice cube, at the whim of a strange being and his invisible sidekick, and you're quibbling over the realness of a legend."

  "Watch your mouth, Jumo. You are in god's grotto."

  "And you're senile to think that, old merman. When I was first hauled here, I bought into that Sea God claptrap too. That soon wore off after I came to the realisation that Norton isn't a servant of Nupterus. He's hiding the truth about himself, of that I'm certain."

  "I knew it!” said Najoli, her suspicions about the ti
n man rematerialising. “So what's he angling for from us?"

  "That I haven't figured out yet. You'd do well not to trust him. He's slipperier than a sea snake."

  "You mentioned being hauled here,” said Durgay, unhappy at the disturbing irreligious slant their conversation had taken and wishing to get off that unholy track. In his mind he need look no harder to find the Sea Lord. “By what?"

  "The kraken."

  It was Durgay's turn to scoff. “Another myth swims to life."

  "One I have intimate knowledge of. Like I said, Spid and me were prospecting for the sunken reef. I was diving on a promising spot when this tentacled monster came out of nowhere, grabbed me in its coils, and whisked me away."

  "Your dive buddy,” said Najoli. “What happened to Spid?"

  "Weren't you listening? I got snatched before I was even aware I was hit. Whatever happened afterwards to him is beyond what I know. I left Spid in the shallows to cover me—fat lot of good that did. I'm picking he was the proverbial one that got away and hightailed it back to the Rock.

  "What I can tell you is how the kraken dragged me backwards through the seawater at such phenomenal speed that I blacked out. I came to on the approach to this place, where Norton has kept me prisoner since. He asked me a bunch of weird questions at first, then left me alone. I'm fed regularly, but watched all the time. The strangest thing too. They change the water frequently, saying they need to keep it clean for my health's sake. Whoever heard of dirtied seawater? I fell asleep for what felt like a short nap but was obviously longer, as I woke to find the pair of you rooming with me.

  "That's my sad story. What brought you two jailbirds this far north?"