Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  “You’re the mer. I thought it would be common knowledge,” said Sasha.

  “Well it isn’t,” snapped David, “and I’ve only been a mer for a couple of months.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I was a human who was turned into a mer by some crazy seal thingy. They claim I’m the only one in existence…hated by both races for my connection to the other, wanted nowhere,” said David. Instinctively he rubbed his neck where the seal had bitten him, just below the right ear. There the bite had healed into what was known in legends as the merish kiss, or the merman’s mark—an image of a lotus and a rose entwined together. The lotus, the symbol of the mers, and the rose, the symbol of the humans, put together in one treasonous symbol he could not escape. Imaan had spelled it out for him so clearly.

  A mer and a murderer are one in the same. He had the mark of a murderer stamped on his neck.

  David sighed.

  “And your family?” asked Sasha.

  “I don’t know. I have no memory of my time as a human, beyond getting bitten by that demonic seal.”

  “Explains so much,” breathed Sasha.

  “What?” asked David.

  “Never mind,” said Sasha.

  Chht.

  “What was that?” asked David, looking around.

  “What?” asked Sasha.

  “That sound. Did you hear it?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” asked David, leaning toward the ground. He had heard that sound before in Sasha’s yurt. Sasha stared at him, confused.

  “I didn’t hear a sound,” said Sasha.

  Yasmin popped her head out of a cottage window.

  “Sash, do you have any clue as to what I should make for dinner? I’m fresh out of ideas.”

  Sasha looked at David and grinned. “Don’t worry, Yazzi, I think Dave’s sorted dinner tonight.”

  “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you, David,” said Yasmin.

  Sasha laughed as he carried the cool box into the house.

  C h a p t e r 2 9

  Nick slouched against the outer wall of the nesting boxes, watching a group of sparrows as they hopped around in a nearby puddle. Liza, who had just finished the required chores after a run with La Cloche, joined him. She wiped her hand on a rag and took a spot next to him by the wall.

  “What are you thinking about?” asked Liza.

  “I’m thinking about rule number three: no personal questions,” said Nick.

  “I shall leave you to it then,” said Liza, rising to leave. Nick tapped her calf with his foot.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m working on my plans for the King’s Cup.”

  “What’s the King’s Cup?” asked Liza.

  “Are you serious?” asked Nick, looking aghast. “Biy’avi, you are serious, aren’t you?”

  “Would you care to elaborate?” asked Liza.

  “Please tell me you’ve at least heard of the Grand.”

  “How could I not? It’s the biggest day in racing.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. You at least know that,” said Nick.

  “And?”

  “The King’s Cup is the biggest race on the biggest day in racing. It’s why everyone shows up to the Grand. Well, everyone who actually cares about racing, that is, not the people who just come for the fashion and glasswork. The other races on that day are respectable in their own right, but if you’ve won the King’s Cup, you’ve made it,” said Nick. “There ain’t nothing a jockey dreams of more than winning the King’s Cup.”

  “And you think you can win the race?” asked Liza.

  “If I get a good mount, I think I’ll have a decent chance. You see, I—wait a minute… I don’t know if I should be talking this stuff with you. A jockey should never share his secrets,” said Nick. “Ah, who am I kidding? It’s not like it’ll mean much to you anyway. You see those birds over there?”

  He pointed toward the puddle.

  “I see them,” said Liza.

  “Watch this.” Nick rolled a rock in their direction, and the sparrows hopped out of the way. He grinned. “Did you see that? Birds are easily startled.”

  “And that’s your big revelation?” asked Liza.

  “Ugh, I knew this would be lost on you,” said Nick, rising to leave. Liza caught his wrist.

  “No, wait, I want to understand. What does it mean?”

  Nick glanced at his wrist. Liza quickly released him.

  “It means that I can startle a falcon when I’m racing without being disqualified for illegal manoeuvres,” said Nick. “Real birds are flighty things—they move out of the way even before they need to—and falcons mimic a lot of the same characteristics as real birds. Now, a lot of times when you’re racing, the jockeys try to box you in so you can’t fly ahead of them, so I figure if I can startle their falcons a bit, they will give me a gap and I’ll be able to pass. And you know how I’m going to startle them? That’s the real genius part.”

  “How?” asked Liza.

  “I’m going to tip the wing on the descent,” said Nick. “If I shift my weight toward one wing, the opposite wing will lift. I figure the sudden movement should be enough to startle one of the surrounding falcons without crashing into them and getting disqualified. Then it should be free flying. What do you think?”

  “It sounds risky.”

  “Bah! What’s life without a bit of risk?” asked Nick.

  “And you think you’ll be able to regain control quickly enough?”

  “With a bit of practice, yeah.”

  “Then I’d say go for it,” said Liza.

  “Serious?”

  “Yes, I congratulate you on your genius,” teased Liza.

  “Thanks,” said Nick. His face had an unusual expression on it, as though the jockey’s irritable exterior was beginning to melt into something softer and entirely new. Liza stared at him curiously; Nick stared back in a moment of uncharacteristic friendliness that was surprisingly awkward for the usually ill-tempered jockey. He pointed behind him.

  “I gotta…yeah…See you around, Chix, and don’t go telling anyone my plan, or I’ll have to sock ya.”

  Liza smiled. As she turned to leave, she noticed a veil of pink and two suspicious eyes staring at her from near the lift. Liza waved, looking surprised.

  “Catherine, what are you doing here?” asked Liza.

  “Oh, I just thought I’d pop by and see if you need me,” said Catherine, looking around.

  “So you’re checking up on me then?” asked Liza.

  “Yes, and it appears to have been a wise move,” said Catherine.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Catherine pursed her lips. Liza, as if reading her mind, gaped at her in self-defence.

  “I was just being friendly,” she argued.

  “Well, it’s not proper,” said Catherine. “This whole racing business isn’t proper. You should stand by your husband.”

  “Since when are you a supporter of Dominic?” asked Liza.

  “He needs a good influence, which at the moment you’re not really providing.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re seeing, or do you just come here with your simple life and your girlish fantasies and presume to judge me accordingly?” snapped Liza.

  Catherine looked hurt. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that,” said Liza.

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Liza, “and you’re right. I probably should support Dominic more.”

  “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s come to that. Lady Imaan would’ve shuddered at the thought,” sighed Catherine. “I wish she were here now. I try to accept it, but sometimes…sometimes I really would like to know what Avinoam was thinking.”

  “I miss
her, too,” said Liza, hugging her assistant, “more than anyone knows.”

  C h a p t e r 3 0

  Liza sat at a table on a vine-covered terrace, staring out at the terra-cotta-coloured rooftops that carpeted the City. Dominic and Gabe were engaged in intense conversation with the Theodite judge about the opening of a new literacy centre, or at least she gathered as much from their discussion. Madame Soiree had been purposefully vague about the details as usual, and no one seemed particularly keen to involve her. In fact, the only meaningful exchange she had had since arriving was with the server who had asked for her drink choice. He smiled at her sympathetically from his place near the wall.

  “Does this meet with Your Majesties’ approval?” asked the judge.

  Smile and nod, thought Liza. They could have trained a parrot to do the same.

  She paused. An echo of a familiar voice filled her head.

  I am also grateful that Avinoam has flown the Lady’s loveliest parrot to me as a reminder of her ideas…Saladin said that.

  “Yes, I think Liza and I are very pleased,” said Dominic. “We look forward to the great effect it will have on the three thousand people who could greatly benefit from the—”

  “Five thousand,” blurted Liza. “There are three thousand households in that area touched by illiteracy, or approximately five thousand people.”

  The men looked at her as though she had just done something very morally wrong. She paused.

  “So… your centre will be even more welcome,” finished Liza.

  “Well, I think I could use a moment’s break before we continue,” said Gabe. “It’s been quite a discussion this morning. Lawrence, would you care to join me for a smoke?”

  “It would be a pleasure,” said the judge, rising to leave. “Your Majesties.”

  Dominic glared at Liza. “Is it so difficult for you to support me?”

  “I was supporting you. Having the proper numbers—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Liza!” snapped Dominic. “The whole thing is just a formality anyway, to show the State cares for the people.”

  “Well, perhaps if I had been included in the preparation for this meeting, it wouldn’t have gone so badly,” said Liza.

  “And when exactly am I supposed to do that? You’re always with your boy up in the nesting box…” said Dominic.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Liza.

  “I don’t know. You tell me,” said Dominic.

  Liza frowned. “It’s Gabe, isn’t it? He’s been putting ideas into your head to turn you against me.”

  “No, you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself,” said Dominic.

  “If that snake weren’t around, we’d—”

  “Leave it, Liza. Gabe Silbi has nothing to do with us.”

  “He doesn’t need to weigh so heavily in your confidence.”

  “He owns half the City and has more connections than all my other advisers combined.”

  “But you’re the King. That changes things.”

  “Really, Liza? Can it change the fact that up until a few months ago, I spent my life aimlessly messing around and everyone knows it? I made a damn fool of myself then; I don’t need you making a fool of me now.”

  Gabe walked toward their table, chatting with the Theodite judge.

  “Are we ready to get back to business?” he asked.

  Liza forced a smile. For the rest of the afternoon she stared at the expanse beyond the terrace, counting the roofs and dreaming of falcons.

  When the lift opened to the top level of Cliffside Vertical Racetrack several hours later, Liza looked worn. Buford, who was trotting along the platform on a majestic violet and silver falcon, called to her.

  “Whoa, what are you doing here? You look worse than an eyas that’s gone and crashed itself into the ground,” said Buford, tipping his hat, “Your Majesty.”

  “Rough day today, Buford. I’m here for a bit of flying therapy,” said Liza. “Is Nick here?”

  “Is he expecting you?” asked Buford.

  “No, I’m just asking,” said Liza.

  Buford glanced from side to side. “Come to think of it, it’s probably better if you come back. You look kind of awful,” said Buford. He tipped his hat again. “Your Majesty.”

  “I’m fine. Now, will you please tell me if Nick is here?” asked Liza.

  “He’s here, but it’s best if you leave him alone today,” said Buford.

  “Why?”

  Buford shifted in his saddle.

  “Buford, I’m not going to ask again,” said Liza. “What is going on with Nick?”

  Buford sighed. “He’s in the records office…securing his mount,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “You know…he’s under the reins…securing his mount,” whispered Buford. “He’s with the owner making sure he gets to ride a good falcon for the King’s Cup.”

  After each training session, the jockeys recorded detailed notes concerning the falcons and their flights, which was stored in the records office so owners and mechanics could peruse them as needed. Liza frowned.

  “But the records for Petra’s falcons are kept at her personal track,” said Liza, pushing toward the door. “I don’t know what she would be doing with our—”

  Nick pulled open the door just as Liza reached for its handle. He stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “Chix, what are you doing here?”

  Liza looked at his face. He seemed warm and slightly dishevelled. Behind him sat Petra on top of the desk, buttoning her shirt. Liza felt an angry scowl settle in her chest.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Nick pushed past her. “I’ve gotta check on the falcons.”

  “Did you just do what I think you did?” asked Liza, running after him. “Nick, answer me.”

  “Rule Number Three: No personal questions,” said Nick.

  “This is ridiculous. How could you even—”

  “Rules Four and Five: No opinions or dissension,” said Nick.

  “Hang the rules, I demand to know—wait, what are you doing? Are those more pills?” asked Liza.

  “Yep,” said Nick, shaking half the container into his hand and shoving them into his mouth. “I’ll be riding Rebel Fires at the Grand in the race for the King’s Cup. Have to lose several more kilos before then.”

  Liza clenched her teeth. “Nick, will you just—”

  “Look. You brought me here to exercise your falcons, great. You asked me to train you; I did. But I did so on the condition that you follow my rules, and you take racing exactly how it is—no trying to change things,” said Nick, securing a saddle to a falcon. “Don’t think that just because you’ve seen something that you don’t fancy and you think you’ve done me past favours, you suddenly have the license to order me around and do as you please. I’m not your bitch.”

  “Oh, so you won’t be my bitch, but you’ll be hers,” said Liza, crossing her arms. Nick’s whole body tensed at her words.

  “Get out,” he spat. “And don’t ever speak to me again. I’d rather go to the gallows than spend any more time with you, Your Majesty.”

  Nick lie flat against the falcon’s back and tapped its belly with the whip; the falcon raced forward and jumped over the rail, racing toward the ground. Liza stalked back to the records office, where Petra was reading through a binder full of notes.

  “Get out,” snapped Liza.

  “Excuse me,” asked Petra.

  “You have no falcons at Cliffside. These records do not concern you. You must leave, now,” said Liza.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Petra.

  Liza stood, unmoved. Petra took a deep breath and slowly closed the binder. She picked up her purse and neared the door. Liza stopped her.

  “I know your kind. Y
ou think your money and prestige gives you license to do what you please, but you fool no one,” said Liza. “You’re nothing more than a common harlot.”

  Petra smiled. “A bit like looking in the mirror, is it? Your Majesty.”

  Liza nearly crumpled as Petra strolled past her toward the lift; it felt to her as though every bone in her body had crumbled to powder. She raced to the nesting box and threw herself onto La Cloche, ignoring Buford’s concerned calls. In less than a minute, Liza was soaring; she flew La Cloche to the highest parapet of the Temple and landed there. Ignoring every safety rule she had ever been taught, Liza released the reins and unsnapped the saddle as she slid from La Cloche’s back onto the roof.

  The crimson falcon hopped backward, surprised. It lowered its head and began to huff and hiss, threatening to attack, but Liza just sat there, her head buried in her arms. La Cloche paused, confused. The falcon looked around and shivered its wings as though ready to take flight, giving one backward glance, before it jumped. Then, it stopped. It inched itself nearer to Liza and lowered its head near her lap. Liza put her face near the glassy feathers.

  “Oh, La Cloche,” whispered Liza, “I could almost swear you’re a real bird. If only I was a bird.”

  C h a p t e r 3 1

  The Jungle, Aeroth’s most famous gym, took its name as seriously as its members took their sport. Past sprawling, overgrown foliage and winding water features, athletes from all over the City trained on the best equipment, or climbed one of the many routes on the Crag, the Jungle’s indoor climbing wall, where Dominic was now climbing. Dominic reached toward a narrow ledge above him, hoisting himself farther up the rock face. A cool breeze and soft spray from the nearby waterfall brushed over him; he adjusted his footing to avoid slipping on the damp rocks. He thought of Liza as he climbed.

  Cliffside…Cliffside…every day that girl’s at Cliffside. What can that stupid jock possibly have that I don’t?

  Dominic pushed himself into the water and leaned backward as he neared the top, abseiling down the waterfall. As he neared the bottom, he released his harness, somersaulting into the pool below.

  What did Saladin have that I don’t?

  He shook the water from his hair and climbed from the pool, grabbing a towel from an attendant on the way to the locker room. Dominic stopped a few metres away, listening. There was a low rumble coming from under the broad leaves of a nearby elephant ear plant. He pushed the leaves aside.