Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  Look, I know it’s ridiculous, Nats, but sometimes… David took a deep breath. Sometimes you just have to trust people, even when you think you know better.

  No, you’re right. This is ridiculous. I’m sorry, but I can’t… I can’t do it, signed Natalie. She sat down on the bed with her back to David, gazing ahead with a blank stare that clearly indicated the conversation was over. David nodded and left the tent, hurrying back to Liza’s bedside where the Queen had fallen into a restless sleep.

  “How long do we have?” asked David.

  “A few days maybe,” said Norbert, “but I can’t guarantee she’ll last that long.”

  “We’re going to need good transport then. Can we use the pteroduck?” asked David.

  “Too risky,” said Norbert. “Civilian pteroduck flights are closely monitored. They’ll know something’s up when it veers toward Faerkbërde.”

  “We’re going to have to use ground transport then,” said David.

  “I’d agree, Davey, but it’s going to be difficult, especially when you get to Faerkbërde Forest, it is,” said Norbert. “I hear those trees are grumpy and right near dangerous.”

  “I think I know someone who can help,” said David.

  “Well, let’s get to it, then. Is Nattie going with you?”

  David shook his head.

  “I’ll go,” said Catherine brightly. “It’s probably better if you have a human escort anyway. Meet you upstairs?”

  “Yeah, be right there,” said David. He glanced toward the tent in the safe. Norbert patted his shoulder.

  “We appreciate what you’re doing, Son. Just give it time. Everything will work out.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said David, climbing the ladder. “I really hope you’re right.”

  C h a p t e r 5 5

  Natalie lie on the bed inside her tent in Norbert’s safe, hugging her pillow. She stared ahead at the blank, white canvas in front of her. As her eyes grew heavy, the sides of the tent deepened into the familiar, salmon-coloured house with strings of lanterns hanging from the roof. Her dad’s frogs croaked and chirped in the grassy pond in the front yard. They watched as John Lotkin struggled to start a shiny, new pneumataphore floating in the square of water next to the house. He grumbled from inside the covered boat as the button he recently pressed sent the windshield wipers into a flapping frenzy.

  “Oh, for the sake of Silence, this old mer wasn’t made for futuristic luxury,” said John, turning off the wipers. Natalie giggled.

  “Nellie!” said John, looking up. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. Where’s David? Did you manage to propose?”

  “I tried, but we ran into a bit of an issue,” said Natalie.

  “Oh?”

  “I didn’t get to ask him, and now he wants to save the dying queen of the humans.”

  “And you don’t want to help?” asked John. “Natalie Jane!”

  “It’s not so simple, Dad,” said Natalie. “He wants to take her to an apothecary.”

  “Oh,” said John, noticeably more serious.

  “And not just any apothecary,” said Natalie, petting a striped, blue frog that had jumped onto her shoulder, “He wants to take her to the apothecary.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you what to do, Nellie. You know the situation best,” said John.

  “What would you have done if it was Mom asking you to go?”

  “I would have followed your mother to the ends of the world,” said John. “Of course, I’m much simpler than your mother, so her reasons usually seemed to be good ones. We were also very similar where it mattered, so it was easy to trust each other.”

  “But what if he’s wrong, Dad? What if he’s horribly, horribly wrong?”

  “Well, I hate to tell you this, Sweet Pea, but if you’re going to be together and make lots of decisions together, there are going to be times when you agree and things work out well and times when they don’t. The same is going to be true when you disagree. Sometimes you’ll choose a side and it’ll work out well, and other times it won’t. That’s just how it is,” said John.

  “Hmm, that does seem statistically probable,” said Natalie. “I wonder if there is any way to improve the success rate.”

  John smiled. “I think the journey usually ends up being more important than the outcome.”

  “But what if something happens?” asked Natalie. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

  “There are no guarantees with any life, Nellie, simple or extraordinary,” said John. “Look at me and your mother. We were quite ordinary—or at least I was, anyway—and trouble still found us.”

  “You’re far from ordinary, Dad,” said Natalie.

  John pressed another button and the new pneumataphore hummed to life.

  “Ah ha,” said John, scanning the controls. “Look at that, Nellie; it’s working. How’s that for your old mer?”

  Natalie smiled. “Thanks for the advice, Dad. I miss you a lot.”

  “Miss you, too, Pumpkin,” said John. “I’m glad I could help, even if I am just a figment of your imagination.”

  “More like random electrical impulses in the brain triggered by memories and amalgamated by the subconscious,” said Natalie.

  John smiled and shook his head as the pneumataphore pulled away from the house. “Stay safe, Nellie, and keep a bit of Silence in your heart,” called John. “You’ll know what to do.”

  The sound of the leaving boat faded into the whizzing of a blender. As Natalie awoke, she could hear Norbert blending bananas for Liza, who was still trembling under blankets on the water bed.

  “How is she?” asked Natalie.

  “Not very good,” said Norbert. “David’s gone to secure ground transport to see if we can get her some more sophisticated help.”

  “Is he planning to drive through Faerkbërde Forest?”

  “I imagine so, unless…” Norbert looked at Kiwi who was trying to bite a small orb he held in his foot. “Hey, what do you have there, Kiwi? Don’t bite that,” said Norbert. He pulled the piece away and held it to the light.

  “What is it?” asked Natalie.

  “Looks like a pearl,” said Norbert. “It’s not mine; must belong to Davey, it must.”

  Natalie face lit up. “Would you mind terribly if I had the pearl, Mr Bransby?” asked Natalie, a glint in her eye. “I have an idea.”

  C h a p t e r 5 6

  Near the wall of the City not far from King’s Beach, hundreds of people were gathering at the edge of the Marah Desert with their trucks and off-roaders, preparing to embark on Aeroth’s biggest rally event, the M-R-6. Amid the roaring of engines and the hissing of air pressure gauges, Catherine edged her pteroduck forward through the maze of flapping, red flags and throngs of people, searching for a good place to park.

  “What’s the name of their team?” asked Catherine. She was wearing a bandanna over her head and Norbert’s sunflower flip-flops, while David, completely covered in Catherine’s usual religious dress, peeked out from behind a pale pink veil in the passenger seat.

  “Team Buttercup,” said David, pulling the silk across his face as he scanned the crowd. David saw a small, inflatable yurt with a familiar off-roader parked in front and Yasmin sitting nearby, Frank’s Incense emblazoned on her polo.

  “There,” said David, pointing. “That’s Yasmin sitting next to Buttercup, and Sasha’s just there.”

  Catherine turned the pteroduck in their direction and taxied it to a quiet corner behind a drinks table. They were in full view of the yurt but still a respectable distance away. She grabbed a purple, foam finger from inside the seat pocket.

  “Before you go, there’s something you should know,” said David. “Sasha and I had a bit of a falling out the last time we met.”

  “A falling out as in ‘hey, you shouldn’t put ketchup on your macaroni,’ fal
ling out or something to the degree of ‘I kinda-sorta slept with your wife’ falling out?” asked Catherine.

  “I drugged their prune juice,” said David.

  “Okay, well, that’s…something,” said Catherine.

  “But it wasn’t intentional—okay, maybe it was intentional, but it was based on misinformation,” stammered David. “He’s a very decent man.”

  “Hmm, let’s hope he’s forgiving also,” said Catherine. “Wish me luck.”

  She hopped out of the pteroduck and ambled down the rows of tents, cheering for each team as she passed.

  “Whooo-ah! Team Rocky Roaders! Tear it UP!”

  “Team Sandy Toes! Go get ‘em! You know you can!”

  “Team Buttercup! Your friends are here for you! I say YOUR FRIENDS are here for you,” said Catherine, pointing the giant foam finger in David’s direction. “Yay, Team Buttercup!”

  He’s not going to come, is he? thought David. He’s not going to come…

  Sasha looked toward David in the pteroduck and gave Catherine a faint shake of the head. David slumped in his seat.

  I knew it, thought David. If I were him, I wouldn’t come to me either.

  Catherine looked around, spying a registration table with a microphone nearby. She marched toward it, determined.

  “Can I borrow this for a moment? Thank you,” said Catherine, not waiting for an answer. She tore the microphone from the stand and turned up the amplifier. Then she called.

  “Hello everyone. Hello? Hello. How y’all doing today? Welcome to the Mister…M-R…Welcome to the M-R-6,” said Catherine, ignoring the incredulous looks coming from the crowd. “I’d like to dedicate this song to all the teams here today, especially you, Team Buttercup. Here it goes.”

  Catherine belted out a soulful ballad about dangerous roads and difficult journeys, which morphed into a moving, rock medley about friendship and forgiveness. As she sang, drivers and supporters alike stopped to listen. Even Yasmin turned toward the music, tapping her foot in time with the beat, while Sasha buffed his off-roader.

  “The music’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” asked Yasmin. “I didn’t know they were going to have a concert before the rally this year.”

  “They weren’t,” grumbled Sasha. “It seems a friend of our former guest is trying to convince me to go speak with him.”

  “Is David here?” asked Yasmin.

  Sasha picked a pebble from Buttercup’s grill and flicked it into the sand.

  “Sash, if he’s here, you must speak with him,” said Yasmin.

  “I’d rather not,” said Sasha.

  “But he’s in the jar of love! And once a person goes into the jar of love, we—”

  “Love them unconditionally in the name of the merciful Avi.”

  “That’s right,” said Yasmin, tapping her walking stick as she rose to leave. “Now go say ‘hello,’ while I visit with our neighbours.”

  Sasha rolled his eyes and headed toward the pteroduck, while Catherine continued singing. David opened the hatch.

  “Sasha, I—”

  “Save it. I’m not interested in pathetic excuses or flowery apologies,” said Sasha. “Give me one good reason I should listen to you now. That’s all I will hear—one reason.”

  David took a deep breath. “Okay, here it goes. King Dominic poisoned Queen Elizabeth, who is at this moment dying in Norbert Bransby’s bunker on King’s Beach, despite the imminent news reports that she died of racing injuries. Her only hope at survival lies with a healer who lives in the middle of Faerkbërde Forest. She needs reliable transport and a good driver to get her there, and you seemed the best person for the part.”

  Sasha slapped the side of the pteroduck. “Damn,” he growled.

  “What?” asked David.

  “It’s a good excuse. I wasn’t anticipating that,” said Sasha.

  “So you’ll help?” asked David.

  “Come on,” grumbled Sasha. “Grab the jerry and get in the car. I have to greet Yasmin.”

  David grabbed a few things from the pile of supplies at Team Buttercup’s campsite and climbed into the off-roader, while Sasha went to the nearby camp to speak with Yasmin.

  “Yazzi, I have to leave for a few days with Buttercup. Will you be able to catch a ride back with one of the boys?” asked Sasha.

  “Of course. What’s the matter?” asked Yasmin.

  “I can’t speak about it now, but it’s very urgent,” said Sasha.

  “Very well,” said Yasmin. “Be careful, and take Fluffy with you.”

  “Will do. Love you,” said Sasha. He kissed her cheek and hurried back to Buttercup, grabbing the jar of sourdough starter from the campsite as he climbed into the off-roader. He buckled Fluffy’s jar into the middle seat with the safety belt.

  “Are you good?” asked Sasha.

  “Yeah, I guess,” said David.

  “Then let’s get out of here before someone sees you,” said Sasha. “Your escort will be okay, I trust?” He turned the key, and adjusted the gears. Buttercup roared to life.

  “Yeah, she can find her own way back,” said David.

  Sasha nodded. David glanced toward Yasmin as they pulled away from the rally. He sighed. “Sasha, can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “At the beginning when I first ran into your shop, why didn’t you turn me in?” asked David.

  Sasha shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, it does. I’d like to know,” said David.

  Sasha sighed. “You had a rose on your neck.”

  “What?”

  “The rose—the mark of the humans—is on your neck,” said Sasha. “To me, it seemed like some sort of peace sign or something.”

  David blinked. “Oh, I never thought of it like that before,” he said.

  “You should think of peace more often,” said Sasha. He turned Buttercup away from the M-R-6 toward the distant shores of the Oceana, en route to King’s Beach.

  C h a p t e r 5 7

  Gill hovered around a long, linen-covered table in the centre of the Gillypad, making minute adjustments to the glasses and cloth serviettes. In the kitchen Chef Johannes Montagu moved around with the air of a military general, preparing the final touches for the evening’s wine tasting. Several tikihune in bowties marched in from the storage room, carrying a cardboard box the size of a body.

  “Careful, careful,” worried Gill, as they cut the sides of the box. “On my count…one…two…three.”

  The tikihune hoisted a long, ceramic sculpture from the box to the centre of the linen. Gill circled around it, adding cut vines and flowers at strategic intervals along the base. “I think we’re almost there,” he said. “Everything is almost perfect.”

  Gill set the last bud in place just as the doorbell rang.

  “Places everyone,” said Gill.

  The tikihune adjusted their bowties and scurried to various positions around the Gillypad as Gill opened the door. It was Norbert.

  “What took you so long, Gilliwinkle? I have things to do, I do,” called Norbert. “It’s bad enough I had to dress up and all that for no right good reason. Forcing a man to be more sociable and then leaving him out by the door after he’s increased his socialness, well, it’s practically a felony, it is. I have a right to report you.”

  “Everyone relax,” called Gill. “It’s only Norbert.”

  “So, where’s this gargantuan Gatsby that’s all the hoot?” asked Norbert.

  “It’s coming now,” moaned Gill, “just make yourself comfortable, and try not to be too embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing? When am I ever—”

  But the conversation ended with another ring of the doorbell.

  “Mr and Mrs Vanderhill, how lovely to see you,” waxed Gill. Behind them came the prestigious winemaker Carmen Tempranil
lo and other esteemed guests, with Madame Soiree among them.

  “His Majesty sends his apologies, but under the unfortunate circumstances, he regrets that he is unable to come in person this evening and has sent me in his place,” said Madame. “He trusts you’ll understand his reasons.”

  “Of course. Liza’s passing is a tragedy for us all. It is very kind of you to come,” said Gill, opening the door. “Please, have some wine. Carmen has made a lovely blend especially for the evening.”

  Madame Soiree joined Mrs Vanderhill and Carmen Tempranillo as Gill greeted more incoming guests, passing a pair of tikihune with trays of wine glasses and canapés. Mrs Vanderhill took a polite sip of her wine and smiled at Carmen. Norbert held out his cup.

  “More,” said Norbert, as the tikihune finished pouring. “And I’ll take another empty glass also.” The tikihune paused but obliged, filling Norbert’s glass almost to the brim. Another tikihune in a bow tie was quickly at his side, handing him another glass.

  “Is everything in order, Mr Bransby?” asked Mrs Vanderhill.

  “Fine, fine,” said Norbert, concentrating. Everyone else stared as Norbert poured the wine from one glass to another over and over, lengthening the distance between the glasses with each pour. He held his arm under his leg and the other arm above his head, watching as the wine emptied from one glass to the other in a stream of brick red. Then he swirled the wine around and took a loud, snorting sniff.

  “Norbert, is this really necessary?” whispered Gill as he passed him.

  “It’s got a…” Norbert sniffed again. “It’s got a bit of something unusual in it. I can’t quite tell…” He took a large swig and swished it through his mouth like mouthwash, ending with a prolonged gargle.

  “Okay, Norbert, I think you’ve tasted it quite enough, thank you,” said Gill, tapping his arm as he tried to move him away from Mrs Vanderhill. Norbert swallowed and stood his ground.

  “It’s a floral note,” said Norbert, smacking his lips. “It pops up right in the middle palette and lingers quite long, it does. I can’t quite put my tongue on which one it is though.”