Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  No, no, no, Daweeds don’t belong in garden. No Daweeds, no Nettles, no Rapeseeds. Only Adams and Eves.

  The pen and notebook slipped from the vines as the willow hardened and fell silent. David tapped a root but the tree kept still, its vines swaying gently in the breeze.

  “Bella? Bellecris?” called David, but the willow refused to move. David sighed. “Well, it was worth a try.”

  “I wonder why we’re forbidden,” said Natalie. “Is it a rule someone made up, or a rule of nature—maybe there’s no physical way in.”

  “No Daweeds or Nettles,” repeated David, “only Adams and Eves.”

  As he stared at the ground he noticed a wedge-shaped gouge in one of Bellecris’ roots, which he knew had been made by King Saladin when the King had rescued him from the forest. David thought.

  Saladin cut the tree, but Bellecris said Adam cut her.

  “If Saladin was Adam, then maybe…” David tensed with excitement. “You have to talk to Liza.”

  “What?”

  “When I last spoke to Bellecris, she called King Saladin Adam,” said David. “If that’s the case maybe that means Queen Elizabeth is Eve.”

  “So Bellecris may not speak to us, but she may speak to Liza?” asked Natalie.

  “Yes. Nats, you have to talk to her,” said David.

  “I can’t talk to her. Are you mad?” asked Natalie.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  She started down the trail toward Raphael’s house. David chased after her.

  “Natalie, why not?” asked David.

  “But I can’t even ask…” Natalie paused. “I mean, for starters, the Queen is like a broken cup being held together with safety pins. She’s suffering deep emotional trauma, and I’ve got the sensitivity of a dead neuron when it comes to that sort of thing. Plus, let’s not forget that a few days ago, I wasn’t too torn up about leaving her to die, so I doubt that will go over well.”

  “Okay, first you just wanted to go home; you didn’t want to kill anyone,” said David. “Second, the Queen doesn’t know that, and if she wasn’t a broken cup she’d likely understand your position. Thirdly, you had a change of heart—which is all that matters—and fourthly your neurons are certainly very much alive, or you wouldn’t be so brilliant, or so concerned that you’re not the one for the job.”

  “Why don’t you speak to her?” asked Natalie. “You’re way better at handling sensitive matters than I am, and you can relate to her on a human level.”

  “My instinct tells me she needs to talk to a female,” said David.

  “That’s ridiculous,” laughed Natalie. “What difference does it make if a mer or a mera speaks to her so long as they’re skilled in empathy?”

  “You’re very empathetic, Nats. You’re the only person I know besides Norbert who can coo over a cockroach, and you like Raphael,” said David.

  Natalie glared at him.

  “Just a point,” said David, “but besides that, do you really think it’d be a good idea if I spoke to her, after everything that happened with Dominic? I don’t want to trigger any bad memories.”

  “Okay, maybe you’re right,” sighed Natalie, “but if it goes horribly wrong, it’s your fault.”

  “You’ll do fine,” said David. “If you get stuck, just…imitate your father.”

  As they approached the house, a jittery, nervous feeling overcame her, as though a jar of honey had just slipped from her hands and was about to break on an expensive carpet. Natalie tried to think of practical ways to approach the upcoming argument, but every possible scenario seemed likely to end in the same manner as that jar of honey—in a sticky, embarrassing mess that would be impossible to fix and dreadful to clean up. The carved door to Liza’s bedroom loomed like a gate to judgment. She knocked, her fist tacky with sweat. David patted her back.

  “You’ll be great,” he whispered.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  C h a p t e r 8 1

  Natalie entered Liza’s room, which was darker than normal thanks to the heavy curtains that had been drawn along most of the windows. Liza sat in front of a tiny patch of open window, her hair wrapped in a torn pillowcase. She gazed out at the darkened reef with a lifeless silence Natalie found unnerving.

  Let’s see, if I wanted to excite an inert gas, I’d apply heat, thought Natalie, which is…completely useless in this case.

  She clenched her teeth and marched purposely up to the window.

  “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” asked Natalie, pointing. “That’s a blue-girdled angelfish, and that patterned one there, is a clown triggerfish. Oh, and the yellow ribbon eel there is a type of moray eel. When they’re young, the eels start off as blue males, and then when they age, they turn yellow and female. It’s called sequential hermaphrodism, more specifically protandry. The angelfish is protogynous, meaning it can switch from female to male.”

  Natalie looked for a response, but Liza stared at the water, unmoving. She cleared her throat and continued.

  “Exhibiting some form of hermaphrodism is actually quite common in fish. Sharks, bettas, wrasses, rays, clownfish…”

  Liza didn’t move. Natalie continued.

  “…cod, tuna, pufferfish, angelfish, hagfish…so many other fish…”

  But the Queen remained still. Natalie sighed.

  “I’m sorry. I know some people would blame my emotionally-awkward rambling on not having a mother, but my dad is like the kindest, most sensitive person ever, so I don’t know what went wrong really. I’ve always told myself I didn’t need a mother, and that Dad and I were just fine, but the truth…the truth is I always wondered, you know? My mother disappeared shortly before the war, and I was born via a surrogate later. My dad… well, in his mind my mother died. I think it’s easier for him to dream of her peacefully asleep than to imagine all the horrible things she may have suffered since she was kidnapped, but I couldn’t quite let it rest like he could. It’s probably just the innocence of childhood, but I always held in my heart she’d come back. I so wanted her to come back. I liked to think she was somehow still with me in my DNA, but really that’s just me being inventive.”

  Natalie watched as Patsy buried herself in the sand for the night.

  “Anyway, the point of the story is, we think we may have found where my mother is. David feels there’s a very good chance she’s on Paradise Island, but it looks like the island is volcanic and is going to erupt soon…like the ‘fiery sword’ in your Sacred Memories and all that. In fact, we think there may be other people there, too—humans and mers—and they’re all going to die if we don’t find a way in and out before the eruption. There’s this tree in Faerkbërde that knows a way in—a screeving willow. She won’t speak to us, but we have a good reason to think she’ll speak to you. David said she considered King Saladin ‘Adam,’ so we think you being married to Dominic might make you Eve. We were wondering if you might speak to her for us. Would you?”

  Natalie glanced at the Queen.

  “But if you don’t want to, it’s totally fine. Actually in some ways, I’m not sure I even want to go. At the moment everything’s mostly perfect; it’s going to make life so much more complicated. I mean, what if really bad things have happened to her? And David…What if David’s real past leaves no room for me? What if he has a girlfriend or something? I mean the whole thing can blow up in my face—quite literally actually. If we get trapped there, we’re all going to die in the eruption.”

  Natalie sighed.

  “It’s like some great, cosmic gamble. Maybe just letting it alone is the wiser option, but I still want to know, I think. I don’t know why I can’t just stay prudently ignorant; it’d be so much easier. I always wonder about things,” said Natalie as she fiddled with the timepiece in her pocket. “I don’t know if it’s healthy to wonder so much. The uncertainty surrounding it in this case
is alarming.”

  She paused. For a moment her gaze took on the same blank expression as the Queen’s. Natalie slapped her thighs and rose to leave.

  “Anyway, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time with this impromptu journey into my neuroses. Have a good evening.”

  She shook her head as she hurried to the door.

  I guess I can always make her a pair of mittens and see if that warms her up, thought Natalie. She jumped as the sound of her name echoed through the room. Liza spoke.

  “Yes?” asked Natalie.

  “I will talk to your tree,” said Liza.

  “Great,” choked Natalie. “We’ll sort out the details in the morning.”

  She hurried from the room, nearly running smack into David who was waiting by the door.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Oh, easy as eels, I’d say,” answered Natalie. “Don’t ever make me do that again.”

  Inside the room, Liza rose from her place like a lump of clay dust mixed with water, looking around at the mosaic walls for the first time. On her bedside table, Liza noticed a tray of food, now cold, and folded neatly next to it, a patterned veil and a new pillowcase. For the first time in ages, Liza smiled.

  The next morning, Liza sat with Bellecris at the edge of the Chumvi River, a notebook in hand. The Queen asked questions, and the ancient willow scribbled answers, while David and Natalie waited a considerable distance away. David lay on his back watching the sky. Natalie fiddled with her pocket.

  “We should probably go check on her,” said Natalie, “just to make sure she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine,” said David.

  “What if Bellecris tries to choke her or something, like she did with you?” asked Natalie.

  “I highly doubt she’d treat Eve the same way she treated me,” said David. “I’m not nearly as important.”

  Natalie nodded, thoughtful.

  “What if she’s not Eve?” asked Natalie. “Or what if she’s angry with Eve?”

  Before David could answer, they heard the crunching of leaves underfoot as someone approached. Liza appeared from behind a bush, carrying a notebook and pen. Natalie jumped up from the rock.

  “Did she tell you?” she asked.

  Liza tore a page from the notebook and handed it to her. Natalie read.

  Yew must slice the angry caribou.

  “That’s all she would say on the subject,” said Liza. “She said it is enough.”

  “Did she write anything else?” asked Natalie.

  “We spoke for a while about personal matters, mostly concerning me,” said Liza. “She also gave me this letter to deliver.” Liza held out a makeshift envelope made of notebook paper sealed in tree resin. Natalie read the address.

  Paradise Concierge

  Attn: Enheduanna

  “This must be the Endie she wrote about,” said Natalie.

  “The Tree of Knowledge works a concierge desk?” asked David.

  “It appears so. Does it bring back any memories?” asked Natalie.

  David shook his head.

  “How about the reference to caribou?” asked Natalie.

  “Not a thing,” said David.

  “What can cutting an animal possibly have to do with entering Paradise?” wondered Natalie.

  “Perhaps it’s an animal sacrifice,” said Liza.

  The wind strengthened, and the air grew cold. David scanned the skies.

  “We should head back,” said David, rubbing his arms. “There’s a storm coming.”

  C h a p t e r 8 2

  A slightly-dishevelled Catherine paced the Ruby Room in the Palace, a thick binder in her hands. Hundreds of servants in white gloves hurried past her, moving floral arrangements, laying linens and setting tables for the upcoming wedding, while outside a thunderstorm raged, pouring down buckets of rain for the third consecutive day. Catherine glanced up as three servants carrying a vase of flowers the size of a small tree passed her, their clothes as wet as though they had been thrown into a swimming pool. Catherine shook her head.

  “Damn this rain,” she whispered. “Is it ever going to stop?” She looked back at her checklist.

  “Someone please get these men some towels,” called Catherine, “and we’re going to need to mop this floor…again.”

  In Madame Soiree’s absence, Beatrice had demanded Catherine fulfil the duties of wedding planner and royal assistant in addition to her work at the Temple. Despite the smaller guest list and short notice, Beatrice was determined to have the most elaborate wedding ever seen in Aeroth. Blankets of flowers covered the walls, ceilings and nearly every other available space, lining banisters and encircling fountains installed especially for the wedding. With the heavy rain and almost no time to prepare, Beatrice’s near-impossible demands had set the whole Palace on edge. Catherine turned as a nervous seamstress tapped her on the shoulder, one of many in a long line of servants with a litany of pressing issues to which she must attend.

  “Sorry, Ma’am, but Miss Beatrice seems to have a concern with the colours of the buttons we ordered.”

  “Have you contacted the supplier?” asked Catherine.

  “We sent them an aquamail, but they aren’t responding. We’re worried the dress won’t be done in time.”

  “Pay them a visit in person,” said Catherine. “If anyone asks why you are not at your post, tell them to come speak to me.”

  “Sorry, Ma’am,” said another servant as the seamstress left. “The musicians would like to start their rehearsal, but there doesn’t seem to be enough room for them on the stage.”

  “What do you mean? There’s ample room for the musicians we ordered,” said Catherine.

  “But Miss Beatrice requested a full orchestra for the concert, and there doesn’t seem to be enough space or chairs for them.”

  “A full orchestra? Bi y’avi,” said Catherine, hurrying through the fray of bustling servants. “Give me a minute. I’ll see where we can place them.”

  More servants began to follow her.

  “Ma’am, the chef is complaining that the sudden change in menu does not give him enough time to prepare. He barely has time to prep the first version.”

  “What change?” asked Catherine.

  “Sorry, Ma’am. They’d like to set up the sparklers for the entry inside, but the florists claim they’re in the way and are practically rioting.”

  “Ma’am, Miss Beatrice has advised us that she would like more crystals in the décor, but we’re not sure they can be delivered on such short notice. Shall we order more anyway?”

  “Ma’am, we’d like permission to connect the fountains…”

  “Ma’am, the fireworks…”

  “Ma’am, the menu…”

  “Ma’am, the fountains…”

  Catherine folded a linen tablecloth over a newly-set table and called, “Someone please replace this tablecloth. It’s gone muddy. I’d also like the linens drawn up over the plates for the time being to avoid getting wet, and I kindly request all servants who have to go out in the rain restrict their movement to the perimeter of the room. We’re also going to need more towels.” Several servants ran off to fill her orders, while a line of others continued to follow her.

  “Ma’am, the crystals…”

  “The serviettes…”

  “The flowers…”

  “Catherine!” shouted Beatrice as she entered the room.

  “In a minute, Miss,” called Catherine.

  Beatrice huffed. “Now, Catherine.”

  Catherine left the crowd of servants and met Beatrice at the flowery wall.

  “How can I assist?” asked Catherine.

  “What is this?” asked Beatrice, plucking a rose from the wall.

  “It’s a flower, Miss,” said Catherine.

  “And thi
s here,” she asked, holding out the stem.

  “It appears to be—

  “A thorn,” snapped Beatrice. “Did I not specifically request that all the roses have their thorns removed before they were added to the arrangements? Did I?”

  “You did, Miss.”

  “Then why is this thorn here?” screamed Beatrice. “If I make a request, I expect it to be fulfilled. Are you too fat and stupid even to follow orders?”

  “I’m…doing the best I can, Miss,” said Catherine.

  “Well, it’s a pathetic effort,” said Beatrice. All the servants in the Ruby Room stopped their work and were staring at them. Beatrice threw the rose. “Fix the flowers,” she ordered.

  “I’ll look into it, Miss,” said Catherine.

  “Good,” said Beatrice. “Sorry, this wedding is stressing me out. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  The servants turned back to their chores as Catherine stared at her binder, fighting back tears.

  “Oh, Avi, how swift have you been in your punishment for Soiree,” she mumbled.

  “What did you say?” snapped Beatrice.

  “I said I need to speak with Sergei,” said Catherine. “He’s the guard in charge of the guest list.”

  “Oh,” said Beatrice, leaving the room. A Temple maiden in a cloud of pink silk floated through the hive of bustling, white gloves, looking for Catherine. She squeezed herself into the moving, cluster of servants, which was following Catherine like a swarm of faithful bees around their queen.

  “Catherine,” said the maiden, “we need to prepare the altar for the ceremony…”

  “And I’m sure you’ll do a fantastic job at it,” said Catherine as she scribbled in her binder.

  “But the firestones—”

  “Sort it out, Iris,” said Catherine. “Just sort it out.” She turned. “Where are my chairs for the orchestra? And I need more music stands as well, please.”

  Iris fell back from the group and returned to the Temple, where another maiden was waiting.

  “Did you tell her about the water in the storeroom?” she asked.