by Jim McCann
Arthur wasn’t sure if they believed the doctor or were just having a bit of fun. He looked at his dad. Tom shrugged. Why not? the two silently agreed.
“Terry!” Arthur motioned to the group. “Another round for these fools! On my tab.” He turned back in time to see the flash go off as the lead biker leaned in for a photo.
The inhabitants of Terry’s Sunken Galleon weren’t the only ones tuning in to watch Dr. Shin try to explain the mysterious “Aquaman” and the possible connection to Atlantis. Floating off a deserted shore in the Atlantic was the stolen navy mini-sub. Inside, the walls and every surface were covered with pictures, news clippings, and printouts of articles. A giant map took up one wall, littered with pins in the places of Aquaman sightings, strings connecting each pin, tracking Aquaman’s travels with twine. Dr. Shin wasn’t the only one studying the man from the blurry video still that filled the onboard screens. However, this person knew Aquaman was real, from firsthand experience.
A printout of the blurry still was placed on the map, in the same spot where Aquaman had left David’s father to die the day before. He stabbed it in place with his grandfather’s manta knife. David seethed as the debate continued on the news.
“Listen to the man! Aquaman is alive, and he killed my dad! Why isn’t anyone reporting that?” David’s anger reached a boiling point.
Climbing out of the hatch to get some air, the pirate nearly fell back into the sub when he saw what was floating off the port side. A man, dressed in otherworldly armor, standing on the back of a ferocious shark! The man wore a helmet with water on the inside. When he turned to address David, his voice boomed loudly through the helmet.
“It seems we have something in common. Rather, someone.”
“What—Who are you? And how do you know me?” David silently cursed his broken blade and the knife stuck in the wall below him. He was unarmed and vulnerable to this tautly muscled creature.
“You can call me Murk.” Murk stepped from the shark directly onto the surface of the water, and then onto the ship. David’s jaw dropped. Murk looked down into the vessel, eyeing the pictures and map. “I think you already know where I come from.”
“Doesn’t answer how you know me,” David said, recovering.
“We’ve been aware of you for some time. And”—Murk moved toward David—“I believe we may be of benefit to each other. Interested?”
“As long as it makes that damn Aquaman pay, I’m in.” David’s confidence grew as he realized he might have found a powerful ally.
Murk gave a smile that reminded David of a shark flashing its pointed teeth. “Revenge? Yes. But first we need something from you. A show of good faith, we’ll call it.”
As Murk extended his hand and David shook it, the man knew he had just entered into a pact that would change his life. One that would result in the end of Aquaman.
Three
Hundreds of miles from where two men of different worlds met for the first time, another meeting was happening, deep in the depths of the sea. Breathtaking architecture lay in pieces, broken on the seafloor. Though a shattered, pale version of what it once was, these ruins were more remarkable than anything man had managed to build in the centuries since Old Atlantis had sunk. It was in these ruins that two contingents of different kingdoms had decided to come together for a momentous summit. That, at least, is what one of the leaders hoped.
Seated astride a massive Tylosaurus, a prehistoric creature most humans believed to be extinct, the man straightened his back. His chiseled jaw clenched slightly as his shortly cropped light blond hair swayed around the band that encircled his head. His ornate armor was polished to a shine, gleaming even underwater. Orm, king of Atlantis, gave his men one more look, ensuring everything and everyone was in the proper place. Atlantean guards, like those who had been sent to find Orm’s mother decades earlier, rode great white sharks, each man armed with a hydro-pistol.
A man sidled up next to Orm’s forty-five-foot-long steed, careful to avoid the flat tail lined with vicious barbs that whipped back and forth.
“Word, Vulko?” Orm addressed the man.
Vulko was older. He had served at Orm’s father’s side as royal adviser, a role he still maintained. Each line in his face was well earned and reminded him and those around him how seriously he took the safety and importance of the crown of Atlantis.
“He understands the significance of this meeting. Given the proposed terms, he will hear you out.” Vulko crossed his arms, royal robes floating around him. His king looked at the procession advancing toward the clearing in the ruins.
King Nereus cut a commanding figure, well over six and a half feet, shoulders almost as broad as a fully grown tiger shark. His face was weathered from many battles, as his kingdom of Xebel existed in deeper, more treacherous waters than the glamorous New Atlantis. Each of Nereus’s men rode astride an enormous seahorse, rider and steed armored in green. They parted for the great sea dragon that carried their ruler on its back in a mobile throne. King Nereus’s chitinous-scaled armor seemed to absorb all light that came near him.
As his mount reached the center of the clearing, Nereus freed himself from his great carriage and swam to meet the approaching Orm and Vulko, both of whom had also dismounted. Nereus looked down at Orm for a tense moment before extending his arm. Orm clasped the man’s thick forearm, and they shook in greeting.
“You’ve picked a meeting place too close to the surface for my liking, King Orm.” Nereus cut to the chase.
Orm forced a smile. He had to play his hand carefully, which meant swallowing any perceived insults . . . for now. “You don’t recognize the Council of the Kings?”
Surrounding them were seven massive statues, each crumbling, in decay but still impressive. They were sculpted to represent seven different factions from across Atlantis.
“In Atlan’s time, when the Seven Kingdoms were one, our ancestors gathered here. Atlantis stood here, royal Xebel by its side, as always. Together, all Seven Kingdoms ruled a state the world has yet to match.”
Nereus gave Orm a curious look. “You speak as if our glory is behind us. Atlantis is still great.” Nereus had to keep from spitting the last bit out. He, too, knew they were navigating intricate political waters.
“Atlantis is a mere shadow of what it once was. What it could be. Just as Xebel, too, can rise again.” Orm began the pitch he had gone over for weeks. “I sit on a throne shackled by archaic rules and outdated policies. The Seven Kingdoms are too divided to see that a true threat is emerging. No longer can we believe, as our ancestors did, that hiding in our depths would protect us from surface dwellers. If we continue to cower in the shadows, deny our rightful place in the world, they will destroy us.”
“Violence is a constant among surface dwellers. Given time, they will obliterate themselves,” Nereus countered.
Orm nodded to Vulko, who produced a black, slickly oiled mackerel from his robe. Pointing to the dead creature, Orm continued, “Their wars have already found their way to our doorstep. Between their missile tests and oil spills, they are daring to build machines that can dive deeper than ever before. They seek constant conquest, as you yourself said. If their pollution doesn’t kill us, their discovery of us will.”
Vulko swam closer. “Atlantis is honored to invite the great kingdom of Xebel to join in an alliance against the surface.” Vulko had decades of experience dealing with negotiations, and it showed. He bowed his head slightly before continuing, “And with the union of your daughter, Mera, and our King Orm set, our bond will be closer than ever.”
Nereus thought on this. “Blood is thicker than water, true.” A look of concern crossed Nereus’s face as he said this, realization striking. “As sitting king of Atlantis, you would claim the title Ocean Master under such an accord, assuming you can secure alliances with two other kingdoms besides mine—”
“Only a title,” Orm interrupted, wary of where this was going.
“But what of the rumors that there is anothe
r Atlantean who could lay claim to the throne? One of royal blood who walks among the surface dwellers. One who defends them?” Nereus could not keep the concern from his voice. He quickly discovered his words had struck a nerve with Orm. Vulko successfully covered his own shock that Arthur’s existence had entered the equation. I must plan for this accordingly, he thought.
Face growing red, Orm did everything to hold his temper in check. Speaking through clenched teeth, he addressed Nereus. “My mother’s bastard has never even been to Atlantis. His betrayal of us is even more reason to unite before he changes his mind and brings those he protects to us as his own army. This is why we must unite now, Ner—”
An explosion rocked the ruins as something collided with the outpost. The shock waves pushed both kings across the clearing. Vulko swam up to peer through the darkness and saw . . .
“Surface dwellers! Their submarine has discovered us! To arms,” Vulko commanded.
Soldiers from both sides raced to their respective kings, encircling them in protection. A pillar fell as another torpedo impacted, closer this time. The heavy stone column scraped down Nereus’s arm, nearly pinning it.
“Your king is injured,” Orm cried.
The submarine fired a third torpedo. Orm, back on his mount, rode straight for it.
Nereus shook off his injury and grabbed a massive water cannon. He fired it at the oncoming missile. The cannon’s blast collided against the metallic bomb. Orm zoomed past it, leaving the debris in his wake. He drew his royal trident from his armored back and hurled it at the massive craft’s propeller. The blades shattered upon impact.
Hydro-pistols and Xebellian blasters cut and sliced the sub until it began to break into a dozen pieces, falling victim to the two kingdoms’ finest soldiers. Had anyone taken the chance to go inside, they would have seen it was a ghost ship. Not a single body occupied the control room, which had Cyrillic writing on its walls. The six-hundred-foot Russian submarine sank for good this time.
Orm returned to the meeting place, his face glowing in rage. “There! We have not made war with them, but the surface dwellers just declared it upon us. Do you think otherwise now, King Nereus?”
The Xebellian king nodded in agreement. Wiping blood from his arm, he gave a somber vow. “They have sent their message. It is time we send the surface dwellers one in return.”
Four
Terry’s Sunken Galleon was the hottest spot as far as nightlife in Amnesty Bay. Not that it had much competition, considering it was pretty much the only spot for nightlife. Tonight is no exception, Arthur thought, as he exited the tavern, basically carrying his father more than helping him walk to the truck.
Tom looked at his son’s intricate tattoos. “Hey,” he said, a wild idea forming, “let’s go home and work on your moko.” Tom pointed to the triangular shapes that fit together in a tribal pattern. “If your pop-pop were still alive, he’d knock our heads together for not finishing it.”
Arthur chuckled. “Plenty of time for that later, Dad. Let’s just get you into bed.”
Tom gave a thumbs-up and tried to focus on walking.
“You know,” Arthur said to Tom, hoisting his father into the passenger side, “you’re going to need to replace my old bed if I’m going to keep spending the night.” He had to jiggle the troublesome seat belt until it finally clicked into place. It had been tricky for years, and now it was another thing to add to his growing to-do list.
“Yeah, I don’t think that futon was built for Aquaman.” Tom whispered the last word and gave a laugh.
Arthur shook his head. “Keep your voice down.” He chuckled as he moved around the truck to the driver’s seat.
“Yes,” came a voice from the shadows. “You never know who might be listening.”
Arthur started to raise his fist for a fight, then sighed, recognizing the measured tone in the stranger’s voice. “Come on out, Vulko.” The royal adviser emerged from the wooded area near the parking lot.
“I could never hide from you, could I, Arthur?” Vulko’s eyebrow arched. “Especially when it came time for our talks about your place in the world.”
“No. No, no, no. We are not having another discussion. I know my place.” Arthur could tell by the serious look on Vulko’s face that there was a problem, and not one Arthur was interested in. “You trained me, I’ve been doing my thing up here, go me. You’ve been doing your thing down there, so go you. Seriously, go. You. Back there.”
Vulko looked at Arthur, pride flashing across his face. “Indeed you have been doing your ‘thing’ up here, Aquaman. And quite well, from what I’ve heard.” His face darkened. “But it is time for you to finally come protect your other home.”
“Home?! Atlantis has never been my home! I’ve barely been to the outskirts, once, and I didn’t even want to go except it was to save Earth. Up here, where my real home is.” Arthur turned from Vulko and opened the truck door.
“Have you noticed the silence?” Vulko’s words stopped Arthur in his tracks. “You can’t sense them now, can you? The fish, whales, all the creatures who sing to you.”
Arthur paused, cocking his head slightly. “They’re . . .”
“Gone. Fled.” Vulko’s voice grew grave. “A surface craft attacked a meeting between two kings of the underwater kingdoms. They plan to retaliate. That reckoning is coming, Arthur.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Because one of them is your brother.”
Arthur’s face hardened. “The only family I had in Atlantis died at the hands of her own kind. They murdered her, Vulko. They don’t need me.” Arthur defiantly got in the truck. “If you want to stop an attack, do it yourself.”
As Arthur slammed the door shut, fired up the engine, and sped away, Vulko turned to the woods. “As I feared, words will not work on Atlanna’s son. He’s a fighter, like her.”
“I’ll take over,” a softer yet determined voice spoke from the woods. “The waters are swelling. The fight is coming, and I’ll be there to make sure he joins it.”
Vulko trusted that if anyone could deliver on that promise, the figure could.
Arthur took the coastline road home, his father dozing in the passenger seat. As classic rock blared through the radio, he couldn’t shake what Vulko had said. His old mentor was right: the sea was quiet. Deadly silent.
The radio began to crackle as the signal went dead. Arthur listened again and paled. The sea life might have grown silent or fled, but the water itself was suddenly roaring. As dozens of seagulls flew overhead, seeming to flee the ocean, Arthur’s stomach dropped when he saw the view outside the passenger window.
The ships moored in the Amnesty Bay docks were rising, riding on a fifty-foot tidal wave! Arthur reacted quickly, scanning the road for higher ground. He knew Harbor Drive was a mile away. The hill it led to would provide enough safety to get the truck and his father away from the onrushing tide.
“Come on!” He gunned the engine, but the truck wasn’t moving fast enough to outrun the wave. He braced himself for impact, protectively holding one arm across his father’s chest.
Water engulfed the truck. Debris surrounded them. Arthur scanned for the quickest way out. The truck still had enough oxygen in it for his father to breathe as long as—
A tree trunk smashed through the windshield, slamming Arthur through the cab’s back window! Stunned, Arthur tumbled in the undercurrent. Regaining his composure, he searched the churning tidal wave for the truck. There! Arthur swam, dodging trash cans, toppled telephone poles, and other obstacles the mighty water carried with it until he reached the truck. He tore the passenger door off and reached for his father—but Tom was gone! The seat belt was in tatters, and the driver’s-side door was missing as well. Panicking, Arthur sped through the water to the other side. No sign of his father.
Before he could search more, he felt the sea move again. This time it felt as though it was tearing apart as it receded. He was in the middle of the parting tides, the sky suddenly visib
le, his feet finding purchase on solid ground beneath him. Looking around, he felt like what he imagined the followers of Moses must have seen as they walked through the parted Red Sea. The tidal wave rose ten feet in the air on either side of him and hung there, impossibly defying gravity. With a lurch, the waves began to move back in the direction of the sea.
As the water made its march back to where it belonged, Arthur looked ahead. Backlit by a lamppost, a figure stood, arms raised. From a distance, Arthur could see that her eyes and hands were glowing a shocking shade of electric blue. At her feet, before him, lay his father. Arthur rushed to Tom and the woman, his attention turning back to his father.
Kneeling, he put his head to Tom’s chest. “Damn it! He isn’t breathing!”
“Let me.” The woman’s voice was calm.
Not taking his eyes off his father, he saw the woman place her hand gently on Tom’s chest. Tom’s mouth opened and water, spiraling like a funnel, shot out. Tom began to cough. Arthur quickly lifted Tom’s neck to allow as much air as possible to enter the man’s lungs. Tom gasped, his eyes fluttering open.
“Thank you,” he said weakly. Arthur was about to reply when he realized his father wasn’t looking at him, but at the woman behind him.
Arthur turned and finally took in the woman. Fiery red hair lit the air around her. The moonlight accentuated her pale skin, flesh so milky white it looked as though it had never been touched by sunlight. She was dressed in a skintight green wet suit. Armor, Arthur corrected himself. Looking into her deep green eyes, his eyes widened in recognition. He had encountered her once before, during a great undersea battle he’d rather have forgotten, on the outskirts of Atlantis.
“You,” he breathed.
“We meet again, Arthur Curry, son of Atlantis,” the woman said.
Arthur shook his head. “Thanks for saving my dad, but he is the only father I belong to.”
The woman gestured to the devastation surrounding them. “You honestly can’t think this was natural.”