by Jim McCann
Arthur began to twirl his trident around his arm, having mastered the move years ago. But to his surprise, the propeller motion began to waffle. Vulko had warned him he was out of his element. Arthur hadn’t attempted this move underwater and didn’t anticipate the resistance it brought.
Seeing his brother falter, Orm caught his opening. He swung his father’s trident down with a furious cry. It connected with their mother’s trident in a clash so powerful it drove both men back. Orm was quick to recover and sprung forward, attacking over and over. Arthur scrambled to parry each blow. Then, to Arthur’s horror, the prongs of his trident began to crack. He let go of the weapon just as it shattered in half. Before he could recover, Orm kicked him in the chest, dealing a crippling blow that knocked Arthur on his back, crashing into the platform.
The crowd began to chant in unison: “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”
Spurred on by the audience’s bloodlust, Orm raised his trident high above his head. In the royal box, Vulko paled.
“I am the one true king of Atlantis!” Orm said, face twisted in rage.
Before he could deliver the killing blow, Orm found himself at the center of a growing vortex as the water around him churned. Suddenly, where Orm had once been floating in water, he found himself crashing to the base of the platform as the water emptied around him. The water vortex turned in on itself and pummeled wave upon wave at Orm, pressing him off the platform and driving him down into the depths below. Arthur realized only one person could be responsible for such a show of hydrokinesis.
Arthu looked up, and his suspicions were confirmed. There, in her armored ship floating above him, was Mera.
The canopy of the cockpit dissolved away as Mera, dressed once more in her green battle armor, motioned for Arthur to join her. “Waiting for a formal invitation?”
Arthur jetted to her, climbing in and taking a seat next to her. “Thanks,” he breathed.
In the royal box below, Nereus looked aghast at his daughter’s betrayal. The crowed erupted in boos, crying foul. Vulko seemed the only person showing a sign of relief. From the center of the Ring of Fire, Orm let out a furious cry.
“MERA!”
But the ship had already taken off.
Nine
“So, what’s the plan?” Arthur was bandaging his arm in the cockpit.
“Some smaller cuts and scrapes are already mending thanks to your Atlantean blood. However, we need to get you somewhere safe so your body can fully heal.” As well as your pride, Mera did not say. “If only you had followed the plan!” she blurted out.
“Which was?”
“Get to Atlan’s trident and then challenge Orm!” She was exasperated, but silently relieved he was away from the Ring of Fire.
“So we’re doing things a little out of order. Things happen!” Arthur caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye: an Atlantean guard ship. “We got a bogey on our six.”
Mera looked sharply at him as if he was speaking a different language. He motioned behind them.
“Bad guy behind you.”
Mera flung her controls hard, turning to narrowly evade a missile the ship had fired at them. “Then just say that!”
As the ship tilted, a cylinder slipped from the pouch at Mera’s side. Arthur grabbed it and immediately recognized it—Vulko had shown it to them in the safe house. This was the first time Arthur had a chance to examine it closely.
“You’re going after the trident?!” he exclaimed.
“Someone has to,” Mera fired back as she made another evasive maneuver.
Arthur held on to the cylinder, arms folded. “Well, you’ll need my help.”
“Your help? I’m the one who just saved you!”
As he opened his mouth to protest, Arthur realized they were headed straight for the wall surrounding Atlantis rather than Gateway Bridge.
“Wait, I thought you said we can’t go over these walls . . . ,” he said, his voice trailing off.
Mera nodded, focused on what was ahead. “I did.”
“You said there were hydro-cannons!” Arthur began to panic.
“I did!” Mera’s ship surged forward, heading directly for one of the cannons.
Before the cannon could fire, a royal craft rose behind them and a volley of missiles sped toward their craft. One missile hit the ship’s stern, blasting it apart. Mera struggled to steer over the wall.
“We’re not dead yet,” she said, bracing herself. She pressed a button as the ship careened end over end past the wall. Grabbing Arthur, she pulled the two of them out of the cockpit, ejectors giving them added momentum. Much-needed momentum, Arthur thought, as the ship exploded feet from them. The blast knocked them into the mountainside that bordered Atlantis’s wall.
Catching their breath, Arthur and Mera stared at each other. “Now, hopefully they think we are dead,” Mera said simply.
“This was your plan?!” Arthur looked at her in shock.
In the royal craft, Orm watched Mera’s ship tumble into the depths beyond the wall, showing no sign of life. His stomach dropped, knowing he had possibly killed his fiancée and brother. He cursed as he steered his vessel back to the palace, a feeling deep within him that the pair had somehow escaped. He passed a pod of blue whales as he reentered the city.
“My turn,” Arthur said, turning toward the approaching whales. One broke away from the rest and made its way to the duo. It dwarfed Mera and Arthur, but Arthur was unfazed. In fact, Arthur gently touched the whale, like an old friend. The whale opened her mouth. Arthur turned, seeing Mera staring in disbelief.
“What are you doing?” she breathed.
“Hop in.” Arthur smiled back at her. “It worked for Pinocchio.”
Mera was utterly lost at the reference. Her eyes widened as they began to move into the whale’s open jaw.
“Oh, good, we’re being eaten.”
Arthur took her hand. She didn’t pull it away. “Just relax, will ya? I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think we’re food.”
Mera looked at him in disbelief. “How can I trust you? Or this whale the size of your ego?”
“Um, because I’m saving you!” Arthur was indignant as the whale began to close her mouth.
“I saved you first,” Mera retorted.
“As long as we’re keeping score . . .” Arthur lifted the golden canister. “I’m ready to save us twice.” He ran his fingers over the glyphs scrawled across the cylinder. “See these markings? These look like people, and they’re surrounding this opening—which looks like a keyhole to me. And I think this is supposed to look like some kind of city—but there are currents of water running through it.” Arthur broke into a grin. “Like a half-sunken city.”
“What are you smiling at?” Mera asked.
“I love Venice this time of year.”
In the royal palace, Orm paced furiously as Nereus sat, all color drained from his face at the thought of his daughter’s death. Vulko stood in the corner, caught in a delicate balance of maintaining an appearance of loyalty without betraying his true nervousness for Mera and Arthur. Murk entered the room.
“We’ve located them, Your Highness,” he said, holding up a holoprojector. It showed a blue dot moving through the waters.
“She lives?” Nereus rose suddenly.
“Apparently, I was mistaken,” Orm said. “Dispatch all forces. Arrest them and make sure the princess is returned unharmed.”
Murk nodded. “I shall send out everyone we have at our service to aid.” He and Orm exchanged a knowing look. Vulko realized suddenly that the two men shared a secret.
As Murk swam away and Orm and Nereus reviewed all paths the fugitives could have taken, Vulko’s stomach dropped. Something was coming for his friends. And for once, he had no idea what it was. And worse, no idea how to warn them.
The sleek navy ship that David now called home was docked on an abandoned island far off any shore, in international waters. The waters lapped at its side. Suddenly, David broke through the surface of the water,
holding a spear, his dinner on the receiving end. He had been practicing his deep-sea diving and hunting skills in the weeks since he had last seen the Atlantean named Murk.
David climbed ashore and started a small fire, preparing to cook his meal. He stiffened as he heard footsteps hitting the water. Without turning, he addressed the figure.
“You’re back.”
Murk approached him, flanked by three armored guards. In their hands they held a large chest, which they dropped at David’s feet before they moved behind their commander. “We have unfinished business,” said Murk.
Murk took out the holoprojector, and Orm’s face appeared in the water that floated above it.
“Thought we were through.” David remembered the last time he made a deal with the Atlantean king, and it hadn’t gone his way.
“And I thought you wanted to kill Aquaman,” came Orm’s voice.
David unfolded his arms as Murk opened the case, revealing sleek white armor, similar to the kind the Atlantean guards in front of him were wearing, but different. Having pirated his fair share of ships, David knew an upgrade when he saw it, and this was definitely next generation.
“What’s this?” David asked.
“Everything you need.” Orm’s voice was confident. “He defeated you last time because your surface weapons failed you. Ours won’t.” David could hear the disdain in Orm’s voice at the word “surface,” but he didn’t care.
Murk nodded at the armor and its accompanying weapons. “Projectile resistant, strength-enhancing exoskeleton. Underwater jet pack. Hydro-cannon. Sword is Atlantean steel.”
David was impressed. He lifted the helmet and put it on. Instantly, the screen lit up, showing him navigational charts, system status updates, and a rearview display. He saw a blue dot appear on-screen. It was moving toward the familiar outline of Italy’s coast.
Taking off the helmet, David turned back to Orm. “Nice rig. White’s not exactly my color, though. May have to change that.”
“Do what you will, but you are now responsible for leading these four of my finest commandos to hunt down and kill the half-breed abomination,” Orm said. “Upon completion, you will be rewarded.”
“Killing Aquaman is my reward.” David picked up the suit, nodded in agreement to Orm’s holo-head, and boarded his sub.
Orm’s attention shifted to Murk. “How do you have such faith in this surface dweller?” Orm wasn’t convinced.
“Because, like you, my king, he is motivated.” Murk gave a confident smile. “More important, he smells blood in the water.”
Ten
“Ah, Venice. Just enough water-to-building ratio that I feel at home.” Arthur was stretching in the early morning sunlight, wearing a loose shirt and baggy pants cinched at the waist. “Have you ever had gelato for breakfast?”
He turned to Mera, who was fussing with the long white dress they had recently “acquired” for her. Arthur helped her with her overcoat and explained the clothes were necessary, as they would apparently attract the attention of the surface dwellers if the pair strolled through the streets in their armored suits.
“Gelato?” she asked, barely paying attention.
“Yeah. Like ice cream, but, uh, softer.” Arthur hadn’t stopped to think what an Atlantean—or Xebellian, in her case—diet would consist of.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, although anything for breakfast sounded good to her, as she noticed an empty feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten.
“It’s best if I just show you.” Arthur smiled at her. She could sense his ease now that he was back on dry land. “You’ll love Venice. And don’t worry. We’ll find the trident and get you back home in no time. Trust me.”
Mera looked at the waters of the canal, these waters that flowed into the sea, and suddenly felt all alone. She shook her head at Arthur. “I can’t ever go back. I betrayed everything when I saved you.”
Arthur was confused. “But you’re engaged to the king. They have to take you back.”
“The king, your brother, who nearly killed us when we fled?” She gave Arthur a sad look. “Atlantis is many things, but forgiving it is not. Even to royalty. Your mother came back and, well . . .” Her words hung in the air a moment. She finally sighed. “If I returned now, I, too, would be sacrificed to the Trench.”
Arthur’s face darkened briefly at the mention of his mother’s fate. Trying to shake it off, he forced a smile. “Now you don’t have to marry a jerk you’re not in love with, right?”
Mera’s eyes didn’t meet his. “My obligation was not of love. It was to my family and my nation, both of whom I have now turned my back on.”
It suddenly dawned on Arthur that she was now as alone in this world as he had felt. Except he still had a home and a father he could return to. She’d risked everything to save him, not because of an obligation, but because she believed in him. He promised himself that her sacrifice would not be in vain.
He reached out to take Mera’s hand and she gave it to him. He led her into the heart of the thriving Italian city that was coming to life for the day around them. If she can’t go home, maybe she can find some of the same joys I have on the surface, Arthur thought as the two entered the Piazza San Marco. The massive square had been called the “drawing room of Europe,” meaning it was a place welcome to all who wanted to sit and enjoy conversation, religion, and politics in one place. And food, of course. With its large Italian domes and gilded windows, St. Mark’s Basilica dominated one whole wall of the square. A large bell tower was opposite, its clock nearing seven. A row of nearly a hundred stalls lined the square opposite St. Mark’s, each awaiting a vendor to sell his or her goods.
It was just early enough that Mera and Arthur were able to witness this magnificent jewel of Venice as it shone and came to life.
The bell of the magnificent church rang out seven times. Mera’s eyes grew wide in amazement as hundreds of pigeons lifted off the ground, flew in circles, and landed again in the piazza, among the dozens of tables and chairs that filled the area.
The piazza vendors were rolling out their umbrellas and stocking their carts with freshly baked sweets and breads. Butchers hung fresh meats; florists put out newly cut bouquets in a myriad of colors. Nearly a hundred people began to mill about, finding chairs to sit in and read the paper, or on their way to Mass at the adjacent cathedral. Whenever Arthur visited Venice, the beauty almost moved him to tears. Looking at Mera, he knew she was feeling the same.
“For someone who believes surface dwellers are barbaric and ignorant creatures, is this changing your mind a bit? I hope so,” Arthur teased.
Mera felt a tug at the hem of her dress. Looking down, she saw a little girl who gave an embarrassed giggle. Mera knelt beside the girl, who said something in a language Mera didn’t understand, but Mera smiled anyway.
“She said she thinks you’re very pretty and she likes your dress,” Arthur translated.
Mera looked at him, trying to hide how impressed she was. He spoke multiple languages, obviously, but there was more. Arthur truly was a person of this world. All of it, not just his own people. She realized just how deeply he cared for and would fight for the entire surface world, from a leader to the little girl who’d complimented her.
“How do I tell her ‘thank you’ and that she is beautiful also?” Mera asked.
Arthur told her the words in Italian, and Mera repeated the foreign tongue to the girl. “Grazie, bella ragazza,” Mera said.
The little girl pulled Mera away to a small fountain, leaving Arthur to examine the cylinder that had directed them there. Pulling out a coin, the girl kissed it and tossed it into the fountain.
“Una . . . ‘wish,’” she said, looking at Mera with wide eyes.
Mera circled her finger and caused the water in the fountain to swirl. Suddenly, the water formed a seahorse, the girl’s coin in its mouth!
“A wish for you,” Mera said, smiling.
&nb
sp; The little girl’s eyes were as big as saucers. She held up a finger and ran to her mother. Rummaging through her mother’s bag, she grabbed a book and returned to Mera, handing it to her. Mera tried to protest, but the girl insisted. It was hard to say no with a language barrier . . . and to such an adorable girl.
Mera turned and walked back to Arthur, flipping through the pages of the book.
“People are going to think you like these surface dwellers,” Arthur said, a small grin on his face.
Mera cocked her head. “It would be very wrong to judge a place I haven’t seen.”
Touché, thought Arthur. He certainly had misjudged at least one thing. For once, he was happy to be corrected.
“Wait!” Mera’s tone made Arthur reconsider his previous thought. “This book . . . Pinocchio? He’s not even a real person?!”
“Soooo, how about that gelato? Hungry?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Quite,” she snapped.
As the two strode across the piazza to the gelato vendor set up near the far end of the canal, Arthur looked around. “So, the markings on the canister showed us a half-sunken city. Here we are. Now to find the keyhole.” He tilted his head, looking at the architecture of St. Mark’s Basilica. People crowded around the iconic building, just like the canister depicted. Mera turned to follow his gaze. “I think we have a match.”
Wasting no time, the two crossed the piazza and brushed past the crowd, into the church.
The inside of the basilica was even more breathtaking than the exterior. The golden walls were adorned in paintings, and every surface seemed to glimmer with a different priceless object.
Mera took Arthur’s arm and gestured toward a fountain made of solid gold.
“That’s tenth century, at least,” Arthur said as they walked to the front of the altar.
Mera waved her hand over the fountain like she had outside with the little girl. This time, however, her expression tightened with intense focus. She gasped slightly, and a key rose a few inches out of the water. Mera grasped it.