by Kara Dalkey
“Welcome to our market,” Cephan said. “This is where the kelp farmers and the hunters bring in their harvest. The hunters carry those red lanterns because the deep-sea fish can’t see red light. This means the hunters can see their prey, but the hunters are invisible to the fish. It makes their work pretty easy.”
“I never knew that,” Nia marveled.
“Over there,” Cephan went on, pointing to a group of mermyds with masks over their mouths and cloth filters over their gills, “they take what has rotted or cannot be sold, shred it, and pipe it out to sea. The pipes go out a long way before the refuse is released into the water. Otherwise it would just come back in through the filtration tubes. We once had a blowout in a refuse pipe near my tube about a year ago. It was nasty. And the sharks hanging around to feed just outside the Dome weren’t any fun either.”
“I hadn’t realized things were so . . . exciting down here,” Nia said.
“Well, now you know,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t you wait over there for a minute? There’s something I have to do.”
Nia went over to the pile of empty baskets and rope that Cephan pointed to and hovered beside it, feeling very conspicuous. But the mermyds of the Lower Depths paid her little attention, going about their business as if she weren’t there, except for a grizzled old fish-seller who winked at her flirtatiously.
Nia pointedly ignored him and kept her eyes on Cephan, who was talking to a farmer at one of the fishnet-covered booths. The farmer handed Cephan two small baskets. Cephan then swam back to Nia, motioning her to follow him.
“Are we going on a picnic in the Kelp Orchard?”
“Um, the food is not for us, I’m afraid. This is all about that responsibility of mine, remember?”
“Oh, you’re the keeper of the city’s sea turtles!” Nia teased.
It was amusing to see Cephan try to scowl and smile at the same time. “Lady Niniane, how am I ever going to impress you when you think such things of me?”
“But that would be a big responsibility. The elderly merfolk need the turtles to carry them around when they can’t swim so well anymore. And the children—”
“It’s an even bigger responsibility than that,” Cephan interrupted. “Much bigger,” he added.
“Oh. Well, then. Please lead on,” Nia said, smiling.
Cephan led her out of the lower market, back down into the access tunnel. Instead of swimming back to the oxygenation tunnel, though, he turned right. The access tunnel descended even deeper below the city. The water became thicker, with a stronger mineral taste, and the temperature grew even warmer.
The walls of the tunnel were more and more moss covered as they progressed, and here and there colonies of red tube worms had anchored themselves to the stone. Tiny fish and deep-sea shrimp fed among the moss, their biochemical lights glowing and glimmering.
“Doesn’t anyone clean down here?” asked Nia. Her good mood was being replaced by a disquieting sense of foreboding.
“The scrubbing crew comes around every few years,” said Cephan. “But the stuff grows back right away. These tunnels don’t get much traffic, anyway.”
“I see,” Nia said. “So your responsibility doesn’t involve housekeeping.”
“No,” Cephan said with a quick smile. “Be patient. We’re almost there.”
The throbbing in the water now echoed in Nia’s chest, and her gills were having to work harder than usual. “Cephan? I don’t mean to complain, but this is becoming uncomfortable.”
“Peace. We’re here.” Cephan stopped in front of a huge, circular door with an iron wheel in its center.
“What is it?” Nia asked.
“It’s the heart of the works of Atlantis,” Cephan said, his voice deepening. “It’s also a prison. And I am the jailer.”
Chapter Four
“A . . . prison?” Nia stopped still in the water. Prisons and dungeons were a barbarity practiced by the land-dwellers. Every Atlantean was taught that in Academy. Those of violent or antisocial mind in Atlantis were given community tasks to help them reform. Severe crimes were almost unheard of in Atlantis, but those who committed them were banished from the city. Being trapped in one room, even with moving water, was terrifying to a mermyd. “Are you joking, Cephan? Atlantis doesn’t have a prison. We . . . we don’t need one.”
“We needed this one. And there are just two prisoners.”
“Who? Why?”
“In a moment, you’ll see.” Cephan handed her the two baskets and then withdrew a key from behind a patch of moss. After inserting it into a tiny hole on the side of the wheel, he turned the wheel with a mighty pull.
“You mean, someone is locked up in one room, in this awful place?” Nia asked, the water feeling cold around her.
There was a clack as the round door unlocked, and Cephan swung it open. “Prison is for punishment, Nia, and punishment is not intended to be pleasant.”
“Punishment?” Nia had difficulty with the word. Punishment was for children; being sent to one’s room to stay for a short period of time, or being forbidden a treat if one disobeyed one’s elders. What adult mermyd would have merited punishment rather than healing?
Cephan swam through the opening and motioned for Nia to follow. She did so, but reluctantly.
The water was a little cooler just beyond the round door, but the thrumming was, if anything, louder. As Nia’s eyes adjusted, she could see they were in a narrow room. Across from the door was a low wall, about waist height if her feet were on the floor. A few strands of wire crossed the upper opening.
Beyond the low wall was an amazing chamber whose gleaming metal walls were covered with knobs and levers and glowing diagrams. Through a window on the far side of the chamber, she could glimpse great wheels turning and pistons and bellows moving back and forth.
“What is all that?” Nia asked softly.
“Farworlder technology,” replied Cephan. “I don’t claim to understand it, but it brings up the warm water from the rift, cleanses it, and sends it through the city’s tunnels and pipes. It’s what keeps our water moving and fresh.”
“And prisoners are kept here?”
“As atonement. The Councils felt the prisoners ought to have meaningful and important tasks to do. And that’s all I should tell you.” Cephan reached up and touched one of the wires that crossed the water in front of them. For a second there was a horrible, high-pitched squeal through the water. “I am here!” Cephan called out.
A mermyd of middle years swam into view from behind the low wall Nia had seen. He had black-and-silver hair and a neatly trimmed dark beard streaked with gray. The scales of his tail fin were silvery black. With dignified slowness, he came up to the wall. “You’re late.”
Cephan simply nodded.
“And you’ve brought a guest,” the mermyd added, gazing at Nia with intense interest.
“She’s from the Farworlder palace guard, here for observation,” Cephan lied.
“Ah. I see. Come to take note of your procedure, has she?” he asked, sounding amused.
Nia tried to give him a stern, official-seeming nod. Inside, she was reeling from everything she had seen.
Still staring at her, the prisoner went on, “The Bluefins have always produced such strikingly unique individuals.”
“How did you . . .” Nia began, but stopped herself. Did I already give something away I shouldn’t have?
“I see traces of Dyonis in you,” the prisoner explained. “Back in earlier, better days, I made a study of mermyd bloodlines.”
Cephan loudly cleared his throat and said, “Here is your dinner.” He slipped the baskets through the narrow space between the wires.
The prisoner reached up to catch them, and Nia saw the sun-shaped scar on his right palm. Her heart nearly stopped. “You . . . you are an Avatar!” she blurted out.
“She doesn’t know?” the prisoner asked Cephan, raising an eyebrow.
“You know I’m not allowed to talk about you to others,” Ce
phan replied carefully. “Not even to the palace guard.”
“Ah. Indeed I was, young lady,” the prisoner replied. “But that was a long time ago.” He caught the baskets before they drifted to the floor. Unfolding the cloth cover on one of them, he remarked, “Ah, crab cakes. My favorite.”
“It’s what you get every day,” Cephan said.
“Then it’s good that they’re my favorite, yes?”
“Who are you?” Nia asked, unable to stop herself. She had never heard of an Avatar being imprisoned—the idea was shocking, inconceivable. It was as though a wall in a very familiar room in her house had crumbled away, revealing a dark unknown chamber.
“Is this a test?” the prisoner asked with a baffled smile. “As my keeper has already no doubt informed you, I’m not permitted to tell you my name, or even why I’m here. It’s part of my punishment.” He winked at her and stuffed a crab cake into his mouth.
“If you are . . . were an Avatar, where is your—” Before Nia could finish the sentence, she heard movement from the direction where the prisoner had come from. She glanced over at the wall in time to see a Farworlder swimming around it, coming toward them. It was as long as a mermyd, with head and tentacles a deep purple in color, and huge golden eyes. It flowed through the water as if made of liquid itself, a supple shadow, a sentient stain. It reached into the basket the prisoner was holding and deftly snatched out a crab cake for itself.
“You were saying?” the prisoner asked.
“Never mind,” Nia breathed. She was grateful for the wall that stood between them. While Farworlder infants were delicate and weak, adult Farworlders were immensely strong. Even a casual flick from a Farworlder’s tentacle could leave severe bruising. The full-force grip of a Farworlder’s tentacle could crush a mermyd’s bones. It was said that this was why Farworlders chose to live apart from mermyds other than Avatars. And another reason only the strongest and healthiest mermyds were chosen to become Avatars. Nia had always tried to ignore the small bit of fear she’d had of Farworlders, since she knew it was necessary in order to become an Avatar. She was sure that once she’d connected with one in the Naming ceremony, any fear she had would fade. But right now, she could barely remember to keep her gills open and breathe.
Suddenly she became aware that the Farworlder was staring at her. Nia felt her skin creep as she felt its touch on her mind. It was very different from the tickle of the infant Farworlder in the nursery. This was subtle, yet powerful, reaching deep into her thoughts. Nia swallowed hard, forcing down her fear.
It became worse when the mermyd prisoner stared as well, his eyes narrowed, weighing her, gauging her. Nia was getting the strange sense that this ex-Avatar and his king considered her important. She wasn’t even sure what that meant, but the thought was there in her head.
Nia balled her fists at her sides and let her gills flare to pull in more oxygen from the water. She let one thought fill her mind, not knowing if the Farworlder would read it. Whatever it is you are trying to get from me, you cannot have it, she thought, staring back hard at the creature.
The ex-Avatar prisoner raised his brows in surprise, and a slight smile appeared on his lips. “Well, well,” he said. “The Bluefins remain a remarkable family.” He inclined his head to her as if bowing.
“Nia, are you all right?” Cephan asked, gently touching her arm.
“I believe I’ve seen enough,” Nia said, still trying to sound official. “I wish to go now.”
“Yes, of course.” Cephan glared at the prisoner, who, if anything, looked even more amused. Cephan spun the iron wheel in the door and opened it, guiding Nia through.
“A pleasure to have met you, Lady Nia,” the prisoner called after them before Cephan shut the great round door behind them.
In a flash of anger sparked by fear, Nia burst out, “Should you have said my name in front of him?”
Cephan grasped her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, it just slipped out. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so. That . . . Farworlder . . . don’t laugh, Cephan, but I felt that creature touch my mind, just like the infant in the nursery.”
“I won’t laugh,” Cephan said quite seriously. “But he didn’t harm you?”
“No.” Nia reached up and ran her hands across her scalp, through her hair. “No, I was able to hold him off. In my thoughts, I mean.”
Cephan paused and stared at her. “No wonder he was impressed.”
“Cephan, who is he? And who is the Farworlder with him?”
Cephan shook his head sadly. “Rules are rules, Nia. I can’t speak their names or their crimes. I shouldn’t have even brought you here.”
“Crimes?” Nia repeated. “Did they do something very bad?”
“I don’t know, and even if I did I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why is someone who did something bad put in charge of the water flow of Atlantis?” she asked, incredulous. It didn’t make any sense.
“Oh, they aren’t in charge, and it would be noticed right away if they tried to stop the machinery,” Cephan explained. “They can’t do any damage on their own. They were given worthwhile work to do as part of their atonement.”
“It’s because he was an Avatar that they had to imprison him, isn’t it?” Nia pressed. “He and his king could resist the healing of the High Council, or . . . or maybe he chose this punishment instead of healing so that the High Council couldn’t read his thoughts.”
Cephan’s eyes opened wide but he shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t tell you.”
“But you did bring me here, and as you said, you shouldn’t have even done that.”
He looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry. I wanted . . . I wanted you to see that I have an important position too. I’m the jailer for the only prisoners in Atlantis. I bring the food, make sure the cell water is clean. I check to make sure there are no unusual changes to the equipment and the alarm wires haven’t been tampered with. But I can’t talk about it with anyone. Still, I—I hated to have such a big secret from you,” he admitted, raising his gaze to meet hers again.
Nia smiled, staring back into his eyes for a moment. “How long have the prisoners been down here?” she couldn’t resist asking.
Cephan laughed. “No more questions, all right? You have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone I brought you here or that you have seen these prisoners. I might lose my chance to be in the Trials, or worse, if anyone found out.”
“All right, I promise,” Nia said, worrying that a heavy burden had just been placed on her shoulders.
“I know. I trust you.” Cephan smiled. “I’d better be getting you back upstairs,” he said. “You’ll have less to explain to your family if you’re in early.”
“Can’t we be together just a little while longer?” Nia asked, frowning. “You could show me where you live.”
Cephan smiled regretfully. “It will take you a while to get back up to your home level. We can’t go back the way we came—the oxygenation tunnels flow only one way. Besides, I ought to go train a bit for the Trials. I may not have much hope of winning, but at least I can make a good effort.”
“How can you say that?” Nia asked. “I’m glad I won’t be competing against you in the racing Trials, and I don’t see how anyone else could do much better than me.”
Cephan blushed. “But I have little training in the magical and mental arts,” he said. “Those of us in the Toiling clans do not have the time for it that your clan does. That’s where I may fall behind.”
“Well, you don’t have to win every Trial to be deemed worthy of Ascension to Avatar.” Nia squeezed his hand to reassure him.
“But it helps,” Cephan answered with a grin. “Now come on. We don’t want your parents sending out search dolphins for you.” He guided her back through the mossy tunnels, up to the Lower Market. Again, no one took much notice of them, as the merchants and farmers were closing up their booths.
Cephan led Nia over to one thin, wiry merchant who was p
iling fish into large baskets that were attached to a vertical rope. “Excuse me, Spyridon,” Cephan said, “by any chance are you sending dinners to the upper houses? If so, I’ve something else for you to deliver.” Cephan put a small pearl in the merchant’s hand and then gestured toward Nia.
“Hmm.” Spyridon hefted the pearl, examined it closely, and then narrowed his eyes at Nia. “Is he too tight-fisted to get you a turtle-taxi?”
“Not at all,” Nia protested.
“It’s just that it would be too slow,” Cephan said. “She needs to be home by a certain time.”
“Ah,” Spyridon said with an understanding nod and a grin. “I’ll agree to it, if you’ll help with the hauling.”
“Seems only fair,” Cephan said.
So Spyridon hauled on the rope until an empty basket was on the floor. Nia stepped in and curled up. “This goes up to the Starfish warehouse,” the merchant explained. “You know where that is?”
“Oh, yes, that’s not far from my home.”
“Good. Say hello to Vilus for me. I’d love to see the expression on his face when he finds you in a basket instead of fish.”
“I will,” Nia said. “Thank you.” She turned to smile at Cephan. “Will I see you again soon?” she asked in a low voice.
“You’ll see me in the Trials,” he responded.
“Well, yes,” Nia said, her smile fading. “But that’s not the same thing.”
“I’ll get away from the training for a little while, if I can,” Cephan promised.
“Hey, hey!” Spyridon said, interrupting them. “I want to be closing up now.”
Nia let Cephan close the basket lid over her. The weave of the basket was open enough that she could peer out and watch as Cephan and Spyridon hauled on the rope, raising Nia’s basket and the others higher and higher.
Unfortunately, the slow ascent gave Nia too much time to think. The meeting with the prisoner Avatar and his Farworlder king had unnerved her. They had stared at her with such intensity. I felt as though they knew who I was. Or have they been so long without company that any visitor is important? The touch of the Farworlder’s mind was frightening, as if the alien creature had been searching for something in her thoughts.