by Kara Dalkey
“Ar’an . . . a former king . . . wow.” Cephan paused a moment, then went on, “Well, maybe your grandfather is worried for you.”
“Worried for me? I don’t know if that’s it, exactly. My whole family was acting strange tonight. They’d start to talk about things and then stop if they saw me listening.”
“They probably don’t want to upset you,” Cephan said. “Now that their attention is all on your cousin, they must be afraid that overhearing them talk about Garun will just hurt you.”
Nia nodded. It did make sense. Another question occurred to her, one she needed to ask. “Cephan, you’ve watched Garun train now. What do you think of him, as a competitor?”
Cephan paused. “What do I think? Well, I’ve mostly been concentrating on my own work. We’re not supposed to watch other competitors, though everyone does. I have to say I haven’t noticed anything special, one way or the other. He seems pretty smart, but he may have trouble in the races. As for the rest . . .” Cephan shrugged. “I know nothing about his wisdom or magical ability.”
Nia sighed. “Well, it was worth a try. My family all seem worried that he’s not going to do well, and yet they’re desperate to see him win.”
“That sounds like what you’d expect, doesn’t it? All the competitors I’ve talked to say their families are acting a little strangely. Although . . . there is some grumbling on the field about the extra coaching Garun’s been getting. Rumors that he’s getting too much help to be strictly . . .” Cephan trailed off, avoiding Nia’s gaze.
“What?” she pressed. “What are you trying to say?”
“I shouldn’t be passing along rumors,” Cephan mumbled. “That isn’t fair, and they’d only upset you. I’d better go. I have to join the party or there will be questions asked. Just . . . take it easy on yourself, all right? Be careful.” He gave her a small smile. “I’ll talk to you again when I can.” He escorted her out of the little room and then swam away.
Somehow I don’t think this is a time for taking it easy, Nia thought. I’ve got to start finding out the truth before I explode.
Chapter Nine
It was a holiday in Atlantis, and everyone whose energy had survived the parties of the night before (and even those whose hadn’t) were coming back to the Great Arena to witness the exciting First and Second Trials. Even Nia.
But her enthusiasm had been replaced by determination and a more calculating perspective. Now, when she swam under the great arch of Poseidonis and out among the stands, she wondered where the secret chambers of the Farworlder kings were hidden. How near might she be to any of them? She wondered where Garun was being trained and whether there was a way she might sneak in for a look. When she swam into the Bluefin observation box, she noted the cool greetings her parents and aunt and uncle gave her. When she saw Dyonis, it took effort to smile.
Dyonis pulled her aside as soon as he noticed her. “You know, Nia, you do not need to stay if you are finding these events . . . uncomfortable. I know how much you’d rather be participating than watching. If you decided to not be present, except for the Third Trial, of course, I’m sure everyone would understand.”
And now he’s treating me like a child, Nia thought sourly, though he never has before. “No,” Nia said firmly and, she hoped, respectfully. “I want to stay. I want to show that I can be relied upon. To give the support and enthusiasm properly due Garun as the chosen of my clan. To do otherwise would be immature and cowardly.”
Dyonis sighed. “It is not cowardly to admit to one’s feelings, Nia. But, very well. How can anyone deny such a noble intention?” He gestured grandly to one of the clamshell chairs, and Nia swam over and settled in.
“Besides,” Nia announced, not caring who was listening, “I’m still an athlete, and these are the most exciting Trials to watch for someone with my training. I expect to enjoy myself no matter who wins.”
Pontus was again in the chair beside her, head tilted back, fast asleep. Nia could tell from the water around him that he’d been sucking down the seaweed wine again.
Tyra swam over. “You’ll have to forgive Pontus, dear. He had a very late night of it. We haven’t seen a party like that in years. By the way, where were you?”
“I went home early,” Nia said, which was what she’d done after saying good-bye to Cephan. “I had a lot to think about.”
“Oh.” Nia could hear the curiosity in her mother’s voice, but she said nothing more. “Would you like some refreshment?” Tyra asked when the pause had gotten a little too long. “The food hasn’t arrived yet, but we have some kelp juice.”
“That would be fine, thank you,” Nia said.
Tyra handed Nia a bladder gourd. The gourds were grown on a special breed of kelp in the farms Down Below. They had strawlike appendages that you bit off in order to suck the juice out. The only problem was that you either had to drink it all at once, or carefully pinch the straw between sips. Otherwise, seawater got in with the juice, ruining the taste.
Nia was glad, however, to keep her mouth occupied so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
The arena was all set up for the First Trial. At the far end of the oval field, to the right of the Bluefin box, there was a metal rack, two mermyd heights tall, with thirty-two slots along it. Already some of the contestants were starting to place themselves in the slots along the rack. Nia thought she could see Cephan among them. She also thought she could see Garun in the middle of the rack, but she didn’t want to use the farseeing tube just yet.
The First Trial was simply a race from one end of the oval arena to the other. The first swimmer to touch the golden pole at the other end was the winner. But the main thing was not to be among the last six, for those six competitors would be dismissed, no longer able to participate in the rest of the Trials.
Racers could also be disqualified if they let their feet or tail touch the arena bed. It was expected that the racers would all swim at the same level at which they started. They could swim higher, but it was poor strategy, since it would usually slow them down. Nia had often swum races like this during her physical training at the Academy. She had even won a few. She could almost feel what it would be like to swim this course, with these many competitors, what her strategy would be depending on whether she had tailed or legged swimmers beside her, or strong or weak ones. But that made her feel all the more sad that she wasn’t participating.
The slots began to fill with competitors, and the noises of anticipation of the crowd grew louder. Nia noticed a peculiar taste to the water with so many excited mermyds in the same place. It made the excitement almost truly contagious.
The conchshell trumpets sounded a long, low moan, waking Pontus up with a start. “Huh, wha?”
“Shh,” Tyra hissed. “It’s beginning.”
On a platform directly across the arena from the Bluefin booth, the senior Avatar on the Low Council, Xemos, came forward. Nia’s father moved the farseeing tube so that a clear picture of Xemos appeared on the wall. Two of the Ceremonial Guard, carrying long spears and wearing armor of sea-dragon scales, appeared on either side of him.
“Fellow Atlanteans,” Xemos began, and the crowd quieted. Nia wondered if he was using some form of Farworlder magic to make himself heard so well. “On behalf of the High and Low Councils, I welcome you. While we regret that our comrade Thaumas and his king, Bo’az, have left our ranks, that sorrow is now replaced with anticipation. For today begin the great Trials that will bring to us our new associate, our next Avatar. The finest youth of all our clans will be tested.
“Those who are best in strength and in wisdom will contend for the honor of being joined to a Farworlder, of having their knowledge and power expanded beyond the imagining of any mermyd. He or she who is best in all will achieve that honor and Ascend to join our ranks.”
Nia frowned, wondering about the Farworlder end of things. She knew that the kings of the High Council chose which infant Farworlder would be the next king, but the manner in which it was chosen was
secret. Nia knew one of her charges at the nursery was going to be joined to the next Avatar, but she did not know which one or by what criteria the creature would be chosen. She turned around in her chair and asked her grandfather, “Dyonis, how do the Farworlders choose their next king?”
Her question seemed to startle Dyonis out of some intense concentration, and for a split second he glared angrily at her. Then his face softened, and he replied, “Not now, Nia. Later, please. Watch the race.” He nodded toward the field.
Nia turned back around. Well. That was interesting, she told herself, trying to keep the hurt at bay. Her beloved grandfather had never, ever snapped at her before.
“It is with great joy, therefore,” Xemos finished, “that I open this, the First Trial toward the Ascension. Let the race begin!”
The crowd cheered, and the water almost boiled with the sound. While her father was applauding, Nia grabbed the farseeing tube and turned it toward the starting gates. Sure enough, there was Cephan, fourth from the left. Nia scanned the others in the rack. They were about evenly split between those with tails and those with two legs. Those with tails, like Cephan, had an early advantage over those with legs, like Garun, for the tail could give an enormous initial burst of speed. Mermyd tails, however, were not as well suited to endurance as legs were, and it was easier for two-legged swimmers to use their arms in coordination. The strategy for a tailed swimmer was to open up a great enough lead at the beginning that no one could catch up. The strategy for two-legged swimmers was to hope that the tailed swimmers tired quickly.
Nia’s father snatched back the farseeing tube and centered the image, naturally, on Garun. Garun’s pale face was set in a frown of grim determination as he gripped the poles at either side of his gate. Please don’t embarrass us, Garun, Nia thought.
The conchshell trumpets sounded, and the starting gates opened. The racers rushed out of the rack. Sure enough, to Nia’s delight, Cephan pulled out ahead of the pack of swimmers. Nia sat forward in her chair, lightly pounding her knees with her fists. “Go, Cephan,” she whispered.
The two sides began pulling ahead, as Pontus had predicted. Garun was kicking and stroking for all he was worth, but it was clear he was struggling. He began to rise above the plane of the other swimmers and Nia knew then he had no chance. That was a strategy only the most powerful swimmers could use to advantage.
Nia felt a momentary headache and rubbed her forehead. Ouch. What was in that kelp juice? It didn’t taste like wine. But she forced herself to try to ignore the pain as she looked out again at the field.
Suddenly one of the swimmers, a Moray, veered into the path of another. The Moray’s fins seemed to tangle up with the other swimmer’s legs in an awkward movement, and together they flopped through the water, bumping into the swimmers next to them. A cry of disbelief roared out from the crowd, followed by stunned silence as one by one swimmers were knocked, spinning, out of their lanes by a neighbor. Only Cephan, who was far enough ahead, and Garun, who was swimming above, were free from the flailing arms, slapping tails, and kicking legs of the other racers. Two of the knotted throng of competitors began fighting and, not noticing where they were, drifted down until their feet touched the arena floor, disqualifying them. Accidents in a field this crowded were not uncommon, but Nia had never seen anything like this in any race she had been in or watched. Her parents didn’t seem to notice the oddness of it. “Go, Garun!” they were cheering, as if nothing strange was happening.
Cephan was apparently so intent upon his goal that he never looked back. He easily reached the golden pole first. It took Nia a few moments to let it sink in. “Cephan won? Cephan won! Cephan won!”
She stopped as she noticed her parents staring at her. “How well, exactly, do you know this Cephan?” her father asked.
“Um . . .” she began, but before she could invent a story, Dyonis came up behind Pontus and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Look,” Dyonis said, “it appears these strange circumstances favor our Garun well.”
Sure enough, Garun had managed to keep his pace steady enough that, even though some of the other swimmers had now disentangled themselves from the mess, they could not catch up. Garun was second to touch the golden pole.
Everyone in the Bluefin box erupted in cheers, and Nia found herself bounced around by the water’s agitation. She cheered too, disbelievingly, thinking, Well, he certainly didn’t disgrace us. But that tangle the others got into was the only way he could have finished so well. She looked at Dyonis, who was gazing out at the field with a concerned frown. The last of the swimmers were churning the water, trying not to be among the last six to touch the pole. The unfortunates who had set foot on the arena bed slowly and despondently swam off the field.
“Grandfather,” Nia said to Dyonis. “So much went wrong—shouldn’t this race be set aside and run again?”
Her parents looked at her as if she’d suggested eating spiny urchins. “Nia, how can you even suggest such a thing?” Tyra demanded. “You know how Garun must conserve his strength.”
“That will be up to the High Council, Nia,” Dyonis replied. “Ah, here comes Xemos again. I’m sure he’ll explain.”
The conchshell trumpets sounded another moan, and the Avatar Xemos again swam out onto the platform. “Citizens of Atlantis: There has been some question as to the legitimacy of this First Trial.”
“No!” Pontus cried.
“They wouldn’t dare!” Tyra said.
“However,” Xemos went on, “the High Council has already made its ruling. This First Trial shall stand.”
Tyra and Aunt Maru hugged each other and then hugged Uncle Skiff. Pontus declined to be hugged, but he allowed himself to look smug.
“There, you see?” Pontus growled at Nia. “Disqualify the race indeed. How dare you call yourself a Bluefin?”
“I—I’m sorry,” Nia said. “I just wondered what was fair.”
Loud, continuous cheering was coming from a far section of the arena. Nia noticed many of those spectators were wearing the colors of the Stingray, Cephan’s clan. How could I have asked whether the race should be disqualified? Cephan won. What is wrong with me?
“I regret to announce,” Xemos continued, “that the disqualified clans are these: Sandcrab, Monkfish, Mako, Shad, Sea Turtle, and Otter.” Moans of disappointment rolled through the water from various sections of the arena. “Please take some time,” Xemos continued, “to refresh yourselves, and to give our competitors some rest. We will begin the Second Trial in an hour.”
Refreshments arrived at the Bluefin box promptly. Sala had brought a special delicacy—scalded shrimp wrapped in seaweed pastry. Cooked food was rare in the mermyd diet, because it was so difficult to do underwater. Because it was rare and difficult, it was, of course, more fashionable. Nia knew these scalded shrimp had been prepared, at great risk to the cooks, in the very same steam vents Down Below that Cephan had mentioned to her. Nia bit into the pastry and found it was still slightly warm—a strange sensation. The food gave everyone a reason not to talk to Nia, for which she was grateful.
Nia went up to the front of the observation box and looked out at the arena, noticing that the ache she’d had in her head was completely gone. It had been since the end of the race. Actually, it was only there from right before the race went wrong until Garun finished, she realized with a start. She glanced back over her shoulder at Dyonis, who avoided her gaze. Then she recalled what Cephan had started to say the other night . . . the rumors about cheating. She’d read that Farworlder magic, when used by Farworlders or their Avatars, could cause physical pain in the mermyd Avatars whose senses were attuned.
But I’m not even an Avatar, she told herself. Still, she did feel the touch of Farworlders, despite being told repeatedly that it wasn’t possible. Nia shook her head and chided herself. No honorable Avatar would ever misuse his power . . . unless he was, in truth, dishonorable—like Ma’el. Nia couldn’t believe her grandfather would actually manipulate the tr
ials to allow Garun to win. She turned her attention back to the arena field.
The high rack of starting gates was being removed from the field, to be replaced by a lower rack in preparation for the Second Trial. Workers were bringing out large square stones and piling them beside the starting gate rack.
In this Trial, each entrant would be given one of the stones to carry on the shoulders. Again, the racer had to reach the golden pole on the far side of the field. But this was a test more of endurance than speed. One could touch the arena floor if one wished—indeed, those with two legs usually preferred to walk the race rather than swim it. This gave two-legged mermyds some advantage over the tailed sort, although a mermyd with a strong tail could manage. Nia had heard once of a tailed mermyd who had won a Second Trial by bouncing down the field on his hind flipper like a hopping sea scallop. She wondered whether Cephan would try it that way.
She was jolted out of her reverie by the sounding of the conchshell trumpets and the reappearance of Xemos on the announcement platform. “Will the contestants for the Second Trial please take their places at the gates?” he declared.
The gate began to fill up with each clan representative, in a different order this time, and Nia could discern no particular pattern. She noticed that some of the clans with brighter colors were toward one side of the field; the Tang Clan with its bright oranges, the Lobster Clan in blue and red, the Sea Cucumber Clan with purple and yellow, the Anemone Clan in magenta and white. Nia had occasionally wished, when she was younger, that she had been born to one of these clans. Always having to wear blue and silver on ceremonial occasions had gotten rather dull.
Everyone in the Bluefin box pressed forward to see where Garun was, which made Nia feel hemmed in. Her father used the farseeing tube and centered Garun in its projection. Garun was in the middle again. Nia peered at the starting gate lineup and saw that Cephan was all the way at the far end.