by Kara Dalkey
Nia swam the familiar route to the nursery. The little ones in their crèches were calmer than the last time she had been there, but there was a forlorn feel to the place. And there was one pillar with an empty crèche.
“Nia! What are you doing here? Congratulations on the Third Trial!” It was Oenone, of the Starfish Clan, who often took one of the other shifts. “Why aren’t you at the arena?”
“Thank you. I have no doubt that my cousin will do well,” Nia said. “Besides, these are the mental Trials. It’s not as much fun to watch them get out of a locked room and through a maze, or to sit like a magistrate in judgment of some imaginary disputes.”
“Depends on what you enjoy, I guess,” Oenone said. “Don’t you want to see how your special friend is doing?”
Nia sighed, wishing gossip didn’t travel quite so fast in this city. “Cephan did respectably in the Third Trial, and I’m not worried for his chances either. Besides, I’m going to be starting in the Archives soon, and I wanted to learn more about the position while there aren’t many people there to interrupt me. But I wanted to stop here first, just to have one last look.”
“The Archives! There are never many people in the Archives, Nia. That’s one of the first things you’ll learn. But, as you can see, all is well here, at last. The little ones were upset for a while when their crèchemate was taken. There was no ceremony to it—a Farworlder came in, scooped up the squidling and its shell, and carried it out. I’ve always wondered how they know which one to pick.”
“Yes. So have I,” Nia said. “It’s funny. The one they took—he was my favorite of all of them.”
“How do you even know which one it was?” Oenone asked. “They all look the same to me. If someone were to shuffle them around from shell to shell, I would never know.”
“It’s . . . hard to explain,” Nia hedged. “I’d better be going. Balasai should be expecting me.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy your new position,” Oenone said, shaking out her long reddish curls as she turned back to the infant Farworlders.
“Oh, I expect I will find it worthwhile,” Nia said.
She left the nursery and swam cautiously through the hallways of the palace, although no stealth was necessary. Truly no one was around.
The Archives were tucked away in a far corner of the palace, near the edge of the Dome. Nia had only been there twice before, delivering brief reports about the nursery. An archivist would duly take them and file them away. Nia searched her memory to try to recall what she’d been told at the Academy about the storage of documents.
Writing was difficult to preserve in the underwater world of Atlantis. Kelpaper had a pulpy surface that was easy to inscribe upon, but it disintegrated quickly if it was not preserved. In the dry room attached to the Archives, however, documents could be dried, and if need be, copied by a scribe in waterproof ink onto tablets or tough papyrus. These tablets would then be coated with a sealant, some form of tree sap, also impervious to water. This way, even if the dry room was ever flooded, important records would be preserved. And a dry room was natural as secure storage—most mermyds would rather lose a limb than enter one.
Finally Nia found the Archives’ marble archway embellished with carved scrolls and papyrus reeds—more evidence of the land-dweller influence on the Atlantean past. Nia swam in.
Balasai was in the center of the room, reclining on a slab of black stone, playing with a puzzle of seashells and string. The slab was ringed with cabinets, which Nia knew would contain minor documents. On the ceiling above him was a circular, gated hole from which a strange golden light spilled out. Undoubtedly that was the entrance to the dry room.
Balasai was about her age, and Nia had gone to school with him. He was of the Dolphin Clan, a respectable family of scholars, but Balasai had huge webbed hands and feet. He had been teased as a child, Nia remembered, as being more frog than fish. And he had an odd way of speaking that caused others to think him simple, though he was not. Nia felt some empathy for him, though she did not know him well.
“Greetings, Balasai!” Nia said cheerfully. “Here I am.”
“Hmm?” Balasai sat up and studied her a moment. “Niniane of the Bluefin, yes?”
“Yes. I am here to learn what I can of Garun’s position so that I may successfully and smoothly take his place.”
“Hmm. Not much to know. Papers come in. We file them. Papers are requested. We find them.”
“Yes, but I will need to know where everything is, so I can find them and file them when I have to,” she said.
Balasai shrugged and hopped off the slab. He paddled over to one curved bank of file cabinets. “These are the Ministries. Medicine. Building. Justice. Planning. Water. All these temporary records. Over here”—he indicated a tall set of shelves—“Avatar writings. Poetry. Plays. Most of them not very good,” Balasai added in an aside. “Over here”—he paddled over to a low bank of drawers—“financial records. Very dull.” He pointed to a shelf stacked with scrolls. “Land-dweller histories. Very exciting, if you like violence. Over there, mathematics and scientific papers. Very interesting, if you can understand them. That’s about all.”
“And up there?” Nia pointed at the hole in the ceiling.
“Oh. Up there. The dry room.” Balasai paused, watching for Nia’s reaction.
She didn’t give him one. “Government documents are stored up there, right?” she asked innocently.
“Mmm. You won’t need to go up there, though. Master Alphenor files those. Only he knows the codes.”
“How does he get through the gate?”
“The gate is locked. The key is here.” Balasai pointed to a key hanging on a peg on the wall.
“Ah. Well. What else?”
“That is all,” Balasai said, settling himself back on the stone slab and picking up his string-and-shell puzzle again.
“What did Garun do all day?” she asked, watching him work the puzzle.
“Read things,” Balasai replied.
“You don’t seem to be reading.”
Balasai shrugged. “I’ve read everything already.”
“But if there’s nothing for you to do here, Balasai, then why are you here and not at the Trials, like everyone else?” Nia asked.
“Ah,” Balasai sat up. “Someone might come, they said. Someone might need to leave a document at the Archives. We cannot close the Archives, they said. So here I am, even though no one has come. Except you.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Nia said, letting her voice soften. “Particularly when your clan is doing so well. If I had known that my first visit might keep you from seeing the Trials, I would have postponed it.”
“Ah, the Trials,” Balasai sighed. “I wish so much I could be there.”
Nia bit her lip. “Well, maybe you can,” she said, as if the idea had just hit her. “I mean, I can stay and watch the place. It will be good practice for me. You could go out and see at least some of the Trials. I’ll stay here and watch the Archives for you until you come back.”
Balasai tilted his head and regarded her. “You haven’t been given a final approval for the Archives yet,” he said, hesitation obvious in his tone.
“But that’s just a formality, right?” Nia said. “Besides, I served in the nursery. If I’m trustworthy enough to watch over the Farworlder infants, then I think I can watch some kelpaper.”
Balasai thought it over, then nodded again. “I’ll only leave for an hour. Maybe two. Then I’ll owe you a favor.” He got up and laid the puzzle down on the stone slab. “Maybe you can solve this puzzle while I am gone,” he said with a smile.
I hope to solve another more important puzzle, Nia thought.
“Until I return, then,” Balasai said. He launched himself up and was out through the archway faster than Nia would have imagined he could go.
As soon as he was completely out of sight, Nia grabbed the key and swam up to the gated hole. She wasn’t used to mechanisms like this one, but after a couple of minu
tes of fumbling she was able to swing the gate down and aside. Steeling herself for the ordeal to come, Nia sucked water through her gills several times before gripping the sides of the hole.
She pulled herself up. Her head broke the surface, and water dripped off the side of her head. First she slid one arm over the edge of the hole, then the other arm. Then, with all her strength, she hauled herself up over the edge and into the dry room.
Nia lay on the floor for long moments, feeling so, so heavy. Her body felt as though it were a sack of sand. She blinked in the brighter light—in a dry room there could be lamps with flame, much brighter than the phosphorescence that lit the rest of the city.
She gave a cough, and water leaked out of her mouth. Her gasps were loud and echoed off the walls. She reached out and latched onto a metal chair that was bolted into the floor. Nia hauled herself upright and stood, her legs wobbling. Keep knees bent, she reminded herself, remembering how she’d been able to walk in a dry room years ago. Make sure weight is supported and balanced. Nia started falling forward, and she abruptly sat in the chair. She’d grown a lot since her last experience with a dry room and had more weight to keep balanced. How do mouthbreathers endure it? she wondered.
Nia gave herself some moments to let her sight readjust. She saw the cabinets lining the walls, all of them the same. How will I find which one contains purple-blue-sixty-five?
Then she noticed a stripe of color at the top of every cabinet. The trouble was, the light in the room had such a yellow tint, it was difficult to make out the exact color of the stripes. But they seemed to be in order, from light to dark. So Nia assumed if the last one was black or brown, the one beside it was likely to be purple.
Rather than chance a fall, Nia got off the chair and crawled on hands and knees to that cabinet. She opened it, and saw a series of drawers within, also labeled with colored stripes. She found the blue drawer and slid it open. There was a stack of treated papyrus within. Nia carefully lifted out the one on top.
She began to read it:
ARCHIVAL REPORT OF THE 3395TH CONVENEMENT OF THE HIGH AND LOW COUNCILS, AS TRANSCRIBED BY THE ARCHIVIST AND SCRIBE TIREUS
IN THIS YEAR SINCE ARRIVAL 5226, MONTH OF WARMINGWATER, 10TH DAY.
This meeting was held in secret, and the Councils forewarned that no word of these proceedings should be shared with other citizens.
This is it! It must be! Nia’s hands shook, and her rasping breath became more ragged, but she read on.
The matter of immediate concern on the agenda was the terrifying visions received by the Farworlder kings after their recent deep meditation. When they entered the meditation to use their powers of seeing into the Unis, the Farworlder kings saw that death would stalk the byways of Atlantis, that its waters would grow still and its great halls become ruins. And somehow this danger would come from the new Avatar. Since the Farworlder kings’ perception is limited in that only a few days ahead may be seen with any clarity, and only months with any sense of general prosperity or danger, no details could be discerned at that point. What is troubling about the current crisis is that the time has come when the kings should be able to see clearly what the source of the danger will be in the days ahead. Yet they cannot. They claim that their visions are clouded, like muddied water. There appears to be some magic that is being used to obscure their perception—magic that is similar to that of the kings, but also very different. The Farworlders cannot see the source of this unusual magic, and therefore have no way to counteract it. Therefore this secret meeting was convened to determine what action the Councils could take to avoid the fate seen in the visions. The decision reached did not come easily, but we can only hope that its wisdom will bear out, and when the Trials have ended and the new Avatar ascends, all will be right. While it pains the Councils greatly to interfere in the Trials, it is essential that the natural order be interrupted in order to ensure that any who would have likely become Avatar will no longer have that chance. I do avow that the above has been faithfully inscribed and that these kelpsheets shall be preserved and stored in proper manner with no other eyes to see them until it is deemed appropriate by some future Convenement.
Tireus
Senior Archivist and Scribe
Nia felt dizzy, and she carefully put the papyrus back into the drawer. So she had been right. The Trials had been interfered with, and it was all because the Farworlders had foreseen some kind of danger that needed to be averted. Ma’el’s words came back to her. You are the knife, Nia. She thought of how her family had acted around her, even Dyonis—the one mermyd she trusted more than anyone. They had seemed nervous with her. And somehow that was why they hadn’t chosen her to compete to be Avatar. They had instead obviously decided to use their magic to assist Garun in winning the position. But still, why Garun? What did it all mean? And how could she—or any mermyd in Atlantis—possibly be a threat to their world?
Her breath started to come in harsh, racking sobs. Nia closed the drawer, closed the cabinet, and slipped into the cool, soothing water, letting her tears add a little more salt to the ocean.
Chapter Thirteen
Nia managed to compose herself and shut the gate over the entrance to the dry room before Balasai returned. But her feelings were churning like the maelstroms of the sea. It seemed forever until Balasai returned, but in fact he had been gone only a short time. “Couldn’t get a good seat,” was all he grumbled as an explanation.
“Well. I will see you in a few days, then,” Nia managed to get out. If I can stand to come back here.
Balasai shrugged, going back to his puzzle. “Later, then.”
Nia swam for home. The streets of Atlantis were largely deserted—everyone was at the arena, of course. Just as well, Nia thought. I’d be scowling at anyone I met. Mostly, at this point, she was angry. How could the Councils have kept this information from the citizens of Atlantis? How could Dyonis have kept it from her?
Nia stopped in front of the Bluefin Palace and decided she did not want to go home. It would be empty and lonely, and she would only brood. Nia decided she needed to find the one person who still believed in her, who wouldn’t lie to her. She needed to see Cephan.
He’ll be in the Trials now, but at least I can watch him, and maybe I can catch him when today’s events are over. Nia turned away and headed for the Great Arena.
But the gateway to the arena was shut and guarded by Orcas. “Sorry, Miss,” they told her. “We’re full. We are only letting people out. No one in.”
Nia wanted to argue that if some were coming out then there must be room for more to go in. But Orcas could be stubborn and single-minded on the job, and Nia didn’t want to waste time.
She politely thanked the guard and then swam around the curve of the Great Arena, keeping her eyes on the arched portico until she saw what she was looking for—a low, recessed alcove. There was a door within it labeled workers only.
Well, Nia thought, I’m a worker. I work at the Archives. Glancing around quickly and seeing that no one was nearby, Nia turned the scallop-shaped knob and entered. It was a dark, tiny room, probably a storage area. After blundering about for a bit, feeling along the walls, she found another door. This led into a larger chamber, a space between walls and beneath the stands. Nia could hear the voices of the spectators overhead. Searching more, she found yet another door that led into one of the sloping tunnels that went up into the stands.
Nia came out among the stands and looked down at the field. She was in luck. She had come in near one end of the oval field, the end where those contestants who had already competed were gathered. From the number of mermyds lounging about, chatting with one another, she judged that the Fifth Trial must be almost over. The high rope rack on which contestants awaited their turn to speak had only two mermyds left on it. A third mermyd was drifting before the Avatar Selenus, who was asking the Question of Judgment. Each contestant was given a different problem on which to play magistrate.
“And so,” Selenus was saying, her vo
ice carrying throughout the arena, “a hunter comes to you suing against a kelp farmer who has planted in the areas where prey used to be plentiful. The prey will not live among the kelp, and the hunter is forced to seek prey elsewhere. What is your judgment?”
The contender replied, “The kelp farmer must give the hunter some of his harvest, in the same value as what the hunter has lost. . . .”
Nia didn’t listen to the rest. She had heard lots of questions like that during her rhetoric classes at the Academy. She always thought the answers were so obvious.
Nia slipped down to the wall separating the field from the stands, leaning against it. She could pick out Cephan in the middle of the milling contestants, but he was too far away to yell to. She tried to catch his eye and wave. He didn’t see her, but someone else did—a mermyd standing next to Garun who nudged him.
Garun turned and scowled at her. “Not now,” he mouthed.
Nia sighed. Strictly speaking, since the Trial was still under way, she shouldn’t be trying to talk to any competitor, but if their part was already done, what was the harm? Still, she found a corner between the edge of a riser and the access tunnel entrance where she curled up to wait.
Finally Selenus announced that the Fifth Trial was over. “Results of the winning finalists will be posted in the morning. However, I will now read the list of those six clans that have been eliminated: Dolphin, Anemone, Barracuda, Seahorse, Stingray, and Narwhal.
Well, Nia thought, Balasai will be disappointed. Wait, did she say Stingray?
“No!” Cephan cried from the field.
Nia flung herself to the dividing wall. Cephan was clutching his hair and staring up at the Dome. Other contestants went to him and patted him on the shoulders. They helped him off the field and toward the participant’s entry tunnel right beneath where Nia was. But as he passed Garun, Cephan shot a very angry glare at him.