by Dima Zales
“I can assure you that you will never see me again,” Aazuria said. “If Callder recovers from his wound enough to be moved, I will send him to you with a heavy military escort, several hundred warriors strong. They will arrive on the beach just outside—you may then transport him to preferred facilities with your vehicle. Similarly, if Callder dies, I will send his body to you in the same way. In either case, I will not be with the convoy.” She swallowed as she repeated her decision. “You will never see me again.”
She always abided by her declarations. Once decreed, it was a matter of honor to fulfill her own pronouncement. Her words would become cheap and empty; their power would be diminished if she used them carelessly—and if a woman did not have her words, what did she have? She turned to leave.
“Aazuria,” he groaned, clutching his bleeding arm. “Just know that I love you.”
“Love is worthless without trust and acceptance.”
Right before she crossed the threshold she turned back to him, feeling pity for his injured state. She had desperately needed to gaze upon him one last time; in spite of all that had happened, she treasured the sight of him. His face still affected her body like a good meal, delivering nourishment and energy where she was deficient. She knew that she would spend her life pining for him, and wondering what she could have done differently to change their ghastly fate. She had never really loved someone before, not like this; she had never known what it was like to be romantically attached to a man. She was sure that she had made all the wrong decisions, but she did not know how to remedy anything. It was all destroyed.
She wished she could say all this to him. She allowed her lips to part, and let the words which chose to flow forth choose themselves. She had relinquished all control of the situation. “In five hundred years, I have never seen Visola show mercy to someone who tried to hurt me. There are two reasons that you are alive right now. The first is that I also love you. The second is that the woman who shot you is your grandmother.”
With that she marched out of the house, and strode out of his life permanently. He never saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. She continued walking across his front lawn, and across the road which ran in front of his house. When she reached the beach, she kept going until she stepped off the land permanently. Moments after her tears had begun gushing forth, they were washed away and absorbed by the ocean.
34
Trevain did not know whether he wanted to go out to sea because he was hoping to find Aazuria, or because he was hoping to find Atargatis. He just knew that it was the only possible option for him. It was the only thing he knew how to do remotely correctly. And if they lost another man? He did not mind as long as he was the man.
He had called up his crew, and no one had agreed with his idea. “It’s the last fishing week of the season,” he had coaxed, “we won’t get to fish again for months.” He had pulled every string, called in every favor, and begged for them to assemble. He needed this.
Now, as they all stood on the docks, the hesitation hung in the air like a foul stench. Everyone looked as though Trevain had asked them to step into the waiting jaws of a hungry creature known to chomp down mercilessly.
“I don’t know if I’m really in the mood,” Doughlas said.
“It’s not sex,” Trevain said harshly. “It’s work.”
“Are you sure about this, Cap’n?” Ujarak asked, chomping on his cigar more uneasily than ever before.
Trevain turned on his men angrily. “I gave you all what you asked for! I let you take my boat and fish. And now my brother’s gone. You convinced me again! Arnav was killed. This time I want to go out and catch crabs, just to relieve stress because I’ve lost everything. I lost Callder, my mother, and my fiancée. I don’t have anything left. So give me this.”
“What happened to Mrs. Murphy?” Edwin asked with concern.
“She escaped from the psychiatric hospital,” Trevain answered bitterly. “She’s as good as dead.”
Brynne recognized this destructive behavior as more characteristic of Callder than of his older brother. She felt extremely jittery about this emergency fishing trip; it was evident that something was about to go horribly wrong. It always did lately. Going out to sea was inviting Death over for supper and expecting her not to feast on the other dinner guests. Now, with three empty place settings at the table, Brynne felt foolish about having a dinner party at all—but her captain had polished up the utensils, and Death remained on the guest list. Brynne wanted to hit him.
Nevertheless, it was true that they all owed it to Trevain to be there for him. She knew from Mr. Fiskel that he had also recently sustained a serious injury to his arm. It never snows, she thought to herself.
When all the men walked off muttering to prepare the boat, Brynne approached Trevain privately. “For what it’s worth, Captain,” Brynne said, putting a hand on his back and speaking to him gently, “I think that Aazuria was a lunatic to let you go.”
He stood on the dock, staring out at the water vacantly. “I was really hostile to her, Brynne. I said some awful things. I was even rough with her.” He rubbed his arm absent-mindedly.
“No way! I don’t believe that,” Brynne said with a frown. “You’re the kindest guy I know. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“Apparently I do,” he said wretchedly. “I’m not this great person everyone thinks I am. I’m just a brainless fuck-up like any other guy.”
He walked away. Brynne sighed and glanced after his retreating form. She sat down on the edge of the docks and dangled her feet off the side. She had never seen the reliable and mature Trevain act this way. She supposed that love and loss could turn even the most solid fortress into pudding. She could feel that he was heartbroken. She could also feel that he was hoping to join his brother.
Brynne pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her calves and resting her chin on her kneecaps. She could not say that she did not understand the way Trevain felt. Since Callder had died, she had often entertained such thoughts. She had often wished that she could go off to sea, and be part of some “accidental” accident. She had never realized what a huge part of her life Callder had been until he was gone. She had always pushed him away and pretended she had not needed him, and she had done so knowing that he would be there smiling at her the next day. She had wasted so much time that she could have spent with him, and now she was suffering for it with no end in sight.
She could see in Trevain’s eyes that he felt the same way; perhaps even worse. She vowed to herself that she would keep an eye on him closely on the fishing trip; she would not allow anything to happen to him. He would never leave her watchful care. She almost did not care what happened to anyone else, but she knew she owed it to Callder to take care of Trevain. Brynne hugged her knees tighter as she gazed out at the water. She wondered how she could never tire of looking at the sea.
“Hey, sweet pea,” came a caring female voice. “I heard about what happened on your boat a while back.”
Brynne was about to snap at the woman for calling her “sweet pea” but then she relented. It was rare to see another woman on the docks. It was also nice to hear a kindly voice and see a vaguely familiar face. She was not sure who the woman was, but she thought she recognized her, possibly from a local bar. “Yeah. We haven’t been out to sea since then. We lost three men this year—is that crazy or what? One of them was my ex-boyfriend.”
“It’s been a bad season, love. I’m so sorry for your loss.” The blonde woman sighed. “Did you know two boats have disappeared completely? What horrible luck. I pray for my husband like three times a day when he’s fishing. It’s so dangerous out there. Is there anything I can do?”
“Nah,” said Brynne, waving her hand dismally. “Unless you’ve got a time machine.”
“Sorry, sweet pea. Haven’t got one of those.” The woman managed a small smile. “I do have some extra rice and beans though. I was just down here delivering some food to my husband’s boat. I swear, if I didn’t do somethin
g about it, these men would live on potato chips.”
Brynne laughed at that. “God, I know what you mean! Sure, I’ll take whatever you’ve got. I’ve been in kind of a crappy mood and have slacked off on the grocery shopping.”
“I’ll be right back, sweet pea—let me just grab some stuff from the trunk.”
Brynne smiled at the woman’s generosity. Sometimes the kindness of a stranger was all one needed to lift their spirits and brighten their day.
35
Aazuria knelt on the carpet before her father’s frozen tomb, staring up into his colorless face.
The royal mausoleum was one of the few rooms in the ice palace which was not filled with water. The bodies of ancient kings and queens were entombed in ornately carved, vertically positioned ice coffins, and preserved here so that future generations could look upon the faces and bodies of their ancestors. It rather reminded Aazuria of Trevain’s macabre museums.
Barefoot, and bare-legged, wearing a sea-foam green tunic with a short sword strapped to her hip, this was the first time that Aazuria had physically faced what she had done. She had been sitting in the respectful position of seiza for many hours. Her whole body was numb. When she had first come to the mausoleum, she had tried to kneel respectfully before her father, but her body had refused to comply. Instead, she found herself doubling over until her forehead and arms rested on the carpet, as she wept. This was balasana, or more appropriately, child’s pose. She was kneeling prostrate and in deference.
“Papa,” she had sobbed. “Papa, you were right. What have I done?” With her forehead against the carpet, she could see the world more clearly. “It is better here. It has always been better. I should have left things as they were. If we all stayed and died here it would have been easier than going out into that awful world, with all those awful people.” She had cried for hours until the carpet became soaked, and her warm tears began to freeze in a small radius around her face. “I’m so sorry, Papa.” She continued to cry until there was a small sheet of ice beneath her forehead and nose.
She had not moved from this spot since she had returned to Adlivun. Once she had seen that her sisters were safe, she had come directly to this chamber to wallow in her lot.
When she could no longer rest her face on the frozen carpet, she forced herself to cease her sniveling and straighten into seiza. Aazuria felt suddenly rejuvenated. She was still on her knees, but not in the same pathetic way as before. She was on her knees not as a servant, but as an equal. Not as a beggar, but as a warrior. Aazuria closed her eyes. She imagined her organs untangling themselves from the jumbled mess in which they had been knotted, and aligning themselves properly. She imagined the natural ease with which her breath and energy traveled through her body; all the channels which had been blocked with the rocks and lumber of anguish and the caulk of vitriol opened one by one as she willed it. She sat for hours more in long solitude and reflection, until she felt healed.
She opened her eyes and saw the small sheet of ice on the carpet that had been created by her tears. She smiled at it, knowing that she had cried all the weakness and negativity out of her system. She looked up at her father’s body, and she smiled at him too.
“What happened with Trevain made me question everything I knew, Father. The truth is, I have made peace with what happened between us, and I know that I did the right thing. If not for me, for everyone else. I loved you every day of my life, and will continue to love you for every day that remains—but you were a dark shadow on the brilliant light of Adlivun. Everyone stands a little more proudly, everyone breathes a little more freely now that you are gone. You were my father, and you were good to me; but for too long that blinded me to all the other elements of your character.”
Aazuria gazed up at her father until she was interrupted by a sound from behind her. She turned around to see that Elandria had entered the room.
“Aazuria, you cannot stay here all day and all night,” her sister signed. “It is not healthy to reminisce about things like this.”
“I am feeling much more clear-headed now,” Aazuria responded, also using her hands. “I really needed to come here and confront my guilt and shame.”
Elandria looked up at the man her sister was kneeling before. “I think I need that too. It is funny. I see him now and I feel only sadness, pity, and regret; yet when he was alive I felt only fear of his next motion or word.”
“I know what you mean,” Aazuria responded. “I am sorry it took me so long to do what was needed to be done. A hundred years sooner and perhaps we would not be in the situation we are right now; preparing for war.”
“Everything happens exactly when it is meant to happen, sister. Perhaps if things had been different you would never have met Trevain, and we would not have Alcyone back.”
“Yes. A good thing did come from all this mess.”
“Aazuria, I do not know what happened with Trevain, but he is honorable; he just needs time to adjust to our ways. There is no one that I would rather have as my brother.” Elandria gave Aazuria an affectionate smile as she signed this. “Please promise me that after the war is over you will try to make it work with him.”
“I do not know if I can…” Aazuria looked back up at her father pensively.
A sound pierced the silence of the mausoleum; the whizzing of an arrow.
Aazuria turned back to her sister just in time to see Elandria’s eyes go wide. The silent woman placed a hand to her chest, gasping as she began falling to the floor.
“Elan!” Aazuria yelled, scrambling off the ground and rushing to catch her sister before she fell. “No!”
Elandria felt the softness of her sister’s breast against her cheek. Her hand reached up to grab Aazuria’s arm in a vise-grip. She looked at her sister with horror in her eyes. “Aazuria…” her voice rasped. She was too weak to use her hands, and her eyes were filled with the fear of impending death. “Forgive him.”
This was all she managed to say before she slipped out of consciousness.
36
Aazuria felt the heavy fiberglass arrow protruding from her sister’s back. It was meant for underwater bow fishing. She could not break it or remove it without causing Elandria further injury. She firmly pressed her hand to skin around the arrow’s point of entry, feeling powerless to help her sister. There was nothing she could do. Elandria would be dead within minutes. She took several calmative breaths before lifting her burning eyes to see the face of the attacker.
A tall blonde woman was leaning against the door frame with a smug look on her face as she appraised her handiwork, callously gauging the degree of damage she had caused.
“Koraline,” Aazuria said in a quiet voice, “how could you do this?”
“The name’s Atargatis now, sweet pea. For the record, it was pretty easy. I just pulled the string and aimed.”
“Elandria never hurt anyone!” Aazuria moaned in a distraught voice as she cradled her sister’s body against her chest. “This is not fair. This is not right.”
“At least it got your attention,” Atargatis said, casually strolling around the mausoleum. She stopped when she was standing before Kyrosed’s transparent casket. “Oh, lookie here. What a sight for sore eyes. My ex-lover, frozen solid in a brick of ice! So he really is dead. You really did off your pops!”
“Yes,” said Aazuria, closing her eyes tightly. She felt for Elandria’s pulse, and it was still there, but weak. “Please, will you let me take my sister to the infirmary? She could still make it if I hurry.”
“Nah,” said Atargatis, turning to Aazuria and aiming an arrow directly at her head. “I need some important information from you first.”
“Ask,” said Aazuria, seriously. When Atargatis just smiled at her, she raised her voice and shouted, “Ask!”
“Cool down, sweet pea. You know, you were such a pretty ballerina in your little tutu. All I want to know is exactly how you killed Kyrosed Vellamo. Every detail—tell me how much he suffered, and describe the look in his eyes
. I’ve spent so many years imagining it that I’m rather miffed that you denied me the honor.”
“If you were so angry that he took Corallyn from you, then why are you not embracing your daughter right now?” Aazuria asked furiously. “Why are you here, killing Elandria, instead of taking what you came for? This is the woman who took care of your daughter, someone who was as much a victim of my father as you were! This will not go unpunished.”
“Did I ever tell you how flattered I am that you folks named her after me? Anyway, I have captured my daughter already, and she is held in custody by my men. But I want a few other things. Revenge; on Kyrosed and anyone he held dear (that includes you and the dead girl in your arms, sweet pea) and—damn, what was the other one? Oh, yes. All of Adlivun. Can I have it? Pretty please?”
Aazuria frowned. Atargatis still held the arrow pointed directly at her eye. Elandria was dying or dead in her arms; she was too terrified check her pulse again to find out. Visola had been guarding her, and obviously Atargatis had somehow gotten past Visola. Aazuria did not want to admit to herself that Visola was probably dead. If Visola was slain there was no hope at all; taking an arrow to her brain would be the best case scenario. There should have been dozens of other guards in the castle as well. It seemed that her nemesis really did hold all the cards. Would it make any difference if she surrendered now?
She thought of Trevain. Her chest constricted with grief. How foolish she was! Here she knelt, holding her dead sister in her arms. Corallyn was in the hands of enemy forces while the worst could have happened to her dearest friends, Visola and Sionna. To top it all off, it looked like Koraline was eager to release the arrow pointed at her head—and all she could think about was Trevain. Memories of his face filled her mind in full color, and she ached at the thought of never touching him again. She thought of the last words that she had spoken to him, and how awful the fight had been.