Wide Wild Deep

Chapter IV: The Ring of Fire


The crowd roared like the wrath of the seas as Orm entered the arena. The people were cheering for him: they knew Orm was the one true King, willing to make the hard choices, willing to fight for his people.

"People of Atlantis, hear me! My brother has come from the surface to challenge me for the throne!" Arthur was just the would-be-usurper, the bastard that held a claim to the throne only because of their mother's weakness. He didn't care about Atlantis; he knew nothing of their ways and had never even been there before that very day.

"Let's settle this the ancient way – by bloodshed to the gods they make known their will!" The crowd bellowed in approval; bloodthirsty like sharks circling their prey. Arthur was met with a frenzied array of boos and hisses, shouts of traitor! For a moment, he looked overwhelmed, apprehensive, uncertain. It made Orm deeply satisfied. His brother was going to get an education indeed.

This was Atlantis. The greatest kingdom in the world, steeped in rich history, unparalleled innovation, continuous marvel. The mighty foundation laid by their great ancestors was upheld by the strength of Atlantis' people, their devotion and service to their kingdom. From the very first beat of his heart, Orm's life had belonged to Atlantis – Arthur didn't even understand his life wasn't truly his own.

If anyone needed a reminder of Orm's continuous service to the kingdom, the screen presenting the fighters listed all of his many accomplishments. Arthur, however, had none. He only had cons: surface dweller, half-breed, drunk. Orm watched as Arthur's face darkened as he saw the screen. Does the truth hurt, dear brother?

The great octopus started to drum, the sound reverberating all around them, the very beat of the ancient kingdom's heart. It was time to acknowledge the adversary: the brothers struck the prongs of their weapons together once, then banged the shafts against the ground. It was the moment for any last words.

Orm looked at the man before him, so different and changed from the boy he had met years ago. There were so many things he wanted to say to his brother. Why didn't you ever come to see me after Orvax died? Why do you defend the surface dwellers over your own people? Do you hate all of us because of what happened to our mother? Do you hate me? But a stranger stood before him, and Orm could not voice any of his questions, show any weakness.

It seemed Arthur didn't have anything to say to Orm either; he kept quiet, looking at Orm with heavy dark eyes. Years ago, those same eyes had met Orm's with warmth and sincerity as his big brother had said, I've got you. Regret tried to dilute his resolution, but Orm pushed it purposefully away. There was no place for hesitation, remorse or mercy in the arena. Only strength prevailed. Despite many obvious shortcomings, Orvax had been a strong leader, who had kept Atlantis equally strong – and Orm had every intention of surpassing his father in every way. He would be the king Atlantis needed to survive, to thrive.

"You have my mother's trident, powerful but flawed like her. I field my father's, and it has never known defeat!" The time for words over, Orm leapt towards Arthur, ready to strike him down. His brother parried, and the fight was truly on.

They twisted, turned, struck. Their parents' tridents clashed with thunder, the force of their blows felt deep in their bones. Neither held back the strength of their bodies, the violence of their attack. Arthur was a fierce fighter, something his large, trained form had insinuated at the first glance, when they had met again. Orm was pleased and thrilled to find out they were evenly matched – his victory would be that much greater.

Arthur might have been a superior fighter on land, but water was under Orm's dominion, and he had mastered fighting under the surface when he had still been just a boy. Nonetheless, it was clear Arthur had had some of the same training; a sudden jab of his trident forced Orm to bend backwards, the sharp point of his brother's weapon passing only by inches from his face. He retaliated by kicking Arthur hard in the chest, shoving his brother several metres back.

At once, they crashed into each other again and shot across the lava field, trading furious hits over the fiery inferno. Arthur took hold of Orm's trident, his eyes reflecting the hellish glow of the Ring of Fire. They sped forward again, circling the spectators' gallery, striking a rock wall, neither letting go of the other. Orm pressed the shaft of his weapon brutally against Arthur's throat even as they twisted around and around, hitting another rock hard. The exhilaration of the deadly dance heightened every sense; body blooming with pain, blood rushing, heart beating frantically, Orm felt more alive than ever before.

Still tightly locked together, they raced towards the lava, spinning. Let us burn together, Orm thought madly, but Arthur was already letting go, their tridents separating, and Orm plunged alone ever nearer to the deadly sea of fire. He managed to stop his breakneck descent just in time, the heat licking his face. Furious, he stuck his trident to the lava, using it to flung a fireball at Arthur – who deflected it with his own weapon.

Orm shot up as Arthur charged down towards him. They met in the middle, the force of their mighty collision making the whole arena tremble and gasp. Here was history made present, past awakened anew: they were the descendants of gods and monsters, two behemoths fighting to the very end. Locked together in an eternal deadly embrace, shedding the same blood, piercing the same flesh, tearing the same heart. Brother against brother.

High above the Ring of Fire, they came to stand on the rim of a huge stone shield that the ancient warrior statue proudly carried. They traded savage blows back and forth, neither willing to give any ground to the other. But finally, it seemed that Orm's rage was stronger, fiercer, more absolute, and with every hit he struck Arthur harder. He wanted to crush Arthur, wanted to beat him down, every punch and hit a sharing of his own anger and anguish. He wanted his brother to feel the hurt. Yelling in fury, Orm knocked Arthur to the ground, and struck his trident against his brother's, onetwothreefour times. On the fourth strike, Atlanna's trident broke in half.

Arthur looked at the broken weapon in his hands in disbelief, defeated. And Orm – the moment he had broken his mother's trident, something had also shattered in him. Brittle and twisted they might have been, but the shards made him stronger at last, the broken pieces reaffirming his purpose, his way. He had finally let go of the past, of his mother's pale, sad-eyed ghost. He had won.

The crowd cheered as Orm glided in the water above Arthur, victorious. "I am the one, true King!"

He twirled his trident and looked down at his brother, who was still on his knees on the ground. Arthur had lost, and Orm had the strength, he had the power – he raised his weapon high to strike –

Seemingly out of nowhere, a whirlpool of water suddenly enveloped him, taking him within its whirling vortex. Orm fell towards the red lava, his father's weapon still gripped tightly in his hands. For one long, agonizing moment, he thought he was going to die, drown in the Ring of Fire, burnt to his very core.

And then Orm hit the ground hard, gasping in the air pocket, painfully expelling water from his lungs. He had hardly any time to act, to think, before the waters rushed again over him, the air pocket bursting with the pressure of the sea. Once more he was left to adjust himself, to struggle to get up, to keep fighting. High above him, his people clamoured in protest, and Mera was taking Arthur away, rescuing him from the inevitable fate of his defeat.

Orm was left shouting her name, and cursing them both, his victory robbed from him by bitter betrayal.