Chapter 39: Movement
If the world were ever to end, surely its death throes would be akin to this.
The merboy clung to the rock for dear life as the colossal titans locked each other in combat once more. Both towered thousands of feet over the ocean, tall as the mountains that guarded the coastline behind them. Every movement of theirs riled the waters and air further, calling forth great waves and vortices that could devour ships whole and gusts that could flatten forests. One titan glowed white, its body radiating light like a star on the darkest night save its ominous black eyes. The other titan was pitch as the deepest cavern, the light of its foe illuminating a pale trace of its monstrous features. Its furious orange eyes stood out against its body like small suns. Bolts of lightning flashed down, illuminating them for moments as thunder rent the air in its sharp cracking voice, only to be drowned out by the giants' bellows as they fought tooth and nail for their prize.
The trident.
The merboy struggled to keep his hiding spot as the earth shook with their quaking steps. In his short life the trident was always small enough for him to hold in both hands. Now it was larger than his imagination, blazing a brilliant white color like the titan wielding it. Three radiant lights of blue, white, and yellow shone from the forks. The trident crackled, buzzed, and screamed with raw untamed magic while the titans struggled to wrest it from each other. Bolts of magic flew forth at random, striking the mountains and sea with lightning, water, and ice.
"YOU WILL NOT HAVE VICTORY!" shouted the white titan, its hair dancing with electricity as it pushed its foe back. "NOT THIS TIME!"
The white titan tried to wrench the trident free, but its dark foe would not yield its grip, moving with the trident as it pulled back. The tips of the trident dipped into the ocean, sending a freezing wave of arctic aurora racing over the waters. The waves were frozen in place, their white-capped peaks sharp as spears. The titans wrenched on the trident again, the ice shattering like glass under their enormous steps. Dozens of lightning bolts fled from the trident, annihilating the ice in explosions of steam as other bolts fled into the clouds, bringing forth a new chorus of thunder.
The black titan snarled, exposing teeth larger than trees. Its eyes glowed brighter, muscles bulging as its magic poured new strength into its limbs. It pushed back against the white titan, throwing it off balance with the unexpected burst of force. It drove its gleaming foe towards the shoreline mountains and, with a mighty heave and a roar, shoved the luminous titan against them. The ground heaved and rocked, knocking the merboy from his hiding place and into the waters as the mountain came down in an avalanche of stone and earth. He tumbled through the waters till he was plastered up against a rock, his fingers quickly finding a meager edge to grip as he hauled himself out of the churning surf.
"YOU ARE THE ONE WHO WILL NOT HAVE VICTORY!" yelled the black titan as it bore down on the white titan. "I SWEAR THIS DAY WILL SEE THE FINAL END OF YOU!"
The white titan glowed brighter as electricity surged over its arms. "NEVER!"
With a roar the white titan sent the lightning into the chest of its opponent. The black titan roared in pain, keeping its hold through sheer will. The white titan sent another wave of bolts into the black titan, forcing it back. The lightning loosened its grip, and the white titan took full advantage of the opening. It drew the trident back and then stabbed the forks at the black titan's chest. The black titan's hand parried the forks away, but it still tore a giant slash across its chest. Glowing red-orange blood gushed out, throwing up clouds of hissing steam when it struck the water. The black titan roared in pain but then swung its hand back, striking the white titan across the face. The sound was like a hundred thunderheads as the white titan's head whipped to the side. The white titan abruptly swung the shaft of the trident up into the black titan's face. There was a thunderous crash as the black titan was sent reeling back, tidal waves birthed from each of its steps. Then came a terrible crash as it fell backwards. Several mountains came crumbling down, unable to withstand the shockwave.
Yet the black titan was not bested. In a remarkable feat of dexterity for a being so colossal it rolled with its fall, performing a reverse somersault that righted it onto one knee. Ice clung to its face as lightning danced across its smoking body. The laceration through its chest suddenly burst into flames, and then the fire disappeared to reveal unmarked hide.
The merboy clung to the rock as another wave washed over, threatening to rip him free if his hold lightened for even a moment. The wave passed, leaving him sputtering and spitting as the black titan stood.
"YOUR DEFIANCE DIES HERE!" shouted the white titan. It pointed the trident at its enemy. The forks glowed brighter as light collected at their tips, growing and then combining into a giant white ball. It bristled with cold air and lightning, charging the winds swirling around it. "TRIDENT…!"
The black titan growled as it set its feet, standing firm as the ocean sent waves tall enough to swamp houses lapping against its ankles. It raised its hands overhead. A speck of red light appeared between its palms, and then it swelled as large as the trident's own blazing spell. A heat surged forth, causing the water on the merboy's skin to evaporate. He felt his lips crack and split as the air became desert dry. The black titan roared as it hurled the ball of destructive magic at the white titan.
"DESTROY!" shouted the white titan, sending its own magic to meet the attack.
The magics streaked through the air and collided, twisting and entwining in a ball of red and white light before detonating with meteoric force. The explosion sent forth a blinding eruption of light, vaporizing the raging sea beneath clear to the ocean floor, turning sand and silt into molten glass. The air quaked as the shockwave ripped through it, sending the turbulent waters of the ocean tearing forth in a monstrous wave before a powerful vacuum sucked them back. The clouds tore apart, revealing the sapphire blue of the heavens for a moment before a mushroom cloud of steam, fire, and smoke rose to obscure it once more, lightning leaping from it to the ocean and storm.
The merboy was forced to duck behind his rock as baking hot air blasted into it with the roar of a hurricane. Spray flew up as waves crashed into his hiding spot, the water hot against his skin. His ears rang like bells, eyes squinted against the spray and wind.
There was a loud crack. Part of the mushroom cloud was blown away as the black titan swung its arm, dispelling it with brute strength alone. Its beastly face was twisted in a furious snarl, eyes aglow with incalculable anger.
"THE DEATH SHALL BE YOURS!" hollered the black titan. "I WILL DESTROY EVERY PIECE OF YOU AND YOUR ACCURSED HAVEN, ONCE AND FOR ALL!"
It drew its hand back, a giant orb of crimson light forming in its palm. With a roar it swung its arm, tearing the air with booming cracks as it flung the orb through the remains of the mushroom cloud. The vaporous white pillar was rent apart as the crackling magic blew through and struck the white titan in the stomach. There was a blinding flash, forcing the merboy to cover his eyes as the white titan was lost in a raging fireball.
The merboy's hands lacked the strength to keep him anchored against this newest blast wave, his arms aflame with exhaustion. Another violent gust and he was swept away, thrown onto the wave-worn pebbles of the rocky beach. He rolled through the rocks, fingers clawing into them before he slid to a stop. He looked up to see a tsunami racing towards him, ready to dash him against the sheer black cliffs of this forsaken island. He watched in horror as the wave approached, its roaring voice growing louder.
"Help!" he cried out as he scrambled in futility away from the wave. "Father, help me!"
The black titan roared again as it charged into the fireball for its foe. It disappeared into the inferno for a moment and then reappeared on the opposite side as it drove the white titan out. It pressed on with its momentum, raising one foot and slamming it into the white titan's torso. A simultaneous explosion erupted at the moment of impact, sending the white titan reeling backwards then crashing down into the sea.
The merboy looked back as the shadow of the wave loomed over him. In seconds it would swallow him. He shut his eyes tight and looked away, waiting for the end in utter helplessness.
A strong force seized him around the middle. He no longer felt the rocky beach beneath his scales. It was no longer the wave roaring in his ears but the wind. He felt his organs pushed down as he suddenly accelerated, blood rushing out of his head. He opened his eyes to see the wave crash onto the beach far below, expending its energy as it surged up against the cliffs like ravenous hands of water clawing after him as he miraculously escaped.
"What are you doing out here!?"
The merboy looked up. The wind was harsh against his eyes, causing them to water as he squinted, and his head was dizzy. Blurry as he was in sight and sense, he could clearly make out the blazing eyes and hair of the black-plated winged demon now carrying him through the sky.
"This is no place for kids!" growled the demon.
Triton's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, snatching the trident and aiming at the demon's head. "Trident, sh–!"
He cut the command short as he realized where he was. This was no beach on the shores of some ravaged island. There were no clashing titans here, nor a demon whisking him into the sky. He was safe in his own bedchambers. The trident lit his room as it glowed and hummed in his outstretched hand, prepared to fire. Triton quickly extended his will to the trident, rescinding the brewing lightning bolt. The light faded from the forks as it returned to patient slumber, much like his racing pulse. He laid the weapon upon the bed and flopped back against his sea sponge pillows. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the wrinkles and weariness lining them as he sighed heavily.
This was not the first time Triton experienced that dream. It had repeated for months now, and with increasing frequency and clarity. It was only fleeting glimpses first. Mere snapshots of the titans' terrifying fight for the trident. With each return to that battle, though, more of the fragments became clear to him. Now it was less a dream and more…complete? Surely not. The discontinuity was minimal, but there was no sense to it. It was akin to seeing his reflection in a mirror pieced together from shards, the image visible but still broken. A memory then? No, that was truly preposterous. The dream felt real, but that was not uncommon. He had many dreams from many nights that felt real till he awoke. And surely, he would remember something as destructive and terrible as this battle of gods or demons, whichever they were.
He flipped his fins out of bed and sat up, running both of his large hands through his hair. He would not be getting back to sleep after that, even if it was barely dawn. He was fully awake, so he might as well start his day early. He reached back for the trident.
"Did you think you'd mastered this merely because you are king?"
Triton froze with fingers shy of the trident. The Master's words rang as clear in his mind as they did within the dark depths of the ocean. He clenched his hand tight, eliciting a tremor of exertion. Those words continued to haunt him to this day. Until that moment, lying weak and defeated on the ocean floor, he believed the trident held no secrets from him. Using it felt no less natural than swimming. It was an extension of him, no more alien than his own hands and fins. He was certain he knew all there was to it, just as his father had, and his father before him, and so on back to the first Atlantican king. He knew what miracles it was capable of, and where its limits lay. He picked up the trident, feeling the shaft's grain against his fingers and palm as the trident's magic flowed through him as a river of vitality. Ever since the massacre at the prison and his narrow brush with death, Triton no longer felt such mastery over his namesake. A quiet sea could quickly become a storm. An iceberg could be summoned from open water. Lightning could spring forth with a thought. A whale could be shrunk to a minnow and vice versa. These were feats the trident was known to perform, and ones he could elicit with ease.
But that golden beam his rage called forth at Abyssum? That unfettered magic capable of reducing an undersea volcano to rubble? That torrent of fury and light that pushed back the eternal darkness of the deep? Nothing. No matter how strong Triton willed it, how loud he gave the command, or what words he chose or emotions he held, the trident refused to show that power to him again. Even now, holding it in his hands, he felt not a glimmer of that inconceivable might. It remained beyond his reach, like trying to remember the details of a dream and realizing the once vivid images have vanished into some distant recess of the mind.
He fetched his crown and swam out of his chambers, heading for his usual morning swim around the palace. The light of dawn was just starting to appear, rendering the waters a deep blue. The homes and streets below were cloaked in twilight save a few scattered windows lit with glowshells.
"Bring everything you have against me. That way, when you lie before me in the ruins of your beloved kingdom, you will know it was inevitable. That there was nothing you could've done to stop me. That all your efforts were for nothing. Then, and only then, will you know despair."
Triton's jaw tightened as he swam around a corner. He was king of Atlantica, charged with wielding the trident and his authority to ensure the safety and well-being of all citizens and peace throughout the seven seas. He pledged it loud and clear on the day the crown was set upon his head by his grandfather King Neptune, ensuring all present and beyond would hear his promise. And for many years he kept that promise, staving off threats and dangers with diplomacy and occasional tempered force. Because of his prudence and leadership Atlantica enjoyed decades of tranquility and prosperity, which only grew with the kingdom's admission to the Alliance.
That all changed the day Abyssum and Eel Ectric City fell.
Two seasons had passed since the prison was slaughtered and the city ransacked. Atlantica mourned heavily in the weeks that followed as the dead were identified and laid to rest. Too many families and friends spent longer waiting for the search parties sent forth to find the missing, only to have their hopes turn to bitter despair as they returned empty handed each time. Gabriella, the sole survivor of Eel Ectric City, remained as unresponsive to questions about the attack as the day they found her holding onto Little Evil's lifeless body in the empty city. Now, after six months of fruitless hunts for the missing and their kidnappers, their despair was decaying to a grim resignation as the truth set in.
Their loved ones were not coming back.
Triton swam through halls and corridors he knew like the features of his own face. Through all this sorrow, his greatest pain was that of his people. He continually told himself this was not his fault. Reminded himself the enemy struck too quickly for them to mount an appropriate response. Persuaded himself they were caught off guard by the swiftness and violence of the attacks. Swore to himself they could not have prepared for an enemy they knew so little about. Comforted himself with the knowledge he and his soldiers did all they could. Assured himself that any day now they would finally have the breakthrough needed to find the taken and bring the Master and this Maelstrom he headed to justice.
Triton came to a stop outside a set of curtains serving as a door. Collecting himself with a deep breath he pushed the curtains aside and swam in. The room inside was sparse, lacking decorations and comforts save a large bed and several chairs. A large squid hovered by the bed, examining the merman sleeping in it with two arms as another pair carefully fed seaweed and plankton rolls to him, manipulating his jaw to ensure each bite was chewed and swallowed correctly.
Urchin remained as comatose and unresponsive as the day the soldiers found him on their mission to Eel Ectric City. True to the Master's word he was alive, but the injuries Urchin suffered left many worried how long he would stay that way when he was brought to Atlantica. Even with the aid of the trident's magic it was considered a miracle he had not gone the way of the poor guard from Abyssum, who eventually succumbed to his wounds.
But the trident was only able to heal Urchin's body. Whatever was keeping the merman asleep was a matter of the mind. Triton hoped Urchin would wake soon, for months of lying comatose had taken a visible toll. His once powerful physique was atrophied from disuse, and there was a gauntness to his face. His skin was paler, the scales of his fins less bright. His hair was long and unkept, much like his beard. He was a ghostly shell of his former self, wandering somewhere between the waking and dreaming worlds.
"Good morning, your majesty," said the squid, bowing as Triton swam to the opposite side of the bed.
"Has there been any change, doctor?" asked Triton.
"I'm afraid not, sire," said the squid as he wiped Urchin's mouth. "He's still unresponsive to any stimulus."
"I see." Triton used the trident to summon a chair to him, sitting down beside the bed. "What about his condition?"
"Stable. His heart, breathing, and temperature are normal. I'll send down a nurse to monitor him shortly."
"I think I will stay here for a while," said Triton. "Have the nurse come in an hour. I will let you know if anything happens."
"If that is your wish, Sire." The squid bowed again and then swam out of the room, leaving Triton alone with his captain.
Triton set the trident against the bed. He watched Urchin's chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths. He reached out and took one of Urchin's hands. It was so thin now, much like the rest of him. "Urchin? Can you hear me lad?"
Urchin gave no response to his king's touch or voice. He continued to slumber, waiting to wake in his own time.If he ever chose to awake, that is.
Triton released Urchin's hand. Through everything that happened after the disasters, and despite the assurances of his advisors, family, and people, he blamed himself. He blamed himself for allowing this to happen. For not taking measures when he could. For not increasing the guard at Abyssum. For not establishing faster communication between the outlying cities and Atlantica. For not being able to protect his people from this threat. For not being able to use the trident as he now needed to. For not going with Urchin in the first place. For being defeated by…
Defeated? Was he truly defeated? Yes, he was. That was exactly what happened. When the Master loomed over him, holding the trident in his hands, he could have snuffed Triton out like a cinder in a rainstorm. It would have been easy to bury the trident in his chest, or blast him with a lightning bolt, or freeze him in a block of ice, or turn him into a writhing worm and crush him underfoot. He had the king in a position Ursula and Morgana only ever glimpsed before victory was snatched away from them. There was no Melody or Eric to steal the Master's triumph that day. There was no one and nothing to stay his hand. He had countless ways to kill the king right there. Instead he let Triton go.
"The question you will have to ask…is why I didn't kill you."
Triton asked himself that question again and again, and again and again he found his answer when he came to see Urchin. He found it when he saw the crushed expressions of the families and friends when the search parties returned with nothing to give them closure. He saw it when he looked to the graveyard at the edge of Atlantica, rapidly expanded in a short time. He saw it in the nervous faces of the newest recruits to Atlantica's army, worried they too could end up among the gravestones. He saw it when he swam past his daughters' still empty rooms, or heard silence instead of the voices of his grandchildren in the halls.
He clasped his hands together, resting his forehead against them as he closed his tired eyes. "You wanted me to see this, didn't you?"
"Watch your hands on the railing, your majesties," said Sarah as she led Ariel and Eric up the stairs. "It hasn't been sanded down yet, so it's a bit splinter-prone."
"Can't be worse than a ship's wheel," said Eric as he followed the young woman up before turning back to offer a hand to Ariel.
"Thank you," said Ariel as she accepted his hand, brushing a bit of dust from her dress. "Where are we now, Sarah?"
"The third floor of the south wing, your majesty," said Sarah, gesturing to the hall they now stood at the head of. It stretched a full two hundred feet before them, the walls and ceiling painted an immaculate white. Simple lamp fixtures graced the walls at regular intervals, awaiting their lantern partners. Up ahead, a crew of men ripped out old wooden floorboards with cracking and creaking sounds. Behind them followed two additional crews. The lead crew was nailing down tight-fitting and smooth-sanded planks before the trailing crew smeared hot tar over their work. The smell of hot pitch and wood shavings was thick in the air.
"And what will this be?" asked Eric, moving aside a painter's canvas with his foot as they followed Sarah towards the working men.
"This will be the isolation ward," answered Sarah, stepping around a loose floorboard.
"It looks different from the other levels," commented Ariel. "It's all so…white."
"It's been painted this way for specific reasons, your highness," said Sarah. "This section–."
"Sarah, how many times have you been to the palace now?" Ariel asked, cutting her off.
Sarah turned to face Ariel, looking perplexed and perhaps worried. "Um…more times than I can count, your majesty."
"And how many times have you and I met during those visits?"
"M-more than I can remember…"
Ariel tapped her chin in thought. "You even went swimming with Melody and myself a few times, didn't you?"
Sarah gulped, clearly worried she had unknowingly offended her queen. "I…I, uh…yes."
Ariel eased her anxiety with one of her lovely smiles. "Which means you and I know each other well enough that you don't have to keep calling me 'majesty' or 'highness.' Or be so tense! Relax! We're friends now! Just Ariel is fine!"
Sarah let go of a breath she did not realize she was holding, though she still looked uncertain about being on a first-name basis with a member of royalty. "If…if that's what you'd like, your ma–Ariel."
"So…" Ariel ran a hand over the wall. The paint was cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. "You said there's a reason for the paint?"
Sarah coughed into her hand before continuing. "This section will be for treating patients with infectious or unknown illnesses. It was built according to our latest medical knowledge on transmissible disease. Every crack in every surface has been sealed up and then coated with water resistant materials to allow for easy and effective cleaning. The staff will need to follow strict rules to avoid contaminating others and themselves." She led them around one side of the crews, the men stopping to bow to the king and queen as they went past.
"Your majesties," the men said in unison.
"Gentlemen," said Eric, returning and acknowledging nod. "As you were."
"Keep up the good work!" added Ariel, flashing the men a smile. Their cheeks blushed as they bowed low to her before resuming their labor. Now seeing the trailing crew's work up close, Ariel saw they were laying down large white polished tiles over the tar, taking great care to fit them as close together as possible. The tar oozed up between the gaps as the tiles were pressed into place. A quick scrape with a trowel and a wipe with a wet rag and the escaped tar was gone.
"Why a tile floor and tar instead of wood? And why is everything white?" asked Ariel. "Isn't that expensive?"
"It is pricier than wood," acknowledged Sarah. "But polished tile and this mix of tar don't absorb water, and they're much easier to keep clean. The chemicals we use to sterilize the floors are harsh, so the tile will also last longer. White makes it easier to spot dirt and other contaminants. This way we can keep the ward clean and prevent illness from spreading between patients."
She stopped at a door at the end of the hall, pulling it open before stepping back. "If you please."
Ariel and Eric stepped inside, finding themselves in the middle of a small room. A single bed stood beside a large window in the western wall, affording a view clear out to the sea. There was a sink basin atop a white painted cabinet in the opposite corner, a single water spigot with two valves emerging from the wall above. The room was clearly not finished given the three men present, the unpainted walls, and the half-tiled floor. One man stood on a ladder by the door, painting the walls the same white as everything else as two others lay new boards into the floor. They quickly acknowledged the visitors and then resumed their work.
"This is what the rooms will look like, more or less," said Sarah, walking to stand beside the bed. "More beds could be added like the lower floors, but ideally it would be one person per room here. If needed, we can put up sheets to separate patients from each other."
Ariel walked over to the window, pushing it open to lean on the sill. The third story of the building afforded her a beautiful view of Seahaven in the spring. Trees deprived of leaves by winter's chill now bristled with new green foliage, the seeds they shed the previous year sprouting alongside grasses and shrubs. Flowers bloomed in such abundance the hills were painted with color. The air was thick with their mingling scents. Birds flittered above the new growth, their songs carried on the breeze as they sought out seeds and hatching insects to feed their young. Livestock and horses tended to their own offspring in the pastures, munching on the green blanketing the earth. The streams and rivers were swollen with water as the sun melted the snow and ice from all but the tallest mountain peaks, inviting game to drink from the crystal currents. Gulls circled above the town and marina, their calls distant but clear.
The invigorating effects of spring did not escape the humans. Spring promised much growth and prosperity to them, and the people were eager to make use of it. Ariel saw teams of men working vigorously below, transforming raw logs into usable lumber. Others were boiling tar, mixing paint, or unloading all manner of supplies and tools from wagons. Far away to the south were farmers tending their fields, finishing last minute planting to take advantage of the spring showers still to come. Wagons wound their way through the roads connecting the kingdoms of the Alliance, bringing with them whatever tools deemed necessary to remove obstacles winter may have created. Children would be frolicking about in the fields and streets of the far-off town, delighted to expend their youthful vigor outdoors after many wintry days spent inside. New babes would raise their little hands to shield against the light as they were brought out into the world. Behind it all stood the palace, tall and proud against the endless blue of the sea like a sentinel watching over its charges. A spout of white spray announced the presence of a whale in the ocean backdrop, no doubt lingering in the rich whaling-free waters of Seahaven to build its fat stores before braving the rest of its northward migration.
Ariel could not help the satisfied smile that appeared as she breathed the cool air. Though the seasons changed the forests and fields, Seahaven itself remained much the same. The marina was no doubt bustling with as much life as the forests with ships taking the place of trees, their anchors the roots and sail-laden masts the trunks. The only scar of the pirate attack would be the new lumber that replaced what was wrecked by the seaclops. In the distance Ariel could see the orphanage, men moving over the miniscule building like ants as they finished the expansion to the once dilapidated structure. It was unrecognizable now, rejuvenated and expanded with a proper staff to care for its precious residents, as well as a personal promise from king and queen it would never again fall to its miserable previous state. Isaac would no doubt be down at the marina today, his health and fishing fleet at last restored. Sarah would be returning to classes at the medical college once Ariel and Eric's private tour of the hospital was complete, the well-being of her father and the orphans no longer dependent on long hours toiling in the Mermaid's Trove. In a matter of days she would be trading the lecture rooms for these very halls, ready to serve Seahaven as one of its newest doctors.
Eric walked over to the bed, running a hand along the footboard. "Hard to believe, isn't it, Ariel?"
Ariel looked over her shoulder to him. "What is?"
"This," said Eric, gesturing to the room. "All of this. Five months ago, this place was stripped to bare wood. Nothing but an empty remnant of Avitas. Now it's going to be the hospital we always dreamed of! It's finally happening!"
Ariel nodded in agreement before returning to her window gazing. With the revocation of Richard Avitas' titles following the exposure of his crimes, the royal council was quick to seize the former lord's abandoned assets. Most of it was returned to its rightful owners, while the rest was dispensed as compensation to his victims. The fate of his grandiose home, however, was another matter. Richard had no heir, legitimate or otherwise. Nor did he have any family. Nor did he leave a will to dictate his wishes. There was talk of selling the estate, but few in the Alliance or beyond possessed the wealth required to purchase such a massive building. Of those who did, none had any interest in it. The other option was to demolish it and sell the scrap, but an assessment of the building showed this to be impractical. The value of the materials was heavily outweighed by the cost in labor to tear it down. It seemed the building would remain a vacated testament to the injustices committed by a single man's vanity and greed till it succumbed to time and nature.
That is, until Ariel put forth a proposal. Given Richard made his livelihood degrading the lives of others, why not repurpose his home for protecting those lives–specifically, as a hospital to aid the weak and sick he once tread upon?
The proposal was not as far-fetched as it sounded. Centuries of peace made Seahaven a fertile land for academics. Its role as a major shipping port encouraged not only a strong flow of trade, but also nourished a healthy exchange of ideas and knowledge. With that knowledge came the introduction of the printing press, scientific instruments such as the microscope and hypodermic needle, increasingly accurate and sensitive methods of working metal and glass, and a standardized system of units and measurement accompanied by advancements in the natural sciences–especially in chemistry and biology. This influx of information, combined with an atmosphere conducive to inquiry and science, brought forth rapid progress in the medical capabilities of Seahaven's nurses and doctors. Eric and Ariel's reign was witnessing the last traditional medical practices based in logic and old theories being phased out for empirical treatments based in rigorous academia and real-world observation. These advancements drew students from the Alliance and beyond like moths to a flame, eager to ask their questions and get some answers–or, if nobody had one, find it for themselves. The result was an environment of inquiry, discovery, and growth that made Seahaven's medical expertise the most sought out in the western kingdoms.
However, medical advances were difficult to implement without facilities to match. Seahaven's current hospital was over a hundred years old and out of step with the current trends in medicine, not to mention becoming cramped. Eric had been discussing building a new hospital for years, but the task was riddled with roadblocks. The architecture and materials of the old hospital were not conducive to expansion, nor could it be done without stopping the treatment of patients or encroaching on neighboring properties. The alternative was to construct an entirely new one, but this was fraught with its own problems. Even with frugal planning, the volume and cost of the materials alone was tremendous, and that was before operations and supplies came into the picture. Not even a moderate tax increase would be enough, and Seahaven's citizens already paid generously to their kingdom, from the richest noble to the simplest peasant. On top of that, the location needed to be close to the town with proper roads for ease of access, but far enough away that it could be isolated should a dangerous disease make itself known. Even then, it would need to allow for future expansions not if, but when the need arose. There was no spot in the kingdom that fulfilled these conditions, and Eric was not about to seize someone's property to make one. It seemed the dream of the first modern hospital in the western kingdoms would remain nothing more than a fantasy.
Ariel's suggestion, however, quickly turned that fantasy into a reality. A review of the Avitas estate by a swarm of architects, doctors, engineers, and surveyors yielded unanimous approval. The estate was within three miles of the town over relatively level ground, with well-maintained roads that could accommodate the breadth of three coaches. The expansive gardens, left to wither in Richard's absence, could be cleared to provide space to expand the hospital. As for the building itself, it was more than large enough to accommodate the medical needs of the kingdom and then some. Estimates of the expenses for a remodel were slightly above those needed to retrofit the original hospital, but far below what would be required to construct one from scratch. The architecture was old but with solid foundations, making it sturdy enough to allow for a redesign and to withstand the human forces a hospital was sure to bring.
Eric went over to the water basin and turned the valve. Cold, clear water flowed out in a smooth stream, but to his surprise the basin did not fill. The water quickly flowed through a metal grate in the bottom of the basin. Eric opened the cabinet underneath to find a pipe running down into the floor, water echoing within it as it flowed back to the earth.
"Running water and a drainage system for each room! That's incredible!" he declared in amazement. "How did you manage that?"
Sarah went to stand beside him, a rather proud smile on her face. "It's rather complex, but basically we–."
"There…you are…your majesties!"
Everyone looked to the door to see a wheezing Grimsby leaning heavily against the frame. His cheeks puffed like bellows as he dabbed his brow with a kerchief, face red as a pepper and legs trembling.
"Grims? What are you doing here?" asked Eric. "More importantly, are you okay?"
"No need…to concern yourself…with me…your majesty!" panted Grimsby as he straightened himself up only to double over a moment later, arms braced on his knees. Given his shaking and the sheen of sweat over his brow, no one entirely believed him. "Just a little…winded coming…up the stairs after…the ride here! Hoo! I just need…a minute to…to catch my breath!"
"Ride? He looks like he ran all the way here!" Ariel whispered to herself.
Sarah strode over to Grimsby and took his arm. "I think you better sit down, sir," she said, guiding him towards the bed. "That's it, nice and easy. Wait there and I'll get you some water."
Grimsby sat down hard on the mattress, almost flopping over backwards. Sarah went over to the water basin and opened the cabinet beneath, producing a glazed clay cup from inside. She filled it with water and brought it back to Grimsby.
"Ah. Thank you…Miss Sarah," said Grimsby as he accepted the cup. He managed one polite sip before downing the rest in three greedy gulps. "Your gesture is…much appreciated!"
Sarah nodded. "I'll get you some more."
Ariel went and sat beside the still winded man. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be overseeing the last preparations for the trip?"
Grimsby looked to her, his oxygen-starved brain taking a moment to register who was speaking to him. "The trip? The trip…the trip…ah yes! The princess! And Miss Anclagon! That's precisely what I….what I wanted to ask your majesties! Are they here?"
Sarah was about to walk over with a fresh cup of water till Grimsby spoke, noticing the way he started leaning to one side before catching himself. She stopped, looked at the single cup she held, and then went back to the basin for a second one.
"Last time I saw them was just before we left to come here," said Eric. "They said they were going to stay around the palace today."
"What does that have to do with the trip?" asked Ariel.
"It's…" Grimsby paused to guzzle down both cups of water Sarah offered him. He was speaking more evenly now, no longer gasping for air like a fish on deck. "It's the royal tailor, your highness! He's due to fit Princess Melody and Miss Anclagon for the ball in…!" Grimsby pulled a well-polished watch from his pocket. "Less than an hour, but neither the princess nor Miss Anclagon are anywhere to be found! I've already checked the orphanage, the marina, and the 'tavern,' as Miss Anclagon sees fit to call it! But they were neither present nor seen at any of them this day!"
Ariel suppressed the urge to groan out loud. She should have known this would happen. She, Eric, and Melody were set to head north in a week for a ball King Ben of Glowerhaven was hosting. That of course meant finding everyone clothes suitable for such an event, including one Lara Anclagon. And Lara, given her distaste for the very idea of dresses, was none too quiet about her grievances regarding the dress code. She complained about it ever since she learned the party was happening. Given her aversion to all formal attire, Eric and Ariel gave express orders to the guards to keep Lara in the palace today so she could be fitted. That, and reminded Melody lest she forget. From the sound of things, their plan failed; not that it was especially surprising. They should have known it would take more than guards to keep those two from sneaking off somewhere for who knows what.
"And you're sure they're not in the palace?" asked Eric.
Grimsby nodded vigorously. "As sure as I can be, your highness! I had Carlotta and the help lend their eyes and ears to scour the place, but there's no trace of them in, on, or around the palace grounds!" He looked at Ariel. "Your family has not seen them either!"
Ariel's brow furrowed in thought. If they were not in the palace or out in the town, where could they have….ah! Of course!
Ariel stood up. "I think I know where they are, Grimsby."
Grimsby and Eric looked at her with a mix of both surprise and awe. "You do?"
"It's just a hunch, but those seem to work well when those two go missing," said Ariel as she walked to Eric and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you back home. Don't stay too long."
Eric gave her his charming smile. "Of course not. See you there."
Grimsby rose, straightening his jacket. "I shall accompany you to the palace, your highness."
Ariel turned to him, surprised to see Grimsby on his feet given his recent state. "Are you sure, Grimsby? Maybe you should rest a bit longer?"
"Nonsense, your highness! I feel perfectly fine! That, and it would serve me well to know this speculated secret hiding place so I can find them next time they choose to disappear before an appointment!"
"It's not much of a secret, actually," said Ariel, quiet enough Grimsby could not hear.
Grimsby followed after Ariel as she went out the door, his long stride quickly catching up to her. He was going fine until…
"Wait!" said Sarah as Grimsby took another step. "That board isn't–!"
Grimsby's foot came down on the board and the board came up behind him, smacking him square from head to buttock with a smarting whap! Grimsby went stumbling forward, arms flailing as he careened straight towards a freshly painted wall. Sensing the impending catastrophe that would befall his clothes, Grimsby managed to get his feet under him and came to a skidding stop beside the painter's ladder, his nose hovering inches away from the glistening wet white.
"You okay, Grims?" asked Eric as he trotted over to him.
"No need for worry, your highness," said Grimsby as he turned around, not noticing his elbow brush the ladder beside him. "The only serious injury was to my–."
Plop!
The small bump from Grimsby's elbow was enough to skitter a paint bucket on the edge of the ladder past its tipping point. It fell and landed upside-down on Grimsby's head, dousing him from head to toe in white paint.
"…Pride," Grimsby finished, slowly lifting the bucket off his head.
"Sorry, sir!" said the man on the ladder. "It got away from me!"
The ocean was silent below the waves. The noon sun cast reticulated bands of light across the reefs. Corals and seaweeds of bright and varied colors swayed over the rocks, lending the reef a vibrancy of life worthy of the most pristine rainforest. Equally radiant fish swam about, some solitary and others in great schools. A pair of sea turtles flapped their flippers as they passed over a bed of brain coral, small remoras attached to the plastron of their shells. An eerie, haunting sound radiated through the waters, lending the reef an ethereal beauty akin to a dream.
The tranquility was disrupted when a red-tailed mermaid swam through, pulling a brunette woman wearing goggles and a sword behind her. Fish and turtles quickly darted out of their way, leaving trails of bubbles in their wake.
Pressure built in Lara's ears as Melody took them deeper, following the contours of the ocean floor. She pinched her nose and blew, forcing air into her ears. There was a hiss as the pressure equalized with the sea around her. Her other hand held tight to Melody's, the princess pulling her guardian along with ease in her mermaid form. The sunbeams piercing the water made Melody's red scales glitter like gems. The water was clearer than the finest glass, allowing Lara an unfettered view of the world beneath the waves.
Melody abruptly angled up, gliding over a reef covered in red seaweed. Lara reached out with her hand, feeling the fronds slip across her palm. Six months ago, she would not have dared to venture ten feet into the sea, much less been physically or mentally capable of it. Now she found herself almost a mile from shore and a hundred feet beneath the waves being towed behind Melody as they pursued the strange sound filling the ocean. Since her first excursion into the ocean, Melody had shown her a world of wonders and fantasies Lara never imagined in her wildest dreams. So much of this was once beyond her reach, both from the depth of the water and her once paralytic thalassophobia. She had no idea the waves concealed such a breathtaking realm.
A heat began to build in Lara's lungs, signaling her need for air. She tapped on Melody's fins, getting her attention. The princess looked back at her, slowing their brisk pace. "What's up?"
Lara puffed air into her cheeks like a frog and pointed to the surface.
"Need a breath?" asked Melody.
Lara gave her a thumbs up and nodded. Melody quickly swam upwards, taking Lara to the surface. Lara felt the pressure change in her ears as they rose. Seconds later they broke the surface, the air cold on Lara's wet face. She expelled the spent breath in a great whoosh, immediately drawing fresh air back in. The heat in her chest vanished, replaced by a rejuvenating coolness. Her legs scissored in the water, keeping her afloat in the subtle swells.
"That was even longer than last time!" said Melody as she flicked her loose raven hair back. "How do you hold your breath that long?"
"Heavy training, persistence, and a bit of stubbornness," said Lara. "How much further till this 'surprise' we're hearing?"
"Not far at all!" said Melody, pointing to the open sea. "Two more reefs and we'll be there! Oh, and close your eyes this time!"
"Why?" asked Lara.
Melody gave an excited smile. "You'll see!"
Lara cocked a brow at her then shrugged, closing her eyes.
"Ready to go again?" asked Melody.
Lara nodded.
"Then what are we floating up here for?" said Melody, taking Lara's hand. "Let's go!"
Lara heard and felt Melody turn and dive back in, taking a deep breath before she was pulled under. She pinched her nose and blew to balance out the pressure in her ears again as they descended back to the sea floor. The water became cooler the deeper they went. It seemed they swam for a great distance before Melody came to a stop. Lara felt her bare feet set down on a sandy bottom. The haunting sounds were even louder than before, accompanied by low groans and sharp clicks. Lara reached out for Melody and found her shoulder.
"What is it?" asked Melody.
Lara gave a series of gestures to ask, "Can I open my eyes now?"
"Not yet. Just a bit more…okay, open!"
Lara opened her eyes. Melody had brought her to the edge of a cliff. The precipice dropped off abruptly into open water, leaving an expanse of ocean before them that stretched to blue infinity. It was as empty and endless as the sky itself.
Empty, that is, except for the pod of humpback whales swimming through it.
Melody swept an arm out to the animals. "Lara, welcome to the spring whale migration!"
Lara could only stare. This was not her first time seeing whales. But it was her first time seeing them this close or completely. They were more than twenty in the pod, predominately adults with a few calves following. They were less than a hundred feet away, and at such distance the enormity of their size was strikingly clear to Lara. Their flippers were longer than she was tall. There were trees in the Howling Forest smaller than some of them. She could feel their eyes on her, gray and black forms moving languidly through the water. The sounds they made were near deafening at this proximity.
Melody drifted to Lara's side. "So, what do you think?"
"Wow," said Lara, so awed that she forgot she was underwater. The ocean rushed into her mouth, trying to evict the air from her lungs. She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, a few bubbles escaping.
Melody laughed. "I did the same thing the first time I saw it! Want to get closer?"
Lara looked at Melody, eyes wide with surprise as though to ask if that was really possible.
Melody smiled. "Come on! Let's say hello!"
She took Lara's hand and swam off the cliff, quickly coming alongside one of the large adults. Its eye focused on Lara, and a chill went through her. What sort of thoughts did a creature of this immense size have as it beheld her smallness? What regard did it hold for a comparatively tiny being? It gave a slow blink. She felt intelligence behind those eyes, as unwavering and deep as a sage. She was vulnerable in its presence, as though its gaze alone could lay bare her closest secrets.
Her worst secrets.
The thought terrified her. Her heart responded to it, beating faster as she started to burn through her air. Melody could see the shift in Lara's state, and gave her hand a squeeze. "It's all right. They're not aggressive as long as you don't threaten them." She turned to face the whale. "Isn't that right?"
The whale gave a deep humming response. Was Lara imagining things, or did it just smile? Could whales smile? The sensation of vulnerability rapidly faded, her once stampeding heart slowing down. Melody swam closer to the whale, whispering something into what Lara guessed was its ear. Suddenly Melody swam out in front of the animal and released Lara, leaving her suspended in the water.
"Just stay there," said Melody as she swam to one of the whale's flippers.
Lara was about to wonder what she was supposed to stay there for when the whale came straight at her. She started swimming backwards fast as possible, but she was out of her element in the sea. The whale closed in and nudged her with its snout, flipping Lara around and then pushing into her back. It gave a shrill song and suddenly angled upwards with a tremendous burst of speed. Lara found herself pinned to the front of its giant mouth, unable to move against the water flowing against her. Panic rose in her as she was rocketed towards the surface. What did Melody just ask this marine behemoth to do? She was a mouse next to it, and not graced with the ability to swim or breathe underwater like a fish, much less a mermaid. The whale could seriously injure her without even trying!
"Stand up!" Lara looked to the side to see Melody hanging tight to the edge of the whale's flipper, a wide exhilarated smile on her face as her hair flapped behind her. "Get your feet under you! Quick!"
Lara abruptly realized what Melody was planning. "You little…so that's what you're up to!"
Using her strength against the rushing water Lara slowly drew her feet under her, putting herself in a crouch on the whale's snout. She looked up to see the surface racing towards them like a mirror. Lara saw her reflection in the surface for a split moment, and then she was ascending into the air as the whale launched the entirety of its body above the waves. Lara waited till it was at the peak of its leap and then jumped high into the air.
Time slowed for Lara as she hung in the air far above the water. The ocean stretched out below her as an endless blue to the west, meeting the land with its waves to the east. The palace stood against the backdrop of forests and distant mountains like a beacon. She saw the whale twirl over underneath her. It flung Melody into the sky before it crashed back into the sea, sending white spray flying in all directions with a tremendous slap of water. The princess gave a whoop as she flipped over and over, sunlight glinting off her wet scales and skin before she dove back into the sea like an arrow.
Lara turned about at the zenith of her flight, facing up to the sky. The sun hung against an infinite azure canvas without the smallest cloud to obscure it. She felt the air moving around her like the currents of the ocean, her wet hair waving freely. She was weightless in that moment. She was in another ocean, the currents made of wind, the birds taking the place of fish, herself a mermaid of the sky. She felt she could swim up into the blue if she wished, exploring waters that extended all the way to the stars and beyond. It felt like she could…
Gravity took hold of her, drawing Lara back to the ocean. She flipped over and rolled, angling her feet to the waves. She landed heels-first, piercing through the water like a spear. The water grabbed at her goggles, pulling them off her head. She scrunched her eyes shut, grabbing blindly for her goggles as she swam upwards. Her hand kept grasping empty water as she rose. Her head broke the surface, and she quickly sucked in air. She quickly thrust her face back into the water, forcing her eyes open as she looked for the fuzzy dark outline of her goggles sinking to the bottom.
A finger tapped the back of Lara's head. "Are you looking for these?"
The hair on Lara's neck stood up. She slowly turned around, keeping her face in the water. A blurry emerald green tail, petite waistline, purple seashells, and swaying red hair appeared in front of her. She lifted her face out and blinked rapidly, bringing the face of Ariel into focus. She was holding Lara's goggles by their band, swinging them lazily in front of her.
Lara gulped. "Uh…hi Ariel."
Melody broke the surface of the water right next to Lara. The immediate change in her expression made it clear she was not anticipating Ariel's appearance either. "Mom!?"
"Hello, Melody," said Ariel, a smile on her face that gave neither princess nor sorceress any comfort. "Are you and Lara having fun?"
Lara hesitantly nodded, then thought better and shook her head. Melody immediately picked up on the tone in her mother's voice. They were in trouble for something–again.
"We were just…uh…taking a swim," stammered Melody, a few beads of nervous sweat rolling down her face alongside the seawater. "And we, uh…well, we…"
Ariel lazily tossed the goggles near Lara, who quickly returned them to her head. "Do you remember what today is?"
"Uh…Tuesday?" guessed Melody.
"Try again."
"Someone's birthday?" offered Lara. Ariel gave her a look that cut through her sarcasm instantly. "Monday?"
"Yes," said Ariel. "And it happens to be the Monday you two are supposed to be fitted for the Glowerhaven ball. Fitted right now, to be exact."
Melody's eyes widened. "Now!? But we left just after ten! I saw the clock! It can't be time already!"
"Was the clock you saw the one in the dining room?" asked Ariel.
"Yes. Why?"
"Funny you should ask," said Ariel. "Because according to Carlotta and Grimsby, that clock is two hours slow. In fact, all the palace clocks between your room and the dining hall are two hours slow. Which is odd, because they weren't like that yesterday. Which means someone set them back last night. Which is also odd because the guards did not see anyone change them."
Melody looked at her mom for a moment, and then both of them turned to look directly at Lara.
"Uh…" Lara grinned lopsidedly at them. "See, funny thing about those clocks..."
"Lara, that snack you got from the kitchen last night…why did you really take your cloak to get it?" asked Melody, though she already had a good idea why.
"I was coming back up when I thought, 'You know, the hands on these clocks look a little off,'" continued Lara. "So, I thought I'd move them to the right time and guess I–."
Melody and Ariel silenced her with a pair of withering looks. "Lara…"
Lara looked between Ariel and Melody for a moment then gulped loudly. There was no fibbing her way out of this one. She was caught red handed and knew it. There was only one thing left to do.
She raised both hands overhead and brought them down hard on the water. With her strength, it was more like a bomb going off than a splash. The water sprayed into Ariel and Melody's faces, causing them to shut their eyes tight and shy back as they were doused. Lara quickly pulled her goggles down over her eyes and then submerged, swimming away as fast and hard as she possibly could, which was a lot faster than a normal human.
Unfortunately, she was nowhere near as fast as an irritated mermaid.
Melody and Ariel slowly blinked the water out of their eyes, not amused by Lara's attempt at a distraction. Mermaids they may have been at that moment, but that did not mean they enjoyed having water flung in their faces. Or being tricked by sorceresses that could turn invisible in shadows.
"I am so going to dunk her for this!" said Melody, diving after Lara a moment later.
Try as she might to be cross, Ariel could not help the smile that forced itself onto her lips as she watched Melody swim after the frog-kicking Lara. The brunette surfaced for a moment, only to manage a startled yelp before Melody appeared and shoved her head back underwater in playful vengeance. Six months ago, these two were barely able to stand each other's presence. They even came to blows! Now they were inseparable, both blooming like the flowers of this spring. They were like twin suns, the light each gave off nourishing the other.
The effect of the friendship was most noticeable in Melody. She cast off the shell of depression, guilt, and sorrow she hid within following William's murder, regaining her bright tomboyish spirit. This was not to say she was the same girl from before Morgana's return. There were still days when the memories of her birthday and William revisited painful sadness upon her, but they no longer held a stranglehold on her spirit or dampened it to the point of despondency. When those days did come, she was willing to open up to those she trusted for help, knowing they could lend her support when she needed more than her own strength to get through the day. And as someone who knew the pain of loss and the darkness of depression well herself, Lara was there for her as much as her own family.
Lara had grown as well. She was no longer so defensive or uncouth in her dealings with others. She was still the same gritty, unconventional swordswoman and fire mage as before, but her edge was less sharp and biting, her temper more placid, her headstrong drive less rigid. She was freer than before, both with her magic, her laughter, and her past. Her flashbacks and panic attacks had decreased substantially, and she had not taken the suppressive medicine her "friend in the mountains" provided in over three months. No doubt her thriving friendship with Melody was accountable for it. She learned to place trust in not just her, but Ariel and her family as well. If she felt a panic attack coming, she would let them know. They were always ready to distract Lara from her memories, or to stay by her side till the terrors had subsided. There were times when Lara woke up screaming or crying from a vivid nightmare, or when she got that far-off look in her eyes as a flashback tried to take her away. But they learned to be there for her in those times, and Lara was immensely grateful for it.
Six months also gave the Melody and Lara plenty of time to find adventures of their own, as well as bring a few others along for the ride. Fall and winter brought a chill to the western kingdoms, but not enough to deter those two from going out into it. Melody took it upon herself to teach Lara how to swim, and Ariel and her sisters volunteered their assistance as well. It took time and patience. Lara was not exaggerating when she said the ocean traumatized her. Multiple times she panicked and raced back to the beach or started flailing as the water dragged her through some terrifying flashback. But with persistence and encouragement, Lara was finally able to not only swim, but also overcome her lifelong fear of the sea. With her swimming abilities improved, Melody showed Lara the reefs, kelp forests, shoals, and all in-between that were so formative to her love of the sea. She introduced her to her undersea friends, integrating her into the fun times they so often had. Only Atlantica remained explored, too far from shore to simply tow Lara to. In return for introducing her to the sea, Lara showed Melody a world on land she had never explored. She escorted her and her family up into the mountains one winter's day, introducing them to the snow and all its joys. She brought Melody into the most unspoiled reaches of the Emerald Woods, where nature and its creatures still lived without fear of man's axe or arrow. They went into the Howling Forest for a Christmas tree as the season rolled around, having to return for a team of oxen when they realized they felled more than they could haul. They even had a run in with a pair of dire wolves, if the two were to be believed! They snuck off to the medical college to visit Sarah one day, accidentally locking themselves in the anatomy room. They made regular visits to the Mermaid's Trove, taking part in the music, dancing, and revelry that frequented the establishment. And of course, they always made sure to visit the orphanage as Lara promised Jenni she would. Now the youngsters looked forward not only to Lara visiting them, but Melody as well.
Underneath all this, a shift had occurred surrounding Lara that she and everyone else may not have been aware of. She was no longer a stranger to the palace or the royal family. No longer was she regarded as a temporary addition, there until she was not need anymore. She was as much a part of life in Seahaven as any of them, as though she always had been and always would be. She was not just a skilled bodyguard any longer. She was a dear and irreplaceable friend, someone who's company they delighted in and with whom they shared their joys, interests, curiosities, and troubles. She was becoming the sister Melody never had and the second daughter Eric and Ariel talked about but never created.
Lara was becoming family.
Melody resurfaced, one of Lara's legs clasped tightly in both hands. A splashing Lara whipped her arms and free leg furiously against the water as she tried to get away.
"Mom! A–pthpthb!–a little help, please!?" asked Melody, averting her face from Lara's vigorous splashing.
Ariel rolled her eyes and swam over, taking hold of Lara's other foot. "Lara, it's over! We caught you!"
Lara tried to get free, but she was completely outmatched in the water. It took little effort for Ariel and Melody to tow her towards shore despite her strongest breaststroke. It was not long before she stopped thrashing about, resigned to her fate.
"Were you seriously planning to out-swim us?" asked Melody. "A pair of mermaids?"
Lara popped her head out of the water, turning to scowl at her. "No. My plan was to escape a pair of mermaids who want to torture me for an afternoon and then a whole night at some Santa Claus lookalike's shindig."
"Come on, Lara," said Ariel. "It's only for one night."
Lara groaned, laying her face back in the water as she allowed herself to be pulled along. Bubbles came up as she spoke into the sea. "Brrrbbb rr rrbrrr rbbrr rr rrrr rbrrr?"
"What was that?" asked Melody.
Lara lifted her face out of the water. "Do I really have to do this?"
"Afraid so," said Ariel, giving her an apologetic smile.
"It's not going to be that bad," said Melody. "Who knows? Maybe the tailor will have something you like?"
"I had to say it," Melody groaned, leaning her head back against the chair. "I just had to go and jinx it."
The maid took yet another dress back to the fitting room closet. Lara stood on top of a dais in front of five mirrors arranged to give all possible views of whatever she tried on, which was nothing so far. She was wearing pants ripped off at the knee and white bandages for a breast wrap. Her sword and knives rested near one of several large windows facing the ocean, allowing the bright daylight into the room. Ariel sat in a window cozy while Arista reclined in a chaise lounge, propped up by several pillows. Her belly was now heavily swollen from six more months of her baby's growth. It would not be long before Atlantica's royal family added another member. The royal tailor was gone, having run away when Lara threatened to remove his potential to ever have children of his own one too many times.
"Lara, you have to pick something!" said Melody as another maid emerged from the closet with a frilly blue ball gown.
"Yeah, and I did, and it's sitting up in your room," said Lara before looking at the dress the maid took out of the closet. "Not in this life or the next, Janet."
"Sorry Lara, but bare midriffs and baggy pants aren't suitable for royal balls," said Ariel as the maid took the dress back. "Especially when Ben is the one hosting said ball. This calls for something special. Something more…normal."
Lara arched her head back to give Ariel a dubious look. "Since when have I been 'normal?'"
"She's got you there," said Arista with a subtle smirk. Ariel flashed her sister a cheeky smile to indicate she was not helping.
Melody sighed and stood up, marching into the closet. "Maybe I'll have better luck."
"Doubtful," muttered Arista and Lara under their breaths.
There was a knock at the door, followed by Grimsby announcing, "Tea is ready, your majesties."
"Come in, Grims," called Melody from the closet.
The door swung open as the advisor bussed in a trolley with four teacups and a kettle, steam rising from the spout. He was free of any sign of his unfortunate incident with the paint earlier that day. Given how white his hair was, it would be hard to spot any remnants anyway.
"Any progress on acquiring suitable attire for yourself, Miss Anclagon?" asked Grimsby as he began pouring. Lara accepted the first cup, breathing in the aroma.
"Not beer from the trove, but…" She took a sip and then a deeper drink. "It'll do. And to answer your question, Gramps, nothing yet. And it'll be nothing if we're only looking at dresses."
"Indisputably," said Grimsby as Ariel rose to accept her tea, earning a quiet giggle from Arista. Lara gave Grimsby and then Arista a look that said she was not deaf to the sarcasm, but remained silent, taking another sip of her tea.
"There must be something in here you'll wear," said Melody from her closet. "Maybe…hey Lara, what about this one?"
Lara rolled her eyes. "Mel, if it's some sort of frou-frou disaster then you know my answer is–."
Lara went silent as Melody stepped out with her pick. Her eyes went wide as she stared, the tea spilling onto her clothes as the cup fell from her hand. An image of herself in Melody's choice flashed through her mind and…
Work slowed at the Avitas estate with the arrival of lunch. Hard labor built hardy appetites, and the men were all too willing to sate it when The Mermaid's Trove's cooks were supplying the grub. They ate in shifts, half taking meals while half kept at it. The shifts were switching over now, full stomachs lending new vigor as the men resumed their tasks. A song had started up, spreading through the building like a wildfire till every soul was either singing their heart out or guzzling down hot food. It was looking to be another bright and productive day.
That is, till the most blood-curdling scream any of them ever heard went echoing through the air, bringing the song to a grinding halt.
"What in th' four seasons 'n seven seas was that?" asked one of the men, clearing his ear with a finger.
"Don't go askin' me," said another as he held a nail in place for his partner to hammer. "Just hope someone finds the poor beast an' puts it outta its–YEOW!"
"Sorry!" said the man as his companion danced about, clutching a rapidly swelling and red thumb.
"So some tentacled coots wanna scrap with the kingdom, huh?" declared Scuttle as he circled above the palace on another of his "mandatory patrols," coconut helmet loosely in place. "Wanna get their wrigglin' slimy tentacles on Melody and Ariel, do they? Well, first they'll have to deal with the likes o' Cap'n Scuttle! And I'm Cap'n Scuttle!"
The gull circled tight around a spire and started another loop. "Yesirree! I gots the eyes o' a hawk and the fight to match! Ain't nothin' gets the drop on me or my name isn't Cap–WAAAHHH!"
Scuttle came to an abrupt halt in mid-air as he pressed his wings to his ears, trying in vain to shield his senses from some unknown sonic attack. It was like nails on a chalkboard at the same time a knife was dragged over a porcelain plate, and both done inside his skull. Then, as quick as it started, it ended. Opening one eye to check, Scuttle slowly withdrew his wings from his head. Whatever caused the attack was gone, though he ever saw what caused it to begin with.
"What in flyin' flocks o' feathers was that? Some kind o' new witch trick?" he wondered aloud.
Scuttle would never learn his answer. At that moment gravity decided it had enough of the absent-minded bird hovering about in mid-air without using his wings, a clear violation of the laws it and nature agreed upon. It rudely reminded Scuttle of this fact when his lower half abruptly dropped, the rest of his body following a second later.
"Whoa! Losing altitude! Deploy flaps! Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!" he exclaimed while desperately flapping his wings.
It was too little too late. He descended like a failed feathered rocket straight for the highest chimney tower of the palace. Miraculously, he somehow landed in the center of the chimneystack and slipped right down as though he were coated with grease, leaving a puff of soot and ash in his wake. A cacophony of unnaturally loud clattering and bird noises emerged from the chimney as Scuttle bumped and bounced into just about everything he could on his downward journey before ending it with one resounding crash that shook dust off the chimney stack.
"Ooooooh, mommy…" came his moaning, echoing voice up the chimney. "Right in the old feather duster…"
"Zat's eet…zat's eet…"
This was not the first time Chef Louis got carried away in his cooking, and it would not be the last. But given the relatively good mood of the palace lately, the coolness of mid-spring weather, and that the very pregnant Arista requested it for lunch, the master chef spent the whole morning whipping up a large batch of his accidentally invented soup so he could experiment with the flavor.
Which was why he hardly minded that he made a slight miscalculation and cooked too much of the sizzling concoction. It would mean plenty of leftovers to keep everyone fired up, literally and figuratively, and the level of spice it required made it remarkably resistant to spoilage. His only regret was how delicately he now had to slowly carry a massive steel pot filled to the very brim over to the table to add a few last-minute seasonings. He knew he should have used a bigger pot, or at least transferred some out before moving it, but having come this far his pride would not allow him to spill a single drop. So off he went across the kitchen, cheeks puffed as he tried to keep the pot steady.
He was almost to the table, his mind already sifting through the possibilities of what to add. Perhaps he should stir in a dash of peppermint to create an interesting clash of spice and mint on the taste buds? Maybe some ginger to add a bit of zing? Or he could throw in–.
A terrible scream suddenly blasted into the kitchen, startling the otherwise laser-focused chef into thrusting his hands into the air in surprise.
"Sacré bleu!" Chef Louis whipped around, searching for the source of that awful din. He fully expected to find some terrified woman about to be set on by a monster behind him. But he quickly forgot about that as he realized his hands were empty.
"Mon soup!" he exclaimed, looking about wildly. "Where did eet–!?"
The answer came when the pot came back down from having been abruptly tossed into the air, turning over as it descended. The next thing Louis knew, he was wearing the steel pot for a helmet and covered in his own soup.
"YEAAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAAOOOOOOOWWWWW!"
Frantic and in pain from the physical and gustatory heat of his own creation, Louis barreled around his kitchen with arms flailing like a madman and knocking everything over, unable to see where he was running until he tripped and went headfirst into a water barrel.
Down in Atlantica, Sebastian paused from his stack of paperwork, looking around his quarters suspiciously. Was he imagining things, or did he just hear something? Maybe a woman screaming in abject terror very far away?
"Probably just my imagination, mon," he mumbled, dismissing the "imagined" noise with a shrug and returning to his papers.
Melody dropped the dress as she, Ariel, Arista, and everyone two floors down and up covered their ears against Lara's piercing shriek of horror. Grimsby scrambled to catch Lara's cup before it struck the floor while balancing Arista's own full cup. Lara, meanwhile, bolted to Ariel with speed worthy of the Hive Queen and latched onto her like a cat that spotted a bath, halfway between a piggy-back and outright standing on the queen's shoulders. All of this left Ariel in a precarious position of struggling to stay upright while supporting Lara's entire weight while not spilling any more of her own tea onto her dress.
"Lara, what–oof!" Ariel staggered back as Lara looped an arm around her neck, freeing the other one to call her sword to her with a whistle. The sword leapt into the air as though kicked, landing in Lara's hand. "What's gotten into you?!"
"What!? Is!? That!?" screamed Lara, pointing the sword at Melody's newest dress. The metal heated red hot and then burst into flames.
"Miss Anclagon, what have you been told about lighting that thing inside the palace!?" shouted Grimsby as he picked himself up, setting Lara's cup aside to brush dust and lint from his jacket.
"Forget the sword! Are you trying to deafen us!?" shouted Melody as she rolled her jaw to pop her still ringing ears, reaching down to pick up the dress. As part mermaid she had mastered many forms of singing, but she never imagined it possible for someone's voice to hit such a high pitch or volume. "It's just a dress!"
"What you're wearing is a dress!" said Lara, nodding at her. "That is a war crime against clothing!"
The dress was, in Lara's defense, something that even a committee of five-year old girls and their dolls spending an afternoon in the sun stuffing themselves with hallucinogenic sugar cookies would call "too much." The sleeves were billowy and ruffled to a ridiculous extent, with thick lace along the cuffs matching the heavily jeweled bodice. The top was cut dangerously low, intended to sit well off the shoulders. A large crystal sat where the bodice and an even more ruffled skirt met, the later billowing out so far it had more in common with a parachute than clothing. Large gaudy ribbons adorned the hem of the skirt with even more jewels. To top it all off, the dress was a shade of pink so hot and vivid it actually made Lara squint and nauseous at the same time.
"Lara! Could you please…get off me?" choked Ariel, patting furiously at Lara's arm. "Getting…tough…to breathe."
Lara realized Ariel's face was starting to turn the same color as her hair. She quickly extricated herself, though her eyes never left the hideous garment. "Sorry."
"Overreaction, much?" said Melody as she tossed the dress onto her bed with the others. "I wasn't serious!"
"You know the only thing I hate more than dresses is pink! And the only things I hate more than pink and dresses are pink dresses!" Lara gave a whole-body shiver as she extinguished her sword with a swing and went to sheathe it. "Uck! It's so prim and prissy and…girly!"
"Well I didn't think you'd hate it that much!" Melody flopped down in one of the chairs, blowing her bangs out of her face before slinging an arm over her eyes. "I give up! I'm out of ideas!"
"Great!" said Lara, clapping her hands together as she turned to go. "If that's done, I'll just pop off to the trove to–."
"Oh, no you don't," said Ariel, grabbing Lara's wrist before she could walk away. "You still need something to wear."
Lara's shoulders sagged as she groaned. "Come on! It's stew day! I already missed lunch!"
"Perhaps some tea, princess?" offered Grimsby, placing a cup in Melody's free hand. Melody sat up and took a quick drink, only to discover just how fresh the kettle was.
"Ow!" she declared, jerking the cup away as she tongued her now singed lip. "That's really hot! Lara, how did you drink that?"
"It wasn't that hot," said Lara as she allowed Ariel to gently pull her back. "And as long as I'm stuck looking at dresses, I'll be the one doing the closet hunting from now on. Don't want any more surprises like that."
"My apologies, princess!" exclaimed Grimsby as he took the cup from Melody.
"No, no! It's fine!" said Melody, watching as Lara disappeared into her closet. "I should've let it sit first. Seriously though, how did she drink it that hot?"
Arista shrugged and took a cautious sip of her own tea. "Magic."
Melody rolled her eyes. "That's your excuse for everything she does."
"And it's a fairly good one," said Arista with a smirk. She went to take another sip but flinched suddenly, letting out a surprised "oh!" as she clapped a hand to her stomach.
"Arista?" said Ariel, fully aware it was not the tea causing her sister's reaction. "Are you…?"
"No, not yet," said Arista, rubbing her swollen belly. "He just kicked. That's all."
"You keep saying he," said Lara from inside the closet. "How do you know he isn't a she?"
"Just a feeling," said Arista, smiling down on her unborn child. "A mother knows."
"I'll bet you naming rights it's a girl," said Lara.
Arista smirked. "Sorry, but that's between his father and I."
"Shoot. And I had a good one. Gramps, you said I need to wear something formal, right?"
"Indeed you do," confirmed Grimsby.
"Just to clarify, does it have to be a dress?" asked Lara. "Or does it just need to be not-every-day clothes?"
"That depends on your definition of not-every-day," said Ariel. "In Atlantica, formal meant nice shells and maybe some pearls for mermaids, but we didn't wear much in the way of clothes to start with. They're too awkward for swimming."
"So, it doesn't have to be a dress?" asked Lara.
"Am I to assume, Miss Anclagon, that you have some manner of alternative in mind?" asked Grimsby.
"I might…"
Grimsby looked to Ariel and Melody for guidance, and they both nodded. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Attire for an event such as this should be luxurious without extravagance, appropriately modest, genuinely decorous, and impressive without excessive flamboyance or flirtatiousness."
Lara poked her head out from the closet, staring blankly at him. "Uh…could you try that again? And this time, pretend I have no idea what half those words mean."
Grimsby cleared his throat again, adjusting his cravat and jacket. "In simplest terms, Miss Anclagon, your attire should be clean, neat, and pleasing to behold without being provocative or blatantly showing off."
"Well why didn't you say so in the first place?" Lara disappeared back into the closet for a minute, then emerged with four dresses and several rolls of colored fabric and silk in her arms. "Mind if I tinker with these?"
Everyone raised their brows in awe, mouths slightly agape in astonishment.
"What?" asked Lara, confused by their expressions. "Is something on me?"
"You…found a dress you'll wear?" asked Ariel, her tone hopeful.
"Wha–no!" blurted Lara. "I'm not wearing any of these! Not if you paid me!"
"Then what did you bring them out for?" inquired Grimsby as Lara began laying the dresses and fabrics on the floor around the dais. When she was done the dais was surrounded by an array of colors–scarlet, black, yellow, orange, teal green, sky blue, and white. It looked like she was trying to make her own version of a rainbow out of clothes.
"If I can't find something to wear, I'll make it instead!" Lara smirked as she rubbed her hands together, white flames leaking out from between her palms. "Diffingo!"
White fire covered Lara from head to toe in an instant then leapt off to the clothing around her. The white heatless radiance caused everyone to flinch back at its abruptness and volatility. One of the maids shrieked and ran into the closet, slamming the door shut behind her.
"She must be new here," said Melody.
"What was your first clue?" said Ariel.
The fires burned bright on Lara, turning her into a shining bonfire. Then new flames leapt off her and onto the clothes. Slowly the dresses and cloth disappeared, the magical flames remaking them upon Lara's body in accordance with her will. The fires continued till the last scrap of cloth was consumed, and then disappeared with a flash that made everyone shield their eyes.
Melody blinked as she lowered her hand, looking Lara over quickly. Her eyes widened, jaw hanging open as she beheld what Lara created from her selection.
"Oh my!" uttered Ariel in astonishment. "Lara, that's…that's incredible!"
Arista gave a whistle of agreement and awe. She did not have the words.
Lara looked herself over, inspecting her work. "It's a little tight in the middle, but not bad for a first try." She turned to face Grimsby. "Well, Gramps? This the right idea?"
Grimsby, who merely stared until now, slowly walked around Lara, looking her over from head to toe. He went around her twice before he stopped in front of her, his heels clacking together as he stood tall.
"That, Miss Anclagon…" he said, an approving smile appearing, "Is precisely the right idea!"
"Get up!"
The fist to his jaw jolted him from slumber with the abruptness of a sledgehammer to a nail. He looked about wildly, seeing only darkness. He breathed hard and fast. The air was laced with the smoke and vapors of hot machine oil. He blinked, vision blurry from his sleep. He pulled on his arms and felt iron wrapped around his wrists. He strained against his shackles for a moment before going limp, head hanging low. He felt strength in his body, yet it left him so easily, powerful and fleeting as the flash a spark summons from black powder. His body felt heavy, as though it were made of lead.
"It works! It works!It wasn't a fluke! Ha ha ha!"
His head snapped up, facing the crazed laughter filling his ears. It was a woman's laugh for certain, and close by.
What was a woman?
He shook his head. What was a woman? Why did such an absurd question enter his mind? Of course he knew what a woman was! It was…it was…he did not know. Such a simple thing, and yet he could not remember. He was certain he knew the word's meaning, but he could not think of any definition, form, or image to ascribe to it. It was as though he were hearing the word for the first time in his life.
"Took long enough!" said the woman over the clink-clink of metal on metal. "Now we'll get some real use out of the wretches!"
Who was he?
His thoughts flew, searching his mind for knowledge of himself. An alarming emptiness greeted him as he scoured for answers. He knew nothing. Not his form. Not his home. Not his past, his present, or his identity. Not even his name. He could not understand what those words even implied. He felt sterilized, as though every stroke and dab of paint that went into the canvas of his memories and id were wiped away. All that remained was a blank psyche.
His vision returned slowly, the darkness lifting as though dawn were rising. The woman's white mask appeared first, followed by her blonde hair and robes. The faintest outlines of eyes crept within the shadows of the eyeholes, peering out of the dark at him. Behind her were gray shapes, too blurred by his returning vision to make sense. It was a large, dimly lit room, the walls and floor a dull gray.
The woman chuckled menacingly, body trembling with barely contained excitement. "And speaking of use, I was starting to think holding onto you was a waste! Thought about chucking you out with the slag several times! Lucky for you I didn't feel like dragging another slave out of the Factory today!"
The woman stepped aside and snapped her fingers. The metal restraining him tore apart and he dropped to the floor. He struck the ground hard and flat. Where was the pain? He was supposed to feel pain when he fell. He was sure of it, even if he could not remember what pain pas. Why was there none now? Where was the sting of skin scrapping against hard stone? Where was the jarring of bone against earth? Where was the sound of his breath? Where was the sensation of his heartbeat?
Fingers hooked under his jaw, lifting his head up. Her breath passed over his face as the woman spoke, rapping her knuckles on his forehead. "Strong stuff! Not even a dent after a fall like that! I'll have to use this on the next batch!"
He was not breathing. Where was his breath?
"Let's see if you can do orders," said the woman, moving to stand before him. She was a blur in his vision, a white blob atop a darkly dressed figure against a dimmer background. "On your knees!"
He did not think about obeying her. He had no idea what orders or knees even were. Yet he moved all the same, pushing himself upright so he knelt before her.
"Good. Very good," said the woman. "Now raise your right arm. Straight out front."
His arm—if that was the thing attached to him—moved without his permission, straightening out in front of him as commanded. The motion was as robotic as the first one, unnatural in its smoothness and accuracy.
"Excellent!" The woman squatted down before him, grasping his head in one hand and moving it about. "Now for the fun part…!"
Suddenly her hand clamped down like an eagle seizing a rabbit as lightning sprung up across her body. She turned and flung him away with a shout, sending him flipping through the air. He slammed into a wall covered in unknown things, creating a cacophony of rattling, scraping, grinding, and scratching before he fell to the floor with a clatter.
"Ha!" The woman flung her arms forward, slinging a bolt of lightning into his chest. He was blasted backwards, pinned to the wall as electricity surged through him before he collapsed to the floor again.
"Get up!" shouted the woman, a bolt of electricity winding its way up her body and disappearing into her mask. "It better take more than one shot to bust you up, or it's into the furnace for you!"
He moved quickly, finding his feet and standing. He knew for certain something was wrong. His body moved too easily despite too much weight. He did not feel the familiar pull of muscles in his movements. He felt neither cold nor heat from the floor, the air, or himself. The electricity lingered on him, yet he felt no pain or hindrance from it. If anything, it invigorated him.
He looked down, bringing his hands up before him, clenching and unclenching them. They were difficult to see, and he could not remember what they looked like before, but already he knew they were wrong. Their color, their shape, their motions were all strange and new. These were not his hands, and yet they were. They responded to his will without the effort of thought, but they were alien to him.
"That's right…you haven't seen the modifications I made!" He looked up to the woman as she turned her hand over. A ball of light appeared in her palm and then split into several smaller balls, each flying off to a corner of the room. The dim was chased away as the woman spread her arms wide. "Or my workshop."
What he saw was no workshop. It was a torture chamber. The walls and floor were metal plates riveted together into a room the size of a palace hall. The cold gray steel was scratched, shorn, tattered, dented, and burned by past assaults. Pipes wound their way up from the stone floor like the roots of a tree, creaking and groaning as they strained against whatever flowed through them. Grotesque tools of metal, glass, and materials un-nameable hung from hooks on the walls—scalpels, saws, pliers, drills, and other instruments he dreaded imagining a use for. The ceiling was a tangle of hinged metal arms dangling down from a forest of gears, cogs, chains, and pistons. Each arm was tipped with tools no less diabolical than their counterparts on the walls. Several tables stood in the middle of the room, their surfaces matted with what he hoped was rust. Shackles hung from the edges, swinging lazily as dark fluid dripped to the grating beneath. A heavy steel door was cracked open at one end of the room, large enough to bring a whale through.
"On your feet!" ordered the woman, beckoning him towards the other end of the room. "And follow me!"
He moved automatically, following her towards a pile of metal filings. His feet were heavy, yet he felt no strain to move them. Electricity built around the woman's hand as she extended it to the pile, causing slivers and motes of the discarded metal to rise before her. They flattened and aligned, coming together to form a floating mirror surface. She flicked a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear before turning to him.
"I considered shoving you into the standard version once I stabilized the bond, but I've been saving this beauty for a while," she said, walking a slow circle around him. She rested a hand on his shoulder, fingertips tracing across his back as she stepped behind him. "I added some features that'll make you extra…effective. All that's left is the covering."
She waved her hand. The metal mirror rotated to face him, revealing his reflection in full.
A horrendous scream tore forth from his mouth as he gazed upon his reflection. Though he had no memory or inkling of his original form, surely it was more noble, more beautiful, and more moral than what he saw. He staggered back, gazing upon the abomination that was now his body. He dragged his terrible fingers over his monstrous face, feeling the indentations and lines of his accursed new form. He felt down over his chest and torso, wishing anything for the reflection to cease matching his movements. Anything to tell him this was a nightmare he would soon awaken from. That the terrible noises he heard were not caused by him. That the sensations beneath his fingertips were a deception of the mind. The mirror granted him no such reprieve.
The woman chuckled as she stopped in front of him. "So? What do you think? Can I make 'em or what?"
He sunk to his knees, clutching his face as his screaming escalated. What had she done to him? This witch, this madwoman, defiled him utterly and completely! There was nothing left of him, body or soul! He was a horror unto himself, unable to accept this existence he now confronted. This was worse than any damnation he could imagine, if he were able to remember what imagining was.
His fingers scraped at the floor as he hunched over, scratching deep into the metal. He had to get out! He had to escape this! He would rather die than go on as a hideous shell of a self he no longer knew! He drew his head back and slammed it hard into the floor. Instead of his skull it was the floor that dented. He did not even feel dazed.
The woman threw her head back and laughed above his screaming as he slammed his head repeatedly into the floor. "Oops! Looks like I left too much of you in there! No matter…!"
She moved as a snake after its prey, hand latching onto his head with powerful grip. She lifted him as though he were paper, her body lacking any trace of exertion as she heaved him off the ground. She held her free hand out, electricity surging around it. The air filled with a heated pressure, warning of the power in the sorceress's palm.
"I can always take more!" she yelled before thrusting her hand into his chest.
It was brief. A momentary flash blinded him before lightning coursed down the woman's arm and into his mind. He screamed louder. She was corroding him away, but not his flesh. Her magic was erasing the last vestiges of himself and throwing the scraps into the void. He was fading, thoughts and awareness peeling away like skin from a festering wound. His mind disintegrated, replaced with emptiness. In moments the being that was he disappeared. He no longer had any concept of his own existence. He was without self or purpose. He felt no emotion or will. The only thing left was a single word, a lone purpose, echoing forever in the void of his tortured soul.
"OBEY"
Remora cackled as she pulled her hand out of her creation's chest before kicking it back. It rolled before quickly righting, its feet scratching over the floor as it stood to attention, eyes staring blankly ahead.
"That's more like it!" she said, sparks popping off her fingers as she shook out the tingling sensation. "Now get your hide on that table! I've got more tinkering to do."
It wordlessly obeyed, marching to one of the tables and laying down. Remora could not help smiling as she observed its obedience. She did it! She finally had a working prototype! She banged away at this problem through what remained of summer, then fall, and then winter. She went through failure after failure, coming close to success only to have it snatched away at the last second. The endeavor had been like trying to pound a square peg into a round hole that was two sizes to small and only worked in one direction. Her first methods were akin to using progressively larger hammers to force the peg in. Problem was the peg would eventually break, or it would crack the hole soon after it went in.
Then the other day, as she was machining a new explosive construct, the answer came to her. Why was she trying to keep the peg intact at all? She did not need all of it. Just enough to fit. Remora traded brute force for a more "surgical" approach, which bore the fruits she now beheld. It was an obedient, fully operational prototype. It was a success–an early one, but a success nonetheless!
She went to her wall of instruments, pulling down a leather roll pouch filled with her favorite "tools." If only she realized this solution sooner, they could have shaved months off the plan. Now that she had it working, they would hardly even need Ursula's mutants! Not after the Master saw what this thing could do! She chuckled as she untied the roll's knot, eager to start. A bit of fine tuning and her appointed task would be done. She would deliver on her end of the bargain, and then the Master would deliver on his.
The large metal door opened with a loud groan, slowly swinging in. Metal flew from Remora's robe, forming a flock of jagged needles around her. She extended a hand to the door, aiming the needles at whoever was coming. "You've got two seconds to show your face before I shred it off!"
A pirate stepped into the room, though he looked nothing like the stereotypical seafaring riffraff. His frame was lanky, skin unnaturally sallow and patchy in color. He was hunched over, knees bent as he walked on the balls of his bare feet. He wore nothing save a pair of pants bordering on rags. A dozen steel bottles hung from his belt with dozens of small knives strapped across his chest, legs, and arms. The top half of his face was hidden behind a rusted metal bird mask, the dirty lenses obscuring his eyes.
"Fishbone, cap'n," answered the pirate, his voice slick as poison on a blade. He licked his thin chapped lips, revealing sharp metal teeth.
Remora lowered her hand, the needles fragmenting as the shards returned to her. Fishbone was one of her personal crew, a specialist in drugs and poisons. Many had fallen to his knives, not realizing the consequence of a small cut till it was too late.
"This better be important," said Remora. "I'm in the middle of something."
Fishbone grasped the rim of his lenses, the gears inside clicking as he rotated them. "It's the Master. Just had a sharktail report he be wantin' t' speak with ye and the squids immediately."
Remora glanced back at the construct on the table. As much as she wanted to dive into her newest creation, the Master was not someone to be kept waiting. He was patient when it came to plans and goals. The same could not be said for obeying his orders.
"Looks like the fun'll have to wait." She snapped her fingers, snuffing out the lights save a faint, pulsating green glow from her creation. "Let's go. "
The pirate stepped aside, allowing Remora to pass before falling in step behind her as they entered the dimly lit halls. They walked through the dank passageways in silence, their way lit by the greasy light of oil lamps, the steps of Remora's boots echoing off the rock.
"Are the machines ready yet?" asked Remora.
"Aye, cap'n," answered Fishbone. "They be full o' fury an' fuel now. Only thing they be lackin' is that final piece."
"They'll get it soon enough," said Remora as they turned sharply around a corner. "Now that the final problem's solved, we'll get things rolling fast."
"There's been an escape as well," added Fishbone.
"Have Riptide hunt them down when we're done," said Remora. "He never minds another snack."
"Not this one, cap'n. It's that merwench ye took. Nerida."
Remora stopped, turning to face him. "When?"
"Rotjaw found two dead sharktails in 'er cell an hour ago," continued Fishbone, adjusting his eyes again. "She made a right mess of 'em."
"Has the Factory been searched?" asked Remora.
"Didn't have to. She left a trail a blind man could follow. Right to the trash pipes."
Remora narrowed her eyes. "You're certain?"
Fishbone bent low at the waist, baring the back of his bony neck as though in offering. "On me life, cap'n. She's probably swimmin' her way home by now."
Remora considered the pirate's neck for a moment, her instincts begging to cleave it. Then she turned and resumed walking, a smirk under her mask. "Two successes in one day. Not bad for a Monday."
Nerida swam as fast as she could. The ragged cloth that once served as her blanket was now her cloak. She kept as close to the sea floor as she dared, frequently looking behind her in expectation of finding Riptide's titanic form closing in on her. All she saw was a trail of dim bubbles in the murky waters. Weak shadows played around her from the refuse littering the waves above, all discarded by Maelstrom as the waste of their operations.
A searing burst of pain ripped through her body, sending her crashing into the rocky sea floor and kicking up mud and sand before rolling into a patch of brown seaweed. She bit back her scream lest she be heard. She quickly got up, whipping her fins hard to regain her speed. It was agony on her body to do so, but the fear of what she escaped from was stronger than the pain.
She should have let that pirate kill her. That day, when she was dragged ashore with the rest of the prisoners, she should have let him end her. She should have let Remora cut her down. She should have chosen the water and Riptide's stomach. Death would have been sweet compared to the nightmare she found inside that island, and the torment she now fled from.
Remora did not exaggerate when she said Nerida would wish she chose death. A week in and she was pleading for Remora to end it. A week after that she stopped, realizing the witch never would. Every time Nerida thought the pain could get no worse, Remora found a way to prove her wrong, pulling out some new tool or spell to make the agony unbearable again.
The memory of what was done to her brought such nausea to Nerida she clapped a hand over her mouth as she gagged. She had no words to describe the horrors she witnessed. She spent many a night cowering in her cell, covering her ears in vain against the screams accompanying the macabre sounds of the witch's work. She learned quickly that an end to the screaming did not mean an end to pain. Whatever manner of dark, twisted thing that human called a mind could cook up fresh terror with terrible ease and efficacy, the wickedness of it all matched only by her genuine zeal and delight in doing so.
It was desperation, cleverness, and luck that allowed Nerida to escape. She feigned death when the guards brought her food, lying perfectly still despite the starvation in her stomach. When they entered to examine her, she turned Remora's handiwork against them. The guards were dispatched quickly and locked in the cell. She dragged herself along the corridor to the underwater tunnels and then made for the only exit she knew–the trash pipes. She threw herself in without hesitation, following the repulsive remains of Maelstrom's work till she reached its dumping place in the ocean.
She stopped, quickly looking around for any pursuers. She saw and heard nothing, felt no disturbances in the water. Then she scanned the surface, spotting a break in the floating mat of garbage. She shot straight up, heading for the surface with haste. She lay flat as she entered the mat, disguising herself among the debris. To anything passing below or above she appeared to be another piece of refuse tangled in cloth.
The sky was dark with night now. The storming clouds belched forth by the Factory and its ominous lights were gone, leaving the stars and moon free to shine down upon the waves. Nerida sighed with relief to see their glow, but her moment of relief was brief. She quickly examined the heavens, noting the constellations and their positions, and then dove back down to the sea bottom, altering her original course.
Nerida always loved the stars. To her they were enchanting jewels suspended against the heavens, casting down light of a purity no flame, glowshell, or fish could hope to match. She knew more than the names and stories of the constellations, and how to track the seasons by them. She knew how to use their annual patterns to guide her through the vast emptiness of the open sea. Now she used that knowledge to guide her to the one place she needed to go most.
Atlantica.
"Well, well, well…" chided Morgana, a smirk on her face as she folded her arms. "Look who decided to show up!"
Remora ignored Morgana's jeering as she stepped off Riptide's back to the platform, using the colossal sea serpent in place of a boat to reach the Master's lair. She settled for scowling angrily at her from within her mask. Since the Master gave approval for Morgana's plans, the cecaelian witch had become increasingly bold with her words and actions. She would not have dared such a brazen comment in front of her in the past. She used to cower at Remora's very name. Now these snide remarks were almost commonplace. It got under Remora's skin like a leech after blood. She bore no jealousy over favoritism with the Master. She just hated Morgana to begin with. Now she hated her even more.
She cast a quick look around, noting Ursula's presence as well. The witch gave Remora an acknowledging glance and scowl of her own before looking back to the pool. A shadow passed across her as Riptide maneuvered around the platform, his towering frame looming over all of them.
Next to Ursula stood Richard, hands clasped behind him as he stared vacuously at the pool. He wore a dark gray vest over his shirt, black pants melding with his boots. His long blonde hair had lost its length and sheen in the past months, now dull and cut haphazardly close to his head. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his face thin and noticeably pale. He gave no sign of acknowledgement to Remora, much less to anything else around him. He just kept staring at the pool.
Remora walked past Morgana and took her place beside the pool. She looked down to see the waters were dark, a pair of blue lights peering up from the ink. The Master was physically absent, but his presence in the water was visible.
"You called, Master?" Remora said as she took a knee.
"That I have," said the Master, his ever dark and formidable voice tinged with a rippling resonance from the magic.
Ursula folded her arms, drumming her fingernails against her skin as Remora rose. "Since you're speaking to us from in there, I assume you're somewhere else?"
The lights of the pool shifted towards Ursula and narrowed. Remora clenched her left hand, cracking several joints as Riptide gave a warning hiss.
"Somewhere else, sir?" Ursula quickly added.
"Somewhere indeed," said the Master. "Where and what for is none of your concern."
"So why did you call us here?" asked Morgana.
"What is the state of preparations?" the Master demanded flatly. His eyes shifted towards Riptide.
"The beast pits are filled," hissed Riptide. "They are all under my command. They will rage where and when you wish, Master."
"Conversion is steady and strong," said Ursula as the Master's eyes turned to her. "Even the weakest prisoners are surviving the transformation now. At the current rate I'll double our current number within a fortnight."
"I will hold you to that," said the Master, his eyes shifting again. "Richard?"
Richard twitched at his name, but then returned to his statuesque state. "It is done as you ordered, Master. We await your command."
"Good," said the Master.
Remora narrowed her eyes at Richard. Whatever that white-haired freak of a child did to him the night their land forces were erased, it reduced the traitorous lord to a shade of his former self. He was consumed by an insurmountable fear of the dark. He spent the better part of a month hiding in his quarters, getting his hands on every light source he could and attacking anyone who entered. He would start screaming at the slightest flicker of shadow or tickle of air, sleeping in brief fits only when exhaustion allowed him to. Remora was ready to call Richard a lost cause until the Master went to see him. It was still a mystery what happened in that room. All she knew was Richard started screaming even louder than normal after the Master went in, shutting the door behind him. Then his screaming stopped moments later. Minutes afterwards the Master emerged, and so did Richard.
He was not the same since. His fear was gone, but so was the man Remora and Riptide spirited away from Seahaven. His arrogance, disrespect, hot temper, and thin skin were replaced by apathy and obedience. He stopped indulging his appetites for food, fortunes, or females. Not once since his "rebirth" did he question or disregard the Master's commands as he rebuilt their land forces. Whereas before he looked for any excuse to cause friction with anyone and everyone, now he created none. It used to be a game among the witches to see who could rile him to a fight with the fewest words. Now he barely gave notice to anyone's worst insults. Remora did not like the change–not one bit. But there was no denying it made Richard a far more effective subordinate and commander. The old Richard would not have been able to amass the forces he now led in six months, much less ever.
The ominous blue eyes of the Master moved to focus on Morgana. "Does this keep us on schedule?"
Morgana smirked, running a chilled hand through her frosty hair. "On schedule? This puts us ahead of schedule, sir! There's no issues on my end! Sounds like it's ditto for the rest of us!"
Ursula flashed a cocky smirk of her own at Remora. "Not all of us, sister. Aren't you forgetting someone?"
Morgana looked to Remora, feigning surprise as if she failed to notice her. "Oh yes! Remora! How could I forget? Everything is riding on you, dearie! I hope you're not still having 'problems' with your 'toys.' Especially now, when we're so close to wrapping things up! You wouldn't want to disappoint the Master now, would you?"
Remora growled, lightning crackling over her hands. Those two knew perfectly well the troubles that plagued her experiments. It gave the sisters no shortage of pleasure to see her struggling while their own duties suffered minimal setbacks. But not today. Today she would have the last laugh. Today she would rip those smug smirks right off their faces.
"Yes," said the Master, his eyes turning to her. "Remora, what of your task?"
Remora shot a glare at Morgana before answering the Master. "It's finished, sir."
Ursula stopped drumming her fingers. "You what?"
"Ha! I thought as much!" said Morgana haughtily. "Master, this is precisely why I said we should–!" She stopped mid-sentence as she realized what she actually heard. "You finished?"
"What, you freeze your ears shut?" sneered Remora. "It's finished. And it works."
"Impossible!" spouted Ursula, her tentacles twitching with both anger and anxiety. "You've been hacking away at that thing for over two seasons with nothing to show for it! You expect us to believe that now, when it's just you holding us up, you got it to work!?"
"I completed the first one not even half an hour ago," said Remora, metal rattling under her robes. "It's waiting in my workshop as we speak. Should I fetch it? Or do you need a demonstration?"
"No!" Ursula and Morgana all but yelled together, their voices echoing over the water.
Remora cocked her head. "No? Come on. With all the interest you two have shown in my work lately, I would've thought you'd want to see the results for yourselves."
Morgana coughed, recovering what face she could. "We'll take your word for it."
Remora grinned at their fear. It was a wise response on their part. If they demanded to see it, she fully intended to order the thing to attack them. Let that teach them to get fresh with her.
"One is a success, Remora, but it's no army," said Riptide. "Your soldiers are not so easily made."
"Which is why the assembly line has been running for almost a month now," replied Remora. "Building them is easy enough. The only thing left was the magic, and now that's solved."
"How soon can they be operational?" asked the Master.
"It'll take two days at most to prepare the necessary curses and spells," said Remora. "I can turn out thousands before the next moon. Just get me wretches to bleed."
"What condition do you require?"
"Doesn't matter. Long as it hasn't been dead too long, I can use anything."
"Then wretches you will have," said the Master. "Take what you need from the Factory. Pick those who cannot work before the others. Ursula will send her failures to you. Feed what remains to Riptide."
The sea serpent hissed in anticipation of yet another meal. "I look forward to it!"
"What news of the Alliance?" asked the Master. "Has the king of Strihaven voiced anything of consequence?"
"I was hoping you'd ask," said Ursula, snapping her fingers at Richard. He reached into his coat, producing a rolled-up paper. "I received this from daddy Willard five days ago."
Richard dropped the paper into the water. It floated on its surface for a moment, and then the water crawled up over it like living ink, swallowing it into the darkness.
"King Benjamin of Glowerhaven is hosting a ball in conjunction with his kingdom's spring festival," stated Richard, his voice as empty as his eyes.
"Since when do we care about the parties of humans?" spat Riptide.
"The ball doesn't matter, fishbreath," said Ursula. "It's what happens before. There's a meeting between the kings the same day."
"A meeting concerning what?" asked the Master.
"Strihaven and us, sir," said the Ursula. "They're discussing our inactivity since that debacle with the seaclops and making Strihaven's re-entry into the Alliance official. Assuming Willard's not lying, they're considering re-negotiating the trade agreements between the kingdoms as well."
"What makes you think Willard won't use this to rat us out?" said Remora.
"Willard is a man in flesh, but a fox at his core," said the Master. "If he saw a benefit for himself in betraying us, he would have done so already. But he is also a father, and one motivated by hatred. Cunning as he is, he would not risk losing a chance to regain his son. Or an opportunity to strike back at the ones he blames for the prince's death."
"More than three hundred are expected to attend," added Richard. "Primarily nobility. All the royal families will be attending as well."
Remora stiffened. If the royal families were attending, that meant Ariel and Melody would be going with Eric. And if Melody went, so would that brat Lara Anclagon.
Her hands started to tremble, both with rage and excitement. When she started on her assignment for the Master's army, he provided her with a most motivating carrot to chase. The moment she completed the experiment, he would give her the chance to claim Lara's head. For six months the thought of finally taking her revenge drove her to work long and hard. No shortage of nights went by with no sleep or food, fueled only by the thought of at long last snuffing the life out of that brat. She envisioned countless scenarios for their reunion, working out the most painful way to fight, torment, and then kill Lara. Now that her end of the bargain was complete, she would be able to fulfill her one greatest desire.
"You know, Master…" said Morgana, drumming her fingers together fiendishly. "This could be a real opportunity for us. It's not every day so many kings gather in one place. Taking them out would be easy in our current state."
"It would throw the kingdoms into chaos," added Ursula.
"And remind them we have not disappeared," said Riptide.
"Leave that to me," said Remora. "I've been itching for another massacre! I'll turn that place into a slaughterhouse! It'll be a pleas–!"
"No."
Remora flinched at the abruptness of the Master's voice. "…What?"
"There will be no attack on the ball," said the Master. "Keep to the plan. We take no action against Glowerhaven, or any other. Not till I give the order."
Electricity sparked off Remora, causing everyone but Richard to flinch back. A bolt jumped off her and struck one of the nearby torches, sending out a shower of white sparks. Morgana and Ursula flinched back, though Richard only raised an eyebrow.
"What!?" yelled Remora, her voice reverberating through the cavernous lair. "You're telling me to do nothing!?"
"Correct," said the Master, unperturbed by her outburst.
"I agree with the Master," said Richard. "The packs are well above what they were before, but I believe there are still more to be recruited. With more time I can add—."
"Not ready!? Are you freakin' blind!? We've been ready since winter ended!" hollered Remora, sparks and angry electric arcs flying off her. "Our ships were sinking their boats before this plan even started! Now they can do it from twice as far! The beast cages are so crammed they'll start eating each other in another week! There's an army of mutants above our heads just itching to go wild! And the Factory's running out of space for all the machines it's spitting out! Even frost-breath here managed to amp up her power!"
Morgana picked a speck of sand from under a nail. "I needed something to stay busy while you fidgeted with your puppets."
Remora whipped her head about, glaring death at Morgana. "Don't screw with me, chum bucket! One more word and I'll turn you into axle grease!" She turned her tirade back on the Master. "The prototype's done! I can butcher that party with my arms tied behind my back! We've got enough force and firepower to bring them down six times over! It'll be nine times if we wait any longer!"
"Then nine times it will be," said the Master. "Let them have their party. We'll end their complacency soon enough, but not a moment sooner."
Remora clenched her hands so tight her nails broke her skin, blood dripping onto the stones. "You swore! You swore to me I'd have Anclagon's blood when I was finished! I am! It's done! I did what you asked! Now I'm to sit around twiddling my thumbs while that brat and her princess dance the night away!?"
"Mind your tone, Remora," said the Master, a warning edge in his voice. "Those are my orders. I will not alter this plan for the sake of appeasing your vendetta against one human."
"Your orders can shove it! If you won't give me what I was promised, then I'll just take it!" Remora spun on her heels and marched away. "Lara's mine!"
Dark magic filled the cavern with a crushing pressure, as though gravity was multiplied tenfold. Morgana, Ursula, and Richard were knocked back as shadows burst from the pool like a volcano. Riptide retreated from the spout of shadow, hissing fearfully at it. The lights were devoured by the black, plunging the cave into total darkness save the light of the Master's eyes, which crawled up the face of the shadow eruption. A giant shadow hand seized Remora, lifting her into the air and then slamming her back into the platform. Her breath was crushed out of her in a sudden hacking cough as the looming shadow pressed down on her, giant blue eyes glaring. A crack split the platform from side-to-side, the stone unable to hold against the tremendous force. The Master's eyes loomed down over Remora as a mouth appeared, blazing with the same furious blue light.
"You forget your place, Remora!" bellowed the Master, his voice resonating. "I am the Master! I chart the course of Maelstrom! Right hand and vice-commander you may be, but you remain my subordinate! You swing your blade as I dictate! You move as I command! Go against me and I will cast you back into the molten torment I pulled you from!"
The shadows retreated as quickly as they came, leaving an ethereal illusion of the Master standing over Remora as she lay panting on the ground. "You will remain here, as will your henchmen. You are to go nowhere near the Alliance, much less the ball or Anclagon. Disobey, and you will suffer for it. Is that clear?"
"Yes…Master," groaned Remora as she rolled onto her hands and knees.
"Then go," said the Master's phantom.
Remora shakily stood, her body aching from the Master's manhandling. Her hands were clenched so hard they were shaking, but she brought them under control as she bowed. "As you wish, my Master."
She turned sharply, crackles of electricity filling the air as she called up a portal in the floor and then dropped through.
"As for the rest of you…" said the Master's phantom sharply, turning his attention to them. "Carry out your orders, or it will be you who feels my wrath next."
His phantom disappeared before anyone could utter a reply, the dark pool going still has his eyes closed within it.
The Master stood silent and still in the infinite black surrounding him. His hood was a void, the light of his eyes absent. Then the traces of blue glow appeared, growing brighter as his will returned from his lair in Maelstrom's headquarters. He flexed his hands as his eyes lit, cold leather creaking with each movement.
His eyes narrowed to slits, an aggravated growl slipping from his unseen mouth. Remora's outburst irked him more than he first realized. Until this moment he never felt the need to discipline her bloodlust. She was as savage as she was powerful, too volatile to ever be fully tamed. The more one tried to, the more she would fight against them. Thus he never attempted to, instead directing her violence and sadism to suit his needs and sate her appetites. She rewarded him with loyalty, efficiency, and a record of success any leader would be envious of. Her title as his right hand was earned several times over. In all that time, through the rivers of blood and mountains of bodies she built at his command, not once did she disobey him. Not once did she place her interests before his orders.
Then Lara Anclagon appeared. Ever since Remora laid eyes on her at the Tournament of Champions, the Master found himself increasingly questioning his right hand's obedience. Remora had as much of an obsession with killing that girl as Morgana held for Melody–perhaps even greater. The promise of slaughter used to be the mainstay of Remora's motivation. It was a resource the Master could supply her with ease and abundance. Now it was Lara she wanted, and she was becoming increasingly demanding for it. Giving her a prisoner or disobedient henchman to torture was not enough to distract her anymore. Not that the Master was surprised by Remora's visceral hatred. He knew her past in full, including Lara Anclagon's role in it. Anyone who did could see why she wanted Lara's life. But old scores did not excuse blatant disobedience. Right hand or not, if she dared to bare her teeth at him like that again, he would wring that insolence out of her like wine from a grape. She was valuable to him, but not irreplaceable or irreproachable.
A pinprick of light appeared in the dark. The Master glided towards it, the light growing brighter as he approached. He felt the edge of the light approach and he stepped over it, crossing back into the realm of reality. The light disappeared as the Master set foot on solid ground.
Before him was a battlefield. The earth was scorched black with fire and dotted with craters from artillery. Blackened stumps of shattered trees burned with colored chemical fires. The air was thick with smoke, as suffocating as the poison gases hanging like a mist. Vultures, crows, and ravens circled high above, drawn by the smell of death yet fearful of inhaling even a gasp of the deadly air. Bodies of men and horses lay strewn like leaves in the fall alongside shattered swords, bows, and guns, their armor riddled with holes from bullets and shrapnel. Cannons stood with barrels peeled like bananas or shattered to pieces. Metal machines with treads and bristling with guns burned bright, plating ripped open by heavy bombardments.
An amused smirk glowed blue in the Master's hood. He breathed deep, relishing the smell of death and decay so heavy on the air, the toxic fumes like a fine perfume to his twisted tastes.
"Delicious," he uttered. He set off at a leisurely pace through the battlefield, hands clasped behind his back, enjoying it as a sane man would a stroll through a garden.
It was an actual effort for the Master to travel this far. He was forced to cast his portals in series to cover the distance. However, he believed his reason for this journey was a necessary one. He hated loose ends as much as insubordination. In the six months of Maelstrom's silence, two loose ends remained aggravatingly unresolved. One was the identity of the sorcerer. Given the meddler's lack of activity since he made himself known at the party, however, the Master felt he could reserve concern for that matter till the imp showed himself again.
The other was Lara Anclagon–specifically, the path that brought her to Seahaven.
The Master did not regard Lara as even a delay to his plans. The magnitude of magical power and ability she demonstrated thus far gave him confidence that, even if they had only seen only a tenth of her ability, he would be able to crush her with a fraction of his own. However, the Master was not a gambler. He did not play with uncertainty, especially when that uncertainty had magic and drove his strongest underling to disregard his orders. He possessed an idea of Lara's past thanks to Remora, but only a fraction of it. Laying between her life then and her life now was a chasm of unknown and speculation. Whatever happened in that time was responsible for transforming her into the formidable human being she now was. His own might aside, if he were to ever face the sorceress in combat, he wanted every advantage at his disposal for the sake of having it. He did not want victory in his favor. He wanted it guaranteed.
And so, in the months of Maelstrom's inactivity, the Master made it his personal mission to ascertain the truth of Lara Anclagon's past.
His investigations in the Alliance proved fruitless. None was able to place her further back than a scuffle with Richard at a tavern. If any of them ever could, they were lost to the Children of the Shade. There was nothing to be found in the prattling of the rabble, either. Merely snippets of useless gossip and knowledge he already had. A piece of information, however, had recently made its way to his ears. A rumor that started in the palace and then spread into the town. A rumor that stood out to the Master like a lighthouse in the night.
Lara Anclagon came from across the Sand Ocean.
That was enough for the Master. With this piece of information, the puzzle of Lara's time before Seahaven began to fall into place. Lara Anclagon was not known in the Alliance beyond what news made its way out of Seahaven. She had never been seen within the kingdoms before by his spies or anyone else. That meant she came from beyond the Alliance, where his ears and eyes had yet to reach. But no one spotted her or anyone dressed in her former disguise moving through the northern or southern borders. Nor had she booked passage on any ships entering Alliance ports. That only left the eastern and most inhospitable boundary of the Alliance unaccounted for.
He stepped over the corpse of a young soldier, death-clouded eyes staring blankly into the sky. The Master long ago learned that once the impossible was omitted, what remained must be true no matter how improbable. Improbable as it was for Lara Anclagon to cross the great desert and then survive the mountains, somehow she had. Now, stepping through this wasteland, he had no doubt this was where Lara came from.
He closed his eyes, letting his senses reach out far and wide, touching the minds of people far from where he walked. What a stark, wonderful contrast to the mellow masses of the western kingdoms these folk were. The very atmosphere here was brimming with human suffering and malice. Lives came and went like fireflies in a field, flickering one moment then extinguished the next. Darkness was rampant in the hearts of mortals, mages, and monsters. Even the land itself was a sickly fragment of the west, violated by fires, axes, poisons, and implements of war. This world of warfare and strife, where violence, pain, fear, and death were as common as those willing to exploit it, was definitely Lara Anclagon's former stomping ground. This was the place that groomed her into the fighter she was. Her capacity for combat and magic were cultivated here. She was the fruit of a tree watered with blood, plucked from its thorny dying branches and cast far, far away.
Still, how did she cross that blasted desert alive?
A piece of paper blew across the battlefield, its edges singed and black. It caught on the edge of a discarded boot, unfurling before the Master. He stopped as he beheld its contents, captivated by what he saw.
"Well, well, well…" He picked up the paper, eyes squinting as he smiled wide. "Isn't that interesting?"
"AAAAAAHHH!"
The crash of the table against the wall was a deafening echo in Remora's workshop, as was the crack and thunder of the lightning bolts she unleashed moments later. The entire chamber flashed, each strike rending molten red holes in whatever they struck. The flung table fell to one of the bolts, steel split in half before it reached the floor.
Remora threw her head back and screamed again, her body riddled with electricity. Her scythe formed in an instant as she swung into the floor, the blade biting deep. She spun and ripped through stone and metal, sparks flying about like a swarm of furious insects in the clamor. She flung her scythe away, the weapon shattering against the wall. She stomped over to a workbench and swept it bare before banging her hands down, the metal denting and then warping under her strength and magic as she hammered it repeatedly. Her shoulders heaved with her furious breathing.
How dare he! How dare the Master do this to her! More than six months of hiding and silence, slaving over one failed construct after the other, while that brat and her mutt princess frolicked like spring lambs within sight of a chained wolf. She wanted nothing more than to sate her bloodlust with their lives. It would be so easy. Use a portal to get the drop on them, render both helpless, and then whisk them back here to dispose of at her leisure. But she was the vice-commander of Maelstrom, and she knew what was expected of her. So she stayed her thirst for revenge. The Master's assurances she would have a chance once her assignment was completed lessened the agony waiting caused her. He was not one to make idle promises.
And now, when she offered him what he desired and the brat was scheduled to put herself clear out in the open, did the Master give her that promised chance? Did he give her the opportunity to grasp revenge when it was within arm's reach, and take out the entire Alliance leadership to boot?
No! He ordered her to sit on her haunches and watch! He ordered her to watch Lara and the princess party the night away! He promised her vengeance! He promised her as much torment and agony as she could inflict on a living thing! Now he reneged on his word, and for what? So he could traipse around who-knows-where at his leisure, while she bided her time in this hole?
Remora drew her hands up and pounded the table one last time, rending it in half before grabbing her mask and flinging it away. It skidded across the floor and struck the wall. She clenched her fists so tight every joint from her fingers to her wrist popped. He lied to her! He betrayed her trust! Denied her what she was due! No one crossed her–no one still alive, anyway–and that included the Master! She was not going to take this lying down!
A/N: "Hellfire" from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (cover by Annapantsu, with some lyric changes)
"Impius Dominus, you know I am a loyal one
Of that you have always been justly proud
Impius Dominus, you know I am far greater than
Those squirming, weak, pathetic, sniveling clowns"
She swept an arm, calling up countless specks of metal into a mirror before her. An image of Ariel and Melody fawning over Lara's conjured outfit appeared. Just the sight of her smiling made Remora's blood run hot with anger.
"Then tell me, Dominus, why is it I must watch from here?
You promised me my blade would reap her soul!"
Remora turned away, marching to the door as she clutched a hand to her chest.
"I've always been faithful, but this madness I restrain
Grows far beyond all my control!"
Electricity began to emerge from Remora, jumping and arcing its way across her with pale yellow light.
"Like fire
Hellfire
This fire in my skin
This hate will not tire
It's burning me with-in!"
Remora spun back and punched the mirror as hard as she could, shattering it into countless pieces that blasted across the room like a cloud of knives. She stormed back to the table, each step causing the metal beneath her to bend and twist.
"This is her fault!
She's all to blame!
It's that wretched brat
That witch who set this flame!
"This is his fault!
Forget his plan!
My right to vengeance is
Greater than his command!"
Remora strode to the table, standing over her creation. She began pulling out her tools, inspecting each as she prepared to work.
"You wronged me, Dominus!
This brat and I've a score to end
My lightning yearns to sear her flesh and bone!
I'll destroy that Lara
With or without your consent
Her death belongs to me, and me alone!"
She slapped down the last tool and strode over to a series of pipes by the wall, each covered with a brass flap. She flipped back the cover on one and shouted, "Tar Hook!"
"Aye, captain!" came an echoing metallic reply up the tube.
"Drag one of the slaves up here on the double!" Remora barked. "A female! A young female, and a fair one! And don't rough her up! I find so much as a scratch on her skin and I'll use your hide for sailcloth!"
"As you wish, captain," the pirate replied.
Remora snapped the cover down and marched back to the table. She rolled up her sleeves and then reached overhead, arcs of electricity leaping from her fingertips to the mechanized ceiling. The machinery came to life as the magic soaked in, moving with the creak and groan of metal. The metal arms descended to her creation, tipped with all manner of horrendous tools.
"I'll kill her!" seethed Remora, her braid writhing in the air like a snake as electricity built on her. "I'll kill her, even if I have to go through him to do it!"
"Hellfire
Dark fire
Master, it's now my turn
I won't be denied her!"
Remora extended a hand, a ribbon of electricity racing out to her mask. It flew to her hand like an obedient bird, and she affixed it to her face with a snap of static. Her eyes reflected the flashes of lightning crawling down her arms, making them appear to glow.
"I swear that she will BURN!"
A flurry of sparks erupted from the table as the machines went to work on Remora's creation, turning her evil machinations into horror manifest.
A/N: The march of time brings growth. Fledgling friendships have grown into the bonds of sisterhood, and with those bonds comes a rare, wondrous, and powerful strength. But as time makes trees and friends grow strong in the light, it makes hatred and revenge fester in the shadow. Maelstrom has begun to rouse from its long slumber. The right hand of the Master has broken from its task, pursuing revenge before its duties. The cold seasons of peace have ended. The first drumbeats of war are sounding.
This is the dawn of the end.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Little Mermaid," Disney, or any of its associated characters and intellectual property. I do not own the listed song(s). Everything else, however, is mine =)
