Dawn Of Hope: Charity Anthology Page 18

I whipped my head around as an enormous lizard cleared my tail. It stood taller than me, with red eyes and big, spikey teeth, and smoke plumed from its nostrils. Its chest heaved and it blew another stream of flame from within its widened jaw, incinerating Huns. It bent down, head dipping between two students to devour a Hun who escaped the fire.

  “It’s Thomas!” Dominic shouted.

  The great lizard looked upon me and did not die, but rather nodded its great head. It wore an expression that could only belong to one boy—that mixture of innocence and shyness. Peckish and a bit embarrassed that he was caught breathing fire and eating the enemy. The smallest of the bunch, who was too afraid to sleep without candlelight. A distorted smile spread my lips over my fangs in a proud—and relieved—smile. I was no longer a lone species.

  Thomas was a dragon!

  Breaking the Surface

  By Nicole Giles

  Breaking the Surface © copyright 2017 Nichole Giles

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  “Are you certain? You must be certain.” Tuck lay aside his etching bone and closed the distance between himself and Maui, his most loyal, trusted friend in the bottomless sapphire sea. “King Tangaroa will feed us to the sharks if the Prince is to perish because our formula has failed.”

  Squinting in concentration, Maui fished another pearl from their collection and threaded it onto the thin-braided seagrass. “I am almost certain,” he murmured, his eyes crossing from his efforts. “Test subject, Cannon, lived long enough to dry his fin and walk upon the sand. If he had ever formed human breathing organs, the experiment would have been a sparkling success. The royal families are the only known halflings, all born with such an organ.”

  “But Prince Caspian.” Tuck knew well what happened when a city of Mer was left without a definitive leader.

  “We would not be in Atlantis if I believed the Prince might perish.” Maui threaded the last pearl, and then looped the end of the strand onto a tiny shard of curved bone. “Caspian is my last hope, for if I try the formula, myself, and do not live, who will adjust the serum for future halflings?”

  Bubbles streamed from Tuck’s gills as he resumed his position at the platform. “Maui, this is not another variety of paihana. There is no remedy for the blue-ringed venom. If Tangaroa’s heir shall perish, Atlantis will suffer a similar demise as Oceania.”

  Finished with his creation, Maui set the strand aside and swept the remaining materials into a hollowed out stone, which he placed on the shelf behind him. “Tuck, Caspian is born of a human mother. He survived ashore as a youngling, just as I did. The organ exists inside him, as it does in me. He must only remember how to use it, with the help of my blue-ring serum.”

  Tuck scowled at the creation Maui had laid next to the etching tablet. “I wish I could join you ashore. I long to witness the yellow ball of fire you describe in your stories of home.”

  “I wish that as well, my friend.” Maui stacked their recipe tablets, setting one aside and hiding the rest away. “But since none of the other sea-born Mer have survived our experiments, I will not risk you. The sea-born do not possess the organ. We have proven that.”

  Tuck focused on his own tablet, scratching the etching bone along the soft stone until he’d created another symbol, then he glanced up. “There is no other way, then.”

  Maui refused to meet his eyes. “It causes me great sorrow to have failed you.”

  “You have not failed me.” Tuck resumed his etching, ignoring the sharp sting of disappointment. “In seeking a solution for me, you have remained below many tides longer than you first planned. How can I be angry at being left behind, when it is my life you protect?”

  “Tuck.” Maui pressed a hand on the tablet to stop his etching. “I am not meant for the sea. As you have assisted me in countless experiments since our youth, I know you understand this. But I must know that the Sea King of Atlantis will not turn his wrath on you.”

  He will, Tuck thought. If Caspian dies, I’ll be forced to return to the devastation of Oceania. I will have no choice. But Maui carried more guilt than any Mer, and though Tuck had long hoped to join him in beginning a new life ashore, he could not cause further Maui ache by sharing such thoughts. “Then you must not fail.”

  Maui picked up the strand of pearls, pinched between two fingers so they dangled onto the platform. “Bring me the creature.”

  Tuck had lost count of the times they’d forced the potent venom from the blue-ringed octopus they’d captured in Oceania, but the once bright-colored creature had grown dull and lethargic, nearing the end of his living days, despite Maui’s attempts to revive him. Since this would be their final harvest, they would collect all they could manage, storing it in small quantities by sealing the pure venom inside vacated clam shells.

  While Maui readied his supplies, Tuck journeyed into the hidden grotto they’d dug into the thick, sandy ground. This, too, had been Maui’s idea—the merman had a mind unlike any Tuck had encountered in all the fathoms of the sea. And more rebellious, too. Rather than the glowing plankton that lit the whole of Atlantis, they opted for ribbon worms, which aided in healing formulas, and reproduced rapidly. Dual purpose beasts, Maui called them.

  They kept the octopus in a clear vessel Maui had collected from a sunken ship, on one of many attempts to swim away as a youngling. Now, Tuck used the gray skin of a tuna to protect his hands as he lifted the vessel from the shelf and transported it to the main cavern.

  Maui had laid out tools of his own creation, fish bones so thin they would be lost if not still secured to a moderate shaving of sinew, vessels intended for measuring, and a large, hollowed out stone lined with shimmering mother of pearl. Tuck set the caged creature next to the stone, noting the row of unsealed, empty clam shells. “How much venom must we harvest?”

  “Hm.” Maui tapped his lips with his fingers—a human gesture he hadn’t lost in all the tides since he’d been forced below. He used a blunt-ended tool to prod the octopus, and received only the slightest response. “I fear he has reached the end. We must harvest all that we can and set it aside for future use. There is no telling when we might capture another.”

  Tuck opened the vessel’s lid, using Maui’s wooden contraption to fish out the octopus and hold it at a distance, while Maui covered his hands in more fish skins, scraped thin and cut to conform to his webbed fingers. He then began the tedious process of using the tiny bones to force venom out of each sucker.

  Each time a clam was filled, Maui snapped it shut and smeared it with a mash of substances that sealed the shell closed, trapping the venom inside.

  A long time later, when the creature could produce no more, Maui poured a lump of deep red paihana into the mixing stone, while Tuck replaced the octopus in its container, and then the container on the shelf. He emerged as Maui added the blue-ring venom into the mixture, stirring with vigor.

  “That is quite a lot,” Turk remarked, attempting to hide his nerves by remaining behind Maui. “Perhaps you should not overdo the strongest of poisons.”

  In response, Maui dumped in four more drops of the potent liquid. When he’d finished, he plunged the strand of pearls into the gelatinous concoction, and covered the vessel with a fat-soaked fish s
kin, sealing it with the paste. He then lifted the large, heavy vessel and followed the same path Tuck had taken into the grotto, where he positioned the mixture on a shelf. “Seven tides,” he said, returning to the main cavern. “We’ve seven tides to convince Tangaroa that Caspian must visit shore. If we fail, the pearls will dissolve, the serum wasted.”

  Seven tides. Reality slammed Tuck against the wall. The end was near, and knowing this left an ache in his chest that simply would not leave.

  Trepidation fizzled beneath Maui’s scales as he approached the colossal palace doors. His uncle, the Sea King, Tangaroa, had warned Maui against pursuing his experiments in Atlantis. The ruler refused to consider that any Mer, even a halfling, should have a desire to visit land.

  Instinct told Maui that the Sea King had secrets, connections of his own that he had never been free to seek. His instincts hadn’t guided him wrong since his own father, Oceanian Sea King, Tangaloa, had lured him from a crowded beach, far from his mother and into the sea. On that day, he’d sworn to never, ever allow another to indoctrinate or teach him. He’d fought tradition at every opportunity, and considered rules and boundaries as challenges intended for breaking.

  Maui thrust open the enormous, shell and pearl-encrusted door, dramatizing his entrance to draw attention to himself. “It is I, Maui, arrived from the market.” The vessels inside his seaweed pouch clanked together as proof of his fake shopping spree. When a timid mermaid approached, Maui shoved the bulky pouch into her arms. “Please deliver these to my chamber.”

  The mermaid bowed, spinning away before Maui halted the movement with a hand on her forearm. “Where might I find Caspian? I wish to converse with him before the sleeping-tide.”

  Shiny, silver hair framed the maid’s face, tangling across her cheeks and around her neck. “Caspian is not well. He has not emerged from his cavern at all this tide, and has demanded solitude.”

  “I must see him right away.” Satisfaction rose inside Maui, threatening to crash through the mask of his false persona. The paihana he’d served last tide had done its intended job. He shoved his hand inside the pouch and withdrew a corked, metal bottle, leaving the rest for the maid to hide away. “I shall offer a remedy for his ailment.”

  Maui waited for the mermaid to retreat through the corridor before turning in the opposite direction, toward his cousin’s chamber. Caspian had expressed apprehension over his impending union with the mermaid, Marietta. Perhaps, with a dose of strong paihana, he might be convinced to first seek closure from his life on land.

  Maui peeked through the seaweed curtain that shielded the entrance to Caspian’s private cavern, and found his young cousin curled in a ball, and clinging to his hammock. “I am told you are not feeling well. May I help?”

  “No.” With a tortured groan, Caspian squeezed his eyes shut, clinging tighter to the woven threads and drawing them around him. “I cannot stomach more of that vile substance. You’ve brought evil into Atlantis, cousin. And poured it down my throat.”

  Chortling with amusement, Maui swung into the room. “As I recall, the only pouring involved was from the large vessel into the smaller ones. And of those, you swallowed enough paihana to win the respect of every merman in the palace, noble and servant alike.”

  Caspian turned his head away from Maui. “Such results do not feel like victory.”

  Maui uncovered the niche they’d dug into the stone wall near Caspian’s wardrobe, and withdrew two tall, metal vessels unlike any they would find in Atlantis. The silver had tarnished to black, but when rubbed with enough sand, could be made to shine. He settled the vessels onto the flat stone that sat atop a large, red coral, and uncorked the metal bottle, pouring a glob of thick, gelatinous liquid into each one.

  “Do you not listen, Maui?” Caspian had opened his swollen eyes, and as Maui turned, attempted to sit up, wobbling in place. “I do not wish for more paihana.”

  “Do you not wish to banish the illness besieging you? I’ve brought the cure, just here.” Maui raised a vessel to his lips, offering the other to his cousin.

  Caspian blinked, black hair swirling around his face, his already blue-tinted skin tainted a shade of deep-green. “It is the evil of paihana that caused this affliction. How, then, could it also be a cure?”

  Maui tipped back his vessel, and the gel slid from mouth to stomach, warming his insides all the way. “If you were stung by a stonefish, the healers would relieve your pain by poking you with a stinger from that very same fish. When re-introduced, the very poison you fight to expel can offer relief, and rejuvenate lost energy.”

  Caspian’s head swiveled, as if weighted. “I do not understand this philosophy.”

  Maui pressed the vessel into Caspian’s hand, wrapping his webbed fingers around it and urging him to sip. “Perhaps the healers in Oceania have knowledge that has not yet reached Atlantis.”

  “That is your explanation for everything,” Caspian muttered. But he held the vessel to his lips, hesitating. “I find it convenient how your stories alter according to my needs.”

  Maui’s chest tightened as the arrow struck true. Those stories did not come from healers or other Mer, but results of Maui’s own experiments. Stories had driven Maui to desert his own kingdom, in search of Atlantis, and another royal Mer. “Information, knowledge is progress, not stories. And I could no more bring harm to you, than I could to myself.”

  Caspian tipped back his vessel, his gulp shadowed by a liquid cough. “It is good that you do not wish to harm me. If ever you did, my father would see you fed to the sharks.”

  Of that, Maui had no doubt. This was why he understood the importance of gaining the Sea King’s support. But Caspian had complaints of his own, which Maui intended to exploit. “Speaking of sharks, how many tides will pass before Marietta sinks her teeth into you?”

  Caspian collapsed into his hammock, a stream of bubbles rising to the ceiling. “The beginning of the next tide-cycle.”

  “You do not seem excited.” Maui did the math in his head. The Sea King had allowed just enough time for his the serum to soak into the pearls. Now, he must convince the Sea King to postpone the union—on Caspian’s behalf. “Do you not wish to be joined?”

  “Joined? Yes.” Caspian turned his head to skewer Maui with his dark gaze. “But Marietta is not my first choice for a mate. Or my second.”

  Maui took his cousin’s arm, towing him out of bed. “Is there another mermaid you prefer?”

  Caspian rose, steadier than he had been when Maui first entered. “Not a particular mermaid. It is only that I have never gained a … taste for Marietta.”

  “Perhaps your reluctance is not about Marietta at all.” Maui focused his attention on the vessels, and the bottle still yet to be empty. He distributed the remaining paihana, and resumed his conversation with Caspian, a vessel in each hand. “I have overstepped. I should not suggest such things.”

  No longer too sick to decline, Caspian accepted a serving, but rested his free hand on top. “As the subject has been broached, please continue. I would like to hear your theory.”

  “Very well.” Maui set his own vessel down, a chill of nerves ascending beneath his scales. “If I must divulge, I hope you will not be angered over it.”

  “Why would I be angry?” Caspian sipped, this time, unconsciously, as if the vessel had become an extension of his hand. This was what Maui had counted on, hoped for.

  Maui tapped a finger to his gills, then his chest. “Did you know that my mother is human, like yours? My father took me from her when I was old enough to wade alone, but too young to remember much of my human background. But I do remember parts, and the memories haunt me.”

  At the mention of humans, Caspian emptied his vessel and replaced it into the dark, secret space. “Some sleep-tides, I wake with a scream in my throat, longing for a woman whose face I can no longer picture.”

  “I fear our memories are the problem.” Maui lifted his vessel and drained it as well, calculating his every word. “Why do y
ou think I left Oceania?”

  “I do not know.” Caspian stowed Maui’s vessel as well, re-stacking the stones to cover the hole. “My father believes you swam away for escape. Or were, perhaps, banished. I am instructed to observe and be aware of you.”

  Maui laughed, sending burst of bubbles around the room. “I was not banished. But escape is an appropriate term. You see, I, too, was to be joined.”

  Caspian’s hands stilled, and he turned to face his cousin. “To a mermaid for which you did not have a taste?”

  “Yes,” Maui admitted. “In preparation for ruling the city. But cousin, I have longed to return to land since my father forced me below, and soon, I will go.”

  Apprehension rode across Caspian’s face in the form of wide eyes and tensed jaw as he peeked through the curtain and then lowered his voice. “You must not speak of visits to land. Such talk is unlawful in Atlantis.”

  This was not a surprise to Maui. He and Tuck had learned this during their first tides inside the city. Following Caspian’s lead, he lowered his voice. “This is why I trusted you would not be angry, as my next suggestion requires that you pay a visit to land as well.”

  Caspian straightened his spine, his fin swishing along the sand below. “I cannot. The Mer cannot breathe ashore, and my father has forbidden all attempts. We may not even swim for the surface, as we cannot protect ourselves from the dreadful creatures that guard it.”

  Maui laughed again. “Dreadful creatures? Of what variety?”

  “Terrible.” He shuddered. “Creatures that imprison the Mer. They will peel away our scales, and skin, and study our insides. It is said that they collect our fins.”

  Maui folded his arms, muscles bulging. “Caspian, your father means to frighten you. He warns of humans, and they are not so terrible as he claims.”

  “No.” Caspian’s dark hair swirled as the current adjusted. “My mother is human. She would never do such horrifying things. Father cannot be speaking of them.”