Atlantia (12 page)

I hold my breath. Maire has another secret? I already know that she is extremely powerful, that she can save voices in the shells.

She says nothing, and I realize that I have to ask.

“What is your secret?”

I can hear voices from people who are gone,
Maire says.
Who died hundreds of years ago.

I hear voices in the walls of Atlantia, especially siren voices. They've been saved up, embedded in the walls. The dead are always speaking, but not everyone hears them.
I can, and I think that gift must be connected in some way to my ability to save the voices in the shells.

I'm silent for a moment. Then I say, “I don't know if I believe you.”

Maire laughs.

“Can you tell me what they said?” I ask. “Those voices in the walls? What did
they
tell you about the history of the Below? About the sirens?”

Yes,
Maire says. And her voice changes, becomes the voice of someone else.

In the end there was the Divide.

It's very different from when she mimics, the way she did with Nevio moments ago. It seems that a real and other person is speaking. The voice belongs to a woman who sounds very old, and it is not the voice of a siren.

Those of us chosen to live Below knew we were lucky, but our hearts were also broken. We wept for those left Above. We wandered the streets of our beautiful city and we felt so cold. Though we knew it meant death, we began to want to get back to the Above. We didn't believe that we belonged so far underwater. We felt that if our world was dying, we might as well die with it. Our leaders told us to remember how fortunate we were. To live so that we made the sacrifice of the others worthwhile. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they said these things, so we knew they understood how we felt.

We all tried. But nothing tasted the same. Nothing looked right or sounded the way it had in the Above. There were so many walls, so many echoes. And even with all of the lights, you could feel the dark outside. Some people attempted to get Above. They stowed away in the food transports and suffocated within minutes. They went out through the mining bays and drowned.

Even some of the children tried.

There were so many children sent down without parents. We all did our best to take care of them. They had it the hardest of everyone who came Below. They tried to be happy, because that's what we all said their parents wanted. They cried to themselves, silent tears all day long, as they learned and worked and grew. They became strong, because children are resilient, but I could swear that even after they stopped weeping outwardly, their hearts wept inside. But—and I will always believe this was what made the first miracle possible, that in fact it may have been the first miracle—the children became strong without becoming hard. They steadied their hearts but didn't let them turn to stone.

And then, as they grew up and began having children of their own, a miracle happened.

The sirens.

They were born as I was getting very old, but I lived long enough to hear their voices. I am glad for that.

They sang peace to us. They reminded us what laughter sounded like.

They were beautiful and joyful. Their parents loved them. We all loved them. We loved them so much that we could at last bear the pain of missing those we'd left Above.

When they told us to live, somehow we could. They looked into our eyes and asked us to be happy, and we found we wanted to obey.

The bats came soon after the sirens. Looking back, I think that the bats must have been here all along but didn't show themselves until the siren children sang in the temples and skipped through the courtyards. The bats loved the siren children. They flew about and landed on the children's shoulders and stretched out their wings, as if they wanted to protect the beauty of the sirens' songs.

The sirens were so beautiful and so terrible. Beautiful because of their voices. Terrible because little children should not have such a great responsibility.

But there is no doubt that the sirens saved us.

The voice stops.

What if the children who didn't harden their hearts
were
the first miracle?

Then we have already had all three, and the people are waiting for something that will never come.

“How do you know this?” I ask Maire. “Where did you find that voice?”

I heard it in the walls one day,
Maire says.
I think a siren saved it there long ago, asked the walls to hold someone's voice when they were speaking so we could know the truth later. I think that in the past there were many sirens with that ability. But I don't know anyone else who can do it now.

“How did you hear it?”

I was listening.

“Why?”

Because that is another important part of a siren's power,
Maire says.
Most of the sirens now do not understand that part at all. But you do.

“Am I the last siren?”

You are the last one that I know of,
Maire says.
But I do not know everything.

“Do you think there are more?”

I hope so.

It's frustrating that I have to ask for every piece of information, that she can't volunteer more than I request. Maire did this so that I would trust her and it's helping, but I also wonder what she would say if she hadn't made these rules.

And there's something else. Maire set the rules and spoke them. So does this mean she can control herself? If I make a promise, in my real voice, will I be unable to break it, no matter what?

Stop thinking too far ahead,
I tell myself.
You can do this. You can earn money for the air tank and get Above.

“Where can I get pressurized air?” I ask.

Silence. I can imagine what she wants to say:

You can't get out on your own, Rio. The mines will kill you. Don't try to go through those doors in the ocean room.

But that's not how I plan to leave.

I ask again. “Where can I get a tank full of pressurized air?”

And it must be that she can't break the rules she set, because the words sound almost torn from her.
Ennio in the deepmarket,
she says.

“Is he a crook?” I ask.

When he sells air, it is good. It's not his fault everyone dies.

Ennio. I knew it.

“How could someone convince him to sell her a tank of air,” I ask, “without having to use her real voice?”

And again she has to answer.

I think.

I'm almost sure.

But I'm never
completely
sure, when it comes to Maire.

Tell Ennio,
Maire says,
that he owes me a favor, and that I'm calling it in on your behalf
.

“Will he believe me?” I ask.

If you tell him a name,
Maire says,
he will.

“What's the name?”

Asha,
Maire says.

I almost ask who Asha is, but then I decide I don't want to know. I have too much to hold in and keep back as it is.

“Thank you,” I say to Maire. “Do you know why I want the air?”

Yes,
she says. Of course she knows. She isn't stupid. She knows what I want to do. But she doesn't know
how
I'll do it.

“Is there a better way to the surface?” I ask. “If my voice is strong enough, can I just tell the Council to put me on a transport and send me Above?”

The Council doesn't tell the public this,
Maire says,
but the transports are controlled by the people Above. They are kept at the surface except when in use.

“Then what
is
the best way to go Above?”

The best way to go Above is with me.

Her voice sounds small and strained. I can barely hear it. Even Maire's power has its limits, and she is growing tired.

In a strange way, I trust the mines in the water. They are made to do something and they do it. They're not alive. They're not complicated, like my mother and Maire and Bay.

There are more questions I want to ask Maire.
Do you know who killed my mother?
and
Was it you?

But I don't. Something stops me. Maybe I don't want to hear the truth. Maybe I'm afraid she'll find a way to lie to me. Or I'm afraid that if I ask her those questions, she won't answer any others, and there is so much I need to know.

“That's all,” I say, after a few moments.

It's not a question, so Maire doesn't answer. The shell is silent, except for the sound that's always there, the ocean or the wind.

I put down Maire's shell and pick up Bay's instead. I know Maire told me the sounds were captured earlier, but it's easy to imagine that Bay really is singing to me, missing me, right this moment. I whisper a question for Bay.
“Why did you leave?”

She doesn't answer. She keeps on singing.

I lean back and close my eyes, thinking of all that Maire can do. Like all sirens, she has the ability to persuade, but she can also mimic voices perfectly, ask questions that people from the past have been waiting to answer, and save what someone has said inside the small world of a shell.

The woman speaking from the past was right.

It
is
beautiful and terrible to be a siren.

“I
thought of something,” True says. “They're not quite ready for you to use yet, but I'm pleased with them.”

He's brought his cart all the way over to the racing lanes again, and he takes a bucket from one of the shelves at the back. “Thanks to your last swim, I've had some more interest in my fish,” he says. “I thought I'd bring the cart right down here to take advantage of that. I've sold seven already. We'll have that ring back for you soon.”

He hoists the bucket up onto the top of the cart. “I wish I were having better luck talking to Fen's family, though. I've been trying, but they're still distraught and they don't seem to know anything. And Caleb's told me everything he can.”

“Bay spoke with my aunt before she left,” I say, “but so far I haven't been able to find out much about what they said.”

“We'll keep trying,” True says. “We'll get there.” Then he reaches into the bucket and pulls out something silver and sinuous.

“You made an eel,” I say.

He nods. “I thought of it after I saw you swim.”

“You're comparing me to an
eel
?”

“Yes,” True says, grinning. “It's a compliment.”

He winds the mechanism on the eel and drops it into the water, and it swims, beautiful and smooth, undulating the length of the lane. True was right. If I swim anything like this, it's a compliment.

The eel bumps into the wall, turns, and swims back.

“Touch it,” True says as it gets closer. I do, and a little jolt of electricity fires through me.

“You did it,” I say. “Already.”

“I couldn't sleep this morning,” True says. “So I got up and worked on them. I made five. But I need more time. The charge on this one seems fine, but I haven't been able to test the others enough to be sure they're safe.”

But what we don't have is time. The crowd gathering near us expects more than what I did before. We have momentum and we need to build on it if we can.

“So it was fish last time,” someone calls out. “What today?”

“More fish,” True calls back, and someone boos.

“We've already seen that!” someone else shouts.

I need this to work. I'm not ready to trust Maire to get Above. “This one works fine,” I say. “I'm sure the others are safe, too.”

“I
think
they are,” True says, “but I need to make sure. It won't take long. You can use them tomorrow.”

I turn my back on him and climb on the starting block near the lanes, holding up the dripping eel in my hand. “These,” I say to the crowd as loud as I can without losing control. “I'll be using these today.”

“What do they do?” one of the bettors asks me, coming closer. I drop the eel in the water and it swims.

“Like the fish,” the bettor says, sounding unimpressed. Which makes me angry. Because even without the electrical charge, even without me trying to swim around them, these inventions are beautiful. True's workmanship should be worth something all on its own. People should be lining up to buy things from his cart.

So I tell the bettor, “Touch it,” and when he does and steps back, surprised at the shock, I smile.

“See,” I say. “There's more to it than you think.”

“I'll tell the others,” he says grudgingly. “But can you feel it through your wetsuit?”

I dip into the water and touch the eel with my elbow, which is covered by the suit. I feel a slight push of pressure, but most of the shock is absorbed by the material.

“Not much,” I admit. It would be better if I could. I think fast. I need a full wetsuit to get to the surface. But I have an extra—I have Bay's. “Do you have a knife?”

“We're in the deepmarket,” he says. “I'm sure there's someone who does.” He goes out into the crowd and a few moments later he's back, before True can even finish the speech he's giving me about how dangerous this might be.

I take the knife into one of the dressing stalls, remove my suit, and cut the fabric so that my arms and legs will be mostly exposed. I put the suit back on and walk out, and the bettor smiles as he takes the knife. “Yes,” he says. “That's better. And you're the Minister's daughter?”

“Oceana's,” I say. “Not Nevio's.”

This makes him laugh. “Right,” he says. “People will like that.” He walks over to the others and starts talking and gesturing with them, and I wonder what he means. Does he think that they'll like seeing Oceana's daughter risk injury because they didn't love her, or that they'll find me interesting because they cared about her?

True looks unhappy and angry. “This isn't a good idea,” he tells me in a low tone. “What I have is a prototype, not a finished product.”

“They're going to leave if I don't do something new,” I say. “I need to impress them
today
.”

“Give me another day,” True says.

“It has to be now,” I say. “Or they'll forget. You wouldn't believe how fast people can forget about someone.”

People are climbing into the stands. It's time.

I reach down and pick up the bucket of eels and fish. True grabs the bucket, too, his hand over mine. His grip is strong and he's not smiling. “I'm sorry,” he says. “But they're not ready.”

“True,” I say. “Please.”

I can't put anything I really feel into the word, but True draws in a deep breath, almost as if I have. His fingers tighten on mine for a moment, and I see small burns on the backs of his hands, which must have come from working on the eels and the fish. Did he get any sleep at all?

And then True lets go of the bucket. Neither of us speaks but I wish I could thank him the right way, with my real voice. I start winding up the fish and eels and dropping them back into the water.

They're lovely. He has done perfect work. It's a pleasure to see.

True folds his arms. He doesn't climb up into the stands—he stays right down by the lane to watch. When I glance back at him, his eyes lock on mine. He's trying to understand me, but he never can, because I'm holding back too much of what he needs to know.

I climb up onto the platform and realize that Aldo is still among the bettors, preoccupied with making money. He's forgotten that he's supposed to announce my race. I feel a rush of panic. I'll have to do it myself. I should have told the bettor to stay here and call out for me. I'm going to take all the excitement away from my performance if I announce it in my flat, false voice.

Then True steps up onto the platform next to me. I think he's changed his mind, that he's going to try to stop me, but instead he raises his arms, and the crowd goes quiet. And then True calls out, “Rio Conwy, racer and risk-taker.”

That sounds all right. This might work.

True's face is very animated, and his voice carries well as he tells the audience about the eels. I like watching him speak from this perspective, from the side, when I see his mouth move and his eyes smile from a different angle.

True makes what I'm about to do sound more dangerous than it really is. He talks about the eels and how they'll burn my skin if they touch it. He tells the spectators that the fish aren't charged, but they still represent a hit. He says the bettors are taking bets on how many hits I take in one pass down the lane, and on how fast I can go. I see a flurry of activity in the stands as people make their wagers.

“Rio Conwy,” True says again, to finish. He shouts my name. Cheers it. Invites everyone to look at me.

I raise my arms into the air, a gesture foreign to me, but it feels right. I hear a smattering of applause and a few whistles from the stands and I almost smile. It's easy to perform in front of people when you don't have to say anything.

And then, into this moment of buoyancy, I feel that sudden, deep despair creep in.

This is never going to work,
a voice says to me.
You think metal fish can replace mines? You think that an air tank will be as good as a pressurized transport? You're going to die, Rio Conwy. You're pretending to be a showman, and you're pretending you can get to the Above on your own, and the only one you've tricked is yourself.

You're never going to get Above.

People keep cheering. The official timer in the stands holds up his arm, raising the red flag that means I'm about to begin.

“Be careful,” True says.

I'm the last,
I think. The last siren.

The timer lowers his arm.

I jump in and swim.

I'm the last, so there's no reason I shouldn't also be the first. The first to get Above.

That argument makes no sense. It doesn't have to. I've seen the black line, and I swim. I'll see the black water, and I'll go up.

Only three fish hit me, but the eels are faster, and I have several burns on my arms and legs. I pull myself out of the water and stand dripping next to True.

“It could have been worse,” True says. He's shaking his head and looks worried, but there's also a trace of that expression I've seen once before, when he said I was beautiful.

The spectators loved it. They cheer loudly and come down from the stands to surround me. I can hear them calling out questions, especially the bettors, who have a new race on their hands: Rio Conwy vs. Rio Conwy.

I'm about to say thank you when I remember that my voice will ruin the spell.

“Tell them I don't speak before or after the performances,”
I whisper to True.
“Tell them it's part of my routine. It's better that way. You know. You've heard me. But tell them this is just the beginning. We'll get more eels. I'll be faster next time. There will be more at stake.”

True gets a strange look on his face; he seems almost sorrowful. But he nods and turns to intercept the crowd while I hold my head high and walk away to the changing rooms. Once I'm inside I stay quiet and listen to the crowd outside. All of that noise is for me.

“This won't interest them forever,” I say to True, after everyone else has gone. I keep thinking about my mother and what she said about people liking a spectacle. “I need to do something big before they get tired of me. Build up to some kind of final event, take their money, and be done.”

“Like what?” True asks.

“I'm not sure yet.”

We dry off the fish and the eels, cleaning and oiling them and wrapping them in soft cloths so they'll stay in good shape between swims. We bundle them up like babies, and that makes me smile. And then True touches my hand to get my attention.

“How much more dangerous do you plan to make this?” he asks. He turns my hand over, carefully, so that we're both looking at a small, red burn on my palm. It happened when one of the eels swam too close to my face and I had to push it away. I know exactly when I got that injury, though I can't pinpoint the moments when I came by all the others.

“I don't know,” I say.