Making Waves (3 page)

“You okay over there, Dumere? Me and Schmitty
wouldn’t mind giving you mouth-to-mouth.”

He and Schmitty should be so lucky.

Val shook her head and ripped open the package of
chips. One of the gulls squawked and eight little bird eyes rounded
on her. Val folded the top of the open bag closed. Gulls were
notorious for stealing food out of your hand.

“Shut up, you quack!” Dennis, a stonemason,
tossed a stick at the birds.

Not one moved, looking down their beaks at
him with pity.

Val snorted again. Seagull disdain… oh, the
shame. Dennis deserved it.

She took another bite of her sandwich, a sip
of the soda. The evergreen branches couldn’t keep out all the sun’s
rays and it was hot today. Every day she returned to her rented
room reeking of sweat and sawdust, with sore muscles and a tired
back. Chalk this job up as another “learning experience.”

Someday she’d find her niche.

Her niche. Val smiled. She’d had a niche
once: the back corner of the storeroom in Mom’s shop. The one place
she’d felt like she “fit.” The ironic part was that the one place
she’d felt semi-comfortable in her skin was a shop filled with
ocean trinkets… in the middle of Kansas.

Therese’s Treasure Trove
had been on
her mind a lot lately. Maybe it was time to go back. Figure out
what was what after that conversation she’d overheard at Mom’s
funeral...

The gulls shuffled their feet on the rooftop.
She glanced at them. They were all staring at her. Okay, a little
creepy.

She took another bite of her sandwich and
grabbed a chip. She would go back. Give the place a good cleaning
while she was there or, better yet, open it.

That’s what she would do. The place had been Mom’s
dream and her legacy to Val. Mom would want her to make it a
worthwhile venture.

Besides, it wasn’t as if anything else had worked
out for her. The shop, at least, was familiar. Home.

She “toasted” her decision with another chip
and the bird over the trailer door spread its wings, revealing a
smudge on its pristine breast feathers. The others looked at it
then back at her in perfect unison, as if they were part of a
chorus line.

Val raised the chip to her lips.

The center gull squawked and took off from
the trailer.

The others followed suit—all aimed at
her.

Val ducked. She didn’t have time to do
anything else. Hands on her head, she bent over as she was suddenly
surrounded by a flurry of flapping feathers.

One bird plucked the sandwich from her
fingers, luckily not taking any fingers with it. The chip, too,
disappeared. Other gulls swooped onto her makeshift lunch table,
making off with her soda, the rest of the chips, even managing to
abscond with the bag she’d packed it all in.

As the gulls flew off, one remaining bird
landed on her hunched shoulders. Only for a second, and before she
could react, it yanked a few strands of hair from her head, then
flew off with the rest of the winged thieves. Damn it, that
hurt!

To add insult to the injury, the guys just
sat at their picnic table and laughed. Yep, that sealed the deal.
She was out of here. Like now.

Val took one last look to where her lunch was
disappearing over the treetops, scooped up her tool belt and
hardhat, and knocked over the bucket. A few feathers fluttered to
her feet.

You know, she used to
like
seagulls…

***

Rod Tritone squared his shoulders as he
looked through the door of the Atlantis’ oliseum to the coral table
where the members of The Oceanic Council waited.

Some day this would all be his. The rule of
the seas, the office of the High Councilman… and the five bickering
Mers behind that table, each thinking they could do a better
job.

Make that four bickering Mers. Charley was
always the peacemaker. Always had been…
Always.
There were
rumors he’d been around since the Great Flood.

Charley was the first to see him. Probably
because he had a direct line to the gods in a way none of the
others, including his father, the current High Councilman, did.
“Rod! Come on in. We were just talking about you.”

From the smirk on Nigel’s face, Rod knew it
hadn’t been complimentary.

Nigel Cabot, the pompous wrasse, would be the
first to go when Rod took over—which was what he hoped this summons
was all about.

He cleared his throat, and flexed his fins.
Time to face The Council and hope it wasn’t for another one of
their “lessons.” He’d been getting these lessons for the last
thirty-four
selinos
and, frankly, was tired of them. There
couldn’t be anything left to learn. He’d studied every text he
could get his hands on, and then some.

You’d think they’d recognize he was a grown Mer by
now, but to them, he was still just Fisher’s kid. The Heir.

The Heir who’d instigated that stupid
stunt twenty-one
selinos
ago—

He thrust that painful memory aside. It was over.
Done. He’d made a mistake and had had to live with the
consequences. As had his brother, Reel. Set apart from each other,
divided by their destinies—all because of that one, stupid
Dare.

His father, looking more and more like his
ancestor Poseidon, rose behind the table, his navy blue tail
brushing a shell marker on the table’s surface. The session had
begun. “Good afternoon, Rod.”

“High Councilman.” Always formal in
Chambers.

“We have convened today for a special
meeting,” his father began.

“And are
you
in for a surprise,” Nigel
muttered. Well, he’d
say
he’d muttered it when the High
Councilman reprimanded him, but Rod knew the comment had been
intentional. Nigel had never liked the Tritone brothers, and now
that his twin, Reel, was out of the succession roll call, Nigel’s
son, Drake, was next in line.

It was killing the old salt that Rod was
going to inherit. So close, yet so far.

As if
Drake would be able to govern
their world. He’d barely graduated.

Fisher glared at Nigel. “That will be all, Nigel.
There are protocols to adhere to and I’ll not have you make a
mockery of our proceedings.”

Rod hid a smile. His father had always been
good at getting his way—
and
making Nigel look like a fool,
though the last wasn’t hard to do. Still, getting one’s way was a
skill and Rod had worked hard to learn it. A good leader knew how
to keep order. A good leader didn’t strip Mers of their dignity,
but shaped his followers to their most useful potential. He’d
learned well at his father’s fins.

Nigel, quite now, had as well, apparently. Good for
him. One poke with Fisher’s trident and Nigel would be chum.
Literally.

There were some sweet perks to being High
Councilman. Not the least of which was the Immortality that would
be bestowed upon him with the title.

“Fisher.” Charley broke rank and swam above
the table. He was the only Mer who would dare to, but then, they’d
been friends for
selinos
. “Perhaps, for this, you should
meet with Rod in your office.”

The office? That didn’t sound as if he was
being enthroned. Rod bit back the curse. How much longer was he
going to have to pay for The Dare?

Hadn’t he paid enough already? Hadn’t
Reel?

Fisher nodded. Rod gulped a mouthful of water
and followed his father through the ancient oak door, its wormholes
plugged with orange and red anemones, into the magma-lit chamber.
Refracted emissions from magma wells bounced through the seawater
and off the gold-lined walls to create light beneath the sea as
perfectly as the sun did above it.

“Maybe you’d better have some kelp wine,
Son.” Fisher motioned toward the wine rack on the sideboard where
marble busts of the previous High Councilman—his ancestors—were
displayed.

“What’s so bad you feel the need to ply me
with spirits? It can’t possibly be worse than pulling the plug on
my Trench Study.” Or The Dare fall-out.

“It’s not bad. Not really. It depends on how
you look at it.”

“How
am
I going to look at it?”

Fisher clicked his tongue then sighed. “We’ve
found her, Rod.” He opened a drawer on the massive marble desk
purported to have been carved by the Human, Bernini, and withdrew a
thin slate tablet and set it on the desktop.

“What? Who?”

“Her, Rod. The One. The lost princess.”

Oh, Hades… “Dad, you can’t tell me you believe that
old myth? That there’s a lost Mer bloodline and you’ve found the
last remaining descendant?”

“Of course I do, Rod. Hades,
we
are old
myths. And the fact of the matter is, we’ve found Lance Dumere’s
daughter.”

“Dad, that myth is hundreds of
selinos
old.
She’d be what? Thirty? I hardly think she’s who the myth is
referring to. Besides, Lance gave up looking for her. He said she’d
died.”

“She’s not dead. We’ve found her. And she’s the last
of his line, Rod.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Come to think
of it, he might want that wine. He rummaged around in the sideboard
for the special top that prevented beverages from becoming
contaminated with seawater and grabbed a bottle.

“The Prophecy, Rod. She’s the answer to The
Prophecy.”

Rod broke the seal and took a healthy swig. And
another for good measure. “Dad, The Prophecy is older than the
myth. How can she possibly be the answer?”

The Oracles had debated the gods’ cryptic message
for thousands of
selinos
and none could agree on its
meaning. Frankly, Rod had always put it down more to the drunken
ramblings of one of the gods after too much ouzo and ambrosia than
any great moment of clarity.

A tremor shook the walls of Fisher’s office—and
presumably the rest of the island Humans called Bermuda which
encompassed the hidden Atlantian capital of the Mer world. Ah, the
gods were listening.

“Rod, the gods have their reasons for doing what
they do and we must abide by them.” Fisher linked his hands
together just above his scale line. “‘
That which was lost must
be found, or that which is known will be lost.’
”

“I know The Prophecy, Dad, I just don’t see the
relevance.”

“Rod, the ice caps are melting. I’ve had whales
studying them for
selinos
.”

Rod shook his head. Humans and their insane
environmental practices. The global warming they’d caused… “I still
don’t see—”

“The planet is endangered, Rod. ‘
That which is
known’
is about to be lost.”

“And the first part? ‘
That which was lost must be
found
’? You think it’s her?”

“No. I
know
it’s her.” Fisher picked up the
tablet. “That’s where you come in.”

Oh, Hades… Another damn test. “You want me to bring
her back.”

His father nodded. “It’s the only way to fulfill The
Prophecy and save the planet. It will earn you the throne.”

There wasn’t enough wine in all of Atlantis
to make this palatable. Rod kicked his tail. Screw the “upright”
practice
selinos
of training had instilled in him. He did
his best thinking while swimming, and right now, he needed to
think.

One mistake—one failure—and he’d lost the gods’
faith. He’d proven over and over that he was able to do the job
he’d been born to do, but they still required more.

“
So, how did we find her now? To borrow an old
cliché, where’s she been hiding all my life?”

His father held out the tablet. “Kansas.”

“Kansas? Where in Hades is that?”

“Not Hades. The United States.”

Rod flipped his tail towards the floor and pushed
off the bust of Triton. “Dad, I’m familiar with the entire eastern
seaboard from Newfoundland to Cape Horn. There’s no place called
Kansas.”

His father smiled. Rod really hated that smile.
First with the summons to this meeting, then declaring it a
“special” reason, now this—

Then he
knew
. Oh no.

He kicked his tail and shot toward the gold and
mosaic tile ceiling, not daring to look at his father as the
realization hit him. “She’s inland, isn’t she? Kansas is
inland.”

“Smack dab in the center, Son.”

###