Please enjoy this preview of the first chapter of Tides of Tranquility!
Chapter 1: New World Order
Blinking, she rubbed her temples in an
effort to concentrate. She gazed around at the towers of irregular crystallized
spikes which surrounded her in the oval chamber. Sitting waist-deep in a warm
pool of volcanically-heated hot springs, she stared blankly at the trickle of
water cascading over rocks and into the small pool. She hummed softly to
herself, trying to feel the quality of the air vibrating through her vocal
chords. Steam rose from the spot where the droplets of cool sea collided with
the heated lagoon; she watched the steam hang in soft clouds around her body.
She hummed louder, trying to use the sound waves to distort the steam. It was
easy to use her singing to manipulate objects in the water, but creating the
same effect in the air was like shooting feathers out of a gun. She needed more
precision and power.
For
how many years were you at the helm of this country? Now you’ve been reduced to
this?
Elandria could not tell anyone that she had
been hearing voices. She could not relate how the voices echoed through the
caves, distracting her from her tasks. With her personal penchant for mental
illness, and her family history of rampant suicides, she was afraid that her
sister would worry. Considering the current state of affairs, the last thing
she wanted to do was cause Aazuria additional stress. The woman was so busy
that Elandria scarcely saw her; she was lucky if her sister visited even once a
month. If it were not for the hundreds of letters from Trevain, she would not
have any idea of what was happening at the palace. His letters had been her
only comfort, until Mother Melusina had recently found them and taken them
away. She was forbidden from contact with men whatsoever, and apparently, the
written word was considered contact. It did not feel that way to her. Confined
to Gypsum Cavern for five years, she felt worlds away from her family; but she
was here for the purpose of penance. For atonement. Emitting another sound from
her lips, she tried to maintain a single note for as long as possible.
You
were the one who built that palace. You made this nation into what it currently
is!
She choked on her note.
Although she missed her sister, she knew
that Aazuria was traveling all over the undersea world to make sure that the
realms under her rule were running smoothly. The former Japanese queen, Amabie Mizuchi,
had been named Empress of Oceanus, acting as a neutral and esteemed figurehead
for all the submerged nations to honor—but everyone knew that Aazuria was the
true force to be reckoned with. She was widely credited as the hero who had led
the charge on Damahaar and liberated the watery world from the clutches of the
Clan of Zalcan, all those years ago. Some skeptics chose to attribute the
victory to Vachlan Suchos, the Destroyer of Kingdoms—many said that without his
preliminary weakening of the stronghold, and his less-than-savory connections,
the war would never have been won.
Both viewpoints were correct.
Breathing deeply, Elandria tried to still
her mind and quell her loneliness. She had work to do! It would not do to
fantasize about home. Gazing intently at the swords of crystal, as though her
blazing eyes could somehow melt them, she released a second frequency from her
throat, slightly more high-pitched than the last. She held the note for several
seconds, hoping that she would finally be successful. She stared at the dark
quartz, imagining that she saw the spears shuddering. She had been attempting
this simple task for hours. The interruptions from the voices in her head were
not helping.
Adlivun
was just a hole-in-the-wall. You elevated us to the status of an
internationally recognized country. You put us on the map, once and for all! What
did she do? She riled everyone up. She caused a big commotion, disrupting your
carefully achieved peace. She led hundreds of people to their death; no
Adluvians died needlessly in battle when you were queen!
It was only one voice, really, but it was a
particularly frustrating one. It reminded Elandria of someone she wished to
forget—someone who had died a long time ago. While he lived, he had caused her
nothing but pain and suffering, and now that he was dead, his voice seemed to
remain immortalized in the back of her mind. He had become her conscience. He
had become her madness. Once, she had chosen to stop speaking altogether to
protect her mind from his intrusions; she had accepted that she could not
protect her body, but decided that her mind was her own. Now, it seemed that her thoughts were no
longer off limits from his exploitation—even from beyond the grave. She could
not deny that he was a part of her. A crucial influence in her upbringing, and meshed
into her very flesh and blood. Perhaps she would never be able to escape his
oppression. Being alone so much brought the horrors he had inflicted upon her
to the front of her brain.
You
spent ten years by his side and she just swept in and stole him away! Isn’t
that just like her? You are the true queen—you are his true wife. You should be ruling
Adlivun, Elandria.
“Get out of my head!” she screamed, rising
to her feet. She lifted her hands to cover her ears, her wet, dripping sleeves
plastered against her arms. She could bear a thousand voices of insanity
quarreling in her mind, as long as they did not mention Trevain. The memory of
what she had lost was too fresh and too tender to be prodded. Would any amount
of years be enough to cleanse her heart of the warmth it had known? The warmth
it would never know again? She could feel her composure crumbling. She could
feel her insides falling apart. “Leave me alone!”
Face
the truth, my dear. He belongs to you.
“No, he doesn’t!” Elandria snapped, in a
shriek that caused all the crystalline spikes to instantly shatter. She looked
around in surprise at what she had done. The explosions had sent shimmering
shards and dust of sandy quartz hurtling into the warm pool. The pieces floated
on the surface, bobbing gently and glimmering in the low light. After laboring
intently for hours to inflict even a tiny amount of damage upon the solid
structures, she had somehow managed to instinctively destroy them in a burst of
emotion. She raised her fingers to her throat, absent-mindedly rubbing her
voice box, which was growing stronger every day. Her mentor often said while an
opera singer on land could shatter wine glasses or windows, an opera singer in
the water could shatter bones. Her chest heaved with panting breaths as she
surveyed the carnage.
“He was never mine.”
* * *
By age fourteen, Varia had grown taller
than her mother.
Trevain was often uncomfortable with how
mature the young girl seemed—her childhood seemed to have vanished in the blink
of an eye. He had not even gotten a chance to create some memories of what she
was like as a kid before she had erupted from her little chrysalis and morphed
into the skin of a strange young woman. Although slender and pretty, her stormy
expressions gave her an air of severity. She carried herself with a
sophisticated, royal poise that was reminiscent of Aazuria, and if he had not
been instrumental in her conception, he would have guessed that she was surely
at least a century old. He felt himself constantly trying to impress her and
gain her favor, or trick her into smiling.
Despite his best efforts, she remained
distant and untouchable. Trevain was not even sure whether she really loved
him. He had the constant impression of having done something horribly wrong
which had deeply offended her; was it this way with all teenagers? Had he done
something so injurious? For that matter, was it this way with all women?
Aazuria was even more distant than her daughter—he was not sure that she
thought much of his parenting skills. This saddened him.
He really tried his best to be a cool dad.
These were his thoughts as he stood in
Varia’s doorway, observing the young girl as she read an intimidating-looking
book in her maroon armchair. He knew that Aazuria had hired some of the best
professors in the world for their daughter’s education, and many were surprised
with her already vast knowledge and aptitude for learning—especially
considering her unique upbringing. Varia was professional and courteous with
all of her instructors, always completing her assignments punctually and
methodically. She rather reminded him of a robot. He often wondered if there
was anything she was passionate about, or whether she would continue in this
hardhearted fashion.
“Are you still reading Crime and Punishment?” Trevain asked her gently.
She did not even glance up from her book to
respond. “No. Finished that last week. This is A Clockwork Orange.”
Trevain frowned. “Is that for school? Which
of your teachers assigned it? I’m not sure you’re old enough to be reading that
sort of thing. I didn’t read that until I was…”
“This is personal reading,” Varia said,
lifting her chin to contemplate him. Her different colored eyes were always a
curious sight to behold. Her blue iris was filled with innocence while her
green one was mysterious and predatory. “Mother recommended it to me.”
“I see. Well, if she thinks you’re ready
for it…”
Varia smiled. “Mother killed a man in front
of me when I was eight. He embraced me, calling my name as he bled to death. I
watched him drowning in his own blood. I think I can handle a bit of light
reading, Father.”
Trevain lowered his gaze, feeling foolish.
“I’m so sorry, Varia.”
“I’m not,” she answered in a low voice. She
stared thoughtfully at a sketch on her bedroom wall. “I was directly
responsible. Mother asked my permission—she wouldn’t have done it without my endorsement.
I wanted him gone, even though he was the only man I had ever known. The strange
thing is that he believed I adored him until his final breath. He never even
knew my real name. At least I learned how to be an excellent actress from that
whole situation.”
“Things are different now. Our enemies are
gone for good. You’ll never have to suffer anything like that again,” Trevain
promised. He wondered if she had used up all her energy in playing the role of
daughter to his enemy—was there anything of a child left in her? Were they to
be friends and equals now, business associates perhaps; had he completely
missed the opportunity to be a father?
“That wasn’t the worst thing I ever
suffered,” Varia said quietly, returning her eyes to her book. “It seems to me
that a lot of people have been through far worse. The world is just full of
awful people.”
“I really think you should stop reading
that for now,” Trevain said sternly. “I don’t care what you’ve seen or
suffered—you don’t have to address these serious issues now. Put a bookmark in
it and pick it up again when you’re a bit older.”
Varia glared up at the man silently. She
considered slamming the book closed or making a scene, but instead, she
carefully allowed the pages to flutter softly closed. Elegantly unfolding her
legs from beneath her, she rose from her armchair and glided over to her frozen
bookshelves. She obediently placed the book on the shelf before turning to look
at her father sweetly.
“It’s funny,” she said in a bitterly mellow
tone. “The man who died when I was eight did not order me around nearly as much
as you do.”
“Varia!” Trevain said in horror.
She smoothed her dress and pushed her
shoulders back as she regarded her father. “I will not apologize for speaking
the truth, even if it offends you. I am the Princess of Adlivun and I am
expected to read all there is to read and know all there is to know. I don’t
have the luxury of being the happy little girl that you want me to be. Stop
treating me like a fisherman’s daughter. Maybe I’m not the way you imagined,
but you’re not the way I imagined either. We may be amicable, especially in
public, but please leave me alone.”
Trevain shook his head, evidently wounded
by her harsh words. “Go to bed, Varia. We have to wake up early tomorrow to go
to the islands and greet your mother at the airport. I already got her some
flowers.”
“She’s not coming home tomorrow.”
“What?” Trevain said in surprise. “She’s
finished her business in Atlantis.”
“Didn’t you get her text? She’s visiting
Grandma in Bimini for a few days.”
Trevain fished his phone out of his pocket
and frowned when he found no communication from his wife. This was just like
her—forgetting to inform him of her change in plans. He did not betray his
disappointment and frustration, but simply nodded. “I see. Well, goodnight,
Varia.”
The girl had obediently crawled into bed,
pulled the covers up to her chin, and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Father.” She
listened to his breathing as he closed her door. His footsteps echoed through
the hallway, carrying him to his room. When she heard the sound of his door
closing, Varia opened her eyes and tossed the covers off her body. She bolted
to the window of her room and carefully slid it open, making sure that she made
no noise. She could not alert the guards in the corridor.
Heading over to her bed, she retrieved some
climbing gear from under her mattress. She moved back to the window and stuck
her head outside, watching for patrol guards or anyone out for a midnight
stroll in the wintery capital of Romanova, which had once been known as Upper
Adlivun. Since the war, the city had truly been the “New Rome” at the heart of
the Oceanic Empire. The name was also significant in honoring the lost grand
duchess, Anastasia Romanova, who had never been found. Adlivun had been fortunate
in recovering its own lost princess—and now she intended to sneak out of a
window and plunge into a puddle of mischief. How better to appreciate the
precious state of being alive? Young Anastasia would certainly have done the
same thing, if she had been given half the chance.
The moon was high in the sky, shining off
the snowy glacier on which the parliamentary palace had been built. It was
bright enough for anyone to see her activities, but she was sleek and lithe.
Hooking her climbing gear on her windowsill, Varia checked to make sure it was
firm before lowering herself through the opening. She slid down quickly,
several feet, until she came upon a horizontal pipe. Releasing the rope and
grasping the metal cylinder, Varia soundlessly shimmied across the outside of
the castle. She pulled her feet up, hooking them around the pipe to avoid being
seen as she passed the windows of a few rooms.
When she finally reached her destination,
she hung from the pipe and used her foot to knock on a certain window. Hearing
no answer, she groaned and kicked the window again. Her fingertips were getting
quite cold from clinging to the frosty pipe. When there was still no answer,
Varia removed one hand from the pipe in order to try and force the window open.
At the same time as she pulled, the curtain parted and the window slid sharply
open. Due to the fact that her weight had been distributed between the pipe and
the window, she found herself losing balance. She slipped from the pipe, but
before she could fall three stories to the icy ground below, she found a strong
hand seizing her forearm.
She exhaled in relief and laughed a little,
gripping the forearm that had grabbed hers. Her partner-in-crime pulled her
back into the window, helping her through and closing it behind her. Varia
could not seem to help giggling at the double-thrill of nearly falling to her
death (or grave injury) and defying her father’s wishes.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Glais
complained. He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest. “See? Dammit,
Varia, if you die from falling out of my window, they’ll hang me for murdering
you or something.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, ripping her hand
away from his chest and hitting him in the arm. “Don’t be so paranoid. Did you
get the stuff?”
He hesitated.
“Glais!”
“Umm, yeah. But I’m not sure that we should
use it. Seriously, Varia—I’m really sick of you getting me into trouble. If
your dad knew what you wanted me to do to you—he would behead me. Literally behead
me.”
Varia grinned, finding this imagery quite
amusing. “Obviously. That’s part of the whole reason I want to do it.”
“Because you want to see my head rolling
around in the snow?” Glais asked glumly.
“No, silly. Because I like the way it feels
to piss him off. So where do you want me? Over here, on your bed?”
Glais leaned against the window, his breath
fogging up the glass. “You insane girl! I can’t believe this. You’re going to
get me flayed alive.”
“You’re such a baby,” Varia said with
impatience. She rolled her eyes and grasped the hem of her shirt and began
lifting it over her head.
“No, no, no,” Glais said, rushing to grab
her wrists. He seemed frantic in the moonlight. “Really think about this. Once we start, there’s no going back.
What if you change your mind? We might be different people when we’re grown up,
and we might regret this.”
Varia gave him a determined look. “I know
who I am, Glais. I’m the girl who was born at the bottom of the earth. Maybe
you don’t know who you are yet, but I do. I told you I wanted this, and you
promised you’d do it for me.”
“I’ll do it,” he said timidly, “but are you
sure we should do it tonight? I have practice
tomorrow and I should probably get some rest…”
“Yes, tonight!” she insisted. “Besides,
you’re swift and strong—easily the best athlete in your sport and age group in
Adlivun.”
“I don’t want to be the best in Adlivun. I
want to qualify for the Olympics!” he protested.
“You will. I’ll help you train and be there
to cheer you on,” she promised. “Please, Glais? I never ask you for anything.
This is really important to me.”
He nodded in defeat. “Fine. Are you sure
you trust me? It’s going to hurt. A lot.”
“I don’t care about pain,” Varia boasted.
“But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You hurt me all the time when we’re
sparring. What’s the difference?” she asked irritably.
“Varia, you’re a princess. Eventually,
someone’s going to find out. They’ll know it was me. Your father is going to
tear me into a million pieces and then roast those pieces as prime rib and
sirloin steak on his barbeque…”
“For Sedna’s sake!” she shouted. “I want a
tattoo just like yours. Are you going to give it to me or not? Because if you
won’t, I’ll find someone who will!”
His shoulders sagged in surrender. Glais
lifted a hand absentmindedly to touch his own tattoo, the triple-moon of
Adlivun that he had inked on his neck. It was in precisely the same spot as his
father’s tattoo; as his memories of the man had faded, he often found his
thoughts dwelling on that symbol, and had decided to get a matching one to
honor Bain’s memory. He wanted to think of his father every time he looked in
the mirror; he wanted to be more like him. His art instructor had mentioned the
traditional Japanese method of using bamboo needles to create a tattoo. Some of
his Ningyo friends in Adlivun knew the irezumi
method and had been willing to teach him. He had not anticipated that the
stubborn princess would become obsessed with his body-art, constantly touching
his neck and begging him for one of her own.
He had difficulty refusing Varia anything
she wanted.
“Maybe it would be better if someone else
did it,” he told her, although the thought gave him a slight nip of jealousy.
“I’m not the greatest artist. There are people in Adlivun who have been
practicing for hundreds of years! I have only ever done this one tattoo on
myself.”
“I have seen you draw on the skin of your
friends,” she argued. “That one time you gave Kaito a dragon tattoo.”
“In ballpoint
pen! For Halloween! With his mother’s permission!”
“Oh, Glais,” Varia said with a sigh. “You
are such a good boy. It’s so disappointing.” She moved over to his bed and
pulled her shirt off before tossing herself onto the duvet. She pointed at her
back. “Come on. It’ll be awesome! I give you artistic liberty to make it as
fancy as you want.”
“Okay, Vari,” he said with a deep sigh.
“Have you considered how this might limit your acting?”
“Lots of famous actresses have tattoos,”
she argued. “Most of my theater work is in period costume anyway. I won’t have
to appear semi-nude unless it’s for movies or TV, and then they can just use
makeup or editing. Besides, it’s not like I’ll get to act much once I have to
help run the country. See? I have
thought about this.”
“Okay,” he said meekly. “Do you really want
the Adluvian triple moon?”
“Yeah,” Varia said, resting her cheek on
the pillow. “People say that the ocean isn’t constant, but it is. The tides are
always changing in response to the moon. People say that the moon isn’t
constant, but it is. It’s only our perception of it that changes. I love the
triple moon symbol and what it signifies. The maiden, the mother, the crone.
How could I ever grow out of something that represents life as a cycle from
birth to death? I would still want this tattoo, even if it wasn’t the symbol on
the flag of the nation of which I am a princess. But it is.”
Glais nodded, moving over to his desk to
get his supplies. “I hope you like it, Varia. I’ll do my best.”
When she felt the warmth of his hands
against her cold skin, she closed her eyes. The soothing touch was soon
followed by the jagged prick of sharpened bamboo. Somehow, this still had a
calming effect on her nerves. She wondered if her mother would be angry.
Nonetheless, she knew that she needed to do this for herself. It was an act of
patriotism, cementing her commitment to her country and to herself as an adult.
She needed to get this tattoo to prove to herself that she was ready to make
important decisions that would affect people, or possibly scar them for the
rest of their lives. She needed to remind herself that some consequences were
permanent and inescapable.
The traditional needle bored into her
flesh. Again and again, she felt it pierce and jab. She could tell that even
though Glais was emotionally hesitant, his hands were firm and true. He was
supremely skilled with a paintbrush, skilled at fencing with a saber, and
skilled at this combination of the two. She wondered if she was the first
modern princess to ever get a tattoo of her country’s symbol. Excitement
flooded her chest with every puncture. She felt the bamboo blade lift from her
skin.
“God, Varia. I can’t do this. What if I
screw up?”
She opened her eyes, glancing over her
shoulder to send him a smile. Glais was only 18, and still unsure of himself in
many ways. But she was sure of him; all the marks he had left on her person up
until this point had been positive. She trusted him implicitly. “Don’t worry,”
she told him, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “I have always loved your art.”
