Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (22 page)

“Lieutenant Namaka,” she repeated, staring at the toddler as everything clicked into place. “You’re his infiltrator. You’re the mole. You’re the one who betrayed all of us! You’re the one who got Corallyn killed, and Sionna captured!”

If she could get rid of the child now, would it change the future? If she could grab little Namaka and toss her off the side of the boat, letting her swim back to her parents, would that fix things? Would a little cruelty to a toddler in the eighteenth century fix a major mess in the twenty-first? Visola crouched to her knees and reached out to grab the little girl, but her hands passed directly through her. Visola herself was no longer solid—her arms were becoming transparent.

“Throw her overboard, Vachlan! Throw her back to her parents!” Visola yelled. No one around her showed any indication of hearing what she had said. Instead, they continued talking to each other and completely ignored her. Vachlan was chatting with little Namaka, who had stopped crying to stare up at him curiously.

“Loyal to him, are you?” Visola shouted at the child. She reached out to grab Namaka by the neck, but her hands were just ghostly wisps of air. “All this time you were in our home, under our noses? Some kind of sleeper agent? I swear to Sedna I won’t let this slide! Do you understand what you’ve done, Namaka? And I gave you my bracelet! I put you in charge of Zuri! If you hurt her, I will come for you. I will find a way to come for you…”

Visola’s body was disappearing, and her voice was fading. Although she tried to scream louder at the girl, it was useless. No one could hear her. She could no longer speak, and she could no longer feel her body. An extremely bright light began to surround her. Was she dying? Was all of this some kind of pre-death delusion?

As she looked at the fading vision of Vachlan chatting with Namaka, she felt a wave of nostalgia. She wished she could just return to her fantasy, and continue to experience the months and years of getting to know Vachlan. It had been so nice before everything had fallen apart.

Please let me stay here,
she mentally begged the blinding white cosmos, hoping it could hear her thoughts.
Please let me stay in 1797. I’ll do anything.
Yet she kept moving through time, or space, or possibly both, away from the moment on the boat. It seemed that she was destined to be elsewhere.

What was the point of remembering and reliving this small, but pivotal event if she could do nothing about it? How could she die before she had gotten the chance to tell Aazuria who the traitor was, and to punish Namaka for her duplicity? As the white light consumed her, she thought of Sedna.

She wished that she too could stay alive against all odds by the sheer power of her rage.

“Yes, it was a horrible accident,” Trevain said into the phone. He had returned to his house to sort out his affairs. “I haven’t received the settlement yet, but I’m definitely going to need a new boat.”

His fingers toyed with the Ramaris family ring, which Aazuria had returned to him the last time she had been on land. She had been upset, but still too classy to throw it at him. It was this ring that had helped her to discover his heritage. He would return it to her before their wedding ceremony.

 “No, I need something bigger,” he told the person on the phone. He waited for a moment. “Yes, I realize what it’s going to cost. What do you have?” He waited for the response and then shook his head, as though the person on the other line could see this. “No—a lot bigger. I’m thinking battleship-bigger. Even an old discontinued model, or something of the sort.”

Trevain smiled when he heard the surprised protest on the other end. “Yes, of course, for fishing. I’ll have the necessary modifications made.” He waited before delivering his final, very convincing argument. “I lost my whole crew. Those lives can’t be replaced. I’m willing to pay a few extra bucks for safety. Do you know how big the ocean is? Exactly. Get me the biggest sturdy old battleship you can find.” He returned the phone to the wall.

He tucked Aazuria’s ring into his pocket, and began moving through the house. Eventually, he found himself standing in the doorway of the room that had been Corallyn’s, and he scanned it with his eyes. It was too soon for Trevain to gather her belongings. He could not deal with the loss yet. Her bed was still a mess. Her diary was lying on the night table at an angle, partly off the table, as though it had only just been cast aside. Her laptop was on her desk, and the light was blinking to indicate that it was still on, just sleeping. He considered collecting her things, and bringing them to Aazuria, but he could not even force himself to take a step forward into the room. He would try again at a later point in the future. He shut the door, and moved down the hallway to where Mr. Fiskel was gathering clothing and personal belongings from Callder’s room.

“Thanks for taking care of things while I was gone,” Trevain told his old friend.

“I’m just glad that you’re alive, Captain Murphy,” Mr. Fiskel said with a smile. “I swear I never doubted for a moment that you would survive that wreck. I’m finished with this bag.”

Trevain nodded, taking the suitcase from Mr. Fiskel. The two men began to walk across the corridor together, heading for the stairs. “I’ll need you to collect the mail about once a week, water the plants, and just do a general check up on the place. Your pay will remain the same, of course.”

“That’s not necessary, Captain Murphy…”

“Of course it is,” Trevain said as they descended the stairs. There were two other suitcases already by the door. “I’ll let you know when I return. We can catch up on things then. How is your health, Mr. Fiskel?”

“I’m strong as an ox, Captain Murphy,” the old man said with a grin. “How are things with Miss Aazuria?”

“Great,” Trevain said, with a touch of sadness in his voice. “We’re getting married.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but shouldn’t you be more excited to be getting hitched to a gorgeous young gal like Miss Aazuria?”

“I am thrilled, Mr. Fiskel. It’s just that a lot has happened recently and she’s not her usual self. We were going to have an elaborate wedding, but it turns out that it’s going to be rather rushed and practical.”

“Why? Did you get her pregnant?”

“No, of course not. Well… I don’t think so.”

“You dog!” Mr. Fiskel said, clapping Trevain on the back with a laugh.

“I’ve never been called that before,” Trevain said with a smile. “Well, let’s get going, Mr. Fiskel. I don’t want to keep you away from your family, and I have to get back to mine too. Wow—that’s also a new phrase. I’m a family man now.”

“Enjoy it while it’s enjoyable,” Mr. Fiskel recommended.

The two men exited the house, lugging the suitcases with them. Trevain briefly popped back into the house to set the alarm before locking up. After he had set the alarm, he heard his phone ringing.

“Damn,” he swore. “I’ll just let the answering machine take it.”

The two men carried the suitcases to the trunk of Trevain’s Range Rover. Trevain found himself looking up at his house with a twinge of nostalgia.
Goodbye, terrestrial dwelling,
he thought to himself.
You were a fine house to live in, but much too lonely.

Usually, the traditional Adluvian wedding was held in a submerged room, but Brynne could not breathe underwater or understand sign language, so it was modified for her attendance. Elandria and Alcyone were adding last-minute decorating touches to the cozy little room, and stressing about the details as is customary for even the most practical of weddings.

“I’m going to be the best man,” Brynne declared, “since Calzone is just a little boy. He can hold the rings or something.”

“Why d’you have to be so emasculating?” Callder complained. “You were so nice when you first learned I was alive.”

“Yes, but then I remembered why we broke up in the first place,” Brynne complained.  “Your headlights are out, your wipers are broken, your body is covered in rust…”

“Do not insult the body!” Callder said firmly, gesturing down at himself.

“Your engine is damaged and frankly it costs more to fix you than to buy a new one.”

“Brynne, I have changed since I died. Can’t you see that? I’m a different man, and you should be marrying me. We’ve known each other way longer than Trevain and Aazuria…”

“That’s how I know you’re not good for me. I’ve always wanted a brand new Mercedes,” Brynne said firmly.

“Then you have to stop using me!” Callder told her. “I’m not a sex slave, you succubus!”

Brynne shrugged callously. “Since when do you have self-respect, anyway?”

“Since the world declared me dead!”

“Children!” Alcyone said in frustration. She and Elandria had been doing finishing touches to decorate the room where the wedding would be held. “Can you please stop arguing?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Murphy,” Brynne said apologetically.

“This is a day for the princess and your brother,” Alcyone told them. “Try to behave.”

“Sorry, mom,” Callder said. “I guess weddings always make you think about your own love life. You can only chase after a girl for so many years before giving up.”

“Callder, my boy. Don’t give up on Brynne. She’s only testing you,” Alcyone told him with a smile. “Oh, here’s the priestess!”

The priestess was a small woman who was half Aleutian Inuit and half Australian Yawkyawk. She had a deep scowl on her face. “This wedding breaks every tradition of Adlivun!” she exclaimed. “The groom must not see the bride for a week before the wedding. They must have time to carefully reflect upon their choices in solitude. I will not perform the ceremony without having the traditional Week of Airosen!”

“Please understand, Sybil—this is a special circumstance,” Alcyone reasoned.

“Marriage is forever. There is no divorce in Adlivun. Sea-dwellers create lifelong bonds of fidelity and love.” The priestess looked at Brynne and Callder distastefully. “We are not fickle like those on land.”

“I resent that,” Brynne said angrily.

“So do I,” Alcyone said with a frown.

“Skipping the Week of Airosen curses a union!” the priestess insisted. “Do you really wish for Princess Aazuria to be cursed like her father?”

“Trivial superstitions don’t make a marriage,”
Elandria interjected.
“The individuals entering the union are not going to change who they are in the space of a week. Trevain is a good man, and my sister is a caring woman. They are both leaders. What matters most is the dedication and kindness the husband and wife give each other.”

“If they cannot dedicate a week of reflection to the matter, how dedicated are they?”

Alcyone sighed. “They’re in the middle of a war, Sibyl. There is no time for them to sit around and think for a week.”

“Cursed,” the priestess muttered. “They will be cursed if they rush into this.”

“I’m not happy about it either!” Alcyone said angrily. “I wanted something spectacular for my boy. This is horrible. This is like a lame courthouse wedding with a justice of the peace. This is just as boring as the way I married John.”

“It is not exactly time to celebrate,” Aazuria said, entering with Trevain.

“See this?” the priestess said, gesturing wildly to Trevain and Aazuria. “They have been with each other before the ceremony. No deliberation, no time to reflect.”

“I don’t need more time to reflect,” Trevain told the woman. “I love Aazuria.”

“Is she with child?” the priestess asked, moving over to peer closely at Aazuria’s stomach. “Is that the reason for the rush?”

“What? Of course not,” Aazuria said. Then she paused. “Well… I do not think so.”

“It’s irrelevant,” Trevain told the priestess.

“Fine,” Sybil said, gesturing to the carpet where there were two urns filled with water. “I will need both of you to take your places beside your own pitcher of Sacred Water.”

Alcyone whispered to Trevain quietly as he walked by her, “When my mother returns, can we have a real wedding? Promise me?”

“Of course,” he told her, kissing her forehead.

When everyone was seated on the carpet, kneeling in the formal
seiza
position in their respective places, the priestess Sibyl began to speak. “There is an urn filled with Sacred Water before the woman, and another before the man. Both of you are required to breathe the water into your lungs, and hold it there for thirty heartbeats. Then you must expel it into the urn—this will infuse the liquid with the
inua
from deep within your body, transforming it into the Sacred Breath.” The priestess looked at each of them intently. “Are you both ready?”

When they answered affirmatively, the priestess nodded. “Place both of your hands on the handles of the urn before you.” When Trevain and Aazuria had each gripped their urn, Sibyl closed her eyes and spread her arms. “Repeat after me: Into this water I cast a fragment of my
inua
—the best and worst of all that I am. With this water I freely bind my
inua
as I expel the Sacred Breath.”

Trevain and Aazuria spoke together. “Into this water I cast a fragment of my
inua
—the best and worst of all that I am. With this water I freely bind my
inua
as I expel the Sacred Breath.”