Atlantis, 1582
“What are we going to do?” Taranis asked.
Lying on the moist, warm sand beside him, Visola sighed. He spoke in the refined Atlantean tongue that was meant for poetry and song. Even when he was not playing his guitar, his deep voice and foreign phonetics sounded musical. “What choice do we have?” she asked, rubbing her hand idly over his arm. “We must follow the instructions of our fathers.”
“I do not think I can do that,” Taranis admitted. “Knowing you… it has changed me. I can no longer imagine living my life without you.”
“We have our tattoos,” Visola said with a smile. She stretched out languidly on the sand, examining the glittering walls of the private lagoon. “You will always be my friend. Wherever I go in life, I will remember you and think fondly of all the trouble we got into together.”
“So that’s it?” he asked, looking down. The slender young boy strummed his fingers across the strings of the instrument he held on his lap. “That’s all.” Music poured forth, filling the cave with an enchanting sound. It was something he did whenever he felt upset and needed to lift his own spirits. “I barely got to know you,” he said, over the music, “and now you’re being ripped away from me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I will be your wife’s bodyguard,” Visola reminded him. “We can still train together and see each other now and then.”
Taranis shook his head, strumming a few more notes. He looked up at the cave sadly. “I have never even met her. What’s the princess like?”
“She’s a spoiled brat. An annoying little snob,” Visola said. Then she flinched at the harshness of her own words. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to say that. We’ve been fighting lately. But I do love her dearly, and sometimes I think she’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever met,” Visola admitted.
“I hear that she’s just a child,” Taranis said nervously. “Why would they want me to marry a child?”
“Technically, she’s older than I am, even though she looks much younger.” Visola sighed again, looking down at her own body, which had matured to the equivalent of a 16-year-old land-dweller. “She has lived underwater for most of her life, so her body is preserved and aging slowly.”
“I see,” said Taranis. He played his guitar for a few more minutes, slowly sending music out to mix with the relaxing sound of the water against the rocks. He played the tune of a song he had composed for Visola a few days earlier. She had almost fallen asleep when he abruptly stopped. “I want to do the right thing. I want to make my family proud. But I’m terrified of a cold and loveless life. I want to be with you, Visola. I feel happier than I’ve ever felt when I’m with you.”
“Me too,” she said softly, “but you should not worry. You will grow to love Aazuria. I promise.”
“I am scared,” Taranis admitted. He put his guitar aside and looked at her gravely. “Father expects me to propose to her tomorrow at the banquet. In front of everyone. What am I going to do?”
Visola turned away from him, to conceal the tears in her eyes. “You should do whatever feels right.”
“It feels right to be here with you,” he said quietly. He placed his hand on her waist. “Will you sing to me?”
She shook her head. “I cannot sing very well.”
“Just try,” he urged her gently, pressing his lips against the back of her shoulder. “You have such a nice voice.”
Visola bit her lip to steel herself and keep the emotion out of her voice. “I am afraid that I have no talents,” she said softly. “I cannot sing. I cannot dance. I cannot paint. I cannot write.”
“But I have seen you fight,” he told her, brushing her radiant hair aside to kiss her neck. “You sing with your sword. You dance with your daggers. You paint with the blood of your enemies. You will write history with your ferocity.”
Turning over to scrutinize his face, she gazed at him through her tear-filled eyes. “Why do you say such things to me? Why do you waste your words when you know we cannot be?”
“Why can we not?” he demanded. “Why should we let others choose our lives? Why don’t we take control?”
“Prince Taranis, please do not toy with me,” she told him, reaching up to touch his cheek. She smiled up into his amber eyes. “We both know that family comes first.”
“Then maybe you should be my family,” he said, taking her hand. His face lit up with excitement. “Let’s run away together!”
“Run away?” she repeated. She was not sure if she understood the correct translation for the Atlantean words. She was almost sure that her ears were deceiving her.
“Yes. Forget them!” he declared violently. “They can all rot. My father and King Kyrosed Vellamo—how dare they manipulate me into doing their bidding? I want you as my bride.”
“Bride?” Visola said in surprise.
Taranis leaned forward to place a kiss on her lips. He was uncertain, and awkward, and somewhat shy—but temporarily emboldened by his burst of rebellion. “Will you be my bride, Visola? Will you marry me?”
She stared up at him, her mouth open in a perfectly round O-shape. “Silly me!” she finally said with a little laugh. “I don’t know your language that well, and I just thought you said something that you could not possibly have said…”
“Will you marry me?” Taranis repeated in Old Norse.
Her mouth resumed its previous shape of astonishment. “Oh!” she said, after a moment, laughing again. “You must not know my language very well! There’s no way you meant to say what I thought you just said. Well, this is embarrassing. Look at us, a pair of fools from different countries, perfectly incapable of basic communication…”
Taranis pulled away from her and sat on his knees. He lifted his hands to speak in the universal sign language, which was utterly unmistakable to anyone who had been born beneath the waves. “Lieutenant Visola Ramaris, will you please marry me? This is a difficult question to ask, so please stop making me repeat it!” The poor boy’s cheeks were beet red. “I know a few more languages, but I might be running out of ones that we both know.”
Visola was frozen for several seconds. She lifted herself up onto her elbows and stared at him, cocking her head to the side. “But you’re a prince. I’m just a lowly warrior from the north. Your father would never allow it.”
“I will make him understand,” Taranis said, moving over to Visola and kissing her again. “I will go to him tonight and beg him to consider letting me marry you. And if he refuses, I will tell him that I agree to marry Aazuria; but instead, you and I can run away in the middle of the night. At midnight. I’ll find a way to send word to you, and we’ll meet back here. If you don’t get word from me, it means he agreed.”
“Taranis,” Visola whispered, reaching up to grasp giant handfuls of his shirt. “You would do this for me?”
“I would do anything for you,” he vowed, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly.
Visola buried her face in his shirt. She breathed in his scent, and found that he was spicy and musky, like a fresh, quiet forest in the morning. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”
“Really?” he said, pulling away to study her green eyes.
“Of course,” she told him. “I just can’t believe you would choose me. That you would fight for me. You’re the loveliest boy I’ve ever met.”
“You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met,” he told her, caressing his hands over her hair. “I think we can do this. We can be free and happy.”
“But where will we go?” Visola asked. She gasped. “Oh, no. What about my sister? I can’t leave Sionna. And Zuri—she can’t fight. She needs me. She’s so tiny and weak.” Visola clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. “I’m an awful person! I intend to abandon those who need me for my own happiness.”
“We might never get a chance like this again,” Taranis told her. “We have to act now, to protect our love. We can’t let them take it away from us.”
“I don’t even know if this is real love,” Visola said in alarm. “What if I’m making a mistake? This is all new to me.”
“It’s new to me, too,” he told her. He pressed his lips against hers again, and guided her body down onto the sand. “Do you trust me, Visola?”
She stared up into his amber eyes, and swallowed down a gulp of fear. She nodded.
“Then let me show you,” he told her, reaching down to untie the leather strings of her armored corset. “Let me show you what real love feels like.”
She watched him unstring her laces with a mounting terror in her chest. She felt suddenly too hot and too cold, all at the same time. She felt like she could not breathe. “Taranis,” she whispered. She grabbed his hands. She felt like she was going to be sick. This was all too much, too fast. “Are you sure about this? Please. Tell me truth. Are you sure about me?”
He smiled down at her with complete certainty. “I’ve never been more assured of anything in my entire life.” He kissed her again, gently. “Visola, relax. Your hands are shaking.”
She shut her eyes tightly in embarrassment. She was usually so calm and collected in most situations, but this was entirely unnerving. “I have never done this before,” she told him.
“Neither have I,” he responded.
“Really?” Visola said in surprise, her eyes shooting wide open. “Then how do you know…?”
“I just know,” he told her. “It just feels right. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.” He leaned down to kiss her neck, and continued to plant kisses over her collarbone. He kissed along the edge of her bodice and down to the opening of her corset.
Visola gasped. Her head tilted back as her body began to melt with pleasure. It did feel natural. It did feel right. She stared up at the shimmering cave ceiling in utter ecstasy. She had never known that she could be this happy.
“I’m running away,” Visola declared, “and you can’t stop me.”
Sionna looked up from her writing. She had been sitting on the ship’s window-seat and scribbling furiously onto a piece of fine vellum parchment when her sister had barged in, violently flinging the door open. Straightening her posture slightly, the doctor studied her sister with raised eyebrows. “Oh?”
Visola had expected more of a reaction. “I already told Aazuria!” she shouted in their mother tongue. “The princess doesn’t care. She said she doesn’t need me, anyway. No one needs me. Not even you or Papa. So, I’m going.”
Frowning, Sionna shuffled to the side to make room, and patted the spot beside her. “Come here, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Standing in the doorway for a moment, Visola felt her lip quivering. Then she launched herself forward, diving into the spot beside her sister and clinching her arms around Sionna. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Visola sobbed. “What am I doing?”
“Shhh,” Sionna said softly, wiping away a bit of ink that had spilled on her hand. She put her writing implements aside carefully so that she could put a hand on Visola’s back and comfort her. “Tell me what happened, dear.”
“There’s a boy,” Visola said.
Sionna smiled. “I gathered that much. You’ve been sneaking out at all hours for weeks. I wanted to ask, but I figured you’d tell me in your own time.”
“I should have told you sooner,” Visola said, wiping her sleeve against her nose. “I think I’m losing my mind. He wants me to run away with him. He wants me to leave tonight.”
“Tonight!” Sionna stood up abruptly, knocking over her inkwell. She uttered several Norse curse words before stooping to clean up the mess. She placed the letter she had been writing aside carefully to keep it from being damaged. “Visola, have you thought about this carefully?” she demanded. “Who is this boy?”
“It’s the prince.”
Sionna reached up to touch her face, unknowingly smearing ink all over her cheek. “Dear heavens, Visola! Are you mad? He is engaged to Aazuria! King Kyrosed would have you killed!”
“By the time he finds out, we’ll be far away from here,” Visola said. “He’ll never find us.”
“Where?” Sionna asked. “Where do you intend to go?”
“I don’t know yet. Taranis says he knows places. We could go to Africa, or Asia… or the new world.” Visola hesitated. “Would you consider coming with us, Sio?”
Sionna’s face softened. “Maybe. Viso, please. Tell me what’s really bothering you.”
“It’s Aazuria,” Visola said quietly. “I don’t think she likes me very much anymore. She keeps sending me away. She said, ‘I do not need a bodyguard,’ but it sounded like she meant, ‘I do not consider you worthy of my time and no longer require your mediocre friendship.’ I think we’re growing apart.”
“That’s ludicrous!” Sionna said. “Aazuria loves you greatly. If anything, she’s just been depressed at the concept of being forced to marry some man she doesn’t know.”
“Maybe,” Visola said glumly, “but you know I’m simply not smart enough to speak with her on most subjects…”
“Viso,” Sionna said in disbelief, moving back to sit by her sister’s side. “That’s not true. I’m very educated, and I would still rather talk to you than most people. You’re a genius, in your own way.”
“I just don’t have the schooling that you two have. The years of private lessons, the tutoring, the apprenticeships. I feel so insecure and lost when I listen to you two discussing certain things.” Visola sighed. “I’m just a giant, muscular brute. I feel huge. You and I are supposed to look exactly alike, but I am so much brawnier and heavier.”
“It barely shows,” Sionna told her. “Most people still mistake us for each other.”
“But Sio,” Visola whispered, grabbing her sister’s hands. “Taranis is the first person who makes me feel like a woman. He makes me feel important and beautiful, and less like an enormous blundering oaf. He compliments my appearance, and he’s always so sweet. When he’s close to me, I feel small—and heaven help me—dainty! He looms over me like a goliath, yet he touches me with such gentleness.”
Sionna glanced over at the unfinished letter she had been writing. “I suppose I do understand how you feel. It is a revelation the first time everything clicks into place like that.”
“Before you go saying that it’s purely physical, I promise you that it isn’t,” Visola said defensively. “The thing I love most about him is his music. He’s just so vulnerable when he plays that guitar and sings to me. It’s like I can see his soul.”
“Oh, Viso,” Sionna said softly.
“Do you remember that story Papa used to tell us?” Visola asked. “About the Norse hero named Gunther? He played the six-string Scandinavian lute. Do you remember how he played it until the very end, even while he lay dying in a pit filled with snakes?”
“Real men will never be the way they are in the stories,” Sionna cautioned. “Fairytale heroes don’t exist, darling. Real men are flawed, weak, and stupid.” She lifted a hand to brush some wisps of red hair out of her eyes. “Goodness, Visola, you sound like a fool right now. You’re not thinking clearly. Lots of boys have been interested in you…”
Visola nodded. “Sure… but Taranis is the first man that I have ever found attractive. He’s handsome, charming, tall, strong and brave. He is not afraid of me. Most men are scared of me, Sio. You know it’s true. They are too intimidated to approach us. If it were not enough that you and I are so much taller than most men… our red hair also makes them believe us to be witches.”
Sionna laughed. “This is true.”
“Taranis is the first man who expressed direct interest in me, up close and personal. Everyone else does it from a distance.” Visola made a face. “They like to watch from the shadows and gawk at me. But they’re too terrified to get close and have a conversation. So, they send their fathers to talk to my father. Pathetic wimps.”
“That’s just the respectful protocol,” Sionna said gently. “That’s how things are done.”
“You met someone, and he spoke to you,” Visola told her. “You already have someone you intend to marry. You’ve spent more time over the last ten years writing letters to this mysterious doctor from Paris than talking to me!”
“I’m sorry.” Sionna lowered her eyes. “About that… while we’re on the topic. I’m worried that something happened to him.”
“What do you mean?” Visola asked.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sionna looked at her sister with disheartened eyes. “It has been two years since I received a letter from Dylan. He used to write me every week, without fail, for eight years. I have been writing him, out of desperation to get some kind of response—anything at all. But I’m losing hope. I know that there has been a lot of war in Ker-ys, and… Why would he suddenly stop? Did he meet someone else, or did he get hurt? Is he in prison? Is he even alive? I wish I knew.” Sionna wrapped her arms around her middle. “I wanted you to meet him, so badly. He was so handsome, so brilliant. I thought we’d be married by now, but instead… I lost him. I think I lost him for good.”
Visola stared at her heartbroken sister in dismay. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me he stopped writing back?”
“Because saying it out loud makes it real,” Sionna said. She bit her lip. “I couldn’t admit that it was really over. I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone like him, ever again. There aren’t too many really wonderful men in the world.” Sionna hesitated. “I… I stopped sending the letters. He never replies, so what’s the point? But I have kept writing them. I cannot seem to stop. I’ve kept dozens of letters sealed in a little waterproof case. I keep hoping I’ll meet him again someday, and I can give them to him. But I know that is a foolish hope.”
Unable to say anything in response, Visola simply leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder, and sat in silence with her for several minutes. She did not think she had ever seen the young doctor so devastated. She tried to think of a comforting or uplifting phrase, but could not find the words.
“If you do run away, I will come with you,” Sionna said softly.
Visola bolted upright. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Sionna said. She lowered her chin, and tears began to slide down her cheeks. “Oh, Viso. I wish I had been brave like you. I never should have left Paris. I should have stayed with him. I should not have waited and delayed—there was no time. I should have been proactive and passionate; I should have risked it all for love. I should have eloped with Dylan and married him when I had the chance. But I had to be all reasonable!”
It was difficult for Visola to watch her sister cry. Sionna very rarely displayed such emotion.
“If you have love, seize it,” Sionna said. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did, and throw away your happiness for family responsibility.” Her tears cleared up instantly as she tensed up and straightened her posture, considering a second scenario. “However, I don’t want you to throw it away unless this is right. Are you sure that what you have with the prince is real? Is this what you want for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t know,” Visola said in a small voice. “I think so. I’m scared. Excited, but scared.”
“Will you allow me to investigate?” Sionna asked. “If he passes my test, then you will have my blessing. We’ll both go. Even if things don’t work out as planned, at least we’ll still have each other. It will be an adventure.”
Visola nodded tearfully. “It will be hard to abandon Zuri, but as long as I don’t lose you, I know it will be okay.”
“You won’t lose me,” Sionna said, leaning forward and placing a kiss on Visola’s forehead. “I’ll always be here for you. Remember our pact? Someday, when we’re old and grey, we will die together—on the same day. Just like we were born on the same day. So we’ll never have to live a day without each other.”
Visola smiled. “Promise?”
“Promise,” Sionna said. She stood up and took her sister by the hand, and dragged her over to the bed. She pushed Visola down, and tucked her in under the blankets. “Get some rest before your grand elopement!”
“I will,” Visola said. “Thanks for not making fun of me, Sio. I couldn’t bear it right now.”
Sionna gave her sister yet another kiss goodnight, but there was a pensive look on her face. “Just don’t get your heart broken, darling.” As she said this, her body began to fade.
Visola looked up at her curiously. “Sio?” She saw that her sister’s figure had developed a glowing outline. Her skin was glowing and becoming iridescent. She did not look human. Visola gawked at what appeared to be an angel. “Sio!” Visola screamed, sitting up and reaching for her sister in a panic. Her hands went directly through the woman’s body. It suddenly occurred to her that she was not really here, in this place or time. It was not 1582, and she was not in a ship above Atlantis. She was… where was she? It did not matter. All that mattered was the fact that in her time and place, Sionna was dead. That was all she knew, and she did not want to go back. She scrambled for the apparition, trying to cling to her disappearing form. “Sio! Please, no! Sio, don’t leave me! You promised! You promised! Sio!”
The ghost floated away, her dress and body becoming whiter and whiter. A tranquil and graceful smile transformed her features. “Come to me,” Sionna said softly, reaching out toward her sister. Her ethereal voice echoed in the ship’s cabin as she extended two pale arms in the gesture of a loving embrace. “You promised me. We were supposed to die together. Born together, die together. Come to me. You should be with me.”
“I want to be,” Visola sobbed. “Take me with you. Sio! I was trying to avenge you.”
“This is not what I would have wanted,” Sionna’s spirit replied. “Everything you’re doing—this is not for me. I never would have encouraged my sister to kill innocent people.”
“But what else can I do?” Visola screamed. “I can’t bring you back to life. I can’t raise the dead! I can’t fix this. I can only kill. It’s all I know how to do. You know that, Sio.” Visola crawled toward the ghost, clawing at her in desperation. “Please. I have no talents. I cannot sing. I cannot dance. I cannot paint. I cannot write.” Visola looked up at Sionna with the anguish that one might have when entreating a goddess for mercy. “I can only kill. This is all I can do to show you how much I loved you. This is all I can do to show the world how important you were. This is all I can offer you.”
“I am disappointed with your offering,” the phantasm told her, as its red hair burst into actual flames, which quickly engulfed the entire room. “All I want is you. You could burn a billion souls for me, and it would not suffice. You’re my missing half. Born together, die together. You promised.”
“Sio!” Visola screamed as the flames surrounded her body. However, she was not crying out in pain, but in fear that the wraith would disappear. “Sio!”
“Come to me,” said the specter, in an otherworldly voice. It echoed in every corner of Visola’s brain. “Come to me, and I will save you from the woman you cannot stand to become.”
Present Day
“What’s happening to her?” Joyce asked frantically. “Do something! Help her!”
Visola’s body had begun to convulse in serious spasms. “Sio! Sio!” she screamed.
“She’s having a reaction to the drug,” said Agent Karen Kilham with worry. Visola was shaking so violently that she caused the vehicle to rock. Karen fished around for something to help and handed more needles to the male agent. “Here. Give her this.”
“More drugs?” Joyce asked with worry.
“There’s nothing else we can do.”
“Sio! Sioooo!” Visola screamed. “Sio!”
“What the hell is she shouting?” Lewis asked as he slammed another needle into Visola’s arm. She slowly began to calm down.
Joyce Dearborn sighed. “It’s the nickname of her dead sister.”
Lewis turned to Joyce Dearborn. “I bet you’re thinking about that paycheck she offered you, right about now.”
“No,” Joyce said quietly. “I’m thinking about the one that gets direct deposited into my account on Friday… and how embarrassed I am to receive it.”
“Look, we still have a lot of information we need to get out of her,” Karen told the other agents. “She’s still holding Jackson Poole’s family hostage, and we have only gotten incoherent ramblings about how romantic this man called Leviathan is. Let’s give her a higher dose of a different truth serum.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“We don’t have any choice.”