Sheltered by the Sea Lord (Lords of Atlantis #10) - Starla Night Page 0,2
got back on the bunk and curled into a fetal position.
The gray light splayed on the ceiling. She stared at it the same way she used to stare at the ceiling in the hospital.
This is fine. It’s not happening. You’re not here.
Her therapist would be so sad for her. She’d spent years trying to tear down the film and become a real person. Three days in isolation, and she powered down like a computer.
But no one was coming.
And this was the only way her mind could survive.
Two
Gailen wasn’t supposed to be here.
He pinched withered, slimy leaves from ancient plants, seeking the dormant life inside. Around him, the ruins of old Atlantis spread out in all directions like the shattered rubble of his naïve dreams.
Once, it had been a sprawling city that could rise above the ocean and sink below with the pull of a lever. Human roads and statues and ornately carved buildings had dazzled with their craftsmanship.
The new Atlantis warriors had managed to raise the ruin three stages, into the middle of the ocean, but had been unable to extend up to the surface. As they’d excavated, searching for clues about the Great Catastrophe that had caused it to be destroyed in the first place, aggressive, creeping vines had climbed up through the mechanisms, crowding out the mer and choking off their ability to explore. And no matter how they battled the vine, it only grew back stronger.
By following it back to its source, in the center of the chunks of barnacle-crusted marble, Gailen had discovered an abandoned garden.
Maybe the key to gouging out the strange vine’s heart lay here. Or maybe the foreign tendrils would grow into a plant he recognized. Maybe one of the other dormant plants he’d uncovered would grow into something legendary, not found since the humans sank the ancient city and sent the mer into hiding. Something that made his labor in this little plot of silt, while everyone else escorted dignitaries and repulsed All-Council raiders, important.
He clawed at the soil. His index finger caught on an old root. He shifted his fins into human feet, rested them on either side of the root, and tried to clasp the dead wood. But his thumbs were permanently fused the wrong way and would not bend.
A curl of bitterness tainted his tongue.
After all this time, he really ought to be used to his disability. But somehow, it came as a surprise every time.
He yanked on the root, and his fingers slid off. He drifted a few feet away with the rest of the muck.
Ah well.
Gailen cracked his back and stretched.
Across the ocean floor gleamed beautiful new Atlantis. Its young Life Tree gleamed like a star casting pure, holy light over the ocean. The castles of the city bobbed around it, giant green spheres anchored to the seafloor, in two complete rings.
One castle was Gailen’s.
He had lovingly carved its interior, smoothing the rough spots, and filled it with the most bountiful garden. It was all ready for a bride.
Between the ruin of ancient Atlantis and the glimmering hope of the new Atlantis, steel chains anchored the humans’ floating platform to the seabed. The mermen had put in huge concrete blocks and stretched wires up to the surface. The humans had attached a communication bubble filled with machinery, and two warriors sat inside at all times, breathing the machine-made air and conveying messages to and from the surface.
Those warriors were doing important things.
He shifted to fins and kicked back to the ancient garden. This stump in the center was deader than his chances of finding a bride. He grabbed his neglected trident and jammed it into the soil beneath the root. He buried the blades deep into the thick, woody heart. This creeping vine was solid. He tried to lever the trident, but his palms slid off the staff. He jammed the trident base against his shoulder, planted his now-human feet, and forced it up and down.
The vine moved but did not break.
A roving patrol swam overhead. One of the warriors called down to him in a teasing tone, “Do not disrespect your trident by using it to rake plants, Gailen. Lieutenant Diras will take it away from you.”
Gailen yanked his trident free, straightened, and strove to return the warrior’s light tone. “It is my trident, Endi.”
“He will say ‘do not disrespect the warrior who crafted it.’” Endi made a show of impersonating the grave lieutenant. His partner laughed, and both looked at Gailen to share their amusement.