Oceanside

In other circumstances, the disruptive whirring of the speedboats propellers as it tore through the dark murkiness of the ocean would have brought concern to the woman at the helm. Yet, with what she was due to achieve and the ease at which it would come – she found little reason to be anything other than triumphant. The atmosphere didn’t exuberate the sense of a victory due to any particular achievement. Instead, the woman bore a selfish smugness that puff out her already bulbous cheeks. Her tweed cardigan matched the tawny colour of her hair, pulled back severely into a tightly wound chignon, and the trousers she wore were ill-fitting and ill-advised for the situation she found herself in. Even in the darkness, the plain and ordinary woman looked like a woman of knowledge and learning yet she found herself in the midst of a scheme that truthfully summed up her lifestyle – she make decisions in the moment without any particular foresight.

Yet, she rarely felt regret.

Despite the fact a body, bloodied and wrapped in a shower curtain, ebbed and swayed with the gentle nudge of the waves as she skipped over them, she retained a calm disposition. Her upper lip remained as stiff as the day she had first taken up her position as a lecturer alongside her now dead colleague. Marlene Simmonds was a woman of great skill but she had always been overlooked in favour of the man she had so recently murdered. His body was still warm, the head wound he had sustained continued to bleed and rigor mortis had barely taken affect. As with most things, Doctor Simmonds had not planned for the murder of her colleague but now that it had occurred, she accepted her role in it. It was an eventuality she may not have considered but Simmonds would have had to done something sooner or later.

Smiling, she looked away from the body and back to vast emptiness of the ocean’s surface. The water had always appeased Marlene, and even in her youth she had dreamed of mermaids and creatures of the deep. Childish dreams had given way to reality in the maritime world but her passion remained steadfast regardless of the ideals she had left behind. Still, in a modern world, she wanted more yet the University of Central City had passed her over on promotion after promotion in favour of men of lesser pedigree. Hawk-eyed and sharp nosed, Marlene Simmonds had none of the meek demeanour that one would have expected upon first site. She was quick of wit and sharp of tongue, but she had stayed on in the hope that one day her time would come.

Her colleague had come to her with an idea, a proposal of the extraordinary variety that would have taken her from her humdrum existence into a brand new world. She had been offered a lifeline but as with most things, the man who had offered her everything had eventually become the obstacle that stood in her way. Marlene would not lose out on yet another opportunity. She would murder the entire world to achieve her goals and, with a malicious arrogance, she considered doing just that.

Still, her primary concern was the disposal of a body. Impulsive as she may have been, Marlene was a woman of meticulous thought and organisation. Her risks and mistakes had always been easily countered by the rate at which she could find the quickest and most reliable solution to a problem. Off the coast of South Carolina, the area that they believed to hide the world’s greatest power source, Marlene had the opportunity to commit the perfect murder.

She drew the boat to a steady stop and got to her feet. The shore was barely visible in the distance and Simmonds was in her element. Turning towards the heavyset brown-haired man – who would of course have died in a mysterious midnight accident when she returned to Central City – Marlene hoisted him to the edge of the boat and with a push, he slipped over the side into the water.

In the misty darkness of the ocean, sharks came to life.

“Feed well, friends.”

RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

Part IV

By

Paige McMahon

The Lighthouse

Her knuckles rapped against the rusted metallic door at the base of the Lighthouse with a continued echo throughout the lofty innards of the property. Eva was quickly reminded of almost every time she had spent during her youth climbing the slopes of the mountain to reach the lighthouse atop it. Tom Curry had been born and raised in the lighthouse, it had been the one heirloom that had passed down through the generations of the Curry family or so she had been told and as such, with the death of his father, Arthur had immediately become the owner of the whitewashed building. In the years since Tom’s death, nothing about the lighthouse had changed. Internally it remained a morbid shrine to a man who was dead and buried, but a man who remained at the forefront of his son’s mind regardless.

Normally, Eva would have called and allowed him the opportunity to reject her visit. She called all she was willing to call. Two days had passed since the storm had threatened the small coastal town of Amnesty Bay and in those two days she hadn’t heard from him once. Kako had passed through town the day after the storm, on her way back to Alaska, and begrudgingly informed the bar owner that Arthur was alive and well. Not that she had mentioned the reason behind her unexpected departure from the town. Eva’s worries had been appeased momentarily in that conversation, a first time an impromptu meeting with Kako had left her feeling anything other than nauseated, but ten more unanswered text messages later, she had arrived on his doorstep.

She lifted her foot and kicked the door just as it opened. The tense she had felt in her chest was quickly dissipated, relief rushed over her in the immediate moments that she saw his face. Arthur looked more than a little worse for wear. He had come to the door in a pair of grey sweatpants and nothing else – it exposed the bruises that formed along his ribs to her. His left eye was also the hoist of an impressively black eye. Sympathy quickly replaced her relief but both soon found themselves overwhelmed by indignation and anger. Her hands fell upon her hips, a sign the blond man knew all to well as an aggressive stance.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He shifted his weight unevenly. Pulling the door open slightly, Arthur slid onto the porch as she spoke. There was a playful and sheepish grin on his face as he looked into the disgruntled features of the girl he had called his best friend since their freshman year of middle school. “I live in a building of stairs.”

“I’m not talking about that,” she snapped. “Although, the stairs just got there first because I’m very close to giving you a second round. I’ve been calling and texting for two days. The only reason I didn’t come barging up before now is because I met Kako at the store. I was worried, AC.”

His features echoed a semblance of guilt. He couldn’t tell her he was Aquaman, not yet at the very least, and thus he couldn’t explain that he had just spent the better part of a day fighting against an ancient demonic entity known as Nebiros. The secrets were mounting and his head was conflicted as he thought about lying to her. Dale still held his identity in her hands and if she betrayed it to anyone – the world, including Eva, would know. Arthur wasn’t sure if his secret or lying would destroy their friendship more.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry really doesn’t cover it, dumbass.”

Eva exhaled heavily. She pushed her fringe, a wave of browns, from her eyes in exasperation as she tried to refrain from injuring him further.

“What happened with Kako that she’s bailed back to Alaska?”

Arthur shrugged uneasily. “She decided she wanted to spend some time with her parents. Things sort of exploded after the storm and I’m not sure if she’s coming back. I just know she hasn’t resigned from the school. I just lost it with her and we’re in a rocky place.”

“Well–“

“Look, I know you didn’t like her but I don’t need a lecture about this right now. I’m already feeling pretty shitty about it all.”

Eva bit her lip. “If it’s meant to be, she’ll be back.”

Arthur forced a half-hearted smile. It was strange to have a conversation with Eva after all that had happened. Being able to deal with home problems, even if he had been unsure of his relationship before the argument, was a change of pace from saving the world or his town. He didn’t realise how much he had missed sitting around with Eva and talking about the mundane things until he hadn’t had the time for it anymore. He wasn’t a child and his role as an eco-warrior, and now a hero, hadn’t been a decision so much as it had been a calling. Arthur’s path had taken him to where he stood but it never seemed to answer any questions and every good deed seemed to have been a double-sided coin.

He needed that big win.

It was only by the grace of God and his association with the Justice League that Aquaman’s reputation had been saved from complete annihilation by the corrupt and volatile Governor Mason of Comstock, not that he had stopped his anti-mariner campaign for a moment since the storm. Yet, Aquaman’s role in that wasn’t widely known and perhaps that was for the best.

“I’m not sure how I feel on it all.” He forced a small laugh. “It’s pretty low on my list of concerns, to be fair.”

Eva smiled teasingly. “Well, I never did like her.”

Arthur tried to glare, but she forced a smile.

Comstock

“Provide the evidence.”

Dale Conroy had been taken for a lot of negative things in her life, she couldn’t have numbered them all on the fingers of both hands, but she had never been considered stupid. Pretty, blonde, and doe-eyed women always found those comparisons thrust upon them. Yet, Dale was a woman of cunning and ambition that had proven them wrong time and time again. Standing in the ornate office of Governor Mason, the South Carolinian senatorial candidate with a heart colder than the waters that surrounded his home, Dale folded her arms across her abdomen. She was smartly dressed, making an impression had always been in the teachings of her mother.

She had only spoken with the man on the phone until now but she found him to be exactly as she had expected. Mason was just another of his kind, a stereotypical politician, a fat cat man with more money and endorsements than he had morality. Her eyes flickered and her cherry-red lips formed a slight snarl.

“I’m still waiting on that money, Mason.”

He gave an exaggerated jovial laugh. “And to think,” his eyes became sharp and pointed as if he were reprimanding her. “This was once about vengeance for your father.”

“Believe me, Mason,” she replied coolly. “This remains very much about vengeance for my father and everyone else who has died on those rigs over the last year. Sometimes, money is simply the best way to mend a girl’s broken heart.”

The brown haired man, as heavy around the gut as he was in his bank balance – off shores or otherwise, leant back in his chair. Mason was not a man above taking the law into his own hands. It was a well circulated speculation that announced his “nefarious” plans to ravage the oceans for their oil, which he would distribute to the highest bidder. His once mighty political aspirations had been over shone by the avarice that now filled his every waking moment. Mason was content to watch the world burn so long as he was able to rise from the ashes that were left behind. Power was everything to a man who had been born with nothing. His corrupt dealings had never been anything more than rumour or speculation, and Mason’s level-headed extremism had won him many fans and admirers in the recent months since he had begun his crusade against the mariner that threatened his entire operation.

The oil rigs were public knowledge, but the extent at which they operated or those even further offshore that he had hidden from the records would have brought him scrutiny that his campaign couldn’t currently withstand. Mason had much to thank Aquaman for, his attacks had portrayed the businessman as a victim of environmental terrorism. Yet, Aquaman was damaging too much of the operation to make it viable and now, with his participation in those foolhardy heroes of the Justice League in Star City, he was becoming a saint in the eyes of those who had once followed Mason’s hateful ideologies.

“O’Rourke,” he answered smoothly. “See that the transfer is authorised to Miss Conroy’s account.”

It took several minutes of tense silence for the thuggish red haired security guard to enter the details into the cell phone but almost immediately after he was finished, Dale was alerted via her own that the money had entered her bank. She looked closely at numbers before her, allowing a sliver of a smile to etch onto her face, as she turned her pale gaze – as dark and treacherous as the storm that had so recently threatened the harbour town – towards the man. She wasn’t thankful, Dale had too much pride to show gratitude for what she rightfully deserved. Instead, she approached his desk with an empowered satisfaction, her body slinked sensually drawing his lustful attention to her hips as she moved.

Her hands firmly pressed against his mahogany desk, blonde hair falling from her shoulders, as she looked into his eyes and pulled a vial out of her bra.

“Here.”

Mason groped for the vial like a man on the brink of starvation as Dale backed away, and began to type on her phone.

“What is this, Miss Conroy?”

Dale smiled, her face illuminated by the backlight of her cell. “That would be a liquid concentration of Aquaman’s blood.” His computer uttered a null ding. “Those would be the pictures I took off him as he rushed towards the ocean before the end of the storm. Slightly blurry but the blood in itself should be more than enough.”

Mason furrowed his brow, suspiciously. “And how, pre tell, did you manage to acquire the terrorist’s blood?”

“Never underestimate the ability of a woman,” Dale smirked.

Revealing the method of her extraction was not high on her priorities, she viewed Mason as nothing more than a pay packet and a target in her grand scheme. He was useful now but she would reveal nothing when she could later use it against him. Dale’s gentle caress of Aquaman’s wound – wearing clear gloves from which she could examine and bottle the blood in a liquid concentration – had been enough for her to find out everything she needed to know about Arthur Curry, the man behind the garish orange chainmail. However, he had been one cog in the destruction that had led to her father’s death, while Mason was the other.

She turned to make her exit.

“You have done your country a great service.”

Dale paused. “Oh, Mason. Don’t mistake by participation in this scheme as a partnership. I have other plans in motion for Aquaman, but he is not the sole target. My father’s death came from a lot of sources.” Looking across her shoulder, she glared. “Play your cards close, Mason. When Aquaman falls, you’ll swiftly follow.”

She slammed the door as she left. Mason’s face was taut and unsteady as he contemplated the threat from the woman who had already proven herself to be resourceful.

Necropolis

Eerie, dark and full of shadows that would have frightened even the bravest of warriors. The Necropolis was the former reigning seat of Atlantis, it had once been known as the City of the Golden Gate but those particular monuments lay in broken rubble spread far and wide through the other destruction. There was a beauty to the former capitol that even Orm could not hide amongst the murder and blood that had ravaged it. Whatever its name, it was not a city of the dead – it was a city of no-one, but one. The area was forbidden by punishment of death under the rule of the Atlantean monarch, King Orm the First of His Name. He was the usurper king, the child of the exiled Queen Atlanna through rape from her brother, Atlan. Atlan was dead and Atlanna deposed, Orm’s orchestrations had led him to the only thing that had ever concerned him – the throne.

Mera pulled the hood closer around her face as she moved through the murky waters of the pass that separated Necropolis from the new capital city of Poseidonis. It was a risky endeavour to visit the queen so openly but she had little choice, Vulko had revealed the theories she and so many held to be truth and unless she could inform the mariner, the rightful king, of his legacy – Atlantis would never be saved from the harsh and volatile rule of the Mad King. The hood hid her vibrant crimson hair from view but no guards surrounded the passages, they were all clustered at the gates of the old palace. Her companion sighed heavily, drawing the maritime maiden from her own daydreams and back into the reality of her situation.

Rodunn, she thought with a fondness that she rarely allowed herself to feel for anyone. It was a shame that he was growing older and thus weaker as the war brewed on the horizon. He was all that remained of her home of Xebel, other than the golden diadem that held a magnificent emerald in the centre of her forehead, and he had become her protector and saviour when she had been a child. Mera had only been a child when she had witnessed the violence Orm was capable as he crushed her home and, on a whim, declared the child princess to be his trophy. He was barely a year older than she, but he had all the bitterness and anger of a wearied man five times his age. Rodunn had come to her defence and almost lost his head if not for her screeched pleas.

“We are not far now, princess.”

She shivered at the use of a title she had abandoned long ago. It reminded her of all that she had lost and the nothing that had been gained from her survival. Mera had grown as cold and bitter as the man she had so fervently despised. “Indeed, Rodunn.”

“Halt.”

Four guards hovered ahead of them as they approached the mouth of the pass.

“In the name of the Righteous King–”

Mera snarled. “Now!”

Both disrobed for flexibility and manoeuvring, their shielded identities would be of little relevance where they murdered at the hands of the Kingsguard. Rodunn, almost sixty years old but with the agility of a spritely youth, rushed past her in a burst of energy as the tackled the man nearest them. Both men hurled backwards, crashing into the walls of the passage with a thunderous roar. Yet, another man drew her attention from the scene. He drew his sword, it glittered gold and silver, and he came toward her. Mera’s eyes, once a delicate green of seaweed burst with blue energies as did the emerald clasped by the golden diadem. Her lips lifted at the edges, forming a hint of a smile, as she held a hand towards him.

Seemingly nothing happened, until his approach was halted with a sudden crash mere centimetres from her hand. His sword was thrown from his hand. In the distance, amidst blood and bone, Rodunn had already turned his attention to his second assailant.

Mera dropped the hard water construct she had created and moved forward with grace, she reached for the unmanned sword. Swinging it with force, she decapitated the man who had attacked her. There was no time for pity or remorse, not that she would have felt either, as she was forced to defend herself against the remaining soldier. Swords rung as they collided with another, the guard thrust his shield into her chest and Mera found herself momentarily winded. Her crimson hair slipped from the bun as she crashed into the ground but the princess would never see her death at the hands of someone so inept.

He stood above her. “The call has been sent. The others will come.”

“Not in time for you, fool.”

Mera’s eyes and diadem crackled with energy as she created a solid water construct in the shape of a blade. She thrust it through his chest with precision and ease, withdrawing it only as she returned to her feet.

Rodunn seemed concerned. “That was close. They’re getting better.” He brushed the blood from her pale cheek with his thumb.

“They couldn’t get worse,” said Mera dismissively.

Bells rung.

“We must hurry.”

Mera moved ahead. The prison was said to have been in the old palace but Mera had an ally on the inside, the disfigured Murk, and had learned long ago that there was a hollowed cell at the mouth of the pass. She crashed through the faux cover, a panel that hid the usurped queen from view.

“Atlanna, your majesty.”

There was a curt smile that crossed the woman’s stern, and wrinkled features. “Your social grace is such a treasure but there is no need. Titles come and go, yet here I stay.”

During childhood, tales of the fabled beauty of Poseidonis had run rampant. Golden hair that brushed her hips, eyes as blue as a sapphire and a face that looked like it had been carved by the hand of Thessalonike. Yet, that woman did not sit before the red haired princess of Xebel. Years in captivity had not been kind to the woman. Atlanna’s eyes were sunken and dark, her cheeks taut and her ribs clear even beneath the light brown robes she had been afforded for a strand of dignity. Malnutrition was clear for all to see, her hair was grey and wiry and fell as limply as she moved.

Mera was almost moved to tears at the site of the woman. “I come with news.”

“You come at great risk, Mera.”

“No risk is great enough.”

Rodunn hung back nervously. Atlanna saw his uneasiness. “Yet, your manservant disagrees with your decision.”

Mera frowned. “He is a colleague and a friend with a shared goal.”

“I will never reclaim that throne. I am old and frail.”

Mera nodded. “Yes, but your son can.”

“You seek to depose by son.”

“I seek to depose Orm,” continued the beauty. “He is not your only issue, and as he is the second – Orm is not the rightful heir to the throne.”

Atlanna now mimicked the uneasiness she had witnessed in Rodunn seconds beforehand. Her vision became cold and unfeeling, the fears of what would become the son she had with Tom Curry now played heavily in her mind. The human world was a mess but Atlantis was a dangerous world of murder, deceit and horrors that he would assuredly not survive in his soul even if he could in his body.

“My son lives.”

Mera confirmed her statement.

“His father?”

“I know nothing of his father. Vulko didn’t–“

Atlanna snapped to attention. “You have spoken with Nuidis?”

“He has been living a beach away from your son on land. He was exiled shortly after you were overthrown. He narrowly escaped the blade.”

“Mera, you’re messing with what you don’t understand.”

Rodunn frowned. “We’re striking back. Xebel was taken by your son. He is a mad king. The mad must be destroyed.”

Mera shrugged. “Your other son. He is Aquaman to the mortals. He is arrogant and foolish but he has a heart that has guided him back to the oceans as a protector. He has heard her call.”

“His name is Orin.”

“Orin,” repeated Mera. “He can be a great leader, Atlanna. We need you.”

Atlanna frowned. “They want you to free me. They want you to make me a criminal on the run, but I cannot allow that. Orin does not need me to take the throne, he needs only the trident and the others.”

“Others?” said Mera and Rodunn in concert.

“Yes,” continued the old queen. “As Orm holds the Trident and you bear the Diadem, there are five other artefacts forged from the same magical aurum. Each has a gift and each must work together, the six can tackle one but individually they are more powerful than any mere man or Atlantean.”

“Where are the others?” enquired Rodunn.

Atlanna shrugged. “Spread far and wide. I never knew where Atlan sent the artefacts but the army he planned did not come to fruition. He fell and died. Without the others, Orin would certainly become the same fate.”

“Then I will find the others.”

Bells rung louder.

“Princess, we must go.”

Mera was hesitant.

Atlanna smiled. “Good luck, dear child.”

The Lighthouse

Arthur dropped the sheets of paper that held Plato’s accounts of Atlantis as represented in Timaeus and Critias. Detailed as they may have been, neither answered the many questions he had about the disappearing city – which turned out to be more akin to a continent comprised of several magnificent cities in both technological advancement and cultural ingenuity. It was unclear just why it had been taken beneath the waves or what had truthfully become of it, if it had ever existed. Yet, after fighting against a demonic entity, he found his ability to believe in the unknown slightly more swayed. Tom Curry had been a rational man, he wouldn’t have left such a provocative note if he hadn’t wanted Arthur to investigate what he had said, and as for Mera – he presumed she would be quite so provocative – but her statement only built on that which had been made by his father.

Frustrated and concerned that he may be losing his mind, Arthur got up from the sofa and stretched his arms. Pain surged from his cracked and healing ribs, but they were healing quicker than that of an average human. His speedy recovery was again forcing him to question everything he had accepted as common knowledge and fact. Arthur struggled more with the fact that his entire life had been a lie and that his father had played a part in perpetuating the falsehoods he had believed for so long. Unbearable as the thought was, Arthur was slowly finding it the only reasonable explanation. Brushing his blond hair back from his face, the handsome All-American followed the sound of the rapping knuckles on his door.

He pulled it half opened.

“Eva–“

“Sorry to disappoint, sugar.”

The smile dropped from his face and Arthur furrowed his brows in a quick succession that seemed to even surprise the attractive blonde woman that stood before him. It had been three days since Dale had made her veiled threat that she would let him know what she wanted and now, in the aftermath of his exposure as a member of the Justice League, Dale’s leverage had never had a higher steak. Something that both where aware of but the mariner had no way of knowing that the young woman had already sold his identity onto another party – Governor Mason.

“Can I come in?”

He frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“You can say whatever you need to from where you are, Dale.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I have need of your particular skillset. There’s–”

“I’m not for hire, especially not when I don’t trust the source.”

Dale feigned emotions that she didn’t feel. Sorrow seemed clear on her face, her stormy eyes brimming with tears on demand as if she faced the rejection of her last chance. The wind ruffled her blonde hair.

“The world is in danger, Arthur. My father has already paid the price for it, but we can stop it before it gets much further.”

His ears pricked up, whether he wanted them too or not. “What are you talking about?”

“My father was a professor of marine biology at Central City that found the location of an artefact believed to have been created by the god Enlil. It disappeared with Atlantis,” she continued to cry while watching in increase of interest. “It was a crown of great power, it would have allowed the complete control of the oceans. He shared this information with his assistant and he was murdered as she disappeared. I followed her here, Arthur. Marlene Simmonds plans to take the crown as her own.”

“That’s not a Central City accent.”

“Seriously?” Dale glared. “I’m telling you the world is under threat by the woman that killed by father, and you’re concerned that I sound too Georgian? People move for work all of the time, Arthur.”

He was silent.

“This is more serious than any concerns you have about me,” Dale continued. “It’s up to you. Let the world burn, but remember you’re role in this.”

She stormed off.

Poseidonis

“Mera!”

Orm welcomed her as she entered the grand banquet hall of the palace. Ornately decorated with the stylish flare of the ocean, shells and fossils of sea creatures long dead flourished the pillars that opened with wide spaces to expose the entire city of Atlantis to those gathered in the hall – the two royals and the host of servants that fluttered around them preparing dinner and laying the table. Mera was quick to note that only two places had been set but secondly, she drew her attention towards the mad king, Orm. He was not an unattractive man, his flaws made up the majority of her distaste for him, but she had always found it difficult to make eye contact with him. In the dispute that had caused the fall of Xebel, Orm had been blinded in his right eye. Rumour proclaimed that it had been Mera’s own twin sister Hila that had cost him his sight.

His hair, as dark as the leagues of water above them, was drawn back harshly from his face and he did this to emphasis the loss of his eye – a token of his victory over her people. He wore a dress robe of deep purples and blues, the staple colours for the man, and he smirked as he saw her. Mera was as much a trophy to him as the lost eye. Yet, she was admittedly the more beautiful of the two he possessed.

Mera’s dark blood-red hair fell across her bosom in a mass of waves and loose curls. She was clad in a magnificent gown as shimmering as the gemstone that permanently rested in her diadem. The form fitting gown accentuated her figure almost as much as her staple uniform did, but with more elegance and loosely hanging where she wanted to leave more to the imagination. A paler green shawl, sheerer in fabric, fell from around her elbows and followed in a long train. Mera may have looked the part but the tense disapproval on her face showed her anger at having been summoned to his court.

“It is so rare to hear from you,” he stated joyously, gesturing that she be handed a glass of the sparkling water lily wine. “Yet, I am able to lay my eyes on you. It is a pleasure, my lady.”

Mera frowned. “I wasn’t aware the invitation left room for rejection, my king.”

He laughed heartily.

“Others bow to men and kiss my ass,” he began. “Not you. You speak with such disregard that even your politeness is false. You betray your teachings as a princess, I appear to have stripped those graces when I murdered your father. Your mother.” He pointed at his eye. “And gutted your sister.”

She stood in silence.

“I had hoped you would come around. I needed you to settle into that position but almost sixteen years later, we’re just as stuck as we once where. It’s no good, Mera. It’s just no good.” He frowned, darkly. “I heard you were fraternising with an enemy of the state. My little fish see all.”

“I’m sure I know the fish in question.”

He laughed again, loudly and unexpectedly. “Now, I have to take it a step further, Mera. The good doctor will have to die and that manservant of yours too. I’m sick of that overzealous lapdog leading you astray.”

He watched her, waiting for a reaction that she refused to give to him.

“Did my mother have anything interesting to say, Mera?” He enquired.

Mera smiled. “Nothing of interest to you.”

Orm glared. “You are excused, Mera. I have no time for your insolence this night. Just be reminded that your actions will have repercussions and they will be dealt without mercy. I may have a use for you but your allies are collateral damage.”

Mera turned to leave.

Orm screamed to his manservants. “Show in the girl!”

Miya Shimada, much like the son of Atlanna and Tom Curry, was a hybrid of land and sea but much more powerful than those half-breeds tended to be. She held a fervour to be pure and accepted into the society she had joined at the cost of the land life she had left behind and was even known as the Tsunami due to her violent and explosive temper that was hidden beneath the veneer of the oriental beauty. As the doors opened to reveal to the woman, Mera narrowed her eyes. Wearing a green visor and an extravagant white crown, but little else, Miya snarled as she walked past the woman who was competition for the throne that she claimed.

“Traitor.”

Mera smirked. “I may be a traitor but remember, you’ll always been nothing more to him than a half breed. He may fuck you, but he’ll never crown you.”

Miya turned rapidly towards her but Mera reacted just as quickly. Interjecting before the woman of Japanese birth could even speak.

“Follow me again, Tsunami,” snarled the last remaining Xebel royal. “I’ll cut your throat and feed you to the mad king before he even realises you’re gone.” Slightly amused, she continued. “At least, in a way, you’ll get to sit on the throne for a moment.”

Mera exited.

Beachcove

“Old friend.”

Rodunn stood on the land for the first time in forty years. It was with a rush of excitement that he looked into the face of Vulko, a man who he had once considered his closest friend before shifting allegiances had sent them to different nations. The rest, as they said, was ancient history. Vulko reached forward and drew him into a tight embrace, the familiar waft of saltwater filling his nostrils. Aquatic creatures were easily distinguished in numerous ways, but they normally stood apart from humans from the soft scent of saltwater that followed them.

Backing up, every bit the soldier as he had always been, Rodunn spoke. “It seems times have changed more than I could have expected.”

“Our bodies may have aged but our souls remain as focused as they once were. Yet, after all of this time, I presume this is not a social visit.”

“No.”

Vulko nodded. “Come in.”

Beachcove was a small islet that in low tide was connected to the mainland of Amnesty Bay by a small sandy walkway. However, in high tide, it was a nation very much on its own and it was this time that Vulko found true peace on the island. The proximity to the child had been his first and only thought but in the years since, Doctor Vulko had found tranquillity that pleased him on the islet. He knew none of his neighbours and they knew even less about him, but he missed the depths of the oceans. He missed his legacy. Vulko’s anger didn’t show on the surface but the fury burnt within him like a furnace.

“Atlanna is aware of the child’s survival.”

Vulko smiled. “Good, she should have some joy in her plight.”

“It brings her no joy, Nuidis.”

He raised his eyes in confusion.

“Mera has made her plans to use Orin–”

Vulko interrupted. “He is known as Arthur Curry on land.”

“Either way, Mera plans to use the young prince to usurp the throne.”

Vulko growled. “You’re princess is a spirited woman.”

“Her heart is in the right place,” continued the age soldier. “I just fear that neither she nor the boy are prepared for the war that will be waged against them should they make a strike against Orm.”

“I doubt they are.”

Rodunn weaved his words carefully. “Atlanna gave us a warning. She said there were others that would be needed should a war against Atlantis begin. Five others, to be specific. Mera mentioned your interest in her tiara.”

“The Diadem is one of seven.”

Rodunn nodded. “Orm possesses the Trident.”

He waited but nothing was said.

“Where are the others?”

Vulko sighed. “You’re princess is not prepared to face the others on her own. Just because they were gifted by Atlan in his war, does not mean they have not been corrupted by his power.”

“We should enlist the boy.”

Vulko shook his head. “He is no more ready than Mera. Perhaps even less so.”

“She may already have revealed his identity.”

“No,” concluded Vulko. “She may have dropped hints but even she was unsure. He’s more confused now forever. It is not the time for him to know, although I fear that time of necessity will come before he is ready.”

Oceanside Clinic

Killing the engine, Arthur stepped out of the pickup.

Oceanside Clinic had been built only a year previously to act as a research outpost for marine biologists as well as a rescue reservation for those animals in need. Descending from the nose of a mountainous peak, the lopsided building stretched from a great high before diving into the ocean in a series of pools and containers. Modern and futuristic, it was a stark contrast from the sleepy alcoves that he was used to. Yet, when Dale had come to him, Arthur had been unable to hide behind his reservations. If there was a risk to the world, he would need to at least explore the possibility. Arthur had never been to the outpost before but he hadn’t found it much of a stretch that a visiting marine biologist would make her way to the outpost.

He descended the short drop and pushed open the door. It was bright, illuminated by the harsh light of a laboratory. Saltwater seemed to fill his nostrils, likely coming in on the breeze off of the sea.

“Can I help you?”

Arthur turned to face a woman with a clipboard. Her honey-coloured hair fell in waves around her pretty face but she looked less like what he would have expected.

“I’m looking for some information on one of your visiting, doctors.”

She smiled. “The doctors in residence are pretty much all in their quarters. It is rather late to be visiting but if you wanted to come back in the morning.”

“Unfortunately, it’s much more urgent than that.”

Her brows furrowed, she moved behind the welcome desk. “Which doctor was it?”

“Simmonds. Marlene Simmonds.”

She looked up from the computer screen without typing. “Doctor Simmonds and her colleague arrived yesterday. Her colleague was gone by this morning, but Simmonds is currently at sea doing some observations. Her research details the nocturnal lifestyle of creatures, I believe.”

Arthur sighed. Dale may not have been trustworthy but Marlene Simmonds was up to something much worse than the young Georgian. “Thank you.”

“Caitlin.”

He paused. “Thank you, Caitlin.”

She smiled as he left.

“Happy to help.”

Next issue: The tale of the Others unravels, and Aquaman hunts for Marlene Simmonds, the Marine Marauder!