The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) (18 page)

I frown. “You’re getting
way
too smart,” I say before sighing deeply. “I did all I could do as an Amazon; it was time for me to move on since my reign as Keeper was over. Besides, if I remained with my recruits, I never would’ve had you.”

I mean every word I say and hope my sentimentality is enough to quell her thirst for information; it doesn’t.

“Do you know what happened to your recruits?” she asks. “Or to that evil leader of the queens?”

Obviously my vision comes to mind again, as well as the newspaper articles I read last night. Most distressing was hearing Catherine speak about killing one of the few true sisters-in-water I have left. But as much as I want to start treating Janey like she’s older, there are some things better left unsaid, at least while she’s still so young.

“Your father and I moved to Andros to leave that life behind, which is what we’re doing,” I say.

“But if those evil women knew that you and Daddy were alive, they might come after you?” she asks.

Moments like these make me realize Janey isn’t as old as she sometimes seems; she can’t hide the fear in her voice. She sounds as frightened of the prospect of Cassie’s queens as she does about the goat monster. I take her chin between two of my fingers and look into her eyes.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I assure her. “I’ll make sure Cassie never finds us, but you should always be on the lookout for strange people, especially women. Now let’s stop worrying about that and start having a fun day.”

Janey smiles but her eyes don’t shine with excitement the way they did before. We get out of the car and head for the first row of shops. Batsi is busier today than the last time I came here; it hadn’t been the middle of the summer then. A two-hour boat ride from Athens, our island isn’t big for foreign tourism but plenty of city folk take the short trip for a weekend away. Though the crowds aren’t too large, these streets are much busier than our village so I remind Janey to stay close to me.

Plenty of people sit at outside cafes, drinking coffee; most of the shops look the same, selling the same religious idols, Greek flags and tiny statues of Greek gods and goddesses. Most of it seems like junk to me but Janey is fascinated by everything she sees – and wants me to buy her everything she sees. Finally, one small statue in particular catches my eyes: Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt, appropriately armed with a bow and arrow.

“Janey, how about this…”

I turn around but only see a group of older Greek men sauntering by. My heart stops, my stomach doing flips. I go from relaxed to overwhelmingly panicked in an instant. Countless times in life I’ve faced life-or-death situations but the feeling I have now – though it’s only been a few seconds – is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Janey!” I call out.

“Over here, Mom,” Janey calls out behind a group of older Greek men. “This is what I
really
want.”

She points to a small blue beaded necklace.

“Okay, I think that’ll look nice on you,” I say.

Her smile beams and she giggles with excitement. But I no sooner begin haggling over the price with the store owner – a common practice when buying
anything
from these shops – when I see Janey rushing into the next store over, captivated by some piece of junk or another.

“Janey, wait! Don’t go anywhere without me!” I call to her.

She stops in front of the store where I can still see her, though that’s the only sign that she listens to what I tell her.

“You’re American, too?” a middle-aged man asks. He and his wife wear matching oversized hats and t-shirts displaying the Venus de Milo. “And here I thought this island was out of the way. Where you from?”

They seem friendly enough but
any
outsider who recognizes that I’m not supposed to be here is a threat. I mumble the only few Greeks words I know, throw a handful of Euros onto the counter and rush out of the store, grabbing Janey’s hand as we go. I don’t look back at the American tourists once.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Janey asks.

“Shh,” I hiss at her. “Don’t let anyone hear you speaking English.”

I snap at her but I’m really pissed at myself for dropping my guard, for leaving the village in the first place. I hope I don’t have to learn the hard way that distraction can lead to disaster. I pull Janey in the direction of our car but we don’t make it halfway before she yanks her arm free; she’s surprisingly strong for a girl her size.

“You can’t tell me everything about the…” Janey begins, before lowering her voice and looking around. She whispers the next words. “Amazons… and then not tell me what’s wrong.”

“Someone recognized us as Americans,” I say. “Now that I’ve told you more of my past, you know how important it is that we blend in.”

Janey nods but looks around. “Nobody’s given us a second look… except for those creepy old men at the café who were staring at
you
the whole time. And if you don’t want them looking, it might help if you weren’t so tall and beautiful.”

I
do
notice these old men gawking at me at times; sometimes, one of them even hits on me, though they seem pleased when I give them a smile and walk away. But now I glance around and see nobody looking at us; the American couple is nowhere to be seen. My nerves are still on edge but I no longer feel so panicked, I no longer feel the need to rush to the car and speed back into the mountains.

I’m even less interested in leaving when I spot the smallest storefront at the end of the street: the newsstand.

“Come on, Janey,” I say, taking her hand.

The entire store consists of a table with gum and cigarettes, as well as several racks lined with newspapers. Unfortunately, most of them are in Greek. I try to look at the pictures and pick up on the handful of words I recognize but I still don’t know most of the Greek alphabet. There doesn’t seem to be much international news and the only paper in English is the same outdated copy of the London Herald I read last night. I guess Cassie couldn’t have made any big moves the last few days or else it would’ve made the Greek news.

“Anything interesting?” Janey asks.

She can read Greek much better than I can; old Mrs. Anagnostou tries to teach her whenever Janey goes to the woman’s house with her father. At first it seemed funny since the old woman doesn’t speak a lick of English but Janey actually absorbed a lot of what she said and surprised us by reading Greek to us one day. I’m tempted to have her translate for me but there’s no use worrying her if she finds more stories about Countess Isabella and the Spanish royalty killings.

“Nope, same old stuff happening in the world,” I say.

We finally leave the newsstand. This entire trip was a waste; I didn’t learn a single new shred of news. Luckily Janey is focused on her new necklace so if she senses my disappointment, she doesn’t mention it. A second row of shops is located down a nearby alley but I don’t want to risk bumping into the tourists again. I’m about to walk by the alley when I spot a sign that sticks out above all others. It’s a simple sign with a simple image that sets my heart aflutter: it shows a computer.

“Let’s check out down here,” I say.

Janey wants to stop and check out more religious idols and homemade blankets; a shop that sells gyros and souvlaki smells particularly good. But I don’t let her slow down to look at anything and practically drag her to the end of the alley. I don’t hesitate to head into the Internet café. We walk down the few steps to the basement of yet another trinket shop. I haven’t used a computer in years – and I was never very good with them in the first place – but I’ll be able to find more information in a few minutes than I’d get in hours of searching through newspapers.

I don’t think the term Internet
café
is especially accurate; more like Internet hole-in-the-wall. The room is musty and cramped, the ceiling so low that I have to hunch to avoid hitting my head. The entire café consists of six rickety, mismatched tables holding computers so outdated that they would’ve been considered ancient the last time I used one. The only person in here is the boy running the place. He barely looks old enough to be a teenager but he smokes cigarettes and talks on his mobile phone like someone twice his age.

“This place smells,” Janey says.

“Do you want to leave?” I ask, knowing I could sneak back here later if she doesn’t want us to stay.

Janey shakes her head. “And miss out on seeing an
actual
computer? No way.”

The teenager points us to the nearest machine. We no sooner sit down when a timer shows up at the bottom of the computer screen. I don’t hesitate to click on the Internet connection but it’s not a good sign when I hear the whine and screech of dial-up. Janey looks on excitedly and asks about every little thing I do. I’m about to tell her how things run much faster in more modern parts of the world but I don’t want to give her
more
reason to want to leave the small island. Still, part of me feels guilty for shielding her from so much.

After several minutes, EncycloNet.com loads and I type in a search for Countess Isabella of Spain. The page takes a few more minutes to load and I wonder if the computers purposely run slower since I’m paying by the minute. When the blank screen suddenly fills, I feel a shiver run down my spine at the first picture I see.

“That’s
her
, isn’t it?” Janey asks. I nod. “She just looks mean.”

“She
does
, doesn’t she?”

The kid on the phone suddenly hangs up and starts looking in our direction. His job is so boring that he must like looking in on what people are researching; I’m sure he’s just an innocent kid but it still makes me paranoid that anyone could be tracking what I’m looking up. I hurry up and print out the entire biography of Countess Isabella. The printer is just as old and slow as the computers. As it whirs to life, it sounds like it might fall apart at any moment. The young man starts talking though I only catch a few words he says.

“He’s saying you have to pay to use that, too,” Janey translates.

I look at the young man and nod. The printer finishes and I immediately shut off the Internet; I don’t want to leave any more of a trail than I already have. I hand the young man some money and take the pages before rushing out.

“But I wanted to learn more about the computer,” Janey says.

“We’ll come back another day,” I tell her, though I doubt that’ll actually happen.

“Are there other cities in the world as big as Batsi?” she asks as we leave the alley.

“Much bigger,” I say. “I promise I’ll start looking for books about the rest of the world but for now, I need you to enjoy your life where we live.”

“Okay,” she says, though she doesn’t hide the whininess in her voice.

“To start with, let’s go enjoy that new beach across the street.”

Janey glances at the large stretch of beach across the street from the row of shops. At least thirty or forty people are scattered about the sand and sea. Janey’s eyes widen; she’s never seen such a big crowd.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
             

Ten people might be the biggest crowd we’ve ever seen at the smaller beaches near our section of the island. That’s why Janey is in awe of the few dozen strangers once we make our way to the beach at Batsi. Our beaches consist of just as much rock as sand; this one has sand much softer and nicer, warm against our feet. The beach ends with a high cliff that reaches far out into the sea. Several older kids climb to ledges twenty or thirty feet above the water; those most daring – or, depending how you look at it, most foolish – leap into the Aegean Sea even though it isn’t very deep.

“Can I go into the water?” Janey asks before we’ve even picked out our spot to sit.

I receive plenty of stares as I walk along so I pick out a spot farther from most of the crowd. We set down our bag and beach towels before Janey starts peeling off her outer layer of clothes. Within seconds, she’s standing in her bathing suit, looking toward the water with anticipation.

“Don’t go out too far,” I tell her.

“But
Mom,
the water isn’t even deep. See?”

She points out farther into the sea, where several people stand in water only up to their knees about a hundred feet from the beach. Like our beaches, the water here also doesn’t get deep unless you wander far into the sea.

“Plus you
know
how good of a swimmer I am,” Janey says.

And that’s the truth. She’s been able to swim since she’s been able to walk; I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Janey has always been a quick learner and rarely failed at anything she’s tried.

“Fine, but I still don’t want you going into water deeper than your waist,” I say. “And make sure you stay where I can see you.”

She skips off into the water, barely stopping to call back that it’s warmer than our beaches. I watch her for a few minutes, glad to see that she stops only a few feet into the sea to search for shells in the clear water. With the water shallow and no riptides to worry about like in the ocean, my mind wanders to the stack of recently printed pages I’d shoved into the beach bag. I glance around the beach one final time and see nothing suspicious; a group of teenage boys walks by and heads toward the cliff. A few of them stare at me but that’s nothing new. My mind registers that one of the boys is missing a finger though it’s not rare to run into Christos’s son on other parts of the island.

Janey waves from the water; I wave back before relaxing just enough to start reading the EncycloNet biography of Countess Isabella of Spain.

Not long after the plane hijacking in Florida, Cassie first surfaced in Spain (unfortunately, there seems to be no connection ever made between her and the deadly crash). Isabella – no last name provided – made public claims of her royal ancestry, which were initially ignored like the rest of the crazies who swore they were related to the king. But Isabella’s claims received more exposure because she didn’t profess to be related to the current king; Isabella claimed to be a direct descendant of her namesake, Queen Isabella of Castille. It wasn’t the strangest statement ever made but the story began to pick up steam when Cassie had Spanish historians compare her to known paintings of Isabella of Castille.
             

Due to Cassie’s striking resemblance to the ‘former queen’ – not to mention her beauty and ability to be charming when she wanted – her story gained enough traction to garner the attention of Spanish royalty, who denied knowing about any long lost bloodlines. When Cassie was asked about her past – where she lived before showing up to make these claims – she crafted an amazing tale about being raised in the Spanish countryside by an old woman that swore to protect her and her famous roots. Cassie told reporters that this old woman was part of a secret, ancient order sworn to protect descendants of royalty from an unknown force; apparently Cassie was the last to survive and once the old woman died, she couldn’t remain in hiding any longer.

I shake my head at the thought of such drivel, though it’s easy for
me
to see through her lies because I know the truth. In reality, the truth is even more outrageous than what she made up. The Spanish public was entranced by the story; at first it was tabloid fodder but the story continued to hang around about the long lost princess – the ‘Anastasia of Spain.’ She was eventually contacted by Count Cristiano Silva, the king’s first cousin and one of the most eligible bachelors in all of the country.

Cassie’s charms worked wonders on the count, though I doubt that’s
all
she used to make sure he became smitten with her. Cristiano’s courtship gained national headlines not only in Spain but across all of Europe as well, especially captivating young girls who dreamed of becoming a princess. Even Hollywood was interested in filming “The Lost Princess”, a nickname given to her by the media. The story reached its height when Count Cristiano publicly made his desire known to marry her but first insisted upon having the Lost Princess’s DNA tested. If I had to guess about this part of the story, I’d assume Cassie put him up to using his influence to make this test happen.

The King of Spain – who was thought to be tired of the story casting the spotlight away from his reign – answered the challenge to have Cassie tested. Despite physical similarities to paintings more than 500 years old, most experts doubted Cassie’s claims and expected the link between her and Isabella of Castille to finally be proven a sham. The king gave the okay for an exhumation of Queen Isabella of Castille but upon her tomb being opened in the Royal Chapel of Granada, the world was shocked to learn it was empty. Cassie noted the conspiracy involving unknown villains trying to eradicate royal descendants; she claimed that Isabella’s husband, King Ferdinand of Aragon, may have been the first to want all vestiges of his first wife eliminated. Cassie obviously had this story ready for the inevitability of finding
her
tomb empty so she then – it sickens me to read – had her daughter’s bones exhumed for DNA comparison.

When the results came back providing a match between her and ancient royalty, all of Spain rejoiced. Less than a year ago, she wed Count Cristiano; she dropped the moniker of Lost Princess and became known as the Princess of the People. Those giving her this name didn’t seem to care that she was merely a countess.

The most surprising part of Cassie’s biography is the next section I read about her charitable works. It’s hard for me to imagine Cassie doing
anything
to help others but I’m certain it was all done in the name of attaining good publicity, not because she turned over a new leaf and hoped to improve the lives of others. Her most significant work seemed to revolve around her desire to help young girls in her country. She formed a school for underprivileged and orphaned females, providing a home and school for these girls that she personally oversaw. I don’t want to consider her true reason for starting such an endeavor.

Countess Isabella remained in the spotlight for several months, during which time her popularity reached epic levels in Spain. Reading all of this makes me truly realize how much I’ve missed while hiding in the mountains the last five years. I’m glad to read that Cassie’s star eventually began to fade when newer celebrities became more interesting. But this no sooner happened when attacks on Spanish royalty began to occur.

When the king and queen were killed by a band of assassins, the count and countless were luckily out of the country. They rushed back home and Isabella made sure to keep an active voice to the public, made sure the people didn’t forget about the royalty even as other royal family members were slaughtered. The only thing that seemed to take away from her popularity was when the king’s brother escaping his own assassination attempt. He and Count Cristiano remained in hiding though Isabella’s constant public appearances and bravery in the face of danger made her more popular.

Cassie’s biography is riveting; if I didn’t know it was all a lie – if I didn’t know how truly evil she was – I might’ve found myself also heaping praise upon her. As it is, I haven’t looked up from my reading material the entire time, nor did I notice the notation near the end that’s labeled UPDATE. This section is dated and it takes me a moment to realize the date is
today’s
. My heart begins beating faster; there’s only a short paragraph under this section but I already know it’s not going to be good news.

“Despite being under heavy guard in an undisclosed location, it has just been confirmed that the brother of Spain’s recently deceased king – a man who barely escaped assassination – has been found brutally murdered. Early reports indicate dozens of slash wounds caused by some sort of knife or sword; decapitation has not been ruled out as cause of death. With yet another death in the Spanish monarchy, only Count Cristiano Silva and his wife, Countess Isabella, remain living. The couple will likely be in line for the crowns, though that also makes them likely targets for the as-yet unknown assassins.”

I can’t help but snort at the last sentence since Cassie is clearly in no danger of being harmed. If I could just do one thing, I wish I could inform Spanish authorities to look for Catherine the Great and the other queens; there’s no doubt in my mind they’re using murder to ensure that Cassie gains power. I
knew
that whatever plan Cassie put into effect would lead to the pain and suffering of many. But now that it’s actually happened, I find myself angrier by the second, angrier at myself for failing to keep the water safe, angrier at my recruits for not stopping Cassie, angrier at the queens for forgetting everything about the Amazon way of life…

I suddenly feel a slight tingle and worry it’s because I’m thinking of Cassie, that I’ve lost control of my emotions and opened myself to connection I
don’t
want to form. I try to take a deep breath and ease my anger but the tingling only grows stronger; suddenly I realize that the warning of danger is somewhere
near
.

I jump to my feet and drop the pages of Cassie’s bio, which flutter down the beach, caught in a breeze that rolls off the sea. I immediately search the crowd for any sign of danger but only see relaxed faces enjoying the sunny day – no sign of Cassie’s evil queens. But when I turn to look toward the water, my heart sinks; Janey isn’t in the water where I last saw her. I glance around in a panic and finally spot someone high atop the cliff at the end of the beach. The sun shines down right above that spot, making it difficult for me to see, but I think I spot a face much darker than the olive-skinned Greeks. I shield my eyes from the bright sunlight and try to get a better look but whoever was up there is now gone. Still, I don’t think my mind would make up seeing
that
person.              “How did she find us?” I whisper to myself.             

But a much more important question on my mind is answered when I look farther down the face of the cliff. An outcropping juts out of the cliff about thirty feet above the water. The group of boys that walked by me before – led by the one missing a finger – descend upon Janey, who has her back to the cliff. I have no idea how she got up there but there’s no time for me to ponder how bad of a parent I’ve been for not noticing her stray so far away.

“Hey!” I yell, racing across the beach, not caring who sees me move at inhuman speeds. “You leave her alone!”

I splash into the sea, ignoring the pain of rocks sticking out of the shallow water. The boy with the missing finger grabs Janey by the arm and pulls her closer to the ledge. Her cries spur me to run even faster but I know there’s no way I’ll get there in time.

“No, I don’t want to be thrown in!” Janey yells.

“Get your hands off her!” I scream, my voice echoing down the entire length of beach.

The group of boys glances down at me; most appear frightened and back off but Christos’s son still holds onto Janey and keeps pulling her toward the edge. I reach the cliff and leap. I jump about twenty feet up but I’m still short of the outcropping; I’m sure the beach-goers are seeing quite the show. I grab the smallest handhold on the cliff and try to climb. When there are no crevices to grab hold above me, I
make
one by punching holes in the thick rock. I still hear Janey struggling just above but before I reach the small outcropping, I sense the shadow of a body suddenly plunging behind me.

I let one hand off the wall and reach back. My incredible reflexes have kept me alive countless times in the past but I’m clearly rusty. My fingertips brush against the falling body but the person plunges by me before I can grab hold. It’s not until the body splashes into the water – my heart falling just as quickly – that I recognize the scream below me as deeper, masculine, obviously
not
Janey. I stare in shock as one of the teenage boys splashes into the sea; even more surprising are the next two boys tossed off the ledge in quick succession. By the time I grab the ledge and pull myself onto the outcropping, I don’t know whether to feel worse for Janey or the foolish boys who dared to tease her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought he was going to throw me in.”

The boy missing a finger lies on the outcropping ground, squirming until he sees how close to the edge he’s gotten. His arms and legs stick straight up, both wrists hog-tied to both ankles by the blue beaded necklace I just bought Janey. My intense anger and worry is overtaken by a swelling of pride and love. Janey is so little compared to these boys but she taught them a less they won’t soon forget. I look down at the boy again though I feel like my eyes are being pulled back toward Janey; in fact, I feel this pulling sensation in my mind as well. I was so upset during my sprint across the beach that this strange feeling may have been there all along but I’m just now noticing.