Though he saw ships going by the cove now and then, it happened seldom enough he never paid attention. Too, they sailed far out in deeper water and never came close. As such, that day he thought nothing of it when a large ship carved its ponderous way through the deep channel waters to the east.
His people loved the cove. Sunlight reached the shallow water, even at its deepest, keeping it a pleasant warmth. A perfect environment for a healthy reef, and hundreds of species of coral and fish flourished. There were plenty of mini coral islands submerged only a few inches in water, a perfect place for a young myr to drag himself to sun for a few hours.
Drowsy eyes, rich crimson in color, idly watched the big ship for a few moments before drifting shut. His eyelashes were so long they brushed his cheeks. Sleep beckoned again at once, and he was inclined to answer the call.
He dozed in the heat of the midday sun, water lapping gently over his body and fish occasionally brushing past him in quick flashes. All was peaceful and still.
A sharp stinging pain shocked him out of it. A startled yelp left his lips as he splashed off the coral island into the water, hand automatically slapping toward the pain. A strange little contrivance with a pointed tip came free of his flesh, and he stared at it without understanding for a few seconds. When he felt a sluggishness creep into his veins, it occurred to him what it must be.
Sleeping dart! Lip curling in anger, he twisted in the water and swam to the surface. The ship he'd dismissed had sailed right to the edge of the cove, blocking the mouth of the strait from above. Several humans on the deck were running around, pointing at him and shouting.
Worthless humans, he thought, diving back down. With his body responding slowly to his commands, he made the quick decision to avoid conflict. No way could they chase with their enormous ship faster than he could swim to safety.
Were it not for the dart, he would have succeeded.
Fast, much faster than his drugged body could comprehend, a spear lanced down through the water. The head buried itself deep into his tail, and the water absorbed his scream. Blood bloomed around him, a thick cloud. The line attached to the spear went taut, yanking upward. He cried out again, weaker this time, thrashing to grab onto the line and stop the wrenching on his wounded tail.
Gritting his teeth, he grasped the spear's haft and tried to pull it free. It moved not one iota, and he nearly fainted for his effort. When the line had pulled him closer to the surface, he saw a net cast down from the ship above.
Not a chance he could avoid it. The weighted edges closed over him, and once he was trapped the pull from the spear and line stopped. The net rose out of the water, and only a handful of moments later it unceremoniously dumped him on the deck.
Fully emerged, one could appreciate the myr's beauty. Ivory pale skin on his torso, ebony hair in shining locks around his face, long lashes, elegant arms and slim waist. Instead of legs, a long fringed tail splayed on the deck. The fine scales, opalescent in the sun, shimmered velvet black with slashes of red and patches of white. The seemingly-delicate fins were tipped with silver spines, each hollow and capable of secreting a toxin strong enough to kill a dozen men.
The scales weren't isolated to his tail. On the torso they were more or less flesh-colored, but if one looked closer they became apparent. They were fine and close together, so at a distance nearly invisible. But it gave his skin a glistening sheen.
The land dwellers called them mermaids or sirens, neither of which was strictly accurate. He was a myr, and for reasons unknown to his kind, humans found them irresistibly beautiful.
As soon as he hit the deck, humans swarmed getting the net off him. Shaking his head to clear away the clouds caused by pain, the young myr pushed himself half upright. Hands grabbed his slender arms, rough and sudden. Another hand tangled in his ebony hair and yanked his head back while yet another squeezed his jaw so hard he grunted.
Mouth forced open, sunlight winked off the white, slightly sharp canines. The position was awkward and vulnerable, and he weakly thrashed in their hold. Drawing a deep breath, he prepared to use the voice that legends told of being used on sailors to lure them to their death. If it weren't for the drug slowing every thought and intention, he would have stood a fighting chance.
The smell of heat and smoke reached his nose, foreign and invasive. A bar, some sort of metal, with a glowing red tip. They forced his mouth wider.
"Don't damage the face," drawled a voice.
Before he could free himself or even fully comprehend what was going on, pressure and savage heat exploded in his throat. A terrible smell of burning flesh was the last thing he noticed before everything washed away behind white.
o0o
Pain woke him. Darkness surrounded him. For several disturbing moments, Izaya couldn't remember what'd happened to him. The young myr blinked furiously, wondering why it was so totally dark and if he'd gone blind. An attempt at moving made the pain flare up in every nerve ending in his body, so intense he nearly blacked out again.
Wherever he was, the space was so small he'd been folded in half to fit. His tail was practically wrapped around his body, and the water in this prison tasted old and stale. It filtered thick and warm through the gill slits on either side of his neck, so depleted of oxygen as to be nearly worthless. He could also taste blood.
Worst of all was his throat. Goddess-be-damned humans! He tried to turn, to move, to push against the walls of his prison, but there was no give anywhere. His throat was in far too much pain to try using his voice, undoubtedly their intent in shoving a red-hot poker down his throat.
Only at this point, trapped and in a troublingly cramped space with an injured throat and tail, did panic start to take hold. His heart started to race, his gill slits fluttering desperately. It took every iota of willpower he could muster to calm. Panicking would only use up his remaining oxygen faster.
His resolve shattered when his prison suddenly moved. Something thumped against the side of it, and he felt a nauseating whirl of vertigo as his prison rolled about. A barrel? he thought. They're transporting me like fish chum? That almost allowed the anger to return. Almost.
More thumping and a loud clatter as his prison was dropped hard enough to rattle his teeth. Some sort of cart, he reasoned. He felt the wheels start moving, bumping along whatever road. The knowledge he was on land furthered his panic. There was no possible way for him to know how long he'd been unconscious. He could be anywhere.
The cart bumped and rattled along for what felt like forever. Izaya was beginning to feel lightheaded. After the worst eternity of his life, it stopped. More movement and thumping around, jarring him with each rough movement. His prison was dropped again.
Then it all stopped. No more movement, no hint of noise. Izaya tried uselessly to press at the walls of his prison, but as before there was no give. He felt sick, dizzy, and in too much pain to think.
A sudden movement of his prison. Another moment of vertigo while the barrel was turned until he had no idea what was up or down. A loud creaking sound, then he was abruptly falling, tumbling through the air for a short drop and into cold saltwater. Cold, but blessedly fresh.
He drifted straight down, too weak to swim. He twisted a little so when he touched bottom it didn't jar his tail. His gill slits worked hard, desperately grateful for oxygenated water. It helped return him to a state of cognizance, and he slowly looked up.
One prison had been swapped for another. Through the shimmery haze of clear water, he could see he'd been deposited into a large glass tank. Four humans stood within his line of sight, staring at him. He could see their mouths moving, but he couldn't hear the words.
He looked around. The floor, a dark gray in color, showed a width of perhaps just slightly longer than his own body with a length perhaps twice that. Enough room for a few dozen fish the length of his hand, maybe.
Not enough room for a myr. Even in such abysmal circumstances, Izaya couldn't summon any righteous anger. He had to grab his tail to tuck it close to his body, and he curled into as tight a ball as he could. The cold water filtering through his gills was slowly easing the ache in them, but his throat burned viciously.
Closing his eyes, he tried to pretend this was just a coral cave in the cold, dark waters of the Pyridom Sea. While the pretense failed, pain and exhaustion overcame the fear. Everything went away.