Chapter Six: The Boy with Seaweed Eyes
She was twelve years old, and had ventured too close to a fisherman's nets. How they had sparkled in the sunlight, silver dancing across the waves! She had been warned as a child, by Nyla before she vanished and by someone… someone else, not to wander close to the surface.
You're just afraid to, that's all, little guppy, Esli had said. It's nothing to be ashamed of. All children are afraid of the surface. She was three years older and it seemed to give her the right to make Nadine feel small. Yet she was beautiful and brave and Nadine at that age had never wanted to be anyone more than she wanted to be Esli.
So to prove to herself that she could be brave and maybe even beautiful too, Nadine had snuck out of the house early one morning, avoiding the armies that would converge to battle on the plains later in the day.
The nets had been a mystery, a distraction from her grief over Nyla's disappearance. They had also been a source of opportunity: maybe this close to the land of humans, she'd find some hint as to where her beloved adopted mother had gone. Perhaps the ribbons that dangled were really silver. Perhaps she could sell them to the soldiers for food.
Before she understood their danger, she had been ensnared, ropes snagging her tail and looping around her arms. Thrashing and shrieking, she had sent out high-pitched distress calls again and again. No one had come, too busy with the war to pay heed to just another captured Mer child.
The humans had hauled her onboard their ship and dumped her on the ground, air blazing on her scales. The summer sun pounded against her head.
"Good catch," one said. A meaty finger jabbed into her scales. She hissed and bit at his hand.
Laughter erupted as the man yanked his hand back, his face flaming. The slap rocked her onto her back, and she lay there stunned and dizzy.
"At least she'll last longer, being a young one," another man said.
"We could just strip her scales and use her as shark bait."
"Nah, she's pretty enough, too. Some noble lad might want her to show off to his friends."
"Not as pretty as some of them."
"But look at those eyes! Like the sea in a bottle!"
"Cut out her eyes, then."
"Enough." A shadow fell across her, and she winced. The man's voice was deep and booming, reminding her of thunder as it bounded across the waves. "We'll take her to the Market, like any other catch. What happens to her after isn't our concern."
A rough hand gripped her arm and hauled her up. She thrashed, lashing with her tail and tearing open a wound on his thigh. Blood stained his pants. His grip loosened on her arm, only to wrap around her hair. Then he shook her, hard. Her teeth gnashed together, her neck snapping and shooting spurts of pain along her spine. Her temple stung and she bit deep into her tongue. "That's enough out of you, understand?"
She whimpered.
They threw her into the hull of the ship, which rocked and bucked like a seahorse gone mad. The darkness swallowed the sunlight, easing the ache in her scales. A shallow layer of water eased around her hands, thick and creamy. Aside from her splashing, the hull echoed with the sound of dripping. The air reeked, stuffing her nostrils with the stench of death and suffering.
She was so thirsty. She lowered her head to the water and slurped.
Salt. It burst on her tongue with an added tang that made her stomach vault.
This wasn't water.
She screamed and screamed and screamed, throwing herself at the wall to escape the blood that lined the floor and trickled between her scales.
The door to the hatch sprang open. Daylight streamed in, illuminating the Mer corpses suspended from the ceiling. "What's the ruckus?" a man bellowed. Then he caught sight of her cowering against the wall and grinned, revealing a mouth full of gaps and rotting teeth. "You discovered what happens to your folk, eh?" He pointed to a Mer woman's carcass, her long flowing hair matted with sweat and blood, her mouth open in a perpetual scream. Her armour glinted, the red crest of a rebel stitched into her seaweed breastplate. "That's what happens to those who give us too much trouble. They're worth almost as much dead as alive. So don't go giving us anymore sass." Slamming the hatch shut, he left her to shiver in the gloom, all too aware of the blood dribbling down the walls.
She traded wooden floors for iron bars that nibbled against her flesh, scraping it until blubber oozed between her scales. They brought her to a wooden platform where a myriad of boats lined the walk, while men strode about with boxes on their shoulders. She glimpsed other platforms with even more men, and her heart sank into her stomach.
A sailor bumped into the man carrying her, jostling his elbow. The man turned with a snarl. "Watch it, mate!"
The sailor shifted his cargo to his other shoulder. It was a cage. A Mer boy stared at Nadine with widened eyes. Sea sister. His words breezed through her, filling her with a sense of home.
Sea brother. Did you get caught in the nets?
The boy looked away. My parents traded me to the sailors for food.
Nadine's blood ran cold. She straightened, banging her head against the ceiling. Stars flashed behind her eyelids. What? How could they? What possessed them to betray—
The man shook her cage, and she fell back against the bars. Her spine shrieked with pain. "Shut up in there!" he growled.
The sailor started walking again. The boy whimpered, curling into a ball. Nadine stretched her arms through the bars, reaching to brush his fingertips. Sea brother, she whispered, voice breaking.
Sister… His voice faded from her mind, leaving a dark cloud nestled in her thoughts.
She straightened, wrapping her fingers around the bars. "What—what will happen to him?" she demanded.
"You talking to me?" the man snapped. "Shut up!"
She fell silent, heart drumming against her ribs. Beyond the wooden platforms, a city rose into the distance. Paths twisted amongst buildings and stalls, the bright colours bleeding in her vision. She blinked and coughed as a deep, earthy scent filled her mouth, tracing the tip of her tongue.
The man that held her paused and inhaled deeply. "Ahh," he said. "Fresh bread." He continued to stand there in the midst of the road, people milling around him. Elbows knocked and muffled curses floated through Nadine's ears.
Finally he continued forward, alighting on a tiny stall tucked into a corner. Beside them, a horse with wings pranced and tossed its head, its mane coated with dirt. It's your own fault, Nadine thought. You left the sea of your birth to come here. What else did you expect? "That's a fine looking beast," the man said, setting Nadine down with a thump that rattled her teeth.
A small, snuffling man greeted him. "One of my lads snuck over the border and caught it in Kyrona's northern mountains—you know how hard they are to catch."
Nadine's captor nodded. "But not as hard as these pesky things." He tapped the top of Nadine's crate. She scowled, glaring at the merchant as he stooped to inspect her.
"Very young."
"She'll last longer."
"Maybe. But she isn't as pretty as some of the older ones."
"We don't marry them, fool. We just look at them."
"Exactly." The merchant licked his lips. Nadine's stomach turned.
"I'll give you a pound of flour for her."
Nadine's captor snorted. "I was thinking of a more even trade, Hagar."
Hagar swept his fingers through his short, golden hair. "What had you in mind?" His eyes darted to the winged horse. It whinnied and strained at its bonds.
The man followed Hagar's gaze. "My daughter would love to ride it."
"Your daughter. How sweet. How old is she?" But he asked it in a tone that implied he didn't truly care to know.
"Five this spring. My wife wants to teach her to ride one day. What better than to ride into the sky?"
Hagar snorted. "Humans are better off on the ground. Flying is dangerous—almost more dangerous than outrageous prices."
"Well, it's not nearly as outrageous as a pound of flour for a Mer child."
Nadine lost interest in the conversation. Her eyes and thoughts began to wander, to ponder the land of her death. She was so far from the sea. What happened to the Mer who died in the clutches of humans? Did they turn to dust? She thought of crumbling away, of never returning to the foam from which she had been made. She clutched the bars, biting back a scream.
She had to think, had to focus. With life, there was hope.
The men finally reached an agreement. After shaking hands, Nadine's captor led the flying horse away. Hagar whirled, rubbing his hands together and whistling. Kneeling down in front of her, he asked, "Can you speak?"
She cocked her head to the side, feigning idiocy. Widening her eyes and slackening her jaw, she stared at him.
"Ahh. You're trying to trick me." He wagged his finger at her. "I've seen that look many times."
Panic constricted her chest, but she stayed silent.
He shrugged. "Fine then. If you talk, you might be able to get a nice family."
She wanted her family. She wanted the sea, the burst of salt in her mouth. What were humans, with their bloody hulls and their leering grins, to her? They could rot in a flaming hell for all she cared. She wanted her mother, her father, the water's caressing touch across her scales…
Her lips trembled and scales tumbled off her tail. Hagar caught them in his hand, rolling them across his palm. They tinkled, currency worth more than gold. Nadine had seen gold; it was shiny, but even it couldn't grant wishes. "Very nice," Hagar breathed. Straightening, he bowed to her. "Have it your way, my Mer. I'll get money out of you one way or another."
Morning dragged into afternoon, and afternoon faded into orange-washed evening. Night crept slowly across the sky, stars shooting from its fingers. They twinkled far above Nadine's head, tiny pearls that cast soft, cool light. A gentle breeze stirred her hair, stroking her neck and making it easier to breathe. The air now tasted of brine and seaweed. She licked her dry, cracked lips and closed her eyes, singing herself to sleep.
The next morning heralded a vast array of fingers poking her skin and tugging at her hair. She tried slashing at knuckles, but the sun had withered her fins until they crackled and threatened to shred under impact. So she kept still, gritting her teeth and crossing her eyes at a man who tried to jab her with a stick. He startled, jerking back and tripping over his own feet. Laughter bubbled in her stomach; she clapped her hands over her mouth to keep the giggles from escaping.
Hagar sniffed. "You're not worthy of her," he said.
Neither are you, she thought. She watched as a woman hurried by, ushering a flock of odd-looking birds with long white necks and orange feet. They hissed and flapped their wings, darting after a man who strayed too close. He yelped and, kicking up his knees, ran for his life.
What fearsome creatures, she thought. Too bad I don't have one of those. A well-aimed peck could incapacitate Hagar and have him at her mercy.
She was so intent on these ferocious beasts that she didn't notice the newest customer. When a smooth, lilting voice addressed Hagar, she looked up.
The customer was a young man—no, a boy, not much older than she. Fifteen winters, perhaps. Not old enough for wisdom, yet beginning to outgrow the fat flesh of childhood in his cheeks.
The boy glanced at her, eyes green as seaweed. She almost wondered what a Mer was doing with two legs, until she realized that the rest of him was severely lacking. He was skinny, his legs mere sticks. Not powerful enough to knock out an enemy or drive him through the water. His skin was not the luscious translucent quality of her kind, and his hair was a dull brown that curled across his brow.
She wrinkled her nose.
Bending down, he didn't nudge her or pull her hair. In the ancient language of her people, he asked, Merana? Mermaid?
That was an old-fashioned word.
Impressed despite herself, she answered, Hu-la? You stu-pid?
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Ha-la? You stu-pid?
She glared at him. Na! No!
"Me neither," he said.
Hagar shifted from foot to feet, chewing on his lip. "What's she saying?"
The boy straightened. "That you're an idiot. And she's not."
Hagar sucked in his cheeks and stepped forward, his arm raised. "I'll—"
"I agreed with her."
Hagar stopped. His arm dropped. "Of—of course," he said.
The boy's nose wrinkled. "You disgust me, Hagar," he said. "And what's this I hear of you trying to bid off the Mer you promised to sell to me? I'm your first customer—and your only—for those captured from the sea. Wasn't that our deal?"
Hagar blanched. "But—but Your Hi—"
The boy smacked his hand across Hagar's mouth. His eyes flashed. "I'll have you flogged," he hissed, peeking over his shoulder. None of the passerby took any notice of the boy-child in the tattered tunic lined with gold.
Hagar's knees buckled. His next words were muffled by the boy's palm. The boy slid his hand away, and Hagar babbled, "Take her. Take her. Usual price, but no flogging, please. My wife thinks it makes me resemble a red skunk."
"Maybe it's your smell."
Nadine had no idea what a red skunk was, but from the way Hagar's face reddened, it must have been an insult. She almost clapped her hands, until she realized she had no idea what this boy would do to her. A big mouth did not an ally make.
The boy unbuckled a bag that clinked from his belt, tossing it at Hagar's feet. Almost at once the man scooped it up and poured it out onto his table. Deft fingers sorted the gold and he nodded with a satisfied smile. "My wife will get a new hat to shield her from the sun," he said, and dimples curved his cheeks. "Thank you…" He paused. "Young sir."
The boy grunted and grabbed Nadine's cage. He pulled. It didn't budge.
Hu nat sur caredec on, hu? Nadine asked. You're not so big now, are you?
"I'm trying to help you," the boy wheezed, tugging at the crate.
"Would you like some help?" Hagar asked, all eagerness and self-sacrifice. When he approached the cage, Nadine sprang at the bars, curling back her lips. Hagar froze in place.
The boy threw another coin at him. "Take it and fetch me a sailor," he said. "One who doesn't ask questions."
So it was that Nadine found herself gripping the bars and swaying as another sailor weaved through the bustling crowds. The boy strolled beside them, staring at her. His eyes were so green. She had never stopped to consider that humans could have so much of the sea in them.
His questioning gaze prodded where greedy fingers had not—her mind. Queries seemed to seep from his skin and hover around his form, much like the magickal auras of the most powerful sea-witches.
But he didn't ask and she didn't say a word. They passed women on street corners who asked if they wanted a soul reading, girls selling flowers and boys waving fish around in the air. Nadine's mouth watered at the sight, and she reached out to snatch a tiny silver fish from a child's undeserving fingers.
"Don't." The boy stopped and offered the child a coin for the fish. The child grinned up at him and nodded, scampering off as the boy turned to Nadine with the fish in his palm. He held it out to her. She stared at it, tempted.
But it was tainted, now. How could she trust him? Stealing from a human what was rightfully hers was one thing; accepting it, like an offer of friendship, was something entirely different. Though her stomach panged its protest, she shook her head and refused the food.
The boy's brow furrowed. "Are you all this stubborn? No wonder we fight so often."
Her fins curled. "Yes, it's completely our fault," she said. "It's us who capture and slaughter your children."
"What about their fathers?" he asked.
She was stunned into silence. "What do you mean?"
"Fishermen off the coast, poor men. You kill them."
"It's our fish," she said flatly.
The conversation ended. They continued on, Nadine with her arms folded across her chest as she closed her eyes and imagined anyplace else. She didn't know what the boy did; he could have tripped over his clumsy feet a thousand times and she wouldn't have noticed—or cared.
But she did notice when the reek of human sweat melted into the ticklish scent of ocean brine. A breeze bursting with whispers from the sea brushed her face. Her eyes flew open and her heart leapt.
There, at the end of the platform, was the sea. It stretched far out, kissing the horizon and lapping at the sky. A blanket of serenity, at least on the surface—but it was home. Her tail hardened and her scales smoothened out, hope its own healer.
But suddenly her exultation died. What if he had brought her so close, and yet, so far, only to veer another way, take a different path?
She whirled, grazing her head against the ceiling of the crate. The boy stared back at her, but he said nothing except, "Load her onto this boat," to the sailor. The man dumped her without ceremony onto the deck of a small blue boat that bobbed on the waves. Untying the rope that attached it to the platform and clambering aboard, the boy took hold of the wheel.
When they had reached midway between the land and the Royal's Reef, the boy dropped anchor and ran over to her cage. For a moment he stood there, panting, sweat dripping off his nose. "Now, I'm going to release you, but don't attack me."
He knelt and fumbled with the latch, then seemed to think better of it. His fingers paused on the lock. "Promise me something," he said.
She regarded him warily. "What?"
"Do not take a human life. As I have saved yours, do the same for my people."
She gasped. "No—"
"I will take you back," he said. "And sell you to a meat-maker." He met her gaze without a flinch. "Promise me on the name of the Creator." He traced the sign of a fish across his chest and raised his eyes heavenward.
A deep, dark foreboding knotted her tail. She didn't answer.
The boy waited, then shrugged and got to his feet. Turning, he walked over to the anchor's chain and started pulling it in.
"I promise!" she blurted, scratching the fish sign into her chest so hard flesh came off under her nails. Blood trickled across her collarbone. "On the name of the Creator, I will not take a human life, because you saved mine!"
There was no echo of thunder or flash of lightning, but a heavy feeling, something she could only describe as a sort of… permanence, settled on her shoulders.
The boy returned and unlatched the door. Before he opened it, he said quietly, "A promise is a promise, more powerful than hatred."
Then the cage blended into free sky and sea. She scrambled out, scraping her aching scales across the hardwood deck and clutching at the railing. She gulped deep breaths of briny air. The boy watched her, an odd smile twisting his lips. "What's it like, down below?" he asked.
She shot him a cursory glance. "More beautiful—and terrible—than you'll ever know, shuskla," she said. Idiot.
He'd smiled then, and kissed her, probably just to tell his friends that he'd done it. She slapped him across the face, hoping that it would leave a lasting imprint. He had given her life where there was death, but it didn't mean they were friends. After all, it had come with a price—the price of a promise. Throwing herself into the sea, she allowed the chill waves to pull her deeper than any human would ever go.
She glanced up only once, to see him leaning over the railing. The water blurred his features until he looked like a big blob of sea-slug slime. Idiot. A shuskla, a creature who didn't know his own place in the world and betrayed his own kind.
But when she closed her eyes to bask in liberty and the sensation of the currents rippling across her arms and over her stomach, all she saw were his eyes. Green. Green as the sea.
Author's Note: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed so far! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!