Secrets of Galathea Volume 1

by Elle Beaumont

  There was a time when Jager was not so unlike Kriegen, when laughter came easy, and smiles were always present. He had always been his older brother’s shadow, yearning for nothing more than to follow in his wake. A lot had transpired since they were nothing more than little guppies.

  As Jager swam home, he passed a scallop farmer selling his goods. Displayed on a massive rock were dull pearls, scallop shells, and fresh meat. The pearls may not have been on par with an oyster’s quality, but they were still good enough for a villager in Limnaia.

  Mother had always farmed her own scallops. She made beautiful headdresses and necklaces from the pearls she would harvest. Jager and Kriegen were often pulled into creative sessions—neither one complained since it was quiet time spent with her. When she passed away in childbirth with a sibling that didn’t survive the first few days, their creative sessions were put to an end. Jager never forgot the time spent with his mother, or her love for the dull pearls.

  Swimming up to the farmer, Jager motioned to the scallops and a cluster of pearls. “I’ll take a bundle of scallops and those pearls.” He reached into the pouch that hung from his neck and shelled out a handful of dark purple shells—their currency.

  The farmer’s eyes widened. “This is far too much. I can’t accept.”

  “You can and will.” Buying the scallops and pearls was less about needing them and more about the memory behind them. He smiled down at the pearls and nodded his head to the farmer. “Be well.” Jager swam away, continuing toward home.

  Life hadn’t been kind to Jager or Kriegen. A few years after Mother’s passing, their father, Seger, surfaced to meet with an Uplander, towing a basket of goods to trade. Despite it being against the law, he continued to visit the surface, only telling the boys of how he discovered new trinkets. Seger declared the woman was friendly and in need of items, so he provided a means to survive in her world. He would bring her large pearls, silver and gold that had been churned in the ocean and brought to Limnaia. Without them she would have starved, or so Seger claimed. In trade, she offered items that the merfolk valued: cloth, vanity items, eating utensils, and even plates.

  It didn’t take long for a competitor to follow her. The man wanted the riches to himself, wanted his wealth to grow as the woman’s had. In the end, he followed her to the dock with a handful of men. The woman was beaten, and Seger was caught in netting—as if he were nothing more than a fish. They showed him no mercy, his body battered, gashed, and bleeding. In the end, Seger’s corpse was placed on display, locked away in a cage on the pier, hanging over the water that once was home. He withered away little by little—nothing more than a human’s entertainment. He received no proper burial or return to the sea in which he was born. They left him to rot, his body pecked away by birds and other scavengers.

  Neither of the brothers ever forgot, and it seemed it wasn’t just Jager who didn’t forgive.

  Inside the small family home, Jager inspected the shelves, full of various volumes of the old magic and even history. Mother had always been a voracious reader, devouring whatever volumes she could snag. She passed her love for reading down to her sons, which was why both of them collected any volume or tome they could find.

  Jager sighed, picking up one of the trinkets his father had brought back home. It was a statue of a winged serpent on a pile of books. Kriegen had always loved it, and no one else had ever been allowed to touch it. As Jager fiddled with it, a compartment opened on the bottom and a stone tablet fell to the shelf with a thunk. Well, that’s curious, he thought. Why in Muir’s name would a volume be hiding there? Jager pulled it out and examined it. He swallowed roughly when it became clear what kind of tablet it was.

  With trembling fingers, he quickly shoved it back inside, not daring to read more than already had. He sealed it back in place. It wasn’t just any magic volume, but one of the Dark Arts; one that called upon the evils of their magic instead of the light within. As sour as Jager was in personality, never once had he been tempted to even read a piece of literature that spoke of the Dark.

  Jager’s hands shook as he fumbled with the statue. He set it back on the shelf before his hands slid over his face. Did that belong to Kriegen? Had it been there all this time, or was it new? Jager’s mind bounced around the questions. “Is this why you’ve been absent?” Jager whispered in a shaky voice. He swam out of the home with a pounding heart. What should he do? Approach his brother—convince him he was a fool for even toying with a volume like that?

  He opted to mull it over. There were chores to tend to; the family still possessed a small farm. The hippocampus needed feeding, and he was fairly certain land dues were today.

  He would address this with his brother when he came home. What would their mother have thought? If she was here now, she likely would have verbally torn Kriegen to pieces.

  Anger soon replaced Jager’s fear. Anger, because if this was true, if his brother truly were practicing Dark Magic, he had been lying about a great deal. He lashed out at the nearest object, which happened to be a porcelain bust. He flung it through the water, and wished that a gratifying smash followed, but it only plunked off the wall.

  Jager glowered at the artifact, his fingers making shapes in the water. When he whipped his hand to the side a shockwave barreled toward the offending piece of art. As it connected with it, the bust ruptured into sand.

  Jager muttered to himself as he gathered kelp in one hand, and used his other to cut it. He stacked layer on top of layer until he had a bundle of floating kelp that he tied down in a cart.

  If he could act as if nothing had changed, and perhaps do some investigating, maybe there was still time on his side. Was it silly to think his brother was practicing Dark Magic? It was Kriegen after all. Perhaps it was stowed away by another. The thought occurred to him: was it easier to think Father dabbled in it or Kriegen? Both were terrible thoughts.

  “Say nothing. Just watch and see what he does. Maybe…” His voice trailed off as he spoke to himself. Jager’s eyes darted around, paranoid that Kriegen might have been lurking around the corner. Maybe if he moved the tome—if he hid it elsewhere and noticed a change in Kriegen’s mood, that would tell him the truth.

  That was the plan.

  By the time Kriegen returned home, Jager had tended to everything, including moving the tome. It was rather amazing what one could do when fueled by stress and worry.

  Kriegen’s gaze swept along the house and he let out a small laugh. “Were you going stir crazy?” He shook his head and swam to the kitchen. The light in his eyes returned and his disposition seemed altogether more relaxed, a contrast to what his mood was earlier.

  Perhaps Oinone worked a miracle, talked some sense into him and put his aggravation at ease, but something niggled at the back of Jager’s mind and told him otherwise. He bit his tongue and shrugged a shoulder.

  “Brother mine, someone has to be a house wench, and it isn’t you,” he teased as he reclined in the chair, his tail flicking up over the arm.

  Kriegen grunted as he made himself a plate of scallops, taking care to pry them open without damaging the shells.

  “Your mood seems lighter; did Oinone work some magic on you?” Jager asked, trying to keep his tone from sounding as if he were digging. If he pried too much it would tip Kriegen off.

  Kriegen turned around with the bowl in his hands, swam to the table and sat unceremoniously, his tail curling beside the stone seat. “Yeah, something like that.” He laughed his words out before he stabbed some food with his utensil and piled it into his mouth.

  Something like that? He glanced at his plate, feeling the paranoia creeping into his gaze. “I paid the dues, and I have taken care of everything else.” Jager’s brows furrowed and he blurted a question. “Are you seeing a mermaid?”

  “Wow, you were a busy sea wench.” He winked and waved his fork around, but the movement paused as Jager blurted the question. “What? What brought that up? I mean, I was for a while but it didn’t work out. I’ve
just been busy.”

  Busy with what? Jager wanted to know. He wanted to scream it, but he couldn’t. Not until there was proof. Tonight, he’d venture to Oinone’s and ask her a simple question: was Kriegen busy with work for the coven?

  “I’ll be going out tonight,” Jager explained.

  “On a… date?” Kriegen ventured, his brows lifting.

  Jager laughed as he floated upward, his tail flicking as he swept his hair away from his eyes. “Muir no. There is no chance for me—you on the other hand—some might say you’re quite the catch, Kriegen.” He turned toward the door and rapped his fingers on the wall. “I’m still holding out for the one.” He smirked.

  One last chuckle from his brother and he was swimming off.

  Oinone sat on a stone in front of her home, her tail flicking in the water every so often. She watched a colorful school of fish swim by her home, but as Jager moved forward it brought her attention to him.

  “Jager, my boy.” Oinone waved him over. “Come sit and watch with me.” She moved over to make room for him.

  Tension oozed from Jager’s body. His features were tight and his movements rigid as he lowered himself onto the rock. “I can’t stay long. I came with a question, Mistress, and please answer truthfully.” He paused, turning his dark blue gaze on her eerie green eyes. “Has Kriegen been running a lot of coven errands lately?” The question was rough and perhaps vague, but he didn’t want to elaborate just yet. Oinone was a clever mermaid, and if she thought there was something amiss, she’d prod him until the truth was set free.

  One of Oinone’s hands gave Jager’s a pat. “No, not for the last few weeks. He has seemed distracted. We all thought it was that young mermaid he had been seeing.”

  Bile crept up Jager’s throat and he nodded his head. “Thank you. I have to go.” It was difficult for him to pinpoint what emotion was strongest: fear, anxiety, anger? At that moment, the urge to return home caused his anxiety.

  “Wait, Jager, is everything okay?” Oinone’s lips pressed into a line of worry.

  “I’ll return tomorrow,” he responded. “I forgot I’m meeting one of the farmers tonight.” A bitter lie, but a necessary one. He couldn’t afford his Mistress knowing anymore.

  He had to get home.

  Jager had never swam so fast in his life. When he reached their home, his gills puffed violently behind his ears. Before he even swam through the doorway, he could hear Kriegen shouting.

  “Where is it?” he howled in dismay. “It’s gone. It’s gone!”

  Whatever hope Jager had possessed in regard to Kriegen’s innocence, it vanished. He was, in fact, guilty of practicing Dark Magic. But he was foolish, and hadn’t thought far enough until now. How was he going to confront him? Confess that he stole the tome and hid it? Swallowing his fears, he swam inside their home.

  “Now this is interesting. I’m usually the one as ornery as a tiger shark, and here you are—did you blast those plates into oblivion?” Jager inquired, swimming up to the wreckage on the floor. He bent and picked up a shard of porcelain and frowned. “Those were Mother’s favorite plates. What has gotten into you?” He was proud of himself, his voice remained calm.

  “I misplaced something,” Kriegen snapped. As if that was enough to explain the tantrum he was in the midst of.

  “What was it?” Jager collected more pieces, disguising his interest as genuine curiosity. “Maybe I can help you find it.” His gaze lifted to Kriegen and it was then he saw the conflicting emotions on his face. Disgust, anger, humiliation, desperation.

  “A tome. Did you touch that statue?” Kriegen pointed at the winged serpent, scowling at Jager.

  Normally, Jager wouldn’t have, but he did. Still, he scoffed and shook his head. “Why would I touch your statue?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Kriegen moved closer to Jager. “Did. You. Touch. It?” His tone was so low that it sounded more like a growl than words.

  “No. I didn’t.” Jager lied again, and again he felt like spewing. He needed to devise another plan. One that bought him time, because there was still time to save his brother from ruin. Just a week or two, that was all Jager needed.

  Three weeks passed and still Jager hadn’t spoken to his brother about the tablet he found. The secret ate away at him, caused him to toss and turn at night, which led to him being even grumpier.

  Today, however, Jager swore he would go to the surface and see if the Uplanders had begun to make a move. Oinone had assembled a meeting once a week, relaying information. If her sources were correct, they’d move into the sea before another change in the weather came.

  Jager muttered as he swatted a troublesome cuttlefish away. The blasted thing swam backward and zipped around the side of him before tickling Jager’s neck with its facial tentacles.

  “Argh! Disgusting,” he cried out and shuddered as he batted it away.

  The rest of the ascent was quiet. He felt his body expand as he swam from the depths. At last he surfaced. Water spilled down his face and plastered his hair against his shoulders. Beyond the choppy water, the Uplanders were busy on their docks. Curious, he swam forward and came to rest beneath one of the wooden piers.

  “Captain Hasken, we are nearly ready to set out on our voyage,” one of the crew members spoke up.

  “Aye, that is good,” the captain replied.

  From what Jager could see between the cracked wooden planks, the captain was young, maybe twenty-three human years. His black hair was chin-length. His clothing was of deep black and blue and on his hip hung a rapier sword.

  He looked like one of the pirates Father had told him of.

  As the captain moved onto the ship, Jager spied a redheaded kid who lingered behind.

  “…and when we reach the mark that I set last time, that will be the time, got it?” His companions nodded their head and before long, they were boarding the ship, too.

  Time for what? Jager wondered.

  The commands of the captain rang out. The ship came to life, rocking as if it was all too eager to tear across the open seas. As the crew prepared and fulfilled their tasks, the sails snapped in the wind and the ship parted from the dockside.

  Jager was not a paranoid individual, but he half wondered if this meant that these Uplanders were about to encroach on their territory. Was this the moment, or perhaps this was a harmless voyage to gather intel on surroundings islands, expanding their knowledge for cartography reasons.

  Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  Jager sighed as he dipped below the waves and dove just low enough in the water so that his figure was not a shadow to the surface. He did what anyone in his position would do—follow the ship.

  In hindsight, Jager surfacing was a fool’s errand. If something were to go awry—if the crew noticed him or dipped a net into the water—Jager could die. Yet, here he was. All he could do was fight to keep up with the ship and remain somewhat below the belly of the beast; that way no one would notice him and the nets stood no chance of capturing him.

  As the ship continued to sail, Jager noticed that it was staying well away from the boundaries that were set. They were not staying on the course they wanted because there was, in fact, a ward set in place; one that didn’t prohibit the Uplanders from traversing onto merfolk territory by ship, but one that would make them well aware they broke the treaty. The coven protected the waters by guarding them and the soldiers took care of the coven and sea during battles.

  Jager kept his nose below the water, not taking a chance on being heard as he breathed or snorted. Hiding beneath the cover of the lifeboat, he listened carefully to the humans aboard the ship.

  “They’ve set wards. We won’t be able to pass through, Taran. We need another plan,” a voice whispered. Soon, a young boy hung over the rail of the boat, glancing down at the rocky waters.

  Jager’s body shifted with the waves, sending him toward the main vessel. He briefly saw the boy’s face, and quickly shifted under the lifeboat again.

  “We wil
l find a way, even if we must overtake the ship. Hasken has stolen greatness from me time and time again.” The boy’s youthful face scrunched up, furrowing his brows and twisting his lips. He went from looking child-like to demon-like in an instant.

  “Yes, but Captain Hasken has earned that by respecting the old laws.”

  “Not every rule is meant to be followed, Georgie.”

  A scoff came from Jager, which was loud enough for Taran to hear. Cursing, Jager slid under the surface, slipping away from the cover of the lifeboat, just as the boy pulled a pistol from his hip. Frozen for a moment, Jager tried to gather his wits, but it was too late to swim away before the boy fired the gun. Something stung him—no—burned, and that was all Jager needed to propel him through the water and away from the ship.

  The vessel wouldn’t be able to pass through the wards, for now, until Jager could warn the others.

  He swam as fast as his tail would allow him and by the time he reached the sea floor, the gills behind his ears puffed wildly. Resting a moment was perhaps a mistake; he felt the burning spread up his side and when he looked down, he noticed blood seeping from him. The water became tinged with his life source and Jager knew at once that they had shot him.

  There was only one individual he could go to that wouldn’t spread words, at least not yet.

  Oinone.

  “Mistr… ess,” Jager groaned loudly, feeling his energy fade. Between exhaustion and blood loss, he was soon floating to the sea floor.

  By the grace of Muir, Oinone was tending to the coral outside her home and heard him. She zipped through the water to his side and gathered him in her arms, taking him inside her home.

  He vaguely recalled as she tore away his shirt, revealing the wounded side of his ribs. She gasped the moment she saw it because anyone would know the wound didn’t come from below.

  “Jager,” she hissed, waving her hand above the wound. “Are you well enough to tell me your tale?” She flexed her fingers, coaxing the foreign objects from his body with one hand, while the other waved in the water, healing the damage they left in their wake.