by Plum Pascal
I spy a name etched into the craft and I squint at it, trying to make out the meaning.
The Jolly Roger. Is it perhaps named for the captain? Could his name be Roger?
The ship rises rapidly from the sea, ascending like a gull, with only half the sound. It spins agilely in the air to face the rising kraken. The shape of the man aboard is hard to make out now. I can really only see a black speck moving against the moon. Then, one of the knobbly black growths that juts from the side of the boat belches out a tongue of flame, sending a projectile toward the kraken with thunderous sound.
The speeding black thing hits its mark, burrowing deep into the creature’s large eye and utterly destroying its orbital socket.
The kraken lets out an unearthly scream that vibrates the water all around me. I don’t want to feel bad for the beast, but I do. There are more painless ways to finish them.
The kraken lashes one long tentacle into the air, aiming as well as it can with its injury and already limited eyesight. It’s lucky to even be alive. The tentacle hooks the ship in the middle and drags it seaward again at an astonishing speed. The man aboard doesn’t even have time to move before the kraken brings the entire vessel crashing down against the waves.
The ship breaks apart with a sound like cracking ice and a spray of multi-colored sparks as the enchantments break. The man is hurled like a stone from the deck and lands in the water. He’s far from the boats he released earlier. In fact, I can no longer see them and I assume the inhabitants must have begun rowing for the shore.
My thoughts return to the captain. Now stranded in the ocean, he will certainly perish. If the kraken doesn’t find him first, some other unsavory sea creature will. Or perhaps it will be the cold that takes him first.
Something has to be done for him. Even if the air up here is comparatively warm, he won’t be able to maintain his warm, human temperature when soaked to the skin. Worse, if the blow has rendered him unconscious, he’ll drown long before the cold takes him.
I dive below again, narrowly dodging bits of debris as I go. The enchantments on the ship continue to flicker faintly, like the glow of an angler, before they die out completely, leaving only the moon to guide my way.
I reach the man just in time, but then one of the poisoned tentacles of the kraken comes down beside him, thrusting him away from me. While the tentacle doesn’t land on him, it creates a huge wave and a vacuum beneath that pulls the man under. I dive beneath the wave and watch as the man dives downward. It’s then that I realize his eyes are closed, his head askew and flopping with the current of the water as his long hair furls like seagrass. Bubbles stream from his nose, expelling the last of his precious air.
We’re too deep. He won’t make it to the surface.
There’s only one thing I can think to do, though it will no doubt annoy Opeia and Bastion. I propel myself downward as fast as I can until I reach out and grip the man around the arm, pulling him to me. Then, leaning forward, I press my lips very gently to his throat. I trace my tongue along the point where his blood pulses weakly beneath his skin, and expel the barest hint of my magic. My power hums warm and ready beneath my lips, and when I draw away, there’s a perfect imprint of my lips on his neck.
The beginnings of a mate mark, a mate mark that will stop the human from drowning.
My heart jumps wildly at the implication of what I’ve done, but I don’t have time to examine my feelings too closely. I scoop him up and into my arms and pump my tail as fast as I can, angling north toward Delorood, leaving the kraken behind to be dealt with later.
For now, there’s a sailor to save.
TWO
ARIA
Cassio Island is a dot rising above an otherwise unblemished stretch of sea—a tiny beauty mark on the landscape.
At high tide, the island is barely more than a sandbar with sparse vegetation, just a smattering of palms hunched against the wind. Between the palms are a few wooden shacks that, quite frankly, I’m surprised are still here. Humans built them many years ago and owing to the elements, I never imagined they would last as long as they have.
The palms have been kicked up into a hearty gale now that the kraken’s flailing has beaten the four winds. Eurus, the unlucky east wind, has obviously been riled, and rain will come soon to pelt the place into submission. I need to get the human inside one of the rundown shacks that line Cassio’s shore before that happens.
Easier said than done.
Neither half-form I possess—fish nor bird—is well suited to this place. My talons would cut the poor man to ribbons, and the doorways of the shacks are too narrow to allow my wings to pass easily. While my tail is awkward, it’s the only way I can ensure to reach the island and deliver the man to safety. I’m afraid jostling him might lead to worse injury. Still, what other choice do I have?
Maneuvering him into a half-embrace, I wriggle him away from the tide that licks at his toes. I seat him on my lap and face away as I feel the rear of my tail meet the sand. The cresting waves curl around us as I balance him on my lap and use my hands to pull myself backwards and up the embankment of sand. My hands claw through the sand, barely finding purchase as I drag us forward inch by awkward inch. And it is indeed awkward. More so, because every time he moves in my lap, one of his booted feet strokes along the glans of my tail. It’s erotic in the extreme. New and intense sensations climb up my body. My nipples harden to sharp little peaks and slickness coats me in preparation.
It’s my own fault, really. The mate mark primes my body for copulation, though I can’t ever do such a thing with this human. Wrong parts, for one. And his seed could never fertilize my eggs. I’m not sure how the humans copulate, but it’s probably nothing like our ways.
Still, everything in me throbs with need, even as I drag him through the narrow entrance to the corrugated tin shed nearest the shore. The shack smells strongly of fish and brine. A soft coating of moss drapes the walls, now that the fisherman is no longer in residence. Probably scared away by the increasing number of attacks lately.
There’s a rectangular object in the middle of a pile of refuse that appears large enough on which to lay the man. When I touch it, I find it covered in a soft heap of something—perhaps collected palm fronds and coconut fibers? I have to clear off buckets, nets, and wickedly curved implements that make me shudder when I imagine them piercing my scales. Ignoring the beastly implements, I reach the soft object below. I believe the humans would call it a bed?
I pull the man to the bed and lay him down gently. It’s then that I notice his face. It’s striking—his jaw is quite defined and square and his nose is almost large but masculine. His pitch black eyebrows are heavy and match the shade of his hair and the growth of dark algae on his face. He wears something shiny and hooped in his ears and when I tug on the strange baubles, I find them joined to his earlobes. His eyelids are closed and I attempt to pry them apart. But when I do, only the whites of his eyes meet me. He looks quite unappealing without eyeballs so I quickly close his eyelids.
My eyes move down to his mouth. His lips are quite full for a man and they are a pretty pinkish color. I pull the top lip up and find his teeth are large, white and surprisingly straight.
It’s then that I encounter another problem. The man’s clothing is sodden, soaked to his skin. Protected by the elements as he is now, the wetness of his clothing isn’t likely to kill him, but it might make him ill. Human health is fragile, or so Opeia tells me. She used to be our healer, so I trust her words.
I’m momentarily stymied by the complexity of his garb. I’ve never quite understood clothing and the clothing he wears appears quite elaborate.
I’m not quite certain when he managed to don his coat, when previously I’d only seen him in a thin layer that covered his chest and stomach but he wears a coat now. My fingers tremble on the brass fastenings, and it’s an effort to slide the heavy thing down his arms. Maybe because his arms are corded with muscle, crisscrossed with scars beneath the see-through fabric
of his shirt. There’s also an obscene number of fastenings on the coat, this time done in mother-of-pearl, harvested from a clam. My respect for the sailor dims a little. So much cruelty to create something so silly and useless.
But eventually, I’m able to remove his coat. The thin fabric beneath is next and I find that a bit easier to peel off his body. There’s more of that strange algae growth on his chest. Dark, springy curls of it smatter his pectorals and trail down, in a narrowing line, to his waist. I run my fingers through it curiously. It has a different texture than the stuff on his head and face. Wiry and coarse, even while wet.
He stirs a little, mouth parting to let out a soft moan. My body throbs still harder with need. Absurd as it is, I want him to touch me. Ease some of the hunger with his long fingers.
Oh. That’s strange. One of his hands appears normal, calloused and human. The other, though, is anything but. It gleams in the low light, obviously fashioned of metal and it’s shaped like a hook. I’ll need to clean it before I go, lest it rust.
The fitted clothing that covers his legs and waist is the hardest thing of all to remove. The fabric is plastered to him like a second skin. I have to tug and wrestle with it, but the fabric finally loses the battle and slides off in a wet heap of fabric. And when it’s off, I find myself transfixed by the odd shape that’s snuggled between his strong thighs.
It’s long, slightly curved, and veined, quite round and thick in its circumference. At the base, where it meets the rest of his body, there’s still more of that dark, wiry… algae. I run my fingers through it and find it even coarser than the algae on his chest.
But, it’s the strange cylindrical anomaly that hangs from his body that keeps my attention. I wonder if somehow an innkeeper fish has attached itself to him for the thing looks quite tubular and… perhaps it’s an overlarge worm? Where the wiry hair grows from its base, there are two sacs. The worm is half-engorged, ruddy with blood. I brush the mushroom-like tip of it, wondering if the thing is alive or dead. It’s velvety, soft to the touch. I pick it up and try to separate it from his body but the worm-fish doesn’t appear to want to go. When I push apart the dark algae, I realize the strange thing is attached to him! It must be some sort of growth or perhaps he’s playing host to a parasite? I want to explore it more, but I have the sense doing so wouldn’t be welcome.
If he wakes and discovers I’m aware of his parasite, he might be quite embarrassed.
The human makes another soft sound. I need to leave this place before he sees me. Sailors don’t care for sirens. My sisters prey almost exclusively on these humans, using their enchanting voices to enthrall their minds and lead them to watery graves.
I shuffle back to the water’s edge, feeling the heat of the sand as it burns my tail. I sigh gratefully when I’ve submerged in the ocean once again. The cool water is a shock to my system, and my glans shies away from the temperature. The urge to toy with my flesh recedes.
I’ve done what I can for the brave sailor. If possible, I will come to him again by night and give him kelp, chlorella, or spirulina to eat, and I’ll direct him to the small pool of rainwater that he can drink.
Until then, I have to make myself scarce. I am tempting the gods’ wrath by saving him, as I have. Safety awaits me in Opeia’s kingdom and I need to return as quickly as I can. I risk death by being spotted in Triton’s waters.
So I swim into the depths and then dive down, shoving thoughts of the sailor’s strange appendage away. He’s no longer my concern and I hope that overlong parasite nestled between his thighs won’t kill him.
***
I’ve almost reached the trench when a spiny dart whizzes by my ear.
I twist in mid-stroke, my heart lurching against my ribs as the dart narrowly misses me, clattering harmlessly off the rock ledge of the trench. Toxopneuste darts, coated with the most virulent poison available. One brush from those spines and I’d die, choking on my own vomit.
Desperately, I crane my neck to spot my attackers, and spy them a league away, readying another volley. I recognize three of the soldiers in the lead. Sen is easily the largest man in Aspamia, aside from my father. Wide shoulders, rippling with muscle that makes Bastion or the unknown sailor look puny in comparison. Broad chest, dusky nipples showing against the white-gray of his skin. I’ve seen him hurl a Tiger Shark a mile away, winding up and tossing it like it was a game of ball. It hadn’t returned to fight him.
Sen’s thick, muscular tail pounds the water as he closes in on me. His glans is showing, obviously aroused at the thought of hunting me. He can probably smell my desire, leftover from when I touched the human.
I was once promised to Sen, before my banishment from my father’s kingdom. The few times we’ve crossed paths since, he’s attempted to mate me forcefully. Triton has no doubt promised him the chance to rape me if I’m captured. Perhaps Sen means to copulate with my dead body once the darts have finished me? I hope never to find out.
He’s flanked by Kendosk and Cei, his ever-loyal lieutenants, who are equally aroused. Has Sen offered them a turn, as well?
But it’s the line of women behind them, bearing the dart guns, that punch me in the chest with sorrow. My sisters: Piper, Viola, Cadence, Sonata, and Melody. Each wears an identical expression of distaste. I’ve long known Piper hates me. But the others? Has Triton turned them all against me? It would appear so.
My father’s second wife, Andromeda, heads their line. She’s grinning, relishing the chance to end me. She started out life as my father’s concubine, gifted as a slave to him by another kingdom. She likely sees this situation now as a chance to eliminate Triton’s only trueborn heir. My half-sisters are her brood, and they will become my father’s successors, should I die.
“Arianwen,” Sen croons, stroking his glans with apparent delight. The large rounded nub pulses grotesquely. If he catches me, he’ll push it against my slit until I open and then he’ll rub against me until he comes, spewing seed inside to coat my eggs. I shudder and feel the need to be violently sick. I’d rather be dead than allow his glans to touch me.
“Surrender now, my sweet,” he continues. “Your father promises leniency if you come quietly. You need only be chained to my bed until Morningstar rises. And Morningstar will be along soon, I’m sure. The seals are already breaking.”
I gape at them. Gods above, I’d known those seals were a bad idea! I’d told my father as much, when the devil, Morningstar, had been packed away into the nether realms. Evil can’t be contained by something as corrupt as blood magic. The sentiment had gotten me banished.
Sen grins. “Yes, I like that. Keep your mouth open, love. I’d love to feel that little pink tongue on my glans.”
“I’d rather feel a fishhook in my cheek than suck your glans,” I spit back at him, enraged and disgusted. “You revolt me.”
This scuppers my plans. There’s no way to return to the sailor now, not if my sisters and their guard know I’ve emerged from the trenches. Worry clenches in my gut. Cassio Island is not far from Delorood. But what chance does the sailor have of making it to shore with the adolescent kraken prowling the water? And without a boat or ship? Even if, by some miracle, he avoids the kraken, there’s still my father’s guard to worry about. I can’t leave the poor man to starve to death on the island, even if he’s already dying from that tumorous growth or parasite I spotted between his thighs. Leaving him to die is… unjust.
I have to escape and consult Opeia. Which means I have to evade Sen, who’s nearly on me now. A little closer and I can...
I suck in air, let the power build, and then let out another wail. Siren’s song rarely works on other merfolk, but I know Sen is vulnerable to mine. Sure enough, he halts, shuddering from head to tail when the sound scrambles his thoughts. I dive, counting on Andromeda not to shoot me through Sen’s back. She’d receive an earful from my father if she killed his favorite bruiser.
I descend as quickly as my aching body will allow. Cold and dark embrace me and, for once, I’m g
rateful to retreat from the light. The depths are safety. Bleak as they may be, they’re home.
There’s no sign of the grotesquerie when I finally reach the proper depth. Opeia’s spells must be working, then. The grid of yellow magic lasts only a matter of days, especially now that she’s had to spread the grid wider and wider to contain more of the beasts. I swear they’re spawning at an accelerated pace. Perhaps something to do with the breakdown of the seals. Morningstar’s presence fuels the darkness within all things.
Opeia is waiting for me when I arrive, flanked by Bastion. Relief washes through me, a cleansing tide that erases most of my guilt. Both are battered, but they’re alive. It’s more than I expect, most days.
Their expressions are grim, though, even as they move to embrace me. Bastion stiffens as he gets a whiff of my scent.
“Aria…” he starts, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Sen was waiting. He tried to...”
I let my voice trail off, hoping he’ll buy the lie that Sen tried to force my pleasure. Bastion is not my mate, but he could be. He’s not the worst choice I have—golden haired, with lovely azure markings that dot his brow ridge, cheekbones, and appear as freckles across his nose. I wish my own markings were so pleasing. But sage is a bland color. I’m perhaps the least attractive of Triton’s daughters. And Bastion has always been known as one of the most attractive mermen, that was before he was labeled a renegade and an enemy to my father’s court.
Bastion nods, accepting my explanation without question. He scowls. “I’m going to cut off Sen’s glans and feed it to him!”
I’m not sure which I like more—the words, or the lilting baritone of his voice.
“No time for that,” Opeia interjects. “Come, child. We must counsel. Something has to change, and drastically. And I think I have just the plan.”
Bastion and I exchange a glance, probably thinking the same thing.
