Our Bloody Pearl

by D. N. Bryn

  The song fades away, leaving the pounding of the storm and the creak of the decks as the ship tosses in the waves. Dejean lays still. As the pain of the pod’s departure fades into a miserable ache, I find I can’t look away from Dejean. My hands tingle and I reach for him.

  He moans. Rolling over, he shoves himself onto his elbows, a small patch of his copper curls tinted red.

  My arm still hangs over the side of the tub and I brush a finger against the blood, sticking it in my mouth. Its sharp, wonderful taste eases the throb in my chest.

  “That’s rude,” he grumbles, his words ragged and sloppy, but he doesn’t move from the floor.

  “You weren’t going to use it.”

  He looks up at me, expectant. I point to him and make a motion that doesn’t really symbolize the word use, but I have nothing better.

  “I… should work on?”

  I shake my head to interrupt him, glaring with all my boundless annoyance and disappointment.

  He tries again. “I didn’t need it?”

  I shrug. “Close enough.”

  The ship rocks violently, and Dejean braces himself as water sloshes out of the tub, dousing his flamboyant coat. “Perfect,” he grumbles, peeling off the fabric.

  I point toward the door.

  Confusion tugs at his eyebrows, and then he scrambles to his feet, falling into the wall as the ship tips again. “Dammit.” He rubs a hand across his face, glancing out the little window. “I have to be sure the siren pod’s gone before I release the crew. If they come back while we’re on deck…” It must pain him to wait, because he taps his fingers aggressively.

  “If you’re not leaving, you could tell me where we’re bound.” I make the motions I think fit best. It takes him a series of guesses to get it right, but once he does, he makes me repeat each gesture on its own until he can imitate them.

  “We’re headed to the island of Falaise,” he replies finally. Slumping back onto the ground, he leans against the tub.

  “Your names mean nothing to me.”

  There is no need for signing, as he picks up on my frustrated expression with ease.

  “Falaise. It has high cliffs around three sides, with an extensive reef to the north, overwhelmed by stingrays. It’s dense with jungle, and the only port is on the east side, though it’s a good harbor in a storm,” Dejean explains. “It’s a wonderful place; wild and peaceful. I have a house on a north-facing cliff. It overlooks the ocean for miles.”

  Wonderful, yes. The lack of people and the reef, particularly.

  “That sounds like…” I give him my name for it, but like all my kind’s tongue, it’s more than a word. The term is a complete concept, expression and vocals and motions combined to create something insightful and honest, spoken with the whole being.

  “Are you saying you know it?”

  I nod. For a few seasons, I lived two days’ swim south of there, my pod roaming between a string of three small, uninhabited islands. That feels like lifetimes ago, not mere years.

  Beyond the port window, the clouds look brighter, the rain slowing to a light drizzle. The ship sways, but none of my water splashes out. Dejean accidentally knocks the back of his head on the tub, and he rubs it with his palm, scooting away to lean against the wall.

  “What will you do with me?” I make gestures to the best of my ability. When he hesitates to answer, I’m not sure if it’s from lack of understanding, or an unwillingness.

  Finally, he sighs. “I have a mechanic who might construct something bigger for you once we’re on Falaise; something you can swim in while you regain your strength.”

  A bigger tub. This seems to be his way. He’ll offer me something far better than Kian would, though never what I truly want. But a tub at a house means he’ll need to carry me out of the ship somehow, and to do that he’ll have to remove the weight from my tail. He just might end up supplying my freedom by accident.

  With a groan, Dejean pulls himself to his feet. He sends me a weak smile and heads for the cabin. In my doorway, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Earlier you asked about the blockers Kian created…” His voice softens, little wrinkles appearing on his brow. “Following Kian’s footsteps and capturing sirens to sell—whether alive or dead—would make me a bigger fortune than even I could imagine. That was my plan.”

  Part of me burns like dry sand in the summer, but the way he holds himself, his tall form so small and vulnerable, quenches my rage.

  “When I took this ship,” he continues, “I had never met a siren before, just seen the blood smeared across the deck and mourned the loss of good crewmates. My heart may be small, but trading in such intelligent creatures, it…” He flinches like he’s been hit by an angry captor. “I can’t do it.” His gaze shifts back to Kian’s cabin. “Still, those blockers would be invaluable. Even if we never sell a siren, they would save many of my crew’s lives, and chests worth of gold in repairs. I’ll get my hands on them if I can manage it.”

  If he lies, I can’t tell, but I know better than to accept his words as truth. Still, my voice rises in weak crackles. “You aren’t going to use them to catch more of my kind?”

  Dejean’s smile returns, soft as moonlight on the waves. “I’m not sure what you said, but… thank you for not being upset with me.”

  “I am upset,” I grumble, but my heart burns as I say it. I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t know whether to be upset or overjoyed, forgiving or furious. By logic, I should be happy. If he really does tell the truth, it means he’s a far better human than I assumed. Yet my chest still aches, worry and residual pain refusing to leave its harbor.

  He lingers in the door for another dip and rise of the ship, looking at me with that frustrating smile. Then he goes to the mess of supplies and decor he knocked off Kian’s desk, digging until he finds the paper Simone hid there. He reads through it once and moves to Kian’s door, unlocking it with whatever combination Simone left. I hear no more from him.

  The familiar heavy footsteps and shouts from deck return soon after. The rain lets up, though the clouds remain for the rest of the day, fogging the setting sun. When Dejean returns with two buckets of seawater to replace the ones I lost, he tells me the ship is in less than optimal condition, and the fuel for the stacks is heavily depleted. Without favorable winds, we won’t reach his home in a reasonable time.

  I think he just needs someone to complain to. He moves twice as slowly the next time he appears, the circles beneath his eyes darker and the slump of his shoulders more pronounced. Stupid humans, why don’t they ever rest?

  I point him toward Kian’s bed, wiggling my fingers, and make a motion for sleep.

  “I’m getting there.” With a yawn, he draws out a forearm-sized fish from the ice box beneath Kian’s bed, bringing it to me. It smells as though it’s been chilling there for two days. My nose wrinkles from the stench, but it seems the humans smell too little to notice.

  “What is it?” He asks, glancing at my dinner. “It was from the captain’s personal stock, marked as caught the day before last.”

  Making a face, I do my best reenactment of those silly round things the humans tell time with, along with the reverse of the gesture I used to represent things done in the future. “It’s old.”

  Dejean sighs. “I guess I’ll see if I can catch something fresh.” He moves to put them back in his fish bag.

  Stretching with all my might, I snatch it out of his hand. I’ve eaten plenty of worse meals under Kian’s care, and I don’t trust him to fish in this state. He might get snagged by something big and stumble overboard, leaving me with no one but Simone. Who knows if she’ll try to move me off the ship at all.

  “Are you sure?”

  I make the future motion, and then rise the sun with my hands, before scowling and pointing at him.

  “Tomorrow morning then. Your breakfast will be better, I promise. Fresh out of the sea.” He steps out of my little room, but pauses. “Goodnight, Perle.” He makes up a motion to go with th
e words.

  On some crazy instinct, I repeat it back to him. “Goodnight.” It feels weird saying such a friendly thing to a human. I shudder. Maybe being out of the ocean for so long has begun to addle my brain.

  Dejean puts the leftover fish back and drops onto Kian’s bed. I lean as far as I’m able, but I can see only his feet, boots still on, none of those strange cloth squares the humans call blankets. Closing my eyes, I settle back. The gentle rock of the ocean relaxes me, and I wish it came with the brush of the water and not the creak of the ship.

  I sleep well for a captive in a tub, but I’m accustomed to it, and the care Dejean has given me makes it easier. I wake before dawn and wash myself as best I can. Regular intervals of water running over my exposed areas keeps the cracking at bay, though my arms ache by the time I finish.

  Dejean fulfills his promise and brings me fresh fish as soon as the sun rises. As the days go by, a routine sets in. I douse myself with clean water, my scales happy, though my gills refuse to open. Dejean fishes for me. He rambles while I eat, accompanying his words with hand motions he calls signs.

  I’m hesitant to accept this. It’s too ordinary, too affectionate. I won’t be here long enough to need a language to communicate with him. But there’s something in the way he talks that makes me think he has no one else he feels comfortable around, except maybe Simone. I give into this new language, adding my own signs to it. Like the human speech, it does not hold the depth and beauty of my own, but it comes much closer. Dejean seems to love it.

  Convincing him I want to be friends works in my favor. This way, he’ll be caught off guard when I made my break for freedom. Besides, this is nothing like the begging and flinching that molded my life with Kian. I would flee from Kian with everything in me, but the escape I plan now is a desire for the ocean, not a need to be rid of Dejean. Existing without the sea remains nearly impossible, but at least talking with him is becoming easy.

  “. . . And then,” he says, “there was this time, years ago, when Simone and I fished with a little dinghy out off the south tip of Seival. We had a nice catch at the end of the day, so I thought it would be great to throw one back out on the line.” He chuckles, closing his eyes as though picturing it. Never having seen a fishing pole from that side of the lure, I can only imagine. “Whatever caught hold of that fish dragged us for ages before we managed to cut the rope. I swear, it had to be a siren.”

  “Sirens aren’t that dumb.”

  “Siren’s heads aren’t… No, not heads.” He stares at me for a moment. His eyes light up. “Stupid. Sirens aren’t that stupid.” He nods. “Simone always thought it was a shark. A siren would’ve sang. Or tipped us.”

  “Tipped you and eaten you. Humans should know better than to fish in a siren’s territory.” I don’t sign the last part. I do tell him my frustration with his love for anchovies, because it’s ridiculous to hunt something so small, and I motion him through a list of the best places to find nurse sharks when he gripes over never spotting them during the day.

  After resting soundly the first night, he tosses and turns during every sleep that follows, waking with shouts and pacing the cabin beyond my vision for long portions of time before finally returning to bed. We drift by islands on both sides; small rocky ones out my port window and a long, blue haze on our starboard horizon. Two days later we pass so near an archipelago that I can see the break of the water over the reef.

  Dejean tells me each of the island’s names, and I offer my own versions, more beautiful than his human voice could ever pronounce. His expression softens when he hears them. We each have memories to go with the names, and I wonder if I ever saw him walking along the shore, or watched him skirt the edges of my pod’s territory as his ship pulled away from the isle.

  When Dejean comes in for dinner, five nights later, he’s grinning like he’s just caught himself a great white.

  “We’re home, Perle,” he says.

  “Home,” I repeat, in my own language. With my hands, I add, “Why are you taking me home with you?”

  He startles, his brow shooting up. “Why wouldn’t I?” The glare I send him makes his gaze drop to the floor. “I suppose I’ve felt different since I found you—better. I enjoy your presence. But I can’t give you the space you deserve on this ship, so my house is the better option right now.” He shrugs and turns back to Kian’s cabin without another word.

  I lean back in the tub, watching the ocean roll outside my window, waiting for the first signs of the harbor to appear. I must be ready. Whatever kindness he’s shown me in the last week doesn’t mean nearly enough. I’m going to escape these bonds—whatever it takes.

  Sirens belong in the sea.

  [ 3 ]

  THE UNDERTOW

  Which is worse: pain, the epitome of feeling, or the complete lack thereof?

  “HOME.” I SIGN the shape of the standard human houses I’ve seen peeking over beaches, their high, scaly tops colored like coral, shadowing long, crystalline windows.

  Dejean repeats the sign, his grin sparkling in his eyes. “Home. But you’ll need to stay on the ship a few more days while I have something built for you. In the meantime, I’ll be here as often as I can.” He hands me a pair of small croakers, which smell as though he caught them just minutes before. “There’ll be fresh catches at the morning market; Simone or I will buy you whatever you’d like.” His grin never once fades as he walks through Kian’s cabin. He pauses to wave at me before disappearing from view.

  Sinking back against the tub, I bite into the first fish. The island takes up most of my window, brown cliffs and sandy, golden beaches, with leafy, green trees and thick brush covering most of the soil. In the distance, the port town sits beside the harbor. Small boats float on the water, and a single three-deck ship is docked at a long wharf. Steam rises from the houses, vanishing into the clear sky. We seem to be heading away from the port, toward solitude.

  Hiding.

  I shudder. I have little faith in Dejean’s ability to conceal a massive vessel of wood and metal. Every hour I remain on the Oyster is another hour in which Kian might return, might cut off my escape for good. I yearn for the sea—the light rippling against the sand, the rush of the currents—but I yearn also for the wide, free waters where I might flee until my gills grow weary. Until I am far enough from Kian that she will never find me.

  Over the next few days, I do little but stare at the waves and check the horizon. Dejean talks to me less, constantly busy with one thing or another. He sleeps off-ship. I don’t miss his presence, or his nightmares, and I certainly don’t miss his stupid grin. But I feel a loss of something.

  Sirens are not the cluttered creatures of Dejean’s kind, but we still desire the protection of a close-knit group. But even if my old pod escaped Kian, there may not be a place for me with them after so long away. I am utterly alone.

  By the time Dejean returns for a proper conversation three nights later, I’ve gnawed my smallest fingernail to a bunt in anticipation and worry. A scattering of lights poke through the darkness to reveal the harbor town asleep, the rhythmic swaying of the boat absent for once. Dejean smiles, broad and eager. He carries a huge piece of fabric, which he lays down outside my tub.

  “Are you ready?”

  I huff, motioning to the weight still holding down my tail.

  His face darkens. “I know. Simone’s coming to help.”

  The moment the words are out of his mouth, in she walks. “I still think this is a bad idea,” she says. “That weight might have—”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Dejean cuts her off.

  “What?” I wave my arms at them, but Dejean only pats one of my hands with his rough fingers.

  “Let’s get this weight off you,” he says, moving around the tub.

  Squatting, he and Simone apply some odd arrangement of straps across the block of metal and around their shoulders and backs. My heart beats frantically as they stand up. They pull the weight along with them, shifting until it
’s out of the tub.

  I wait.

  I wait for it to feel different. For the life to return to my tail. For some hint of my old strength to come back. If I wait long enough, feeling will arise, from the water or the tub or the twitch of flexing muscle.

  But nothing comes.

  I try to lift it, but it remains limp and inert, a gaping hole in my senses. The same deadness swirls in my chest, crushing my lungs. I choke. Struggling backward, I grab the sides of the tub and throw myself out, away from this impostor attached to my hips. The scales along my hips and upper tail rub painfully against the copper rim. Then, nothing; nothing but a dead weight, a block of limp flesh as useless as a heap of metal.

  The floor rises up to meet me. I dig my nails into it, screeching.

  “Perle!”

  Dejean’s voice sounds odd, distant. The ground swirls, boots and walls and my own shriek twisting into one. Dejean’s soft words come again.

  “Perle, look at me.”

  I force my eyes to his, though everything inside me yearns to bury my head and hide from the world. Air burns in my lungs, and my vision steadies.

  “Just like that, Perle.” He speaks with a strange calmness, the metal block discarded off to the side. With one arm, he holds Simone back as she clutches a knife. They both watch as though waiting for me to lash out, posture stiff, eyes narrowed. But I don’t have the strength.

  Trembling, I sink like a rock onto the floor.

  Dejean lets Simone go, coming to my side. “What do you need?” he asks.

  I motion to my tail, but I don’t have the signs to tell him. “It’s wrong. It’s all wrong,” I cry, shoving my nails into a crack between the wood.

  Wood. Wood is easier to think about. Wood is odd. I’ve stared at it for months, but I’ve touched little besides metal. Free of that copper cage, I run my hand against the deck. I’m out of the tub.

  Only a small movement, but one I thought I’d never experience.

  This isn’t the end, but the beginning. My tail is just taking its time. My arms needed to recover, and their lock was hardly as confining as the weight Kian placed on my body. Once I’m in the ocean, I’ll keep to the shallows and hunt in the reefs along the coast. The feeling and mobility in my tail will return, if I give it time.