by D. N. Bryn
“Are you sure you’re all right, Perle?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your tail—”
“I’m. Fine.” I make the signs large and firm, my fingers copying the fierce look I give him. “I just need water.”
He changes the subject. “Exactly how long can you stay out of it—the water, I mean?”
I make a rough guess, based on what I’ve been told by other sirens and the pain I experienced the first day Kian caught me, before she moved me to the tub. “One of your human hours.”
“We’ll have to hurry,” he mumbles. “Can you roll onto the blanket?”
I rock my hips, swinging my shoulders around. It feels like I’m leaving my tail behind, as though it’s nothing but a heap of someone else’s flesh bound to my torso. My fins droop oddly, the once rigid silver rays now limp and transparent.
Dejean picks up my tail and places it inside the line of the fabric. Emptiness replaces the rough callouses of his hands. I doubt I would’ve known he even moved it had I not been watching. The thought sends another rush of panic through me, and I force my attention away, watching Simone instead.
She scoops a bucket of water from the tub and pours it over me. It rolls soothingly across my scales and drenches the blanket, but I don’t need it. I won’t be with them long.
“Don’t go making any noise now, you hear?” Simone says. It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking directly to me, perhaps for the first time since Dejean took the ship. I refuse to care. After the next few minutes, I’ll never see her again.
“The more humans who know you’re here, the more trouble it’ll cause us all,” Dejean adds, holding the fabric up around my head. He waits for me to nod before wrapping it over my face and torso. The world goes dark and muffled.
“If Kian finds out…” Simone says.
“She won’t. We’ll be careful.” Dejean counts to three and the blanket rises, a little unevenly. It rocks as they move, like the gentle sway of the ocean.
“I hope you’re not planning to tell my fiancée.”
“Our dear Murielle? Not on my life.” Dejean snorts. “I love her to pieces, but she can’t keep a secret for all the treasure in the sea. Or all the pipes in a junkyard, for that matter. I can’t imagine what she must think the massive saltwater tub is for.”
“She knows you’re equal parts eccentric and insane. Eccentric, insane, and not flying with all stacks.”
“Be careful who you call an idiot,” Dejean says. “I am giving you the Oyster, after all.”
“You’re giving me command of this stolen ship so I can race away from my fiancée and hopefully beat Kian to your malfunctioning vessel still floating in siren-infested waters, while you play with your new pet. I’ll call you what I wish. Though that doesn’t override the fact you are an idiot.”
“I’m only trying to help Perle recover—” His words turn into a grunt as I jab him in the stomach with my finger joint. “Poke her, not me! I was defending you!”
“Quiet,” Simone hisses.
The world tips as they ascend the stairs to the top deck. I hold back a squeak, gripping the fabric to keep from sliding. After two flights of steps, we reach open air. The smell of the ocean fills me up, sharp and salty and wonderful. It calls to me, begging me to throw off the fabric and breathe it in. But I can’t, not until I’m ready to flee.
This might be the last chance I ever have to escape; I’ll have to make it count. I press my fingers against the sides of my neck. Had I not panicked, I would have submerged my head properly beneath the water to force it into my mouth and through my gills, but now I’ll have to hope they unseal in the harbor.
My position shifts again as Dejean and Simone carry me down a long plank that must connect the ship to the dock. As they reach the bottom, the sound of their boots on the wood turns deeper and fuller, mixing with the soft patter of tiny waves. It’s now or never.
My heart throws itself into my throat as I launch out of the blanket. My elbows knock against the dock. I dig my nails into the gaps between the hard planks and pull myself forward, but the fabric tangles around my tail, yanking me back.
“Perle!” Dejean drops the blanket, reaching for me. I snap my teeth at him and he recoils.
“I told you—” Simone whispers, but her words turn to a hiss as I swing my hips with all my might, dragging the fabric out of her hands.
The rough wood scrapes me as I roll toward the side of the dock, toward the dark water that ripples just below. My tail slams into a post. I flip over the edge, twisting as my face hits the water.
The fabric catches again, leaving me hanging with only my shoulders in the sea. Sitting up, I yank desperately at anything I can reach—the blanket, the wood, my own fins. My arms shake and my muscles protest. The dock creaks and the fabric slips before tightening further, lower this time. Dejean appears over the edge of the dock. He grabs me by my hips, catching hold of the blanket.
I shriek as he pulls me upward. With all my strength, I toss my body toward him, biting his shoulder. He grunts and jerks away. My tail slips out of the fabric. He snatches my wrist as I fall into the water, his nails digging into my scales.
“If you truly want to go, I’ll let you.” He breathes heavily, a small bloom of scarlet appearing where I broke his skin. “But I don’t think this is best. You belong in the sea, but you’re still recovering. If you rush this, you’ll hurt yourself.”
My entire body resists his words. He’s known me for a week, and I’ve known myself my whole life. I need the sea.
“Is this really what you want?”
A pathetic noise rises through me, and I nod, struggling. The night shadows dim his sorrow, but I can still see it, pinching in his brows and tucking down his lips. He releases my wrist.
The water accepts me. It cradles me like a long-lost child, caressing my scales and seeping into my soul. It feels blissful, perfect.
Then it begins to strangle.
I draw in the sea, pressing it against my gills. A tiny slit opens on the right side of my neck, but the rest remain sealed, forcing the water into my lungs. I choke. More water follows, gripping me from the inside. I fight to stay afloat, but the weight of my tail drags me down.
Air! I need air. Tossing my hips, I push toward the surface with my arms. But I continue to sink. The water rushes in, constricting, terrifying, consuming. I thrash.
My wrist smacks into the post supporting the dock. Frantically, I grab it with both arms. I close my mouth, refusing to choke myself further, and pull upward. The wood tears at my softer spots, but I make progress. My arms tremble from exertion, already pushed far past their limit. Each movement is a battle all its own. My vision wavers, my chest burning.
The tips of my fingers break through the surface, the air greeting them, sharp and pure. But my other arm slips along the post, pulling me back under. No. No, no, no. I struggle upward again, darkness closing in. One more touch of air graces my hand. My muscles seize. The post falls away, an inky, suffocating world surrounding me.
Then nothing.
Through the haze, a pair of calloused hands breaks the water, grasping my wrist. Another, smoother set follows, and I’m dragged upward. I breach the surface with a gasp. As they pull me in rough, frantic bursts onto the dock, I choke. Water comes out, more water than seems possible, but my chest still feels raw and chafed, like the sun burning me from the inside.
I collapse against the dock and my head lands on Dejean’s leg. He doesn’t move, but I hear Simone stand, and a moment later the blanket settles over me, part of it still dripping. After the senseless panicked minutes trapped in the water, I can finally string together proper thoughts.
The sea betrayed me. My sea, the one place I knew I would be home. I’ve been rejected.
I wail, the sound almost an elegy of its own, dark and hoarse and fearful in all the places a proper song is beautiful and passionate.
“Perle,” Dejean says, the smell of his blood almost overpowering. “I kn
ow you’re hurt, but we need to move you.” He reaches for me, then hesitates.
The rushing of the waves jeers. What can you do, they chide. Why would we keep you if you cannot even sing? They continue to laugh, until sounds from the Oyster mask their taunting.
“Perle?” Worry creeps into his voice. “My house is still open, if you’d like to come—as a guest, not a pet. It’s a decent tub, I promise.” He falters, but his next words are strong and sure. “Or somewhere else. A proper beach, maybe? Somewhere with shallows? Anywhere you’ll feel safe.”
I see it in his gaze: the same flash of pain that ran through him the moment he let me drop into the water. Something new appears there too, a strange mix of determination and vulnerability. He’ll let me go. He’s giving me the option to choose the sea, and what’s more, he’ll help me get there.
And I want the sea, not a tub, not him. Brine runs in my veins and my heart echoes the pounding of the waves. The mocking voice of the water beneath the dock rises again, pressing a smothering hand to my chest. I draw a ragged breath, releasing it in a sharp, grieved sound.
I want the sea, but the sea doesn’t want me.
I make the sign for his home. It has no word in my tongue, and even its motion in this halfway language we’ve created seems too beautiful to be connected to any human house. It’s not what I want, not what any siren would ever want. But if I can’t return to the sea, then can I even call myself a siren? As I sit near the taunting of the waves, the privacy of Dejean’s home holds an appeal no other place currently offers.
“You aren’t giving up.” Simone shakes her head at Dejean. “You really are a stubborn idiot.”
“Perle needs—”
“It’s cute.” She sounds amused for once. “Shut up and help me carry your guest to the wagon before your entire ship comes out to watch.”
Propping myself into a sitting position, I stare at him.
“May I?” He asks.
I shrug, impassive, but an instinctive squeak leaves me as he wraps me in his arms, lifting me up. His warmth hits me first, then the buttons on his coat as they press annoyingly against my side. His hold is comfortable, secure in a way that provides support without feeling restrictive. His torso is much larger than mine, in both size and bulk, but my tail reaches twice the length of his legs. Simone comes to lift it, keeping it from scraping against the ground.
She stares at me with her usual annoyed expression, but her lips do the little quirk she gives Dejean after he says something ridiculous. “I expect him back in one piece.”
“I can’t promise anything,” I grumble, tucking my face into his shoulder to hide my embarrassment. I shouldn’t care what a human thinks of me. But if the sea won’t accept me, then I have to rely on these land-stunted creatures for a little longer. That’s all this is. Self-preservation.
With my nose pressed against Dejean’s coat, I can smell the blood from the bite I gave him. My stomach rumbles, though it shouldn’t be time to eat yet. Dejean laughs, very quietly, his chest bouncing. He lowers me into the back part of some metal machine, with small walls around me and the open sky above. I wiggle to one side so Simone can fit my tail in. I try to ignore the frightening way it bends, the emptiness stretching out beyond my hips.
Simone lays the blanket over me, covering all but my face.
From the direction of the ship, Chauncey shouts, “Why’re you catching reef sharks at this time a night?” He sounds like he’s trying to yell without waking anyone. “Need any help?”
I had forgotten how terrible human vision is in the dark. It’s amazing they’ve survived this long.
“We’re done now, thanks!” Simone calls. She lowers her voice. “I’ll try to bring the ships back here, but only if I’m far enough ahead of any trouble Kian stirs up.”
“I don’t plan to leave the house, so things should be quiet here,” Dejean replied. “You do whatever is safest. I’ll live even if I don’t get my ship back for a season, so long as you feed my crew and don’t let Kian blow you all up.”
Kian. If Simone takes the Oyster away, then I might be safe here long enough for my tail to heal. But the sooner I leave, the less anxious I will feel.
My worry turns to anticipation as Dejean’s machine roars to life, puffing billows of steam out its sides. The vapor rises to cover the sky while we idle, clearing in an instant as the machine bursts forward. The hunk of rumbling metal doesn't go nearly as fast as a ship flies or a siren swims, but the smallness of the craft and my inability to control it makes me anxious.
Dark buildings rise on one side, waves jeering on the other. After some time, Dejean turns the machine inland and uphill. Each bump of the uneven road jars my shoulders, my back, and my hips, the pain reminding me I can feel nothing lower. My head grows lighter with each jolt, my heart trembling. I concentrate on my arms, tightening and loosening their muscles. My tail just needs time. It’ll heal. It will.
Above me, large leafy trees block out most of the stars, the occasional vine hanging so close that I could grab it if I reached far enough. A steady ocean breeze rises the moment the trees vanish, pricking along my drying skin. The blanket holds some moisture still, but it makes my scales itch, and the places it doesn’t cover sting.
The machine slows and stops. It rattles as Dejean gets out, the gears grinding to a halt and the stacks making a soft tinging noise.
Dejean leans over the little walls that hold me in the machine. “How are you doing?”
“I feel like I’m dying, but at least the stars are pretty.” I have to make up a couple of the signs on the spot, so I don’t think he quite understands.
His brow pinches, and he quickly wraps up my tail in the blanket, handing me the end. He lifts me in his arms. My tail knocks into the little wall around the back of the machine, but my grip on the blanket keeps it from dragging along the ground once it’s over the side.
Dejean’s warmth bites against my dry flesh. He carries me along a stone path with a small grassy area to the right that fades into thick trees. The land to my left gives away, dropping into the ocean far below. I can hear the waves cracking against the cliffs, but the noise is subtle, muted by distance and a light breeze. The water stretches out along the horizon, each beautiful crest dipped in starlight.
I turn my face away, focusing on Dejean’s house instead. Every part of it seems to point upward, as though it reaches for the sky. The wooden panels along the walls are the color of sea-foam, the pointy top boasting dark red-brown accents. The windows are all masked by hanging white blankets, the glass shut tight.
Dejean ascends the steps in front of the door. He props me against his hip, leaning awkwardly as he unlocks it. He closes it behind him, bolting it again.
“Welcome to my humble home. Your home too, as long as you need it.”
“Is this what humans call humble?” I mumble in soft clicks, unable to sign with both my hands still holding up the fabric that supports my tail.
The entry room is even fancier than Kian’s ship, filled by couches and little tables. It overflows with large shells and spyglasses, maps and globes, human figurines and model ships. Books are piled on shelves and a paper animal with wings hangs from the ceiling beside a metal contraption with churning cogs.
I don’t get a good glimpse of them before Dejean carries me through an archway into the next room. This one is larger than the first, but equally cluttered by strange, colorful items, though they’ve been cleared away from a structure that takes up the entire far end. It must be the tub he’s spoken of, though only the shiny metal plating reminds me of my spot back on Kian’s ship. This square tub is at least twice as long as I am, and embedded into the ground. On the far side, it appears deep enough for me to sit up and still hold my head under the water. It butts up against a pair of long windows and a back door, thin fabrics drawn to reveal a view of the sea below. A machine chugs away beside it, pipes pushing water back and forth. The salty liquid smells as though Dejean’s brought it from the ocean just hours
before.
In its own way, it’s almost beautiful, like a tiny reef cove made of metal instead of rock.
Dejean lowers me down, slipping me into the water. I unwrap my tail and together we wring the blanket out. He hangs it on a hook on the wall.
“What do you think?” he asks, signing his words instead of speaking.
“I have to test it first.” I scowl, because if I smile he might realize how much relief the tub brings me, the little crevice of water comfortable and natural without reminding me too much of the ocean. Taking a deep breath, I close my mouth and push myself off the little ledge he’s set me on, submerging fully into the water. It soaks into me, relieving the pain in an instant. The short, stringy fins on my head float, and the tips of them glide in my peripheral, translucent and shimmering in the artificial light.
I explore the tub. The metal is fused together, the seams barely visible. Little handholds stick out of the floor in the deeper parts, and I use them to help me move, my tail floating stiffly behind me. The lack of feeling and the sight of it dragging makes me grimace. I must ignore it for now. I must ignore it and believe it’ll get better.
Strapped down in the shallow edge of the tub is a soft sponge pad the length of my full body. I can’t figure what Dejean’s aversion to sand might be; I’ll have to get it out of him later. I slide onto the sponge, leaning my chest against another pad placed along the tub’s rim.
“It’s not terrible, I guess.” It’s no ocean, but it lets me swim without drowning, and I’m thankful for that. “Better than Kian’s.” I try not to act too enthusiastic, but the smile that lights up his face makes me want to duck my head under the water to hide the rush of heat through my cheeks.
He tried hard. I don’t know why. Maybe he really is just an eccentric idiot, like Simone claims. But he tried to give me something that I’d be happy with, and I don’t know how to fault him for that.
