by D. N. Bryn
Yanking my head out of the hole, I plant the end of the spear against a firm part of the rock, shoving off it with my arm strength. The force of the push arcs me through the water as the eel shoots out the gap where my head just was.
It latches its jaws around empty water. Looking dazed, it twists until it finds me. I wave at it. It seems content knowing that I’m not trying to take its hiding place and retreats sluggishly back inside.
Shaking my head, I turn my attention to my spear. I shift it between my hands. It drags in the water a bit much, but the way I shoved off the rock with it gives me an idea. Letting my fin prosthetic go slack, I fit the spear into the side of the reef and propel myself upward. It bends, then launches me forward.
I aim for the clamshell. Holding the band in my mouth, I swim with my arms and hips, using the spear’s added momentum to carry me along. I come up beside Dejean. Setting down the spear, I loop one arm through the side of the clam and grin at him.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself.” Longing seeps through his voice, his gaze drifting back to the reef.
I poke his limited arm. “In a few days you’ll be hunting behind me.”
“You’ve been using that spear for half an hour. You can’t possibly be more skilled with it than I.”
I pull back my lips, hissing playfully. “Don’t question someone whose teeth are sharper than your own.”
“It wasn’t a question,” he says, a smirk lighting up his face. “It was a statement.”
Growling, I splash him, aiming for his unrestricted arm.
He laughs, lifting one hand, palm facing me. “You win, you win.” It’s a humorous gesture, but it makes my heart sink, his other arm hanging awkwardly at his side.
“We both win this time.” I pull myself onto the clamshell beside him.
“I don’t think it works quite like that.”
“It’s how you do it in a pod. We all win or we all lose. It’s…” I falter, the concept itself within my grasp, but the exact words still floating about in the farthest reaches of my mind. “It’s the reason sirens reject anyone they feel no longer fits into their original pod,” I explain. “We don’t like to broaden our way of living. If one of us can’t survive under the established rules, we try to change that siren, or we make them leave. But we could just as easily be changing the rules instead.”
One of Dejean’s hands drifts over mine, resting there as he watches the waves crash along the edge of the reef. Finally, he signs, one-handed, “Our pod is going to be different.”
“Our pod already is,” I reply. And someday there will be more of the same, because I’ll help build them. I pick up the spear I fished with and flip in it my hands. The rocks mangled its tip, perhaps beyond use.
I know what I want Murielle to build next. Not something to change me, but something to change the ocean I move through.
Leaning over Dejean, I shove the spear into his case with the other. “Bring us up!”
[ 10 ]
LANDSLIDE
In the darkness we flee, to each other's breath. To the steady beat of faithful company.To peace.
AN ALL-CONSUMING QUIET stretches through the dark house. Only Dejean’s gentle breathing echoes in the halls, and even that trembles, blending into the woodwork. In two days, we will leave the comfort I’ve grown to associate with this home and move back onto the Oyster. The day after that, we face Kian. The thought sends a tremble down my spine, angry and fearful. I push it away. Tonight, it’s still peaceful. I want to savor this time.
I let myself drift into sleep, thinking of Dejean and Murielle, and even Simone; of the many happy ways our lives could progress with the threat of my old captor gone. But my mind slips back to Kian sometime in the twilight hours. She crashes through my dreams like a vengeful current, impenetrable and untouchable.
She is the power behind a storm, suffocating and lashing, her fist against my jaw and her fingers around my gills. I thrash and scream, but my actions do nothing, and my voice catches like a hapless fish within her grasp. She is the darkness of the abyss, the sense that there’s no up or down, no way to escape. No matter how far I flee or which direction I move, I hit the seafloor, and a swarm of white-eyed sea crabs rises up, agonizingly tearing away my flesh.
Worst of all, Kian is a captain in a gilded cabin with a floor made of siren skins and a desk of human skulls. The tub gleams its usual harsh copper, but for once I can feel the weight that holds down my tail, searing heat and then bitter cold. No water sloshes around me, only blood. My heart beats like a drum in my ears, a steady pounding that makes my bones tremble. Drops of scarlet fall into the tub. I look up to find Dejean hanging above me. His head lolls, his eyes dead as glass, but his heart still beats in his chest. It pumps between his ribs, mangled muscle hanging off the bone, dripping scarlet tears onto my face.
I burst awake, shaking all over. My chest tightens painfully and the back of my eyes sting. Just a dream. I try to find peace in the thought, but the terror of the nightmare refuses to leave, the lies it spun too ingrained to forget.
A soft noise from beyond the tub startles me upright. Dejean lays on his sponge an arm’s length away. He turns fitfully, his breath coming in gasps.
“Dejean?” I whistle my version of his name. When he doesn’t wake to my voice, I reach out a hand. But I think better of it. I don’t want him to wake in fear, as I had, with his heart fluttering and the sense of a monster lurking, always just behind him. If I can change his thoughts, turn them to something soft and beautiful, the nightmare will fade.
I shift, dropping my chin in my hands. My gaze falls to the bandages peeking through his sweat-soaked shirt and my stomach turns. I shake my head, releasing a little tremble down my spine. I can calm him—if I find the right tune. There’s nothing here to hurt Dejean but his thoughts. This time, my song will help instead of harm. I have to believe that.
Closing my eyes, I begin with a hum, a deep soothing sound that reminds me of the peaceful ocean at night, the quiet turning of the tide as sleepy fish drift in their homes. From there, I build into a soft melody: the light glinting through the surface of the water, the warmth of a shallow lagoon, the gentle beat of the ray’s fins.
Dejean’s movements slow and his breathing evens out. He settles onto his side, facing the tub. His fingers creep toward me until they dangle off the sponge. Laying my head in the crook of my arm, I take his hand in mine, holding it gently as I sing. His slumbering expression softens in the starlight.
A layer of sleep descends upon me, the song and Dejean’s presence settling my nerves. I drift off. My dreams flit around me like a distant fog, neither good nor bad, always too far off to make proper sense. I wake with my fingers still touching Dejean’s, and leave them there until he comes to.
His eyelashes flutter and a smile brightens his face as he meets my gaze. He looks more alive than I’ve ever seen him, his brown skin vibrant, his freckles like constellations of dark stars. The copper in his hair gleams almost gold, his curls springing in every direction.
“You slept well?” I ask.
He leans back, stretching his unrestricted arm over his head. “I had a very nice dream.” His eyes sparkle as he sits up. “You were in it.”
“I was?”
He answers by scooping up my hand once more and pressing his lips gently to the joints of my fingers.
It’s a strange human custom, and I’m not sure what it means, but it warms me inside. “What was that?”
“Part of the dream,” he says.
I decide I like this dream of his.
All through the morning meal, I think about that warmth in my chest, and the brightness of Dejean’s smile. My heart swells with pride to know I helped him, if only in a small way.
Murielle and Simone seem affected as well. Murielle nearly bounces out of her funny one-piece as she slaps goopy, pink jelly onto a piece of nut bread. Simone’s lips create their usual firm line, but they quirk up on occasion, and she kisses Murielle on the lips or cheek
every time her fiancée passes.
Those little kisses tell me something about the one Dejean gave my hand.
The happy morning ends when Dejean dons a pair of slim, water-worthy boots. He glances at me. “I’m taking the catamaran around to the harbor so we can load it on the Tsunami; give you something comfortable to ride on while we’re waiting at Luciole rock.” His cheeks pinch in the siren expression of a question. “You’ll be okay here?”
“Murielle’s still working on my new aids. She’ll take me down to the cove to practice with them when she’s done.”
As I finish signing, Simone looks up from the pile of Dejean’s junk she’s attempting to sort through. “There’s a storm coming. You might want to hold off on the sailing for now.”
Dejean shakes his head, opening the back door. A gush of salty breeze rustles his tight curls as he stares out to sea. “It shouldn’t be in until late afternoon. But I would like a ride back here from the harbor, if you don’t mind? Biking dirt roads uphill in the rain is hard enough with two working arms…”
“I’ll pick you up from the general store. Mur was shouting something about turtle-back wiring earlier. I can pick it up for her while I’m there.”
I click to catch their attention, waiting for Dejean to look at me before signing. “Murielle already left. It’s the last piece she needs for my aids.”
Dejean translates. He lifts his brow at Simone. “Tavern then?”
“Only if you’re buying a round.”
A robust chuckle muddles his reply, his laughter turning to a lighthearted whistle as he treks out the door.
I lounge against the edge of the tub, tugging on the little piece of fabric Murielle left my new aids on. Carefully, I pick one of them up. It just fits in my palm, the round metal casing enclosing a stone that glows a soft blue—a rare, newly discovered power source from the south. Murielle explained its workings in rambling, nonsensical details, but the information I did gather meant more than enough. The glowing stones are an important treasure of hers, unique and powerful, and she’s given them to me. I’m eternally grateful for that.
She also mentioned they would become unstable if I connected the turtle-wiring wrong, and to avoid doing that unless I plan to detonate them. I’m not sure whether to be grateful or afraid. I’m also not sure why Murielle thinks I would ever want to blow up something so rare.
The front door rattles, jarring me out of my thoughts. I set the aid back with its partner as Murielle bursts into the room, her red curls a mess around her dark face. She looks grave.
“I—I fucked up, dammit.” The words fall from her mouth like a cascade of water, impossible to divert. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just—I said shit and one thing led to another, and I’m so damn proud of these new aids, and I’m so proud of you, Perle, and I—I—”
“You what?!” But I already know.
“I mentioned you… mentioned a siren.”
Everything inside me closes in an instant, numb and empty. I drop deeper into the tub.
“I was just—I was at the store and it… it all came out.” Her face goes slack with fear. She cusses under her breath, spinning once, then again, shoving her hands into her hair. One of her tools falls out, clattering to the ground.
I snatch it with a shaking hand and chuck it at her. It sails over her head, but she looks at me, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry. I fucked up. I thought I could—”
“How many heard?” I sign over her sputtering.
“I don’t know. Elita and Florent and Adeline and the doc, and the Bisset family, and…” She swallows. “In a town like this? By now… everyone.” She shoves her fingers back into her hair. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t.”
My heart races, panic burning through my veins. I distract myself by looking for something new to throw at Murielle. Perhaps I could launch myself at her instead? Simone charges into the room before I can decide. She takes her fiancée’s hands, muttering something low and soft in a human language I don’t recognize.
The breath they share makes my chest ache for the same. Trembling, Murielle collapses into her arms and sobs. Simone brushes her messy curls away from her face and straightens her back up, tenderly cupping the side of her head.
“We’ll fix this, Mur. Together.”
A space the size of an ocean seems to strand me. Murielle and Simone are my pod—my family—yet a hole gapes in my side where Dejean should be, and I look for him instinctively. A painful whimper rises when my brain finally connects to my heart. He’s on the catamaran, sailing peacefully toward the harbor. And I’m here. Without him.
Simone glances my way, and her lips twitch, her brow furrowing in worry. Or pity. She pats Murielle’s shoulder. “We can’t stay here,” she mumbles. “You bought those turtle-wires, right? Go put them in Perle’s aids. We might need them soon.”
Murielle nods blearily. “I left the bag in the car…”
Simone takes my aids and hands them to Murielle. “Then go work on them there. I’ll bring out Perle.” As Murielle sprints to the front door, Simone kneels at my side. “Is that all right? We can lower you into the cove, or bring you to a beach near the Tsunami, but we must leave before the town comes looking for you.”
“Leave…” I whisper the word, my whole body speaking it in a distraught inhale. I don’t want to leave Dejean’s home—my home. A biting question forces its way out, “Can we return afterward?”
Simone only looks at me, lost. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Perle. I need a straight yes or no.”
Closing my eyes, I let the pulse of the water pump drown out my fear. If the humans can’t tell I was here, if we convince them Murielle’s eccentric babbling was just that—worthless babble—maybe I can be safe in this tub after everything blows over. Drawing a deep breath of my human’s wonderful, salty air, I point between us and then toward the front door. “We should go to the Tsunami.”
Simone nods. She reaches for me, but I pull away, holding up one finger. I snatch up the stock of live fish from my little snack tank, careful not to injure them with my nails. One by one, I drop them into the tub. Now it’s a fish tank.
A soft look tugs at the corners of Simone’s face. I climb into her arms, relaxing against her broad chest. She feels stronger than Dejean, somehow, but she radiates far less warmth. A chilling gust blows over me as we leave the house, drawing pinpricks along my skin.
Simone’s grip tightens for half a moment. She quickly relaxes, rubbing a soothing hand up and down my back. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
I believe her. Human and all.
She sets me on a blanket in the back of the machine. Murielle sits in the main compartment, working steadily on the wiring in my aids. Her face pinches, but she’s more relaxed than before, her hands steady and her focus unwavering. Simone rushes back inside the house, returning with my brace and a few sopping wet pillow-sponges. She piles them all in with me before covering the back of the machine with a long, slick piece of fabric.
The machine roars to life and we pull forward. I shove my tail into my brace and then cling to the sponges, burying my face in them as the metal beneath me jolts and shifts. Time slows to single bumps in the road and the sporadic thumping of blood in my ears. Then Murielle curses.
“Have they seen us?” She asks, her words met by a rumble up ahead.
“I don’t know,” Simone replies, almost too low for me to hear. “I’ll turn off once I pass them.”
The rumble grows and we lurch by it. It fades, then returns, just behind us.
“Shit.” Murielle’s voice rattles. “They’re pursuing us now.”
“We’ll have to turn off anyway. If we stay on the main road with two trucks on our tail, anyone else heading this way will follow suit.”
I hold my sponges tighter as the machine swings left suddenly, heading toward the coast. A bit of the fabric above me peels back, revealing thick foliage. The plants fade away a
nd a human’s house flashes past before the view clears to a graying sky that stretches for eternity.
Simone stops the machine and it goes silent. I still myself, trying to release my tense, battered muscles in a slow breath. Behind us, the other two machine roar to a halt. They shut off as well. Simone gets out, her boots crunching against small rocks as she walks toward our stalkers.
“What seems to be the problem here?” she says, low and demanding.
“We just want to see what’s in the back of that truck,” an equally deep-voiced human answers her, their machine’s door slamming closed.
A human with a high inflection echoes their companion. “Shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it?”
Another door opens, followed by nearing footsteps. “Now, now, we don’t need to be causing any trouble, fellas.”
I recognize his voice the moment he finishes speaking.
“Chauncey?” Simone’s confusion strains her tone. She must be motioning him over, because he breaks into a jog. “Who are these folks?” she whispers.
“They’re here off a small merchant vessel,” he replies softly. “Kian offered a reward for some ghostly siren she claims she had on the Oyster. But I told them it was nothing. Captain Gayle didn’t find any sirens… did he?”
“Hey!” The squeaky human calls. “What’s that you’re muttering about?”
“We just want to see what you’ve got in your truck bed, then we’ll be on our way,” their companion adds.
Their menacing footsteps draw nearer, the jarring clunks of their shoes grating into my ears. I clench my fingers, piercing holes in my wet sponge. The truck shifts as Murielle gets out, her wild hair visible through the crack in the fabric covering. Her nearness calms some of the squalls in my chest. I'm not alone. Whatever these humans want with me, Murielle and Simone won't let them do it.
“Hey, now—" Simone's words are cut off by scuffling, gravel flung from the soles of shoes as someone stumbles. “Stand down!"
