by D. N. Bryn
“You're not getting rid of us!" the deep-voiced one snaps, too close for comfort.
“Murielle,” Simone calls over them, “Get Perle to the water!"
My heart seems to shoot me upward as Murielle rips off the fabric covering. I scramble into her arms, lopsided, clinging to her shoulders. She drags me over the edge of the truck, and my tail smacks into the ground with such force I grimace on instinct.
“Shit. Sorry, sorry!" She doesn't bother to pick it up, jogging away from the truck in a hazardous gate that makes me cling to her all the harder.
She runs along a gravel path toward a small, rocky cliff a good distance off. Behind us, the two humans—a lanky person in a small square hat and their much larger companion whose only visible hair grows out of their chin—see me and shout. They sprint toward Murielle and I, but Simone drags a sword from the main compartment of the truck. She cuts them off with ease.
The chin-haired human bellows with their deep voice and draws their own sword. Just behind Simone, Chauncey twitches in place, his gaze flicking between me and the stalkers. His expression shifts as the lanky one draws a small pistol from inside a pocket.
“That’s my gun, you leach!” He shoves into them, forcing down their weapon.
They wrestle, their motions punctuated by the clashing of Simone and the chin-haired human's blades. Simone moves on the balls of her feet, shifting and launching and retracting quickly, staying out of her larger opponent's reach. They snarl as her sword nicks through their shoulder, blood seeping from the wound. Steadying themselves, they attack with renewed ferocity.
“We just want the damn fish," They bellow, slamming their sword down with such force that it seems Simone's might break. “We’ll split the profits with you!"
“I'm not a fish!" I shout at them. Murielle and Simone know I'm not a treasure to be bought and sold. They don’t waver in protecting me, even for a moment.
A rush of salty wind off the ocean prickles along my scalp, tossing my head fins and pulling up what little moisture remained on my scales. I glance at the cliff. Nearer now, it looks nothing like the dizzying elevation of the one near our house, but it’s still a precarious trip to the water lapping at sporadic, jutting ledges below. A catamaran glides along the coast, moving away from us. Dejean. He’s not far. If I can call to him…
But I lose the thought as a pistol fires. We’re almost halfway to the cliff, but Murielle stops short, her grip on my waist barely keeping me from hurdling from her arms as she turns to check on Simone.
The chin-haired human still engages Simone in a violent dance of blades. Chauncey scrambles backward on the ground though, clutching his bloody shoulder as smoke drifts off the pistol in the lanky human’s hands. He takes one look at Simone and her opponent and bolts for his machine. It roars to life and speeds down the road. The lanky human turns their gun on Simone.
My muscles tense, my whole body aching to fling itself to Simone's aid. Last week I would've suppressed the impulse, but every pod-mate is worth more than my life, even the human who only joined us recently. I knock myself from Murielle’s arms, shrieking in a way that needs no words. “Go to her!"
Dropping my new aids beside me, she flies at her fiancée. She hollers as she runs, launching tools at the lanky human with uncanny precision. “Get the hell away from my girl, ya bastards!"
The lanky human points their pistol at Murielle. She squeaks, changing course for her machine. They fire, and my heart stops with the same quavering beat that slows Simone's sword strokes. Murielle ducks behind the machine and the rear little wall splinters, a hole blast into it. I release a breath. Simone's attack resumes.
Murielle slips halfway into the machine's main compartment, grabbing something off the ground.
I glance at the ocean. Dejean's boat grows farther away, a much larger ship sailing across the edge of the horizon, perhaps toward the harbor. My hands curl around the small rocks on either side of me as I open my mouth to shout for him. But the catamaran is too far away, too far for the roar of machines or the blast of pistols to catch his attention. I need something stronger, louder, farther reaching…
Closing my eyes, I pull up my emotions from the last day: writhing anger, quaking fear, the pulse of pain behind my eyes and the weight upon my shoulders, and lastly, a soft, overflowing rush of joy. Pouring it all into one long, ear splitting vocal, I scream three consecutive notes.
All four humans stumble, the lanky one fumbling with their pistol. Dejean bolts to his feet, his catamaran swaying as he turns it, heading back toward me. My head feels light and my throat sore at the end of my deafening shriek, but my soul soars.
My relief fades as the humans regain their footing.
The lanky stalker raises their gun at Murielle once more. She ducks their fire and her piled mess of curls quiver, a few strands breaking off. Three bullets: one for Chauncey, one for the machine, and one for Murielle's hair.
That's all the pistols hold.
The lanky human curses and begins reloading, fumbling over the supplies, their squeaky words met with clashes of metal as their companion and Simone continue to fight.
“Mur!" Simone shouts, the strong sweep of her sword growing frantic.
Murielle dashes out from her cover, dragging forth a long rope of wires. It connects somewhere within the machine's main compartment, but she unwinds a spooled loop in her arms to give it more length, taking care not to touch the end of it. She rushes at the lanky human just as they lift their gun. My hands tighten around the rocks once more, another scream building in my chest.
Before I can release it, a crack splits the air, followed by a sickening zap that makes my scales crawl and my chest seize. Murielle stumbles backward as her rope vibrates against the lanky human’s chest. Sparks rush over the human like a swirl of lightening, their hair standing on edge. They collapse, motionless, the faint smell of the cooked meats the humans love so much hanging on the air.
Dropping the lightning rope, Murielle clutches at her leg. Blood pools through the fabric on her thigh, thick and red. “Shit.” As she plops onto the ground, her machine's front metal hull sparks and erupts into an engulfing blaze of fire.
The cry that bursts from my chest leaves me in a whimpered rush of worry and stress, but it's nothing compared to the sound of horror Simone makes, the violent howl rising out of her like the ragged crash of storm-blown waves on a rocky cleft. She shoves the chin-haired human's blade to the side with the edge of her own and charges for her fiancée. Grabbing Murielle by the undersides of her arms, she pulls her away from the raging flame, ignoring—or forgetting—the armed enemy at her back.
I ache to rush to them, or to sing their enemy into a stupor, but my lifeless tail does me no good on land, and my melody will drive them all to the water. I do the one thing I can. Picking up the largest rock at my side, I chuck it at the human. It hits them on the shoulder, bouncing off and ricocheting toward Murielle's fire-cloaked machine.
They turn, their grip on their sword going lax as they focus on me, alone and stranded.
“I'm the one you want!" I throw another rock, then a third. “All this excitement is making me hungry," I jabber to keep their attention, but my stomach grumbles at me as though to confirm. “I bet you have a delicious, juicy heart." If only I could reach it.
As they near, they tower higher and higher, a boulder-sized human with anger pulsing through their face. Tucking my aids into my brace, I scramble away from them, pulling myself across the ground by my arms. As I near the edge of the cliff, the gravel slides beneath my grip, refusing my hold.
The ocean’s salty tang, the call of seabirds, and the crash of waves all flood my senses, but the edge of the cliff lays three impossible body lengths away. Simone still sits with Murielle near the blazing machine, much farther off than the approaching human. Farther from the pull of the ocean.
Its draw will be weakened for them—perhaps just weak enough.
The instant the thought hits me, I release the fear and l
onging welling inside, pooling it into a low, mournful melody. Mere paces away, the human slows. They shake their head, refocusing their gaze, and press forward. My voice cuts in and out, obeying the tremble that runs through my spine.
The human blinks, their gaze flickering to the ocean. But their eyes return to mine.
They loom over me, off-kilter. Tossing their sword to the side, they reach for me with a giant fist. A flash of panic snaps my voice, my gills sealing closed as I cover my face, Kian's voice in my head, laughing. She sits in a new boat with a new crew, hopefully days away, yet her past actions incapacitate me.
But her punch doesn't come.
Rough hands latch around my shoulders instead, yanking me up. I shriek, writhing in the human's grasp, and my gills open again, releasing a pounding vibration. The human shudders and stumbles forward. The ground knocks the song from my chest once more, and I roll, gravel and rock digging into me. I come to a stop an arm’s width from the cliff, my fingers hanging out over the disjointed edge.
The human slams against me, pinning me down with a smothering weight of sweat and skin, fabric and hair. Kian crashes through my thoughts, suffocating me faster than any weight ever could. Her hands curl around my neck, her nails in my scalp, her heel on my ribs. She’s everywhere and nowhere, her pain all-encompassing but her body too far for me to catch. I wither.
But this human smells different, stinking of oils and muck instead of salt and spice. They aren’t Kian. Kian isn’t here. Kian doesn’t have me. Not yet.
Not ever.
I sink my teeth into the nearest piece of the human I can reach, finding the edge of their collarbone. Clothing fills my mouth, then flesh and blood. I grip harder. They howl, their hold giving way as they jerk to one side. Toward the cliff.
The edge crumbles, dropping us both down its rough side. Jagged rocks rise up to meet us, but the human hits them first, landing with a harsh thud over the uneven surface. Their neck snaps back. I smack into them and roll again, dropping to the water below.
It rushes over me, gently cradling, a ripple of bubbles fluttering in my wake. I pump my arms, rocking my hips with all my might. Not until I leave the immediate draw of the waves do I breach the surface. The terrifying rush of the fight sinks out of me, leaving my mind free to worry.
“Murielle!” I shout, swimming farther away from the cliff in an effort to see above it.
Simone walks into my view, half supporting, half carrying her fiancée with one arm. A piece of fabric wraps around Murielle’s leg, stained in blood, but she grins.
She waves her free hand at me. “I live!” She shouts down. “I got a piece of metal lodged in me. I’ll be half-machine in no time!”
“What do we do now?” I sign it in a rush, struggling to keep my body afloat without the constant strokes of my arms.
Murielle talks with Simone in tones too soft to hear from the distance.
Repositioning her hold on Murielle, Simone lifts her voice. “Trying to drag you back up this cliff will be more work than it’s worth. Can you make it to Dejean?”
I glance over my shoulder, finding him a few minutes’ swim away, and approaching at a quick pace. Nodding to Simone, I point at them both questioningly.
“Mur’s leg doesn’t look bad, but I need to take her back to the house to clean it up. We can check on things while we’re there, and then meet you at the Tsunami,” she says. “Her truck isn’t going anywhere fast, but we can take the sailors’…” Her gaze drifts to the body of the chin-haired human on the ledge near the water. “They won’t be needing it any longer.”
I nod again, signing a quick goodbye to them both. Simone stops me.
“Hey, Perle,” she says. “You both be careful. At this point, it’s better to be seen loading onto the Tsunami than to be too cautious and get caught out in the storm.”
The dark, billowing clouds in the distance look ominous for certain, but the thought of humans forcing me off this island for good sends a tremor down my spine no gale ever could. If it comes time to choose between safety for the moment and a home for a lifetime, I would rather take the risk. But I smile at Simone for her thoughtfulness, then shoo her off with a wave.
As Murielle calls her farewell, I slip below the surface and head for the catamaran.
[ 11 ]
WRAITHS
The ocean is not sentimental. It moves ever forward: current and wave and undertow.But it still meets itself in the backwash.
SPARKLING WATER WHIPS by beneath the netting, the wind coming in strong and bitter, carrying an ominous scent with it. Though blue sky still lingers above, a dense cloud layer builds on three sides. I stare out along the horizon. Not a ship in sight—the approaching vessel I saw must be docked at the harbor by now, happy to wait out the storm.
Dejean shifts, his eyes darting along the coast. When I told him what had brought Simone, Murielle, and I away from the house, and all that happened since, he began tapping two of his fingers erratically. The sound echoes in my ears like a crab trying to chew me up from the inside.
I lean over the edge of the boat, skimming my hand along the tiny waves. The clear water gives me a good view of the ocean floor and the rocky slabs upon the sand. They’re farther below us than the reef in the cove, with schools of bigger fish swimming along them.
“Dejean?” It takes a loud hiss to get his attention.
He jumps, losing his grip on the steering plank at the end of the boat. “Yes?” His finger tapping stops, but the tired circles beneath his eyes deepen in worry.
I hesitate, then sign the words, “Why do you turn in the night?”
For a moment it seems as though he might not answer, his gaze crossing the line of the horizon. Then he gives me a weak smile. “My dreams bring me to things… things I wish I could forget.” His quiet voice makes my heart ache. “But it’s long in the past. I’ve dealt with most of it, slowly, with Murielle’s help. It’s just the last bit that clings; the ghosts in my dreams, and the little voice that tells me not to reach out to others. That I’m not—I don’t know. Not worth their time. Or that they’re not worth mine. It goes both ways, depending on the day.”
“I am worth it? Your time, I mean.”
“You’re a fish—you’re not a fish,” he corrects himself, “But you’re not human either. Honestly, I didn’t know what a siren was like when I found you. You could have been a beast or a god, and I hadn’t a clue.” A hint of pink fills his cheeks. “But then it turned out that you were wonderful and clever, different enough from humans that the voice in my head didn’t care about you, but similar enough that I could understand the way you thought and acted; that I could see where the difference came from, when we’d talked about it enough.” He pauses, swallowing. “And… and I knew you had been through something similar to myself, and the pain that came with it.”
“You were hurt before, like I was?” I want to know who dared touch my Dejean without his permission, so I can rip their throat out. But I force the feelings down. Humans prefer quiet, tender nudging, not the fierce bloodthirsty drive I possess. At least, humans like Dejean.
“It’s not a nice tale.”
I give him a deadpan look. “I’ve torn out more human hearts than I can count, and one siren’s throat. We’re going to kill the pirate who kept me captive for months. My tale isn’t nice either.” I pause for a moment and duck my head. “But if you aren’t comfortable talking about it, I won’t push you.”
A chuckle rises out of him, bouncing his shoulders. “I would tell you anything, Perle.” He breathes out, his chest rising and falling heavily. “It’s not worth the details, I’m afraid; they’re dull and painful, mostly.” His gaze drifts to the sea before us, but his focus is gone, his eyes seeing something else. “I joined a merchant crew as soon as I finished school, but we were taken over on our first run. They weren’t the sort of pirates I manage—not even quite like Kian’s, though the foulness in Kian’s crew is similar. They murdered most of the sailors, slower than anyone should
die, especially not the honest people of that vessel. The captain, though—he liked me. He decided to keep me, like Kian kept you. But some humans they… do nasty things to humans they think are pretty, or those they want to show dominion over. From me, he wanted both.”
Dejean must see the horror in my face, the bitterness and anger rising up with it, because he continues quickly.
“He’s dead now, though not by my hand. A freak attack by another pirate vessel. The other captain shot him through the heart. She took me on as part of her crew, asked no questions. Even after my mother died, and I went home for a while, she still let me join her again; made me third, second, and then first mate. She lives up north now, retired to a mansion on the beach, with her gray hairs and her grandchildren. The Tsunami was originally a part of her fleet.”
My heart aches for him, for what he’s gone through, and my fingers twitch, wanting desperately to do something, to make it all better. But instead I say the first thing that pops into my head. “How am I supposed to eat this monster if he’s dead? I can’t eat bones.”
Dejean stares at me. Then he blinks. A boisterous laugh pours out of him, until he’s all but bent over against the catamaran’s steering mechanism. “Bones are a bit tough, aren’t they?”
“If anyone else hurts you, I’ll eat them instead.” I’m very serious about this, and I want him to realize it. “Bones and all.”
“I know.” He brushes moisture out of his eyes. “I lo—” He cuts himself short, switching back to his original words, “I know. Thank you, Perle. It would be an honor to have my enemies eaten by someone like you.”
I smile at him, my teeth bared, fierce but not harsh. Never harsh with him. I want to be thoughtful with Dejean, the way he is with me. I want to tell him things, truthful things, and be told the same in return, even when it hurts in the moment. I don’t want him to feel that voice in his head when he looks at me. The secrets he shares with me are safe.
