Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  I started to gape at the less-than-modest attire that seemed to be the cultural norm, consisting mostly of skimpy seashell pasties–or, in some cases, mere dustings of strategic glitter and sequins, like body paint–but realized quickly I was hardly any better, flouncing around in very wet white underclothes, the result of which was not exactly known for its coverage. But so far no one had batted an eye at what any above the Surface would consider a notable wardrobe malfunction, and evidently it was because I fit right in.

  “There seem to be quite a few of you here now,” I observed, glancing around at the onlookers that watched us go by. They followed our progression with narrowed, suspicious eyes. It would be uncanny enough suffering those gazes if they were human; given their exotic nature, angular and intense and alien, my skin crawled all the more. I did not get the impression the hostility had lifted just because Codexious had decreed I should go free.

  “Yes,” Codexious agreed. “More of that complicated matter of an heir I mentioned. We have a bit of a competition going on. But please, enlighten me regarding your journey to our ‘deep, dark corners of the ocean’. You must satisfy my curiosity. Your appearance was a bit of a phenomenon and has caused quite a stir.”

  “Well,” I began, not really knowing where to begin. “Like I said, I’ve been haunted by…echoes of the deep for as long as I can remember. Recently, along with the unearthing of the ‘Atlantean ruins’, the echoes grew incessant, and I could no longer ignore the call. So I headed for the coast to have a look at the ruins myself. I’m somewhat of a specialist when it comes to ancient artifacts, so I suppose I thought I’d find some answers, quiet the restless whispers. But instead the ocean pulled me overboard, and I heard the call of the whales and followed it into the depths… And here I am.”

  “You mentioned an ‘aurora portal’.”

  “Yes. It was a maelstrom that pulled me overboard. When it first funneled open, I heard the pipe organ music that has been chief among the things that haunt me, channeling up from the depths, and there was a burst of aqua light like the aurora that lights your city.” As I said it I looked upward, and the aqua ripples danced across my face. Codexious paused to consider the way it played with my features, seeming taken by the effect.

  Growing self-conscious, I cleared my throat, and we moved on.

  “I have never heard of such a portal,” Codexious said. “But the magic of Atlantis is a devious, potent mistress, and entangled with the spirit of the sea itself… I would not presume to fathom the extent, or the agenda, of either. It would seem you are caught in the current of greater things.”

  “I just…wanted some answers. That’s all.”

  “And does it satisfy that restless void, hearing of the woman who was likely your mother?”

  I said I just wanted answers, but the truth was… The truth was learning of my mother offered an explanation for my exotic deformities, and provided a sense of kinship in knowing my likely heritage, but kinship did not equal belonging. After all, I was still a hybrid, a creature of both gills and legs, and the question remained: in which realm would I find fulfillment? If I was caught up in ‘greater things’, I had to speculate the ocean hadn’t gone through all that trouble to bring me down here for a mere ‘aha’ moment of kinship. I appreciated filling in the gaps of my genealogy, but that just left me educated–not inspired. It wasn’t that easy to replace one mother with another, to toggle my loyalty or repave my identity.

  True mother or not, Vel-Di-yah would never overrule Sandy’s place in my life. It may have been a mermaid who gave birth to me, but I would always consider my mother human.

  Human. Warm. Lighthearted. Vivacious.

  Sandy was the ‘cool mom’. A surfer even in her forties, always catching waves with the young hotshots like she was one of them. It was them who gave her the nickname ‘Sandy’ (from her original ‘Sandra’). She was the kind of mom that was always up for a sleepover, would jump in for mani-pedis with all the girls, never enforced a bedtime, hopped on the bandwagon when I wanted my ears pierced and got hers done a second time. She was the mom always decked out in the latest trending sunglasses, the mom who wore toe rings, cussed a little and laughed a lot. Styled her hair every day that she wasn’t surfing but begged me never to do anything to my natural, crazy locks. She was the mom you went underwear shopping with for fun. The one who made faces with you in selfies.

  Supposedly her ex-husband Vince had left her because of her so-called ‘immaturity’, but for all her carefree mannerisms and materialistic habits, she was somehow also the most in-your-court, inspirational spirit I’d ever met, her appetite for life and fun infectious, her spunk and loyalty unprecedented.

  Yes, at times she was insufferable. Like when she conspired with other moms to set me up with their sons. But I knew it was just to spare me the oath of loneliness I’d seemingly taken on, because loneliness was something she knew all too well. It was the reason she’d adopted me in the first place. After Vince left her, she didn’t have the heart to remarry, or even date anyone longer than a few weeks. But the loneliness had been crippling, and so she’d opened her home and her heart to a little girl.

  So, no, I would never be so quickly convinced my family and calling lay so far removed from that wonderful woman. A temporary stint in Egypt was one thing, but a calling in a world that might as well occupy another dimension? Atlantis may have my curiosity, even my fascination, but it would take more to earn my heart. More to make me understand what was so important that it needed my immediate, undivided attention in a way that no one else already down here could rectify.

  Therefore, the restlessness was not cured, and there was still a great matter of purpose left unclarified.

  “No,” I answered truthfully. I didn’t know why the ocean had brought me down here, but confirming a hybrid heritage that had always been somewhat obvious was anticlimactic at best. “At the risk of sounding indifferent, I didn’t come all this way just to learn my long-lost mother explains my gills. To hear someone tell me what I’ve always known in my bones. There has to be something else. Would I be imposing if I…stuck around for a time? Immersed myself in your culture to see if it inspires anything?”

  “I would not presume to deny an obvious ward of Atlantis access to the source of her Calling. You are welcome in this city, Sayler Deering, Orphan of the Tides. Daughter of Vel-Di’yah.”

  It was strange, hearing that tacked on to my identity. Like I was betraying Sandy just by hearing it. But the regent was trying to be welcoming. “You are most gracious,” I returned, trying to match his eloquence.

  “Perhaps,” Codexious allowed, nodding, but a crafty smirk tweaked his shimmery lips. “Or perhaps I am merely intrigued by you, and long to satisfy my own curiosity.”

  I fought down a blush, my own mouth quirking into a tentative grin. “I’m flattered that a creature of myth and legend would find me half as fascinating as I find him.”

  “If you knew what I’ve endured lately at the hands of my own ken, you would not be so surprised that anyone deviating from the norm is a welcome distraction.”

  “Well there you have it,” I quipped. “‘Regent of Atlantis overwhelmed by harpy populace needs saving’. Perhaps I’ve found my purpose here after all.”

  13

  Having gotten the ultra-personal stuff out of the way, we finished the tour on a light and airy–excuse me, watery–note, Codexious being the perfect host and pointing out the major landmarks and attractions, and me oo-ing and ah-ing over the wonders that abounded.

  Atlantis was crawling with Beta fish, little iridescent tatters of silk billowing everywhere I looked. I saw more of those water-drakes, too, flapping their wing-fins and glancing at me with intense, raptor-like eyes. But perhaps the most charming residents of all were the watercolor octopods–pink and aqua, melon-sized octopuses that inked wondrous clouds of pastel magic. They were shy and easily frightened, and just went about casting cotton candy spells on anyone who wandered past, and I thought it was just th
e most pitiful and delightful defense mechanism I’d ever seen. Get back, you devil, I fancied them saying, or I’ll wave my pixie tentacles and sprinkle you with bane of cotton candy!

  Woe be to anyone who tangled with those frilly little buggers.

  Good luck with that, little fella. Maybe a little less pink next time.

  Though to his credit, I did sneeze as I caught the fringes of a cloud. I never would have thought sneezing would be something I could do underwater, especially given I wasn’t employing my lungs or nasal passages, but there it was. It exploded out of me in a bubbling blast, ribbons of pearly color curling in the current.

  “Have to watch out for those,” Codexious warned about the octopods. “They look pretty, but they’re some of the feistiest little beasties around. It’s almost as if they take particular offense at being underestimated. If you take the full brunt of the ink, it’ll be wicked dizziness and disorientation–and, in some cases, it’ll lull you straight into a comatose state. Then, while they have your wits disarmed, they’ll wrap around your skull, and with a mix of smothering and strangling, lull you straight into oblivion.”

  More squeamish by the second, I steered clear of the next glimpse of turquoise tentacles I spotted trailing through a cozy little nook in the architecture, rethinking my cutesy impression of the creatures. I had to hand it to them though; I’d always rather fancied my secret weapon was being underestimated as well. You challenge me, laugh at me, scoff at me–I’ll end you. It had gotten me through my youth. Gotten me onto the path of early success as an archaeologist. Gotten me onto the Salt Queen.

  Though I went wide around the octopus, I spared him a thoughtful glance over my shoulder, giving him a fairly earned nod of respect. As much as I planned to take Codexious’ warning to heart, I thought I just might have found my spirit animal.

  We angled upward and paused to rest on top of a strange tower that looked like a gothic flying saucer docked at the tip of a needle-like spire.

  “Tell me of the Surface,” Codexious requested, grasping the antennae-like pinnacle sprouting from the dome center to anchor himself.

  Holding on to the ribbing that separated the curved, opaline panes beneath us, I looked out over what would normally be a vertigo-inducing view of the city. “What would you like to know?”

  “I have no specific questions. I simply desire to hear of your world, the things that make it special, beloved, through the eyes of one who resides there.”

  So I told him of how we read books and drank bubble tea, went on road trips and told stories around campfires, how we made sandcastles on the beach and slid down staircase bannisters, enjoyed the slobbering wet kisses of dogs and caught snowflakes on frozen gloved fingers when visiting the wintry mountains, and once a year everyone covered houses and trees in webs of twinkling lights for the holidays–and probably none of it made any sense, but he listened with rapt interest. His fascination peaked when I spoke of the sky–something that would be alien and of utmost intrigue to his kind, I realized–and so I took pains to elaborate on that aspect. I told him of stargazing and of telescopes, of looking for shapes in the clouds. Of sunrises and sunsets, of birds and rain.

  And somehow my awkwardness melted into rambling on and losing track of time, and the regent of Atlantis listened like I spouted poetry from start to finish–and while Inaja did not seem greatly amused by our little rooftop interlude, it was a far cry from being stuffed in a musty dungeon cage, and just what I needed to clear my slate after such an experience. The tension had all but gone out of me, and when I saw the little quirk of a smile playing on the regent’s lips as he observed me relaxing, I had to wonder if that had been his motive all along, pretending he wanted to hear of my homeland.

  Or he had simply killed two birds with one stone and was a very clever fish indeed.

  “It sounds lovely,” he observed. “And peculiar.”

  And I gave a little laugh, trying to imagine how some of the things I had described sounded to one who had never experienced any of it.

  “I think I shall call you ‘Stargazer’, instead of ‘Splittail,” the merman announced, milking his budding obsession with the human pastime that was gazing into space. I could not say I was completely disgruntled by the switch. It was kind of a flattering label. “Are you rested enough to continue?” he asked next, and a speck of mortification splintered my reprieve.

  “Oh, is that the only reason we stopped?”

  “I would be an unworthy host, if I did not labor to adapt to the natural clip of my company. Don’t trouble yourself–this is the best view in the city. I thought you might enjoy it, as one who has never laid eyes on the wonders of our kingdom. A key point in any tour.”

  Still, I fought the discomfort that I was being a burden. “Am I correct in guessing that you give just as many tours as you entertain guests in your stagnant dining hall?”

  A sly gleam touched the regent’s metallic irises, but he only smiled. “Like I said–don’t trouble yourself. Shall we?”

  We free-fell off the rooftops, which was really just…wafting down from the heights like astronauts in space. I could get used to this–flying around all the time.

  Our next stop was the East Village courtyard, where a mosaic-tiled expanse lined with marble pillars sported a humongous central fountain that had been entirely transformed into its own coral metropolis. All neon green and violet effulgence, it was its own secret wonderland, somehow dark and vibrant at once. Smaller species of wildlife were thick in the courtyard, weaving a tight-knit pattern somewhere between current and tapestry. Never was there a moment that something wasn’t tickling multiple parts of my body–a sensation both delightful and creepy-crawly.

  Then Codexious took us up out of the streets again, past the peaks of the arches and into the domes, where we circled one of many turrets that brushed the lower waves of aurora.

  “And this, on our left–one of many empty, lonely towers in need of inhabitants,” he announced, but I was distracted once again by the breathtaking view as we hovered over the city. Was this what it felt like to be a bird, able to propel yourself effortlessly to any vantage point you pleased? I was drawn back to the lustrous merman addressing me as he announced the turret was mine if I wanted it.

  “Mine?” I repeated, surprised by the unabashed generosity. I wasn’t sure what I expected–some barnacle-covered, crowded mer-motel, perhaps (which would most assuredly have been called the ‘Mertel’)–but this was far beyond adequate. Granted, it was still covered in barnacles, but there was an overall luxury and majesty that rather overshadowed the underlying cosmetic details. “An entire tower?”

  “It is not being used for anything else.” He said it offhandedly enough, but his molten eyes smoldered with something more meaningful, and briefly I wondered if it was wise accepting such decadent hospitality from the regent of Atlantis without batting an eye. Did he lavish accommodations on everyone this way? Or had I caught his attention in some way that I would be wise to be canny of? He seemed friendly enough, but when in the history of all the world had ulterior motives not seemed friendly? I remembered it said that sometimes, those in power had little left to satisfy them but smaller-scale crusades. When you had the world, you had to look directly around you for what to claim next.

  But I caught myself mid-conjecture, appalled at my ungrateful musings. What was I, some conspiracy nut? Codexious had already admitted I intrigued him, and why wouldn’t I? He wasn’t hiding some dark-brewing obsession. I might be, the way I kept eyeing his scale-sculpted body, but he was just being the perfect host.

  I didn’t know what to say. Beyond that, I didn’t know what to do. Was he just going to leave me here now to fend for myself? What then? Twiddle my thumbs in my new digs, or go exploring by myself right after having the grand tour?

  Now that the Call was no longer pulling me toward the depths and the mystical beacon that was Atlantis, I suddenly felt like I had no direction. No inkling as to what to do next. I was the equivalent of a fish out o
f water, whatever that was in reverse.

  I peered into the tower. “It’s beautiful,” I said, for lack of a better response.

  I felt him watching me intently as I slipped through the open window, and after poking about the dimly lit fairytale turret I turned to see him leaning against the window frame, enjoying my childlike wonder. He smiled slightly.

  “Good. You like it.”

  I scoffed before I could catch myself. “Before this I was sleeping in a tent.”

  “A tent,” he repeated quizzically.

  Oh. Right. He wasn’t familiar with most on-land practices. I found it curious that he would know lingo such as ‘like a moth to a flame’ but wouldn’t know what a tent was. But I supposed depending on how often and to what extent any of the merfolk went to the surface, interactions with or observations of the human race would be varied.

  How to explain it. “A tent–it’s like…” I gestured with my hands, illustrating something roughly balloon-like around me. Yeah, so descriptive. “Just a small membrane dome separating you from everything else.” He would understand ‘membrane’, right? Given his fins and fish savvy and whatnot.

  “Is that the norm?”

  “No. Well…in some places.”

  “Curious.”

  I shrugged and glanced around again at the ruinous splendor that was my turret in the watery clouds. The chamber was small but two-tiered, a quaint duet of steps leading down to a slightly sunken level halfway across, and while one open window created a portal through which I could pass unhindered, mirroring it across the cozy expanse was a large, intricately ribbed stained-glass beauty, round in shape with a sill wide enough to invite one to settle in for a stint of aurora-gazing. A draping mess I first mistook for a large cobweb turned out to be the decayed remains of an ancient curtain, the tatters of which minnows weaved gleefully through even as I invaded the tranquility of the room. A single pillar ran from floor-to-ceiling near one end of the stair-step divider, its base ornately carved with what I could only describe as hydroglyphs–ancient runes that all possessed some aspect of water-related lore.