by J. M. Stengl
Splash! From the corner of my eye I saw huge talons pass just beside my left ear, and a wing slapped the water above us so hard that it knocked us into the lake floor. This was a good thing, because the bird’s beak (larger than my head) slashed toward me but could only slice a few scales from my tail. That stung a little but didn’t even draw blood.
And then we were in deeper water where the bird couldn’t hope to catch us. But I knew the boy must need air by this time. After all this effort, what if I drowned him! Did I dare take him up for a breath? I glanced over my shoulder and saw churning water where the bird struggled either to swim back to land or to take off again. Even though it was floundering, I still hesitated to surface so soon.
But I when I looked at the boy’s face, I knew there was no choice. He was desperate. I took him by the elbows and hauled him to the surface—he was heavier than he looked. We emerged into brilliant blue sky and sunshine sparkling off the lake, and I felt all bright and cheery as if we hadn’t just nearly been skewered by gigantic talons. I hadn’t enjoyed myself this much in . . . I couldn’t think how long. Maybe ever! While the boy gasped for breath, I looked for the bird and spotted it just dragging itself onto the spit of land, shaking its wings and head, and looking scruffy and furious.
“Can you swim again?” I asked. The boy was breathing hard, but his color looked better. I was pretty sure humans were not supposed to be blue. “I’m going to take you to my island. The bird can’t get us there.” The idea came to me as I spoke. What better place to take refuge than my tropical-island home? And I could keep the boy to myself for an hour or two. My mother would be furious, but I really didn’t care.
Treading water, he slipped the framed glasses on his face and stared back at the bird, which hadn’t yet noticed us, being too occupied with shaking water from its feathers. “I never believed they existed.”
“Birds?” I asked before thinking.
“Turuls,” he replied as if my question had not been stupid. “What a marvelous creature! No one will believe I saw it.”
“And you nearly became a trul’s supper,” I reminded him. “Where did it come from? I’ve never seen one here before. A bird like that, I would remember.”
“Turul, not trul.” He finally looked at me, but I got the uncomfortable feeling he was laughing somewhere behind that blank face. “Never mind. They come from Tiszaroff and surrounding kingdoms.”
Land countries, of course. I had no idea where Tiszaroff might be.
The boy could hardly take his eyes off that bird. He’d just been rescued by a mermaid. What was so stinking special about a big bird?
Forget him.
I swam away. Slowly. On the surface. Yes, I was hoping he would follow.
He soon caught up with me. “Hey, thanks for the rescue.” Then he turned and headed toward shore, a good fifty yards away.
“Wait! Where are you going?” I checked on the turul. “That bird will be after you again in a moment.”
He paused to stare toward the preening bird. If he insisted on swimming off alone, what could I do? Drag him underwater to keep him alive? I really didn’t want to siren-call him again so soon.
I tried to sound inviting. “Please come to my island. We need to go before the bird dries out enough to fly.”
“Can’t it pick us off the island?”
“No lake birds or animals can come ashore. I will take you inside the barrier.”
Again he looked from me to the shore to the bird. Then he swam toward me, his expression regretful. “It was checking out a nesting site, and I got too close.”
He seemed to focus on everything except our present danger. “The last thing we need is a turul nesting beside Faraway Lake.” When I looked back this time, the bird’s wings were outspread and quivering. It stared directly at us, thinking of revenge and supper.
I finally had a useful idea. Ducking underwater, I called, “Nelumbo, come to me!”
When I surfaced again, the boy looked startled and wary. “What was that sound?”
“I called for help,” she said. “The lake serpent.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. Score! But just then I caught movement from the corner of my eye and turned to see the turul take off. It skimmed the surface of the water, turning in a large circle and rising with each beat of those vast wings.
I turned on him and said, “Can you swim fast underwater, or should I tow you? That bird will be on us in another minute.”
His eyes were back on the bird. I tried again. “I can hold you under your arms, unless you’d rather hold on to me.”
That got his attention, but his eyes had a blank look that made me want to clock him one over the head . . . and made me blush. I hadn’t thought through how he might hold onto me. Mermaids don’t wear much in the way of clothing. Idiot!
Which of us was the idiot is open to debate.
“Fine. I’ll hold on to you.” I moved behind him, grabbed under his arms, and said, “Take a few good breaths, then hold one and dive.”
His chest expanded and deflated twice, then he took a third breath and ducked underwater. I leaped over him and plunged down into the lake, swimming hard. The boy kicked too; I felt the extra push.
Weeds carpeted the lake floor below, and I spotted a few young tench and a large catfish. Then an enormous, spiky head and thick, sinuous body appeared below us. I felt the boy go tense in my grasp, and his head snapped back into my ribs hard enough to hurt. I couldn’t help laughing a little at his expense.
Nelumbo the lake serpent turned to face us, tilted his head, and gave us a quizzical look.
“There’s a huge bird hunting us on the surface,” I explained. “Can you help us?”
He gave the boy another look then flowed upward, his scaly body undulating gracefully. With him nearby I dared to surface, giving the boy a chance to breathe. He sprayed water, wiped his face, spun to stare at me, and gasped, “That serpent came because you called it?”
“Of course. Look.” I pointed beyond him, and he spun about, treading water.
The turul wheeled high overhead; I felt its burning eyes fixed on us. However, not ten feet away was Nelumbo’s broad head with its fleshy whiskers, and his eyes followed the bird. Would he protect us if the turul attacked? I thought so, but one never knows about lake monsters.
With a jerk of my head I indicated the island’s cliffs, now a short swim away. “Once we reach the rocks surrounding the island, we’ll be safe. Dive once more?”
He nodded. Again I swam behind him, grabbed hold under his arms, and dived, trying not to think how solid and alive his body felt. One more sprint. As soon as we passed through the division between cold lake water and warm ocean waves, the lakebed rose sharply beneath us, sprouting tall volcanic columns with the island just beyond. I hauled the boy up to the surface and made myself let go. He flailed a little at first then grabbed hold of the nearest rock.
I had brought a human boy to Palau Kalah, the lost island. My chest felt tight and my stomach hurt, I was so tense and happy. There’s no simple explanation for my reactions. I am a siren, which might explain how possessive I felt right then, but I think it was more than instinct. Instead of wishing him harm, I wanted only to keep him safe and happy.
I knew I couldn’t keep him, yet for the moment he was mine. I had rescued him. And even though he was a strange-looking creature, I considered him perfectly beautiful.
Hearing the turul’s hunting cry, I turned to face it, announcing, “We’re safe now.”
The bird flew directly at us.
The boy shouted something at me.
I saw the turul’s blazing eyes, its beak gaping, talons extended.
I remember thinking perhaps I should take cover after all, when a hand grabbed my arm and hauled me behind the rock. I’m pretty sure I screamed, and I know I hit my head and scraped my side. There was a whistling sound, a splash, and a deafening screech of fury—then the frantic percussion of the bird’s wings as it fought to regain altitude and avoi
d crashing into the cliffside.
In the midst of this chaos, I was clinging to the rock like a mussel, my tail hanging limp. The boy was behind me, his hands gripping the rock on either side. I could feel his heartbeat against my back, and his weight pressed my ribcage into a protruding rock. It was terribly uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to move. I could see that his fingers were bleeding. The volcanic rocks were brutal on skin.
“You said it couldn’t follow us here!” the boy said in my ear, his tone accusing.
“I didn’t expect turuls to be magical,” I admitted. Heat rushed into my face, shame and embarrassment combined.
He didn’t speak, but as soon as the next wave receded, he hauled himself up to peer around the side of the rock. I pulled myself up beside him, my arms shaking. He seemed unaware of my presence as he watched the turul wheel back around over the lake. Its beak opened in another harsh scream, and its sharp eyes calculated its next attack on us.
It did not intend to fail again.
“Superb!” the boy said, looking almost hypnotized. “What a bird!”
But I shouted, “Nelumbo, help!”
No weedy face appeared. Nothing happened. So much for having a monster on my side.
The bird began its dive, and I grabbed the boy’s arm. I think I was vaguely hoping we could dodge another attack and make it to one of the many caves riddling the island’s shore.
When the turul was so close I could count its talons, the lake erupted. Nelumbo the lake monster made a mighty lunge, lifting more than half his forty-some-foot length from the water. Seeing the toothy maw rising at it from below, the turul gave a squawk and nearly turned a flip in the air.
“Yes!” I shouted.
“No!” the boy cried in horror.
The great jaws closed with a loud chop.
And Nelumbo fell with an epic splash, his teeth bristling with tail feathers.
Still squawking, the lucky turul flapped toward open sky.
“Too bad!” I shouted after it. “Go back where you belong, you overgrown goose!”
Nelumbo hadn’t surfaced, but I addressed the big waves he’d made. “Thank you! Better luck next time, Nelumbo.” The end of his tail appeared above the surface, wiggled, then slipped out of sight.
FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!
Jill Marie is a native of southern California who, after a whirlwind life as a military wife, now makes her home with her husband in North Carolina, where she serves at the beck and call of two purebred cats and one adorable granddaughter. Obsessions include all things animal rescue, fairy-tale romances, knowing the lyrics to the best songs from old musicals, and perfecting the perfect pastry crust.
During her former career as a historical romance novelist, Jill Marie won both the Carol Award and RWA's Inspirational Readers' Choice Award. Now she prefers her novels to include a dash of magic along with the heart-melting romance.
Visit her website at www.JMStengl.com
Be sure to find her on social media: Facebook, Goodreads
