by Tara Omar
“David, it’s okay now. You can swim upright.”
He looked around.
“David, you made it through,” said Natalie. “The spiders are gone.”
David sat up.
“The grave should be somewhere nearby. Look for a disk with either no chain or a broken chain,” said Natalie.
David crawled along the lakebed, brushing away sand and lifting rocks. It was much darker here; this part of the lake was covered by one of the floating gardens. Natalie increased the brightness of his light as he searched.
“Keep looking, David; I know it’s there,” said Natalie.
He shook his head and glanced in the direction of the spiders, swallowing hard at the thought of going back. Then he saw something. The light from his mask seemed to cause a glint in the distance, near a rock formation. He swam closer.
“Did you find it?” asked Natalie.
David dug near the bottom of the edge of the rock until he hit something. He shovelled away the sand with his hands, revealing a metal disk the size of a manhole cover, without a chain.
“Great job, David,” said Natalie. “Now, just as we practiced.”
David knelt down on the disk and pressed his palms to the ground just beyond the edge. He concentrated. Thin wisps of blue filament poked out of his wrist. He bit his teeth together, willing them downward. They dug themselves into the sand.
“That’s it. Keep going,” said Natalie. David slowly stood up and moved his arms, forcing the filament to splinter into fine hairs as they pushed their way into the sand. Soon the hairs had spread all the way around the perimeter of the disk; David could feel them knotting together at the bottom. They had reached the end of the grave. He twisted the top ends together, closing the net. Then he pulled.
“Come on David, you can do it,” said Natalie, “keep pulling.” David swam as hard as he could upward with the net of filament attached to his wrist; it felt as though someone were yanking the bones from his body. A group of toothy, red fish was clustered nearby; David glanced at them as he pulled.
“Piranha,” said Natalie. “They’ve already eaten. They won’t bother you.”
David nodded and kept pulling, his face straining with the weight. He could feel beads of oily sweat gathering on his temples and at his wrists. They slid down the net of filament. The disk in the ground popped upward. Natalie squealed.
“Excellent! That’s progress,” said Natalie. David relaxed his grip for a moment; his arms felt like they were ready to fall off.
“I’m going to run a charge through your suit. It should arc to the filament. Maybe we can pop it out that way. Ready, and…”
A current swept through David’s arms and down through the filament, forcing the canister-like casket upward. It popped from its cement tube and tore through David’s filament net, landing upright a few metres away.
David fell backward into the rocks, breaking the light on his forehead. Everything went dark.
“What happened?” asked Natalie. “Did your light break?”
Yes, signalled David.
“Can you spin another one?” asked Natalie.
No, signalled David again. He didn’t know how.
“Okay then. What to do, what to do…” murmured Natalie. Before Natalie could think of a solution David cut a strip in her suit with some filament from his wrist. He tore it open slightly, revealing the glowing, merish markings underneath. It barely lit more than a few centimetres in front of him, but it would be enough to see what he was doing.
“Excellent. Now let’s get this sample and get you out of there,” said Natalie.
David swam toward the canister and felt his way down the sides. Mers were buried upright; David guessed the height at about where the mer’s fingers should be and pressed his makeshift knife to the side, scraping away a hole. The sides were frosty-looking and almost powdery, like ice or grainy plastic. David scraped at the hole he had just made, widening it until his hand could fit through. He reached in, just as a flash of electricity lit up the water. David saw the rotting corpse of the mer, riddled with worm-like hagfish each as thick as a snake. The light snapped off as quickly as it appeared, leaving David in the darkness with the corpse, the hagfish, and the group of watching piranhas nearby.
“I was afraid this might happen,” said Natalie. “The electric charge has attracted electric eels. You should probably work fast.”
David reached into the hole and grabbed the hand of the corpse. Another eel flashed with light; David jolted backward, dropping his knife as the body inside the canister shifted toward him. He searched around for the knife.
“Just make another one,” said Natalie.
David looked at his wrist and tensed his muscles, but try as he might, the filament would not come.
“Calm down, David. You’re freaking out. I know this whole thing is crazy disturbing, but you won’t be able to spin if you panic,” said Natalie. “Stay focused.”
David tried again but he couldn’t spin filament; he dropped to the ground and searched for his knife while the eels closed in, gaining in number and flashing more frequently. David’s hand brushed across his knife near the base of the rock formation; he grabbed it and straightened, bumping his head on a rock. The bump knocked the camera loose.
“David, what happened? I’ve lost my feed,” said Natalie. “Are you okay?”
David signalled a yes before grabbing the hand of the corpse. The curious eels inched closer and closer as he began to saw at the joint; the sensation sent a shivering feeling of disgust through his body. There seemed to be some sort of small, suede purse tied around the corpse’s wrist but David didn’t investigate; he sawed faster as the eels moved nearer. The bone snapped off with a distressing crack like dull nails on a chalkboard. The eels were now a mere ten centimetres away from him. David pulled his hand out and spun around; his hand hit something rubbery square across the face. He froze.
“David, is everything alright?” asked Natalie. “I can’t see.”
David knew everything was far from alright. Apart from being surrounded by eels and the floating corpse of a dead, hagfish-infested mer, he had just smacked a piranha. David watched as a wave of emotions poured over the little fish as if in slow motion: first surprise, then annoyance, then anger. It spread through the whole pack behind it like a fire; the piranhas bristled their fins and bared their teeth, sending the eels flitting off toward crevices between the rocks and other hiding places. David dropped his knife and swam.
“David, what’s happening? Are you okay?” asked Natalie.
David darted left and right, attempting to shoot lassos behind him. The pack of piranhas was in hot pursuit, nipping at his heels and his backpack. David fisted his hand.
Emergency, he signalled.
“Crap,” said Natalie. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t see. I can send out another wave; is that okay?”
David dodged behind a rock and shot another lasso at a piranha near his hand. The force slammed the fish against the rocks, making a thud as if it had hit a cold frying pan.
“I’ll assume that’s a yes,” said Natalie. “Initiating in three…”
At that instant a piranha caught the tear in his diving suit, ripping off the sleeve and damaging the wiring.
“David, I lost contact,” said Natalie. “David!”
But that was the last thing David heard. Before Natalie could finish, another piranha bit his neck, severing all communication. David dropped down toward the lakebed as another fish aimed for his head. They were too near for him to hold them off much longer. David looked up and cringed. There, several metres in front of him, was the wall of spiders. He closed his eyes and charged.
C H A P T E R 6 2
It had to be the worst feeling in the world, what David experienced next at the bottom of Spirit Lake. Hitting that first crawling spider sent a wave of p
anic and disgust through his system like icy feathers tickling his insides. Then came another and another and another. They hit his body as he pushed through the water. The piranhas did not follow him but had already decimated the top part of his suit. David had no idea how far he had swum when a heavy hand grabbed him by the neck and yanked him from the water, pinning him to the side of a painted gazebo. He squirmed.
“Guilty, guilty, guilty as charged. Just get them off me, get them off me!” shrieked David. The spiders poured off him like water rolling off oil. The mer that held him let him go, and David fell to the ground, panting.
“David?” asked a familiar voice.
David looked up.
“John?”
John Lotkin was standing over him in a picturesque, moonlit garden, his eyes glazed with shock. He helped David up.
“What are you doing here?” asked John.
“What are you doing here?” asked David. His legs were still twitching with a tickling sensation as though something were crawling on them.
“I work here part-time as a night watchman,” said John. David paused and rubbed his legs.
“Does Natalie know you work here?” he asked.
“No. Did Natalie send you?” asked John.
“She, uh, wanted me to try a new safety suit she designed,” said David, pulling on the tattered fragments of his suit. John frowned.
“I love Nellie to bits, but her experiments have gone too far this time. You could’ve been killed,” said John. “I’m going to have to have a long talk with that girl.” He stared out into the distance, stern and thoughtful-looking. David shivered.
“Come, let’s get you home,” said John, putting his arm around David’s shoulder. The two headed for John’s docked pneumatophore near the gate of the garden.
Meanwhile, Natalie sat on her jelly in the upstairs Lotkin living room, six centimetres from the front door. The grandfather clock ticked away the seconds in a judgemental sort of way; she drummed her fingers on the window sill with nervous agitation, listening to the frogs sing in the pond outside. As she looked to the clock, the frogs broke out into a cacophony of ribbits and croaks; Natalie threw open the door.
“David! What happened? Did you…” Natalie paused.
David came up the porch with a blanket around his shoulders, followed by John Lotkin.
“Dad?” asked Natalie.
“Don’t ‘dad’ me, Nellie. You are in hot, hot water, lady. Boiling hot water. Run David a bath downstairs,” said John as he entered the house. “David, go sit downstairs; I’ll get you some warm vanilla milk with cinnamon. It’ll get the willies out of your bones.”
“I’m fine, really,” said David.
“Don’t talk nonsense; you’re as pale as death. I’ll be with you now,” said John.
“Yes, Sir,” said David. He headed down the stairs and nestled into the couch. Albert was sitting on the rug in front of him watching cartoons on the 4-D television; he hugged a plastic remote while a cute-looking starfish danced along the rocks with a sea urchin. David could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom.
“There we are; I’ll put your milk near the tub,” said John.
“It’s ready now,” said Natalie as she floated out the bathroom. She stared at her fins as David passed her. He sat on the tub’s edge and picked up his mug of milk.
“Is everything okay?” asked John.
“Yes, thank you,” said David.
“I’ll be back at 4:30 to pick you up for work. Will you be okay by then or shall I call you in sick?” asked John.
“I’ll be fine,” said David.
“Good, good. See you then,” said John as he closed the door. He glared at Natalie.
“We’ll talk later,” said John.
“Yes, Sir,” said Natalie. He kissed her forehead and left up the stairs.
Natalie frowned. She floated around the room with no real purpose, stuck somewhere between pacing and aimless strolling. The dancing starfish was now chatting with a grumpy-looking sea cucumber on the television; she stopped to watch it with Albert for a few seconds without really paying attention, listening instead to the splashes of water coming from the bathroom. She frowned again and floated up to the bathroom door, leaning near to it.
“I’m sorry about what happened, David,” said Natalie staring at her fins as she spoke through the door. “I probably should’ve warned you about the spiders and piranhas, and the vampire fish… and the electric eels… and everything else unpleasant that you were fortunate enough not to run into. But we’re okay now, right? I mean… oh.”
David opened the door; he was wearing a towel around his waist and another over his shoulder. He looked angry. Natalie shifted her eyes.
“Um,” she said.
David pushed past her toward his bedroom, pressing something hard into her hand as he passed.
“David, you son of a monkey,” said Natalie, looking at her hand. “Is this what I think it is?”
David smirked as he dried his hair. In Natalie’s hand was a small, suede purse and a bone, the distal phalanx from the corpse’s left index finger.
“I could almost kiss you right now. Ah, so exciting!” said Natalie. She zipped around her cabinets, pulling out bottles and turkey basters for another DNA extraction, while David changed in his room. She picked up the small, suede purse.
“David, did you get this sack from the grave as well?” called Natalie.
“Yeah,” said David.
She untied the strings and carefully pushed it open with a pair of chopsticks. The purse was filled with colourful sand, which glittered like crushed jewels. Natalie frowned.
“What’s the matter?” asked David, appearing beside her.
“It’s a sacred sand painting,” said Natalie.
“A what?”
“A sacred sand painting. When a mer is in need of forgiveness or healing, he goes through a ritual in which a scene is painted around him in sand. As the ritual ends, the painting is destroyed. It’s a highly personal, private experience,” said Natalie.
“What do the paintings show?” asked David.
“Lots of things. Symbols, scenes, often the person requesting the ritual,” said Natalie.
“Can you reconstruct it?” asked David.
“What? No, of course not. It’s unethical.”
“Yes, but can you?”
“Physically, yes, but that’s beside the point.”
“Natalie, you have to. It might be the picture we’re looking for,” said David.
“I can’t,” said Natalie, shaking her head.
“You had no problem with me desecrating the mer’s grave and hacking off his finger, but you’re worried about his sack of sand?”
Natalie bit her lip.
“Come on, Natalie. How else can we identify Rahul? Besides now that you know you’re on the verge of discovering who took your mother, can you really just leave it? I mean—”
“Alright, alright. I’ll do it. Just… stop talking about it,” said Natalie, closing her eyes. She rummaged through the bottom cabinet, pulling out a stack of black, metal blocks. “Albert, honey, would you mind running the extraction for me? I need to take care of this sand.” Albert pulled on his gloves and safety glasses and began preparing the samples while Natalie pulled up the blueprints of the High Temple on her computer.
“Silence forgive me. I’m going to be so damned for this,” said Natalie, shaking her head. She grabbed a tape measure and drew a circle on a tile with chalk, identical to the round centre platform in the Temple.
“Do you need help?” asked David.
“Shh. I’m concentrating,” said Natalie. She floated to the centre of the circle and looked around, then began placing the blocks at various points around the perimeter. David stared at her.
“Memory magnets,” said Natal
ie, as she placed another block along the chalk line. “They’ll force the particles back into the last position they were set, provided we have the dimensions right. We use them in repairs and art restoration.
“How do you know it was made at the Temple?” asked David.
“Do you really need to know?” asked Natalie.
“No, I guess not. Proceed,” said David.
She moved the last magnet into place and dumped the sand inside the circle. It swirled upward a few centimetres from the ground, tumbling like a mini sandstorm as the magnets pushed it around.
“So how long does this take?” asked David.
“You mean how long does it take to rearrange over a billion particles of sand? About five minutes,” said Natalie. “Albert, do you have anything for me?”
The octopus pointed to the computer, where lines were pulsing on a floating graph. Natalie nearly fell off her jelly.
“What?” asked David.
“Albert, are you sure?” asked Natalie, looking at his sample. The octopus nodded.
“What’s happening?” asked David.
“The bone isn’t merish,” said Natalie.
“What?” asked David.
“The bone isn’t merish. It’s dead coral, carved and coated so it looks like a bone,” said Natalie.
“Are you sure?” asked David.
“The DNA doesn’t lie. Rahul isn’t buried there,” said Natalie.
“That means Rahul could still be alive,” said David.
“Possibly. It could also be a false lead or a decoy to mask the real burial place. I must recheck my sources,” said Natalie, typing frantically. David looked at the circle.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What?” asked Natalie.
The sand had started settling in patches like an image showing through a scratch card. David looked closer, his eyes locking on a mer with blazing, purple eyes.
“It’s him,” said David.
“What?” asked Natalie, looking over his shoulder.