by Murray, Lee
Shiv shifted in his seat, immediately uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”
“According to the Originals, you can speak to creatures in the same way they can.”
Shiv held up a hand, but Juder shook his head.
“Don’t deny it, Scholar, our leaders are all-knowing. They even heard one try to speak to your friend Alben the other night.”
“Where is Alben?” asked Shiv.
“Being reconditioned, I’m afraid.”
“What?” Shiv leaped to his feet, but his shaky legs gave out and he fell back onto his chair, the fabric of its thin cushion giving out an undignified slapping noise as he landed.
“Only his memories of the last week will be removed, Scholar. Don’t lose your skin. He knew too much. Look, our leaders just want you to get them chatting. They’ve tried to converse with the creatures themselves, but the only words they get in return are highly insulting. If you can gain their trust, we might get somewhere.”
Shiv wondered where this would get him. If Alben’s experience was anything to go by, it didn’t look good.
“But what do our leaders want to know?”
Juder shrugged and rose to his feet. “No idea. You’ve got fifteen light cycles to make them talk, Scholar Shiv. Don’t waste it.”
10
Shiv scratched the scaly, green texture of his legs and flexed his long toes. Walking seemed more natural now, and his limbs were stronger. He quite liked the motion of walking, but he still couldn’t get used to nodding his head in the affirmative instead of flicking his tail.
For the tenth light cycle in a row, he approached the Merman’s tank first, noting the way he hung in the water, his tail slightly curled like a sea horse. He made a note.
“Good evening,” he said, feeling just as stupid as he had on his first attempt. “I hope you’ve had a good day. I’ve increased your food ration, as I noticed you seemed very hungry yesterday.”
The creature kept his eyes closed.
He turned to the woman in the neighbouring tank. Grey hair hung down over her face, and her shoulders and breasts were bared to the scrutiny of her captors. Up close, the scars were pink and raw.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he said. “I trust you’ve enjoyed some time away from my colleagues’ attentions. They’re attending a compulsory meeting with our leaders today.”
The woman began to move, gracefully stretching. Shiv arched his back in recognition, missing the water, and reached a hand out to touch the hard surface of the tank, wondering what technology had allowed the Professor’s long needles to penetrate without breaking the glass. Without warning, the creature’s eyes flashed open in alarm and she screeched a high-pitched wail full of a sorrow so deep and mournful, Shiv clamped a hand over his mouth to stop moaning in sympathy. He pushed back from the glass, but the woman pressed her face against the tank and screamed directly into his mind.
“Thala!”
Shiv took a shocked step back and crashed to the floor. He sat there, rubbing his back and staring at the woman.
“You spoke,” he said aloud.
The Merwoman rolled over, showing him her scarred back.
“Speak to me again!” called Shiv.
“She’s not usually very talkative,” said a male voice.
Shiv looked over his shoulder, but found himself staring at the empty laboratory.
“Over here, sea slug,” said the voice in his head.
“Did you talk to me?” Shiv whispered.
“Wow, nothing gets past you, does it, Sunshine?”
The Merman swivelled in a spray of tiny bubbles, then hovered upright, fixing Shiv with a strong level gaze. “You’re new,” he said.
“I’ve been here ten light cycles,” said Shiv, surprised.
“You’re different,” the Merman replied. “Your mind feels different to the others.”
Shiv pushed himself upright and drew closer, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“What do you mean, different?” he said.
“I think they’ve put you here for a reason, only they don’t realise how different you are,” he said.
Shiv tilted his head to one side. “I’m more interested in why you’re here,” he said.
The lines around the Merman’s eyes crinkled into a smile.
“Well, that’s easy. I’m here to be a pincushion!” Then he laughed a booming operatic guffaw that disturbed the woman in the next tank enough to make her shiver.
“They like taking bits and pieces of me and Mrs Tellurian here because they think we can supply the answers to some pretty important questions about the big, dry world above your head, my friend.”
Shiv couldn’t believe this creature knew his purpose in all this. It made his confinement make even less sense. He had to keep him talking. “How can Merfolk provide any sort of answer to a question about land dwellers and the land? You’re sea dwellers too, aren’t you?”
“We transform to live on the land, as you can live on your ships breathing dry air. Our lungs are superior to yours, more suited to this planet’s atmosphere. But it’s all a big waste of time; there’s nothing they can do about your physiognomy, or you would have evolved in the last one thousand years.” The Merman swam to the food trough at the rear of the tank and swore. “For reef’s sake, you couldn’t get me some nice parrot fish, could you? I’m so dead sick of eating bottom dwelling invertebrate rejects!”
Shiv smiled despite his confusion. He couldn’t believe he was conversing intelligently with Merfolk. “I guess I could try,” he said.
The Merman beamed. “Awesome! You’re definitely not like your alien brothers and those creepy old women. Am I right?”
“Creepy old women?” asked Shiv. Could he possibly mean the Originals?
The Merman didn’t wait for an answer. “Most of them are your regular sadistic, jelly-brained, no-hoper bottom dwellers who’d rather play with food before they eat it and don’t give a flying fish what anyone thinks. You, on the other hand, are of a more...sensitive variety. In fact, I’ve already sensed somewhat of a foreign emotion emanating out of you, my friend. A feeling I haven’t come across since our friend Alben entered the equation. How is the old wave by the way, they get to him yet? I suspect so, since he hasn’t been back.”
Shiv drew breath to speak, but the Merman continued. “That feeling, my good alien brother, is compassion, and I can tell you, ninty-nine point nine percent of your species lacks even the cultural or physiological propensity to even describe what that word means. But you! You’re practically vibrating with it!”
Shiv didn’t know the word. Was it a good thing?
Suddenly, the Merwoman started to thrash again. The space filled with gritty sand as her movements stirred the sediment on the bottom. She threw herself against the walls of her cell, smashing her head into the impermeable barrier over and over.
“Stop!” shouted Shiv. “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself!”
“Thala,” she murmured as her energy ran out, the thump of her head against the prison walls slowed.
“What is this Thala she speaks of and where can I find it? I’ll get her some if she needs to feed,” said Shiv.
The big Merman put his head on one side and gave a sad smile. “You can’t give her Thala. Thala cannot come here. The only way she can see Thala again is if you grant her freedom.”
Shiv stared at the creature, a thousand questions roiling around his mind. He raised his hand. “I can’t.”
The creature shrugged, as if resigned to this fact. “Then we will die here.”
“No, my leaders need to find out more information,” said Shiv.
“I think they’re fast realising that we’ve given them all they’re going to get. Your leaders are becoming impatient. They’ll think of another way to go above the waves, and it won’t include sparing us. Be sure of it.”
Shiv didn’t know what to say.
“What is your name?” said the Merman.
“Shiv,” he said. “And your
s?”
“Fastion,” he said. “Of the Cherienne pod.”
The two of them held each other’s gaze as the Merwoman began to keen in a low, soul-wrenching tone. The sad melody seemed to reach into Shiv’s heart and squeeze it.
“Make her stop,” he murmured. “Please.”
Fastion shook his head. “I can’t, Shiv. Only you can do that.”
11
I take the path to the beach. It’s a steep walk from Conclave down to the bay, but the cliffs and sharp rocks mean we have privacy. At the bottom of the path, I strip off my clothes, fold them in a neat pile and hide them under the overhang of a large rock. A tail can make an awful mess of shorts. The wind whips my hair into spikes and cool rain gives me goose bumps. There’s a spring storm out at sea, but I can’t wait to feel the water. I run full speed into the waves. The transformation is quick and painless. I am with tail.
The water churns around me like frothy soup until I pass the break and dive into deeper, calmer waters. Visibility isn’t great because of the storm, but my eyes adjust quickly in this form and the darkness doesn’t seem constant. Faded light from above turns the ocean water a dove grey, and soon I’m swimming fast and sure. I pass kelp beds and clusters of submerged boulders, but little sea life. Occasionally, I hear the blip of a dolphin, but apart from the ocean, which swirls and tosses above, it’s quiet down here.
When I reach the boundary of our territory, I stop and chat to some crayfish, enjoying the way their long antennae flutter in the current in time to my words. I have no name for what I do, but out of all the members of my family, I’m the best siren. The animals don’t reply in words—that’s not how it works—it’s more like we connect on some primal level. Mer can all communicate mind-to-mind underwater, but I’m told only a few can commune well with other creatures.
Today we’re expecting the delegates from the Cherienne pod to arrive, including their leader and his son, my potential breeding partner. It’s more than weird to think of a stranger in that way. But I’m excited to meet new people.
Reluctantly, I turn and make my way back, flicking my tail to send me somersaulting every ten metres, keeping things interesting. My tumbling frightens a large stingray feeding on the sandy bottom, and I lunge to avoid his tail as he startles and races by. Closer to shore smacks of jellyfish have appeared, ballooning and shrinking in some sort of underwater ballet, like ladies in transparent tutus.
Instead of transforming and walking out of the water, I catch a wave into the ‘smuggler’s cave’. The tide is high enough that water has filled the opening all the way to its back wall. What you can’t see from outside the cave is that about a metre higher, there is another hole leading off this one. When the tide rises, the water funnels in, allowing me to swim almost the entire way. It must have been a happy day when the smugglers discovered they could not only secret their stock in high, dry caves but they could also take a soothing bath!
I float while the water rises, then, with a flip of my tail, propel myself into the top cave, the waves hurling me onto the smooth rock beach. It’s a short walk to the pool, so rather than hump myself over the rocks like an ugly sea lion, I engage transformation. It’s easy. I suppose if I had to explain, I’d say that I ‘tell’ my tail to become two legs and—whammo—the cellular transformation simply happens.
Damn it, I didn’t think this one through. Now I’m naked! I tiptoe through the dark tunnel ‘til I emerge in a high, rounded space with several tunnels leading off it. I take the one sloping upwards and, after a couple of metres and two small sets of steps, I come out at our cellar door. Here the cave opens out again into a wide space, and set in its centre is a small, kidney shaped pool. The pool is man- or Mer-made but the water that funnels into it is completely natural. I can hear the small, underground stream that feeds it. I shimmy down the last few steps to the pool and slide into the steaming water. Bliss!
Around me, the walls appear to glow. Lights installed by Murdoch switch on automatically when you open the cellar door from the inside, but even without the door open, there’s an eerie natural light seeping in. Occasionally, the cave seems to shudder as the waves crash against the cliff walls. But mostly the ocean noises blend with the simmering of the warm pool and the chuckling stream. I ease myself lower and sigh. My tail reappears instantly, flicking and shivering with a life of its own, like a puppy denied the company of its owner.
We only need to soak in the minerals twice a year to maintain the ability to make the transformation from Mer to human form, but if we do it more often, it becomes a more comfortable transition. It can be irritating remembering to soak, but the alternative is unthinkable. If we don’t do it, we lose our ability to be Mer—our gills won’t work, we can’t transform, we lose the essence of who we are. We become... only human.
I submerge into the green shallows, enjoying the warmth of the spring in my ears and eyes, and as I let go my lungs and shut off their use, my gills engage. I gurgle and bubble, the equivalent of a human laugh. This bit is always like coming home.
“Thala!”
I surge upward with a splash and blink as the automatic lights flash on. It’s Jaes. He charges through the cellar door, hopping from one foot to the other in a fit of excitement.
“They’re here!” He laughs. “Ew, did you forget your clothes again?”
“Shut up and bring me a towel,” I say.
He runs off giggling.
12
“And this must be Thalassica?” The tall stranger is dressed for travel, a long dark coat lending severity to his smile. He has warm, chocolate eyes though and long sandy hair.
“Please, call me Thala,” I say.
“And I am Kastion, leader of the Cherienne pod, although I doubt that means much to you as your uncle has told me our histories are not present in your learning. It will be good to put aside the old feuds. Now your people’s stories can blend with our own.”
A skinny, blonde boy slithers into the room, hovering behind Kastion. He’s accompanied by a much broader companion. The larger boy fixes me with an even, icy blue stare. There’s something compelling about his gaze, and I can’t look away. He is the first to blink and turn towards his companion. The two stick close together.
“Ah, now this is Prastion, my son and heir to the pod leadership and his cousin, Bastion. Prastion, meet your possible intended, Thalassica.” The big man beams at me.
My eyes fix on the boy, noting his tall, thin frame and the arrogance in his glance. He’s half boy, half man. On what sea could this specimen be considered my equal? I turn to Anna but she shakes a finger at me, silencing my shock.
“Great to meet you, Thalassica,” he says. He looks me up and down as if trying to gauge my weight and value. He leans over to his buddy and whispers something, then the two of them burst into laughter.
Self-consciously, I run a hand over my roomy t-shirt and leggings. My uncle frowns. He’s tied his hair back in a hasty ponytail for the occasion. It makes his face look gaunt.
Kastion appears uncomfortable. “Boys!” he says, but laughs along with them. “They’re not used to all this freedom,” he tells my uncle. “It’s been a long journey, some of it by boat in the company of humans. Very stressful, as you can imagine. Prastion insisted I bring his cousin. Plus the weather…”
Anna takes up the conversation, steering us all towards a table of food and drink.
As they eat, I perch on the end of an armchair, watching Prastion and his cousin chat. The boy is an idiot, that’s clear. He giggles away with his friend and acts like a five-year-old. My uncle must be loco. There is no way in the ocean I’d be befriending this upstart, let alone bond with him.
Jaes comes to sit beside me. “He’s a real peach,” he whispers.
I stare straight ahead. “He can go back to that polluted piece of reef he came from,” I hiss, trying to keep my expression straight.
“Lover boy isn’t what you imagined, Blister?”
I reach over and pinch the skin on his
thigh and he squeaks.
“You okay, Jaes?” says Anna. She gestures him over. “Come on, we’ll get you some extra goodies in the kitchen and leave these young people to talk.”
My uncle gets the hint. “Kastion, perhaps you’d like to see the mineral pool and have a soak? It’s quite unique.”
I’m left in the living room with Prastion and his cousin.
There’s an awkward silence as Prastion stares at me and I stare back. Finally, his cousin pipes up.
“Your hair makes a real statement, doesn’t it?” he says, conversationally. “What exactly is it trying to say? Anarchy? Fuck the rules? I hate myself?”
“Bastion!” At least Prastion has the decency to sound shocked.
“Well, what do you think of it, coz? No respectable Cherienne woman would cut her hair that short. If you’re to bond with Prastion, you’ll have to adjust.”
Prastion walks to a window to take in the view. “It’s fairly unlikely we’ll get as far as actually bonding, Bastion, you know that,” he mutters.
“Yes, I know that and you know that, but there’s no point letting her know that, is there, you idiot? Pity we’ll have to leave early and—”
“Keep your mouth shut!” The change in Prastion is immediate. His cheeks flush with a rusty tint of undersea red. The angle of his jaw transforms his rounded boyish face to the knowing cynicism of a grown man. The tension between them is palpable.
“What do you mean, we won’t bond?” I demand. “I mean, not that I want to bond with a half-arsed, fish faced, shrimp-bodied Sprat-lookalike like yourself. And why do all your names rhyme? That’s really unimaginative. Do your parents pick your names out of a hat?”
Prastion’s friend Bastion leaps to his feet and is almost on me when Prastion shoots out an arm to stop him. “Leave it, Bastion!”
“No woman has ever in the history of our family dared to speak in such a way to our leader’s heir! Our naming rituals are sacred!” Bastion snarls. “We would cut out your tongue and leave you to dry in the sun. You would be fed to a squid. You would be—’
