by Lani Lenore
Daughters
of the
Deep
by Lani Lenore
Text © Lani Lenore 2017
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Images licensed through Shutterstock.
Sea Lullaby by Elinor Wylie is a public domain work. Portions are used under fair use copyright law.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
The old moon is tarnished
With smoke of the flood,
The dead leaves are varnished
With colour like blood,
A treacherous smiler
With teeth white as milk,
A savage beguiler
In sheathings of silk,
She came up to meet him
In a smooth golden cloak,
She choked him and beat him
To death, for a joke.
Now in silence she lingers
Beside him all night
To wash her long fingers
In silvery light.
Portions of “Sea Lullaby” by Elinor Wylie
Prologue
A Tender Bite
The sun was a gentle lover. He caressed the sea’s voluptuous surface, his touch rolling gently over her curves. He knew how to soothe her tempestuous nature, and she was pleased to shine for him. He kept his hand outstretched for her while he lounged on the land’s muscular frame, for one as glowing as he could never have too many lovers.
Just beyond the reach of the sea’s grasping fingers, curling with ecstasy, a city had been built.
The crown city of Ilsa in the kingdom of Solaris had weathered many storms and seen many kings. It was built upon a great rock that lifted it high above the sea which encompassed it, acting as a natural barrier against threats and weather alike. Atop it was a grand palace carved from stone, with pillars as large and thick as trees. Surrounding it were homes of nobility and the upper crust of the nation, arranged like a crown.
Beneath the raised area of the rock was a crescent-shaped bay called Curba Lunii, meaning curve of the moon, and homes of the common were built in waves along it. Beyond that were the docks and weathered huts of the slums. There were rumors of pirates in these areas, but their presence did not affect daily life for most.
The city was rich, it was beautiful, and it was untouched by the greedy who might seek to conquer it. And in the midst of all this blessed peace, on a day like so many before it, a body drifted ashore.
He was unidentifiable, his face gone, his body mutilated. His flesh was full of holes, his bones not quite cleaned, but the truth of his demise was clear.
As sure as the golden blessing of the sun, he’d been eaten.
Chapter One
Imperfect
1
Gritty white sand clung to them both, their wet bodies resting in the tide. They might have been confused for lovers, entwined together in the breaking dawn. She, at least, would like to think of them that way. She would have given anything for him to look at her—the voice from her lungs, the heart from her chest—but he was restful and silent. The night had been long and treacherous, but he was safe, and she was glad.
She stroked his face, her soft fingers grazing the stubble along his jaw. She admired his fine features. The man had a masculine beauty that was beyond compare, at least to her eyes. He was for her, and she had known it the moment she’d seen him all those years ago. She knew he did not feel the same way for her. He did not know how she had pined for him from a distance, or how she had risked everything just to be with him now.
She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling his breath, his heart. Still beating. He was alive, but unconscious, unaware of her—as he always had been. Even now that she was right beside him, he could not be bothered to open his eyes and look into hers.
She wanted to feel more of his skin against her own, but would content herself with resting a hand on his chest through the open collar of his drenched shirt. The truth was that he had an effect on her like she might have had on him, were he awake. The allure was almost magical, a spell that was impossible to resist, but she would. The mermaid would satisfy herself with this touch. It was more than she’d ever gotten.
Knowing this might be her only chance, she lowered her face to his and kissed him gently—just so gently—the flesh of his lips slipping past her teeth. She would have never bitten down or caused him to bleed. She wished she could tell him that.
Gazing at him, the truth reemerged in her mind. He was perfect, and she was not. She was nameless, Innominata, among her kind as well as to him, and that pained her more than any physical wound. She’d had her share, but she was with him now, in a moment more perfect than any before it. This was no dream. He was real beneath her hands, and she would remember.
She looked at his face, remembering.
She looked at his face, wanting to forget.
2
Years ago…
Beyond the surface of the ocean, far beneath where the sun’s light could reach, two deep sea nymphs stared at each other through the bars of their prison. They were imperfect of their kind—one bright and golden as the sun; the other, dark and silvery as the night’s moon. They had never spoken, but they truly saw each other for the first time, recognizing the differences between them. Yet despite those things, they were the same, linked together in their strife.
The two, gold and silver, were lacking as deep sea nymphs. They had not been born in the image of those first formed by their Father, from sea foam and salt. Human tongues might have called them mermaids, for they were like the daughters of fish and men. Their captors merely called them slaves.
The golden Innominata knew this well. She had been here long enough to understand, and the young nymph did not give much question to the way things were. She was quiet even now as the dark, silver-eyed nymph stared back at her, boring holes through her eyes to get at the shadowy thoughts inside. The dark-skinned one would get little. The girl was blank and unmoved.
Until she noticed the lights.
Proper deep sea nymphs, with gray-blue scales and wicked spears, floated down into the darkness of the prison, wearing searchlights like the bulbs of anglerfish. These were the ones who were allowed to be free—those who came closer in appearance to what their Father had intended. Females, every one; just like the slaves. Their skin was as chipped stone, their scales like plated armor. Some had hair while others had none, only growths of coral or shell and sometimes diamond encrusting their scalp. They could shoot barbs from their wrists and their voices could end worlds. They would have been looked on as hideous and terrifying by the human species of the surface world—to Innominata as well—but they did not often let eyes see them that would lead tongues to tell tales.
These palace guards who entered into the deep spire were not aware of, nor did they care about their ugliness. There was a job to do.
With expected roughness, they began to bind the slaves one by one and brought them out of the
crowded cells. There were around thirty of them—those who were slaves of the palace, not counting the rest of the unclaimed in the chambers below. When this began to happen, finally the girl was alert.
Innominata’s seawater eyes darted about, hoping she did not seem more nervous than the rest, but she always did feel anxious when she did not know what to expect. Much of the time, she could predict the movements of her captors, but this was a special case. It was not time for a feeding or a birthing, and so many of them were rarely taken out all at once. What was happening? She might have hoped to be insignificant among these others, and yet still she stood out. Her hair was bright and yellow, and her tail of scales was of a glittering gold. Her upper body was like a human’s, smooth and bare, unlike these guards with their thick, serpent’s skin.
In an orderly row, the captives were led out, in no discernable order. They were all like her, an unworthy hybrid of human and nymph, looked down on by the rest of the society. They were of different colors in fin and in skin tone, but they all had one thing in common: they were imperfect. They had been born in the likeness of man instead, with all his weaknesses, and were good for little more than their blood and bones.
When the Mistress had come to power, she had looked on them all and found them unworthy. They had been taken as slaves, had not been allowed to fight, or feed, or live. But such was life, and she had never known anything else. The girl could not remember a time of freedom, but some of these others did. She was still young—a mere sixty years of captivity in a lifetime of centuries.
The Innominata was directly behind the dark-skinned nymph with the silver tail that had been staring at her before. She had a great mass of twisted hair that reminded Innominata of a squid’s waving tentacles. Her tail did not have scales, but was slick like a shark’s. This one held her head higher than the rest as she drifted along. Witnessing her pride almost persuaded the young one to feel unafraid, but she could not quite shut down her fear for the unknown.
Her inner voice was quiet, her thoughts only knowing uncertainty, and then they were led to rise.
The slaves did not have to be commanded with voices, for all had learned their place by now. Forced to swim upward, they were brought into the main level of the underwater palace, where they were lined up before a throne that was carved from marble in the pattern of a splashing wave. There was a platform that suspended the throne in the middle of the chamber, connected by spokes of stone, like a great wheel. The spire of the palace spanned above and below them. Higher reaches housed the prominent figures of the society, and then there were the lower, darker chambers that the girl had just been brought out from. Prisons, and worse.
Even now, she could see several slaves chained beneath the throne. Pale and half-starved, their ghastly appearance made Innominata think of death, but they were not the ones on trial. She almost wished for their fate instead.
There was a figure on the platform, bound with her fin and body exposed, but her head was covered in a mass of seaweed. The girl saw this, and a terrible feeling gathered in her stomach. Guards were at the ready, and all was deathly silent. Innominata chanced to glance at the silver-eyed nymph beside her. The other stared forward at the throne, completely unmoved, and the girl tried to channel her bravery.
It was then that another nymph came into their midst, this one known by all. She was covered from head to tail in platelets of hard scales. Her head was like a mask of armor, but her blue-gray face beyond was almost pretty for a nymph of the perfect variety. She wore a large helmet of coral as if it were a crown, and Innominata knew that she was not the only one who realized what this happening meant. This was not a casual audience if she had called them.
The sovereign floated near the platform so she could address them all. She was their mistress, and she had ultimate power here.
“Thank you for coming, guests,” the Mistress mocked in an echoing voice of sounds that carried well through the water. This was the language of the nymphs, and all the imperfects understood. “Those of you before me are special. You have been chosen out of all the others to be attendants to the throne. Many of you stand for the warriors during our surface feedings. With that comes more freedom, but also with that comes greater responsibility. There are rules. They are simple and few: you may not speak to one another in the human tongue, or at all in the presence of your captors; you cannot wander away from the places you have been assigned, and you cannot take a human into your mouth for food, or into your body for pleasure. You may not fill yourself with his blood or his seed.”
Innominata could have recited these rules if she had been asked, but she had not been, and so she kept her mouth clamped shut, her pale hair drifting around her like a net.
“You all know these rules, and yet you still disobey,” the Mistress told them. “Why is this? Is it because none of you believe in consequence? Have you become so comfortable? I have a story to tell you, and it involves one of your own. You might recognize her.”
The Mistress turned to the nymph who was folded on the platform, removing the woven seaweed hood from her face. Innominata recognized her only because she was imperfect. The significance of her looks meant nothing, except that the slave had been beaten, her face bruised and bloody, even beneath the blanket of her red hair. The sight was a horror and a tragedy, summoning up feelings of empathy in the golden one.
Calm, she urged herself. Just remain calm.
“This one thought she might slip in among us during the feeding and have a bit for herself,” the Mistress accused. “We caught her pleasuring herself with one who was meant to be prey. She thought she could hide him in some wreckage and keep him for herself. You all will be relieved to know that he did not escape. And as the guilty always are, she was found out. One of you was good enough to come forward and reveal the truth. Your loyalty will not be forgotten.”
The Innominata was not quite surprised to hear that, but it clenched her heart. Why would one slave draw attention to another’s sins? If they did not have each other, they had nothing. She only knew that it hadn’t been her.
“I want to make sure you all know that this cannot stand,” the Mistress said. “You are not allowed to partake of our fare, and you are not allowed to reproduce. And so, I want to show you what happens when you break the rules.”
One of the nymph guards came forward with an iron box in her hands, slightly deteriorated, but whole.
“Please,” the guilty one gasped weakly. “P-please no.”
The box was opened and the Mistress reached inside, withdrawing a creature with orange-brown skin, a bulbous head, and eight searching tentacles. An octopus. Innominata had seen one before, and she hated to admit it, but she had also seen one in a situation like this.
“I—I didn’t do anything,” the red-haired slave continued to protest. “Please, Mistress; I’ll never stray again!”
The Mistress did not hear her, amber eyes unfeeling. She turned with the mollusk and set its beaked mouth against the slave’s bleeding face, despite struggle and protest. The nymph’s shrieks cut through the water, but no matter how she moved, she could not shake the creature free. The octopus was swift to wrap itself around her head with all eight legs, tightening against its newfound sustenance, while the imperfect screamed and cried in desperation.
Innominata winced. She always felt too strong a link, feeling what others felt—their pain, their emotions. As a deep sea nymph, that was a terrible flaw. She tried to keep herself composed like the dark one beside her. She was practiced by now, but it was almost not enough.
Once the Mistress was sure that they had all seen and heard, the guard closed the iron box over the slave’s head, muting her screams, locking her away in the dark with the creature that would slowly devour her. Her body twitched and struggled, and Innominata was trying to hold in her own discomfort, but she knew her face was contorted. She did not want to watch, but she dared not turn away.
“Remember this when you think to disobey,” the Mistress said, and
for a moment, her eyes locked on the golden one. Innominata feared that she would be called forward, but a second later, the Mistress’s gaze had moved on, drifting as if she had not meant the attachment to her gaze.
“That’s all. Take them back to the deep.” The girl was glad to avert her eyes. Even though what she really wanted was to stop this from happening, she could not make a move, lest the same should be done to her.
The guards began to usher the captives back into formation with their spears, and once again, Innominata met the eyes of the dark-skinned nymph with the silver tail. They shared a long look, but did not speak to one another, as they were not allowed. Silent, they let the guards take them away.
Chapter Two
Seeking Bliss
Ages ago, and for thousands of years, the sea had a king who ruled from beneath the waves. On land, he was called many names, though his true title was unpronounceable by the human tongue. The inconvenience of that aside, he was more than a ruler charged with keeping the waters. He was a god. He could create and destroy with a wave of his hand, just as his brothers could do, for they were likewise gifted—one in the air, and one in the world below. Also like them, he was full of vanity.
The Sea King created a race after his own image, more monster than human, as was his wish. He ruled over the sea and all creatures therein—over the mer-people who resided in the dark depths. His desire was never to conquer, but to exist for himself—for worship; for his own pleasure.
Even so, he had many conquests, of nymph and god and monster, of human and even beast. He could change himself from man to fish at will, and walked between both worlds. He was mighty and attractive, even to human eyes, but there was fear in him. He was immortal in time, yet he obsessed over the thought of being replaced.
Over the many years of his rule, he kept his own race populated, the children all his own. He was their father, and their mother was the sea—no matter what poor soul delivered them. But fear. He never let male offspring live for fear of being struck down, dethroned. In the end, there was no one left to take his place.
