Submerged_a mermaid tale

by Pauline Creeden

  The healer’s hand falls from his chin, and his eyes grow a little bit wide. But he doesn't say a word. Instead, he heads towards his nesting and the many vials and bottles that he keeps there. His hands touch each of the bottles gently, but his eyes are squinting again. He hesitates.

  “Would you like me to help you?” I ask.

  He glances at me with a self-deprecating half-smile. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

  I step forward without having to be told twice. I eye the many different-colored ointments and medicines he has stored there. “What are you looking for?”

  “You are looking for three bottles. Each one is an herbal remedy to speed up healing and help with pain. We will mix the three together and create a bubbler salve with the innards, or mesoglea, of jellyfish to help it absorb readily through the skin.”

  “And this will help her?” The sound of using jellyfish innards seems a bit strange to me. “Will it really work?”

  “On their own, Mer heal quickly because of the salt in the sea, and the water magic we all contain in our bodies. Because females have weaker water magic, they heal slower. With this salve, her wounds should heal within three days or so, but not without scaring.”

  I fix my glare on him. He knows who I’m talking about, even though I haven’t said her name. He hasn’t said her name, either, so it makes me feel a little bit assured that he won’t mention the situation to others quickly. Besides, he’s helping me, so doesn’t it also make him complicit? Still, my heart constricts in my chest.

  He rests a hand on my shoulder. “You are doing the right thing. It’s unprecedented, but the right thing, nonetheless. I promised her I would take care of her father, even if she chooses to stay away for the rest of his life. She can rest assured of it. You can rest assured of my silence.”

  A lump forms in my throat. Verona had a confidant all along in the healer at the convalescing cove. Suddenly, I wish I had met him sooner, as well. Maybe I wouldn’t have suffered all of these years trying to hide my true self from others. He nods in the direction of the bottles, and we focus once more on the task at hand.

  I BREAK THE SURFACE of the ocean and peer at the island in the distance. The breath of salt water burns against my lungs as I hold it for a bit before I finally release it. Water spills over my chin, and I pull in the first lungful of air. The burning intensifies. Coughs rack my body. I shake from the exertion until I expel every drop of water my lungs hold, and they are filled with air. My eyes sting, and I blink several times before I begin to feel some semblance of normal.

  Across the water, an uninhabited island sits in the light of the nearly full moon. Tomorrow, the moon will be full, the only time a Mer is able to traverse the distance between the water and the land. Movement on the shoreline captures my attention. A group of ponies wander along the tall grass, their tales swinging in the wind.

  The island teems with life of all kinds, but none of them human. It comforts me that there’s a place like this. I swim south along the shoreline with my head just above the waves, taking stock of the rocks and surrounding terrain. When I reach the channel on the other side, I find flotation devices attached to crab pots filling the waters. I dodge them and continue around the unoccupied boats to watch the shore of the other island, the one humans occupy.

  For safety, a bottom feeder should always choose an island to reside upon. The mainland holds more dangers than islands do. We know there are certain hunters on the mainland who will attack a Mer on land. At Bermuda Township, it’s almost common knowledge that a bottom feeder should choose an island to take their first steps, but would Verona know?

  Her mother fractured their family by denouncing her life-mate. The man in the nesting at the convalescing cove had succumbed to dementia. What kind of home life could Verona possibly have had? If her mother’s family has a proxy on land, would they share that information with the daughter of a bottom feeder who is destined to become a bottom feeder herself?

  Any other family’s proxy would never take in a Mer with the marks of the bottom feeder or else I would offer ours. I frown. Across the water, I find some of the houses lit up with electricity on the second floors, but most of them are as dark as the deep waters at night.

  I nod, happy with what I’ve scouted out, and head off to find the next item on my list. My family would likely disown me if they find out my plan. But for the first time in my life, I don’t really care what my family approves of or doesn’t. I’m doing something for myself, and it’s a lightness and freedom worth the punishment that might come later. Right now, my stomach is calm, and I feel at peace.

  I WAKE WITH THE FIRST light of morning, disoriented. The reef is the wrong color, and the surface of the ocean seems much farther away than it should. It takes several minutes before I truly realize where I am and what I’ve done. I’m not home.

  My heart begins to race. I am overwhelmed by battling feelings within me. I feel excitement and regret. I wonder if I'm doing the wrong thing. But it really doesn't matter, because I'm going to do it anyway.

  I stick a hand under the reef and look for the shell that holds the salve I got from the healer. My fingertips brush against the rough covering of the outside layer. Gripping my spear, I start in the direction of the reckoning post.

  A crowd is already forming. The chattering around me and the general feeling of joviality makes my stomach churn again. It’s all so frivolous. I can't stand the thought of what is supposed to happen today. I grip my spear tighter and think about running through the crowd to save her, just like Gabriel did when he ran through the pod of tuna. But I am no fool. I do know better than that. A show of force of that kind would accomplish nothing except push me into the same fate as Verona. And she would still have to face hers. My plan is much better than that; I only need implement it.

  The sun’s light filters through the waters, giving the shallow area a shimmering appearance. The crowd keeps their distance from the wooden piling in the center of the clearing. The barnacle covered post is buried deep within the ground, but enough rises above the sand exposed to do the job it is required for. In front of me, two maidens are discussing the events of the day.

  "I hear that she dared to touch the child of one of the court ladies," the first maiden said, running a hand through her dark hair, which has less patina than Verona's. Lack of patina is supposed to be a trait of the bottom feeder.

  “Worse than that, I hear.” The second maiden shakes her head in disapproval, and meets my eyes for just a moment before turning away. She leans in toward her neighbor, and whispers still loud enough for me to hear, “It’s her fault that Gabriel, the Elder’s son, may never swim again.”

  I swallow the lump suddenly forming in my throat. Never swim again? I feel as though I have been slapped in the face with reality. The healer had said as much himself but had said it more gently. He had said that with time Gabriel might recover. It doesn’t take a genius to think he might not recover just as well. So why did I never think of that?

  The first maiden gasped. “It’s that bad? I had heard he was injured but didn’t realize just how bad things had gotten. This bottom feeder deserves exile more than any I’ve ever heard of. Maybe she should never be allowed to return.”

  My fist tightens around my spear as I clench my grip. Heat rises to my face, and I hold myself back once more, just to keep from correcting the maidens in front of me and giving myself away. A commotion starts at the front of the crowd. Verona is being led into the clearing. Her hair shimmers in the sunlight. And I'm taken aback by how pale she looks for the first time. Her gaze remains fixed on the ground. Two of the Elder’s guards stand at each of her shoulders, lording over her in a ridiculous manner. As if one guard wouldn't be enough. Verona wouldn't have fought them for her freedom anyway, and it's not like anyone else was going to fight the decision that made her the bottom feeder. The Elder stood to the side along with his group of court ladies and gentlemen. Each of them glare at Verona, preparing themselves for what comes
next. Sadists. The whole group of them are about to inflict pain upon her that I would not be able to stop. It sickens me when I think about the fact that I can't change it.

  With rough hands, one of the Elder’s guards ties Verona to the post. Her chest is pressed against the dry raw barnacles that still remain fixed on the wooden piling. Her eyes close. Then the crowd begins.

  "Ugly!"

  “Repugnant!”

  “Insolent!”

  “Ignorant!”

  The names continue as the crowd yells more and feed off each other. They curse her with names she does not deserve. But worse yet, the Elder and his court begin implementing the marks of the bottom feeder into the skin of her back. Claws rake against her back, filling the water around her with a bloodied cloud. They strike her over and over again in quick succession each direction until the scars on her back could not be mistaken for anything else. Fourteen times. Each of the court and the Elder all strike her with their left claw and their right. Deep gouges cover her shoulders, down her back all the way to the beginning of her scales. Not once did she scream or cry.

  The crowd already begins to scatter, and I couldn't stay there alone, or I'd be discovered. So I back away a bit with them, then I turn and watch as the Elder rips the ties off from her hands.

  I remained close enough to observe where she was going to go and what she was going to do. She had a decision to make. Would she go on land? Or would she attempt to outrun the sharks who are coming? The scent of blood in the water, and her heart racing, would be enough to attract them. It was the reason the Mer had scattered so quickly. She darted toward the south, and I followed her.

  Electric currents in the water tell me sharks are approaching. I grip my spear tightly and follow after Verona. I keep my eyes open for the possibility of a prey that would entice the sharks more than she would. Sharks do not like to eat Mer. They prefer fish, or even seals, to the taste of meat of Mer or humans. So, if I could just find a prey worthy of their attention, they would let her go. A little east of the direction she is heading, I feel the presence of something with great potential. Marlin. It is prey the sharks would definitely prefer. I take note of the direction Verona is heading, then I rush in the direction I felt the marlin.

  Not far away, I hear a long squeal following a chirp. It is the distress call of a dolphin. The dolphin didn't make the sound; it’s Verona. My heart races and beats harder against my chest. Was the danger closer to her than I thought? She hasn't had enough time yet to make it to the deeper waters. If she stays closer to the bottom floor of the sea in the deep water, she can avoid the great white sharks and other, bigger predators, because they prefer staying close to the surface. I'm torn. Do I rush to her defense? Or do I go after the marlin that can save both her and me? Work smarter, not harder, I had once heard someone say. If I am to try to defend her against the sharks and fight them with my claws and my spear, it is possible that I would not be able to avoid injury.

  I am much better off going after the marlin. Reason wins over my emotions this time. I discover the marlin is small when I reach it. Smaller than I'd expected, but I believe it’s big enough. I rush toward it like an arrow, stabbing it a hand’s breadth below the gills. I need it to struggle, so it will entice the sharks even more. The last thing I need is to bring them dead meat, because they would reject it unless I rip it to shreds. I cannot do in the amount of time I have to get this done.

  At the end of the spear, the marlin puts up a good fight for his size. I struggle with it, dragging it with me in the direction I'd heard the chirp and squeal. Then I find the sharks which had left the electromagnetic pulses on the current. They have begun to circle Verona, who remains perfectly still in the water close to the bottom floor. Smart. Then the sharks break from the circle and head my direction. The marlin is working. Slapping it with my tail, I launch it off of my spear. It is injured enough to struggle but not be able to run very far. I dive as soon as the sharks reached me. I grip my spear and head toward Verona, who still remains unmoved. Her features are a mixture of fear and acceptance. She has accepted her fate as death. But she is still scared, and her emotions are easily read in her expression. I draw closer to her, my face just behind her as she opens her eyes and stares up at the sharks above her. Then she turns toward me. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she recoils a bit in shock. I frown.

  "Hurry—before they finish." I back away from her, but she continues to remain unmoved. I cluck my tongue and dart forward, grabbing her by the arm. I yank her away with me.

  Suddenly, she jerks her arm from my grasp. "You can't do this. You can’t help me."

  I sneer at her. “A mermaid with half a brain would say thank you.”

  I snatch her wrist again and drag her along with me. For a while, she follows along reluctantly. A small voice comes up behind me as we swim along. "Where are we going?"

  Frustrated with all her questions, I answer, "Shut up and swim faster. We need to get salve on your wounds so they will clot. I’ve got some hidden this way."

  We swim in silence toward the shallows until we find another reef. It's round and in hues of purple and orange in the bright sunlight. I remembered the colors from this morning. There is a buzz in the current again. This time, there are only two sharks, it seems. When we get to the reef, I release her arm and duck under to retrieve the hidden salve. I press my cheek against the reef and dig in the sand below because, for a moment, I can't find it. After a short bit of searching, I pull the clamshell out and bring it over.

  Verona is frowning and rubbing her arms as though she is cold. The warm waters around us could not possibly be causing her issue. Has she lost too much blood? Her eyes train upward and meet mine, and I show her the shell. But she doesn't move; she just continues to stare at me as though she doesn't know what to do. I scowl at her. "Turn around."

  Obediently, she turns about and exposes her back to me. The wounds are deeper than I imagined. Each cut in her back seems as though it was made by Mer claws an inch longer than my own. I hesitate, because even though I've been holding her wrist, the thought of touching her this intimately makes my blood race through my veins even faster. I bite my bottom lip, scoop some salve with my fingers, and then rub it in as roughly as I can, to get over myself. I need to get the salve into each of these wounds as deeply as I possibly can. Doing it in a halfhearted manner would never work. Rubbing it in roughly is best not only for her but also for me. Finally, I get the last of the wounds covered in ointment and pull away my hand which is tingling from the jellyfish innards. Her tense shoulders relax.

  "Thank you," she whispers with a sigh. I've only used a small portion of the salve, which is good because I need it for at least three or four days. I close the clamshell and place it under the reef. This is good enough. I've done my duty, but she's not going to be able to put this medicine on her back alone. Her eyes meet mine, but they are half-lidded. There's something about the way she's looking at me now that stirs my heart within my chest. I clench my fists so that my claws dig into my palm and I cause pain to get control over my emotions. I shake my head. "I will come back and apply the salve again tomorrow. Meet me here when the sun reaches its zenith." Then I shove my spear into her hands, and point to the west. "If you go that way a bit, you'll find an island only inhabited by wildlife—there are horses there, which will give you a warning of wolves. If you decide to go ashore, you'll have to swim farther to the next island where the Landwalker's are."

  She shakes her head, her eyes still filled with fear. "I... I won't."

  I don't know why, but her fear makes me angry. I lift my chin. "I didn't expect you to. Cowardice is another symptom of a simple mind."

  Why did I say that? My chest burns and my face reddens. I can't stand the fact I said that. It almost felt as if Stacia had possessed my body as a ghost and said those words for me. But no, I can’t blame anyone else. Instead, I did what all Mer are programmed to do when they speak to the bottom feeder. And I'm ashamed of myself, because I thought I was
better than that.

  Her voice brings me back to the present. "Why are you helping me?"

  I sneer in frustration, not wanting to give a good answer. I refuse to acknowledge my overwhelming emotions, and I narrow my gaze at her. "Pity."

  Stupid. That wasn't the answer I should've given. But somehow it had just come out of my mouth. I shake my head and turn to the east without another word. She calls after me, "You'll be back?"

  "Thickheaded. I already said that I would." I yell it over my shoulder, as I continue away undeterred, refusing to look back. The waters in this area of the Atlantic are cooler than the ones closer to the community. I swim through them feeling a little bit lonely, feeling a little bit accomplished. Because I know that I've done what was right this time. But somehow I keep saying all the wrong things to her. It's like I don't even know how to be honest with her or even myself. I called her a coward? Never in my life have I seen anyone more brave. Pity? The last thing I feel for her is pity. Somehow, the words that come out of my mouth are the opposite of what I actually feel. Tomorrow, I would get another chance. And maybe somehow I will find a way to be honest with her.

  Chapter 8

  “Where have you been?” my mother hisses through her teeth. Her glare shoots daggers into my eyes until I finally drop my gaze.

  I frown at the seafloor. “I’m sorry.”

  Whoever said it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission must not have suffered from a stomach ailment, as I do. I burn and churn to my core.