Between the Sea and Stars
Page 6
“Go!” The old merrow jerked her finger skyward. Her voice was urgent and suddenly angry. “Go to the lone isle just beyond the reef. This is your chance, kaereste. Do not waste it. Do not allow your brother’s death to be in vain.”
Lena didn’t wait to hear the merrow command her again. She gave a small, thankful nod to Asger, then glanced warily at the merrow woman. With a hard flick of her tail, she swam back toward the surface.
Once, only once, she peeked over her shoulder, her gaze baited by a senseless possibility, a desperate hope. But Javelin wasn’t there, floating beneath her, calling her home. Her brother was gone, forever lost.
Lena dragged a ragged breath over the sob lodged in her throat, and pressed forth.
A stinging sensation seized her arms as she pushed through the strong currents. She ignored it, and broke into the crisp air once again. Her chest felt as though it were on fire. She twisted round, squinting through the storm, and spotted the half-sunken ship, still burning, still surrounded by thrashing men. The melodies of the Fosse-Søfolk filled her ears, gentle and sweet, rising above the violent crash of the waves.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, and launched herself away from the doomed sailors, toward the distant crest of dry sand. As she swam, a hushed voice floated into her head.
All will be forgiven, Lena . . . Lena, you belong to the sea. Do not turn your back on your own kind . . .
She shook it away, and squeezed her eyes shut as she stroked through the water, toward land. Her fins were tired and sore, but she continued onward, eyes narrowed against the pain. The storm seemed to ease the farther she swam from the shipwreck. The rumbling thunder grew weaker, and the waves settled around her, flat and calm. The bruised sky shifted to a soft, dull gray, beckoning the night which seemed to lurk just beyond the filmy horizon.
Lena felt relief fill her as she neared the isle ahead. She dipped back down beneath the surface and swam faster, eager to put the vengeance of the sea gods behind her.
At last, the current changed, rocking her in the direction of the shore. Exhausted, she let her arms and tail fall limp as the white-lipped tide washed her toward the beach.
She grabbed handfuls of small pebbles, trying to anchor herself as wave after wave crested against her, shoving her forward. Her bare stomach scraped against the shell-choked sand. Her heart pulsed rapidly as her lungs tried to find a balance between saltwater and the cold, stinging air.
Finally, she came to a rest upon a small mound of stones. The tide tumbled over her tired fins, too shallow to tug her back into the sea. She had made it.
Panic was heavy in her heart as she peered around herself, searching for humans. The beach was empty. She was alone. Forever alone, she realized. She would never see her brother or her father again.
Weariness settled over her bones, and her lashes fell shut. She should be afraid. She should be wracked with sorrow, shaking with sobs. But she was so tired.
She rested her lips in a shallow groove in the stone, timing her breaths to the tide which rocked forth and puddled there, again and again.
She blinked once, and murmured Javelin’s name.
Then she fell deeply, blissfully asleep.
9
Lena awoke to the sound of her own cry filling her ears. She jolted upright and sucked in a breath. Her gaze jerked to the piled-up debris on either side of her, crates and wooden planks which had washed ashore while she slept.
The ship was gone. Broken by the storm, discarded by the sea.
Ahead, the water paled beneath the low, glowing globe of the moon. Lena tucked her tail against her chest and listened to the roar of the tide as it rustled over the stony beach. She tilted her chin to the dazzling, star-scattered sky, wanting desperately to marvel at the heavens of the human world. But her face was slack with sorrow, her lashes damp, her throat raw. She must have been crying in her sleep.
The merrow woman’s instructions echoed in her head. She moved her fingers to the queen’s shell and gently snapped its kelp fastening from around her neck. She shuffled her fins back into the rippling tide, wincing as her tender muscles begged her to be still. She scanned the sky again, unsure of what to expect. Unsure of how this transformation would occur . . . if it would occur at all. She wanted to trust the words of the merrow woman. She had to, now that she was all but exiled from the sea.
“Please, Mette,” she whispered, lowering her eyes to her glittering tail. Beneath the moonlight, her blue-green scales sparkled and gleamed. Fear rolled in her stomach, coiling and tightening until she felt tears begin to swell in her eyes. She blinked them away and pierced her hand with the tip of the conch.
A dribble of red blood stained her fingers. The color sent a sharp image of her dying brother back into her mind.
“Javelin,” she whispered. “How . . . How can you ever forgive me? What will father think when he learns what I’ve done?”
She curled her fingers to fists and pressed her knuckles against her eyes. A gut-wrenching sob erupted from the depths of her. Her father had lost two children today, and it was her fault. Her fault that she and Javelin would never return home.
The cool tide washed up to her waist. It pushed her body back against the mound of sand, then dragged her forward again. She submerged her bloodied hand into the clear, shallow water and cried out at the sting of salt against her wound.
“Please forgive me,” she trembled, and swept her hand over her scales, leaving a trail of blood behind. “Take pity on me, Mette,” she continued. “Save me from Poseidon. Allow me the chance to . . . to walk.” It sounded impossible in her ears. “Help me as you once helped . . . my mother.”
Her prayer caught in her throat. What had the merrow woman known about her mother? She should have asked . . . should have demanded more answers . . . She drew in a shuddering breath as the flurry of panic and urgency returned to her, twined with a raw, woeful regret. There hadn’t been time.
A steady stream of tears poured from Lena’s eyes. She gasped at the rivulets of heat each one left behind. It was the first time she’d felt her tears burn against her cheeks. The first time they hadn’t merely disintegrated into the sea.
A jolt of pain suddenly stabbed through her back, almost as though a red-hot blade had pushed itself through her skin and twisted. She recoiled and buckled against the agony.
A howl echoed in her ears, and the mournful sound was not hers.
Lena, the ocean beckoned as it swirled around her. Lena . . .
The tide moved more forcefully against her body. Water rushed over her skin, flattening her spine against the sand. There was nothing she could do but remain still as the foam-crested sea glided over her fins, her stomach, her arms, bathing her again and again.
A crippling pain clawed through her tail, shredding muscle, tearing her apart, and she screamed. The mutilating spasms intensified as they climbed to her navel, where scale and skin converged.
Lena’s shrieks were muffled by the waves as they rose up and crashed over her writhing body. She sobbed her brother’s name, wondering if he’d felt a pain like this when he’d dissolved into nothing.
She bucked her naked body against the sand, as if she could flail away from the anguish of being reformed. She gasped, trying to regain control over her breathing. Her chest strained for air, needing it in a way she’d never experienced before.
Slowly, the urgency of the tide receded, and the pain of Lena’s transformation began to ebb. She could feel the change below her waist—two tails, stiff and smooth. Were they . . . legs?
Her fingers released the shell, dropping it onto the beach beside her. Carefully, she trailed the pads of her fingers down along the planes her stomach, and lower, to the place where her tail had been moments ago.
Now, instead of scales, her skin continued, soft and flush. She eased onto her elbows and passed her eyes over the rounded cusps of . . . what were they called? Knees. And there, beneath them, her feet.
She shook her head with disbelief and snatched
up the conch before the sea could wash it away. She peered down at it, desperate to know how any of this was possible. She had human feet. She had legs.
A wave broke forcefully against her stomach, shoving her back into the sand. She felt her lungs fill with seawater. Her throat stung as she coughed harshly, trying to catch her breath. She could no longer breathe underwater, she realized. If the undertow claimed her, she would drown.
She tried to scramble away from the tug of the tide, but even the slightest movement sent a blast of searing pain through her body. Water rushed over her lips and pummeled down her throat again. She gurgled and hacked it back up, desperate for air. Was this what drowning felt like? Was this the sort of pain and panic Asger inflicted on innocent humans?
If given the chance, would he drown her now, too?
Lena heaved in a ragged breath, unsure if she would ever be able to face those fiery amber eyes again. Perhaps this was what she deserved after Javelin’s death. She set her jaw and dragged herself further inland, away from the pull of the sea.
Her eyes were bleary with saltwater and tears as she rolled to her back and tipped her gaze to the sky. The moon was brighter than she’d noticed before, and the beach was somehow emptier. There was nothing but her, the unending ocean, and the illuminated shore.
“Javelin,” she whispered into the glimmering silence. Sorrow streamed from her eyes as his face floated into her mind, as she watched him die again and again. “I should have listened to you,” she wept. “It should have been me. Poseidon should have punished me.” But he had punished her. Losing her brother, her father, her family, was a worse fate than losing her life.
The pain began to throb again as it bleated through her body, sweeping over the arch of her feet and spearing into every newly-formed toe. Understanding ripped through Lena’s mind, worse than the blades razing over her skin. She could never return to the Skagerrak Sea. Her home in Sogen Hav was forever out of her reach. Everything she’d once known, everything she’d ever loved, was lost.
She was on her own, in a world she didn’t understand.
10
“Hey, are you alright?”
A deep, unfamiliar voice startled Lena awake. She struggled to open her eyes, squinting against the blinding brightness of the sun. She glimpsed the pink conch nestled in the sand beside her cheek and darted her hand after it, yelping at the motion.
Was this what it felt like to live on the surface, she wondered? Were humans in constant, debilitating pain?
“Froken? Miss? Are you injured?”
The voice was closer now. Lena opened her mouth to respond, but a cough rasped over her throat instead. Her lungs felt gritty and coarse, ravaged by the harsh saltwater and crisp air.
She clutched the conch in her fist. With a groan, she raised her shoulder blades up from the beach, lifting her head just high enough to refasten the necklace around her throat. A flush of fresh anguish coursed through her. With a whimper, she dropped her head back to the sand.
A shadow fell over her. Lena’s pulse stuttered as the shape of a man—a young, human man—came into focus. He hovered beside her, confusion etched on his features.
“Froken, can you hear me?” He ducked low, so their brows were nearly touching, and inspected her. His breath was warm on her skin, his eyes as crystalline blue as her brother’s had been.
Javelin.
His name soared up from Lena’s chest on a sob. Before it could tumble over her lips, the man clamped onto her shoulder and shook. Lena’s eyes widened with fear and surprise. The man emitted a short laugh of relief.
“Thought you were dead for a minute there. Washed up from that shipwreck yesterday. Are you hurt?”
Lena’s croaking reply was once again mangled by a cough. The man hooked his hands under her arms and heaved her upright. He thumped his palm over her back until her hacking ceased. Then he crouched on his haunches and stared at her.
Lena’s gaze fell to her breasts, passing over the tangled strands of pearl and shell which crisscrossed over her chest. Her eyes searched for a lingering scale, a stubborn patch of slick, oily flesh—any sign of the merrow she’d been mere hours ago. But there was nothing to give her away. What was he leering at then, she wondered?
A cool breeze fluttered over her skin, rustling the salt-stiffened curls which stuck to her throat and cheek. She shivered. With a wince, she tugged her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, desperate to shield her damp body from the cold. The man cleared his throat and snapped his eyes to hers.
“Here.” He tugged the strange fabric covering he wore over his head and waved it at her. “I didn’t mean to . . . I wasn’t looking at your . . .” He flushed crimson and scowled. “Take it.”
He tossed it into her lap.
“I’m Jace, by the way. I live just over the sand dunes, toward the village.”
He motioned behind him, then returned his gaze to Lena, who was puzzling over the fabric, pulling it this way and that. Was she to wear it as he had? It was soft and warm and . . . not wet.
“For God’s sake,” Jace muttered, snatching it back again. “I know it’s not a gown, but at least it’s dry.” He yanked it over her head. “There,” he said.
Lena ducked her chin to look at herself.
“Just . . . put your arms through the sleeves,” Jace instructed, furrowing his brow. Lena stared blankly at him. “Are you daft?” he asked her. “Like this.”
Somewhat awkwardly, he slipped his hand into a hole on the side of the covering. He pulled her arm through by the wrist, then did the same on the opposite side.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” A teasing glint sparked in his eyes. “Do you have a name, froken?”
Lena pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak. What if he found out she’d been a merrow? Would he thrust a dagger through her back? Would he try to drink her blood?
Her heartbeat accelerated at the idea. She jerked backward. If she’d had her fins, the motion would have sent her sliding a fair distance through the sea. As it was, she barely managed to put an inch between them. Jace raised a brow and stood.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to my family’s inn. We’ll get you something to eat and then we can . . . we can figure out what to do with you.”
What to do with you. Lena frowned and lowered her eyes. Beneath the surface or above, men always thought they knew best. But . . . maybe they did. If she’d accepted Asger’s proposal, if she’d listened to Javelin when he’d warned her not to spy on the human world . . . maybe her brother would still be alive. Then again, every merrow man she’d ever known had called humans vile, remorseless, and dangerous.
Jace offered his hand. When she hesitated, he reached for her and hauled her up.
“I can’t just leave you bare-assed on the beach,” he grumbled. Lena wobbled, and clutched onto his shoulders for balance. The nearness of him sent a tremble through her body, but . . .
She tilted her head, studying his clear sapphire eyes. He certainly didn’t look dangerous. In fact, he looked strikingly similar to Javelin, to Asger, to Carrick. His skin was softer than a merrow’s, perhaps a shade darker, bronzed by a lifetime in the sun. His sandy hair wasn’t glossy, slicked smooth by the sea. It didn’t float around his face, swept up by the current. Instead, it crested his shoulders, flat and mostly unbothered by the breeze. Perhaps he truly meant her no harm. Perhaps he didn’t know who—what—she really was.
“Easy does it,” Jace said, derision curbing his encouragement. “Do you still have your sea legs, or what?”
Sea legs? Lena crinkled her nose. As far as she knew, there was no such thing.
Jace braced an arm around her waist. He took a step, nearly dragging her along as her toes curled under her feet and buried in the sand. Pain erupted in Lena’s ankles and spiraled upward, causing a moan to slip from her lips. Jace jolted to a halt. He turned to face her, removing his arm from her waist. Lena stumbled and nearly went toppling back into the sand.
Lena froze. Jace shifted his square jaw, then blew a wisp of brown hair from his eyes, considering her too closely.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Sprained ankle, maybe? Concussion? Do you remember hitting your head?” He paused, waiting for her to say something, anything. “Do you speak?”
Lena could hear his tone teetering on the edge of annoyance. Carefully, she bobbed her head in a nod.
“Yes,” she whispered. Jace raised an expectant brow, but she offered nothing more.
“Well, that’s a start, I guess,” he sighed. “Let’s get you to my mother’s inn. We’ll talk there.”
He gestured with his chin back toward a grove of towering, green-tipped flora. Trees. Lena had heard of them, as tall as underwater volcanoes, as sturdy as stone. She tipped her head back, awed by their vibrancy, their size. She felt Jace’s arm slip back around her middle. This time, she would do it, she told herself. She would wince through the pain, and she would walk.
Jace shuffled her forward, one step, then two. On the third, her ankles tangled together, and the earth slipped out from underneath her.
She dug her fingers into Jace’s arm to keep herself steady. He hissed as her sharp nails embedded in skin.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. He tightened his hold around her waist, then shifted his other arm underneath her knees. With a low grunt, he lifted Lena into his arms.
Lena let out a started cry as he hoisted her up. She braced her arms against his shoulders and tried to squirm out of his grasp. Panic rippled through her. Where was he taking her? What was an inn? What would he do with her once he got her there?
“Would you be still?” Jace managed to say as she flailed. “Cool it! I’m trying to help you! For God’s sake . . .”
He clutched her willowy body to his chest. Lena’s muscles swelled and quivered with exertion. She was too tired and too sore to resist him, she realized.