The muscles in my tail cramp up, and I swim through the pain for another mile before I pull up in the deepest water I’d traversed in over a month. The water envelops me on all sides, the pressure heavy on my torso and limbs, comforting me in a way that I didn’t know I need. It reminds me of home. Home? I wince and whip around to peer in its direction.
Although it is still almost a mile out, the Mer township of Bermuda glows in lively greens, blues and gold. The colors seem dull compared to the vividness of the Land Walkers, but still my heart aches to get closer to my home. I wonder what my father might be doing. He’s grown senile in his old age and doesn’t remember me, but wouldn’t he at least feel himself missing something? Wouldn’t I leave a vacuum in his life once they’d taken him away? Will our clan continue to take care of him?
I find myself swimming slowly in the direction of the city when I stop myself. My chest constricts. What am I thinking? I can’t return like this. If I’d become a Land Walker, they would welcome me with open arms. But if I don’t return with the mark on my skin, they would reject me wholeheartedly. Capital punishment without prejudice. My life would be forfeit.
My joints lock in position and I sink toward the ocean floor. I can’t return home, but I don’t want to return to my exile. Indecision claws at my insides, and my stomach twists. A new fear creeps up my spine and gooseflesh rises on my skin. I need to get out of here before I’m spotted.
My breath comes in shallow bursts, and ice pools in my belly. I try to leave, but the sudden feeling that I have no place to go overwhelms me. Slowly I swim to the west, unsure.
I can’t go back to Assateague, can I?
The horses and Betty have been my regular companions in exile. Although I’ve been lonely, I never quite felt completely alone because I could look forward to seeing them at specific times of day. But the fisherman. He’ll tell others and will be on the lookout for me now. I can’t see the horses again. But Betty? It would be a gamble for me to see the cotton haired old lady, if the fisherman is thorough with his search. But since it’s after nightfall when I visit Betty’s dock, I might be able to get away with it.
When I snap from my thoughts, I find that my body had automatically taken me toward the coral reef that Bailey showed me the first days of my exile. This would likely be a safe place for a day or two. The Mer younglings have probably given up their search for me after a month, and the rest of Merkind rarely traverse so far from home unless on a hunt. The regular lines of travel for schools don’t tend to come near this shallow reef. After I convince myself it’s safe, I rush in the direction of the reef, occasionally taking a glance back toward Bermuda. Still, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
My range vision allows me to see for a mile in each direction and not one odd movement in the current alerts me to anyone’s presence. It has to be my imagination. I often felt this way when I spent those first few days at the reef. But I was fine before.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE REEF IS FARTHER from Bermuda than I thought. Good. The chance of someone discovering me accidently is even less likely. I will be safe here for a day or so. My stomach growls, and with the sound, my heart sinks. I left the spear behind at the rocky shore of Assateague.
I peer up and find the sun is only a little past its zenith. At nightfall, I might be able to safely go back to my rocky shore and get my spear. Lately I’ve been leaving the crab pots alone; I could snag a snack from one of them while I’m there. Betty’s pier isn’t too far away from this coral reef, either. I settle down into the white sand along the ocean floor and watch a school of jellyfish head toward the shallows where they will sun in the warm waters before returning out to sea. My stomach growls again, and I rub it gently. Patience. I can wait.
My thoughts scatter in all directions. What if the fisherman rigs some sort of trap near where he saw me? It might be too dangerous to return to my hovel, even at night. Although my night vision is keen, could I trust myself to spot a trap I don’t know the nature of? I nod to myself. All I need to do is look for anything out of the ordinary.
I waver. How many times have I been told I’m not the most observant among the Mer? What if I miss something important? I slap my belly when it growls again and get mad at myself. If I don’t have the confidence to do this, I should just leave the spear for a few days or so. Could I fashion another?
“Well, what do we have here?” a deep voice asks behind me, so close the current swirls against the back of my neck.
I leap up and spin around, facing my sudden visitor.
Crystal blue eyes meet mine. His head is topped with curly blond hair. I shiver and my skin prickles. At first I think it is Bailey, but something rings wrong. This Mer’s face is harder and more deeply chiseled. More handsome? His square jaw and high cheekbones are more defined than Bailey’s. It’s Brandeeb. When I saw him in the township, I never raised my eyes enough to look him full in the face. As a bottom feeder, lifting my eyes to meet an elder’s is tantamount to insult. I swallow. Somehow, I can’t rip my gaze away now.
Those eyes narrow, and a darkness passes through them. “What are you doing here, Bottom Feeder? Do you not know your place? Your skin shows no evidence of dwelling on land.”
He snatches my hand and lifts it before his face. With a sneer, he continues. “Your pathetic excuse for webbing still unites your fingers. So why, oh bottom feeder, have you returned so near to Bermuda?”
I try to pull my hand away, but Brandeeb’s grip only tightens. I wince at the pain and stop resisting in hope that he will loosen his grip, but he doesn’t. My throat is constricted, but I do my best to work past it. “I…I…it was an accident.”
A deep bellowing laugh bursts from his throat, but his eyes flash with more malice. There is no mirth in any of it, and my body stiffens in response to the sound. It is then I notice another Mer behind him. His dark hair dances in the current, and his smile is more menacing than Brandeeb’s. The dark Mer shakes his head. “An accident? Your birth was an accident. How could this be an accident?”
My eyes sting and I try once more to wrench my hand from Brandeeb’s grip. Every part of my body aches and screams for him to let go, but instead, his other hand snatches up mine. I squeal and try again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Laughter follows, and his eyelids half close while he pushes my arms apart and looks me up and down. His sneer pulls up at the corner of his lips. “What are we to do with you, Bottom Feeder?”
A growl is the only warning. The rush of a third Mer from the side slams into Brandeeb, forcing him to release his grip from my wrists. I am pulled into the sand with them but roll away. I rub my arms, my eyes wide in shock as the dark haired Mer jumps into the fray. In a tangle of limbs and tailfins, the three merman wrestle with each other along the sand until one finally lifts his head. Bailey.
His eyes meet mine momentarily as a claw rakes his cheek. In a snarl, he shouts, “Go!”
My retreat quickens, but I can’t rip my eyes from the struggle. Go? Where can I go? My mind falters and fear creeps up. Wherever I go, danger waits for me. No one will help me. I blink. Why is Bailey even helping me?
I can’t let him do this. Not alone. I need to do something. But what? My mind fails me. I draw too close to the coral reef behind me and a sharp rock digs into my back. The sudden pain awakens me and brings me to my senses. In the month I spent alone, no one helped me catch fish. No one helped me survive from day to day. I did it on my own, and I need to do this on my own, too.
A yelp from the tangle of Mer reminds me that there are two of them and only one of Bailey. The spear. It’s my only hope. And with my mind singly focused on the tool of my defense, I dart straight for the rocky shore of Assateague.
When my sanctuary is in view, I slow. The sun overhead signals that it is still hours until nightfall. I quickly scan the rocks and sand for any sort of trap. Along the surface, I find no boat bottoms. It seems the coast is clear. But my skin prickles with a sense of danger. Somethin
g isn’t quite right. Slowly I creep closer and then I spy it. In the sunlight, the silken threads of a net sparkle before my eyes. If I had come in the night like I’d originally planned, I would have been caught. Instead, I sneak around the silken threads and find my spear among the rocks. Then I turn and speed toward the open waters.
Will Bailey still be okay? Why did he put himself in danger for my sake? I shake my head and dart to where the three Mer were. Nearly an hour has passed since I last saw them. Certainly they won’t still be there? I shiver. What will become of the one Mer who has shown me kindness in my exile? Will he become a bottom feeder now, too? I swim harder for the coral reef.
At the reef, I find the current has quieted. I search the area and find no sign of Bailey or the others. My grip tightens on my spear and I look down at it in my hands. What was I planning? Would I have stabbed one of the other Mer and become a murderer as well? There is no self-defense plea for a bottom feeder.
The scent of blood is faint in the water near where the fight occurred, and I find that there are two trails of scent that I can follow. One leads toward Bermuda, and the other, away. Bailey. He didn’t return to Bermuda with the other two. And he is injured.
I rush to the reef and dig for the clamshell of salve. It is still where Bailey left it over a month ago. With the clamshell in one hand and the spear in the other, I follow the faint trail of blood which leads me north and east. It isn’t enough blood to attract sharks. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. The blood trail is thin and faint. Chances are that I am right, but even a curious shark might follow a thin trail. I swallow and swim faster, praying that there will be no curious sharks.
The trail leads me to a stone outcropping, slightly familiar. I haven’t gone this far north on my own during the exile, but still feel that I’ve been here once before. When I pull closer, I find the opening in the stones and remember that Bailey once brought me here. The blood trail leads me directly to the small entrance. No stones cover the area.
I grip my spear and clench the clamshell to my chest. Bailey had said it was a cave—a safe place for me to stay out of sight. I call out weakly. “Bailey?”
After a moment with no answer, I push my head into the dark entrance and call again, a little louder. “Bailey?”
No sound comes except the internal ringing that happens when I strain my ears. I swallow past my constricted throat again. I have no choice. I have to go in. But when I attempt to push myself into the hole, my tail won’t cooperate. I am frozen, my body unwilling to enter. Fear chills me to the bone, and my breathing becomes erratic. Merkind is used to deep, open waters, not tight small spaces. How did Bailey even go in there?
I close my eyes and will my heart to slow, taking deep, purposeful breaths. Behind my lids it is dark. In my rocky hovel at the barrier island, I am closed in on three sides as only the top is open to the sun. This shouldn’t be much worse than that. Deep within the cave, a moan carries on the current.
“Bailey?” I call in again.
Still he doesn’t answer. Why does he stay quiet even when I call his name?
He was hurt trying to help me. I can’t let him remain in that cave in pain because I am too scared to brave going into the small space. In order to comfort myself, I start talking aloud as I swim forward a little at a time. “Fear is a natural response. It was created to keep you safe. It’s healthy and there for a reason. Unnatural fear will keep you from doing that which you have to do. To defeat it, you have to battle wills with your fear. Any battle requires you to become angry with your opponent. And the fear of losing has to be greater than the fear itself.”
My chest aches. What if Bailey is severely injured and dies because I can’t go in to him? The thought makes me rush forward into the darkness farther. I shut my eyes. It is dark anyway, so I pretend that I am out in the open while I keep my lids closed.
Inching forward, I wiggle my tail back and forth so that it barely touches the sides, but once I draw myself in a little farther, I can’t touch the sides anymore. My eyes snap open in surprise. A faint blue light glows from the cavern walls ahead. Cavern, not cave. The great expanse of the space surprises me and immediately alleviates my claustrophobia.
I spin in a circle, searching all directions at once. When I draw closer to the cave wall, I find algae that generates a mild blue-green luminescence. Then a moan echoes through the cavern.
“Bailey?” I call out softer than before.
Both his moan and his name echo from all directions, and I search earnestly before I find his prone body on the sandy floor. I rush to him.
Bailey’s eyes are closed and he doesn’t respond when I call his name. He lies on his side, clutching his torso. The scent of blood thickens in the current around his body and I lean toward him, trying to get a better look. I curse that there is not enough light in the cave for my night vision to catch. Pitch black doesn’t allow for the extra reflectors in the rods of Mer eyes to make it possible to see. I have to work with the soft glow generating from the walls of the cavern, and it’s hardly enough to make out the long scratches along Bailey’s side.
The way he clenches his stomach also worried me. “Bailey, are you okay?”
After a moment, his eyes snap open and he glares at me. “Must you be so loud all the time?”
I rock back and land in the sand on my tailfin. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re hurt and I came to see how I can help.”
He rolls his eyes. “This isn’t much. If I rest for a day or two, I should be fine. But it’s hard to rest with you flitting about the cave screeching.”
At least he’s behaving like his usual surly self. I breathe a sigh of relief.
The scratches on his cheek aren’t too deep. I hope that they’ll heal without scarring. The gouges on his side, however, look angry and might get infected without some disinfectant. I lift the clamshell before Bailey’s face. “I brought the salve for your wounds.”
His eyes are half lit in annoyance, but he positions himself to sit up. With each new move, his face contorts without his permission. He winces with every pain, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Once sitting, his breathing becomes labored and he’s exhausted from the effort. Leaning on one arm, he closes his eyes and takes two deep breaths before reaching out his free hand. “Give me the salve.”
Obediently, I place the clamshell in his hand.
Bailey concentrates on the shell, attempting to flick it open with his thumb to no avail. In his frustration, he pushes off with the hand he’s been leaning on so that he can free it, but it only forces a cry of pain from his lips. He drops the clamshell to catch himself from falling face first in the black sand.
If it wasn’t so frightening, it would be laughable. But with Bailey in so much pain, my chest constricts instead. My stomach grows queasy. If a Mer had tears like a human, I’m sure that I would cry. That is another symptom of being a Land Walker. My father is the only one of my kind that I have ever seen cry.
I reach forward and grab the clam shell, twisting it a bit as I open it and dip my finger in the cooling salve. After scooting closer to him, I meet his eyes with mine. “Lift your arm, and I’ll get the wound on your side.”
Bailey blinks at me, still breathing heavily from the exertion of his fall, and then he looks away and lifts his arm.
With gentle fingers, I probe the wound, covering it with a generous layer of the sticky white paste. Once finished, I explore his body for another wound but find none except the one on his cheek. He has severe bruising on his ribs, but no salve will help that. I brush my fingers against the bruising, and Bailey sucks in his breath. I frown. “I think you may have a broken bone.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “That is not news to me.”
I nod and dip my fingers into the salve. He flinches when I draw closer to his face, forcing another cry of pain from him.
He growls. “What are you doing?”
A sigh rises up from my chest, burying the small prick of annoya
nce I feel. Although I haven’t been this close to another Mer but my father in a decade, his resistance to my help makes me want to scold him like a child. I let the salt water escape my lips slowly. Then I inject as much sweetness to my voice as possible to placate him. “You have scratches on your face. Let me apply the salve so you don’t scar.”
His blue eyes meet mine with an unreadable expression, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Without a word, he leans toward me and offers his cheek while he averts his gaze.
I concentrate wholly on applying two thin layers of salve, as the wound is shallower but also in a more sensitive area. My breath mingles with his, and when I look up after nursing him, I find his eyes on me again.
The crystal blue pools of his eyes are deeper and less cold than they’ve ever seemed before. And in the sudden nearness of our position, I find an unfamiliar look in his eyes, forcing butterflies to suddenly burst in my stomach. The butterflies want me to draw closer to him, but instead, I back away. After clearing my throat, I say, “Finished.”
An annoyed but hurt look flashes before the usual coldness replaces it. “Good. Why don’t you leave me and let me sleep, then?”
I scan the cave, wanting to avoid meeting his eyes again. But when I finally return my gaze to him, I find that he has already returned to his prone position, and his eyes are closed. My eyes follow the lines of his body. His square jaw moves slightly as he clenches his teeth to assuage the pain.
If I was in the Pacific Ocean, I could find a puffer fish and use some of its venom to dull the pain. At the township in Bermuda, they have plenty, but I can’t go there to fetch it for him. Instead, Bailey has to suffer through it.
“Why did you do it?” The words escape me before I can stop them.
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