Siren's Call (Dark Seas)

by Debbie Herbert

  His knees wanted to buckle at the burning wave of pain and Nash stiffened his spine to stay upright.

  “And now the other side,” Sam said. “Almost done.”

  Again? Nash braced for the new onslaught.

  His grandfather made quick work of it. Three new cuts were carved on the opposite side, in the same location as the first set of markings. His gut cramped in agony and he staggered. A faint drumming sounded in his ears, gradually increasing in tempo and volume until it drowned all other sound. His body vibrated in time to the pounding cadence until it abruptly halted, leaving his ears ringing in the sudden silence.

  The pain was gone, exiting his body the exact moment the drumming stopped. Nash tentatively pressed his fingertips against the set of cuts on his right side. He traced three small lines of raised skin that felt like scar tissue. He lowered his hand and stared, expecting blood. But as his grandfather had promised, there was none.

  “It’s done.” Sam’s voice was weak and he drooped in exhaustion. “The gill slits are in place.”

  Gill slits. He remembered the faint scars on Lily’s neck, same placement as his own now. His eyes narrowed at the tattoos on Sam’s neck. And he understood. “Those tattoos cover your markings. That’s how you lived undersea two days with Grandmother.”

  Sam gave a slight nod.

  “But who did the cutting?”

  “I did. Nellie provided this knife and told me what must be done.”

  Nash marveled at his grandfather’s courage. His own initiation had been much easier.

  “Now you can breathe underwater and swim to Lily.”

  “But how will I find her? How quick can I get there?”

  “Enter the sea and all will be revealed. The spirits say this is the fastest way to get to the island.” Sam’s voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. “Go.”

  Nash hesitated. “Will you be okay?”

  “Raymond will arrive shortly.”

  Nash noticed that he’d deftly evaded the question. He was frantic to reach Lily, every cell in his body screamed run, but what if Sam had another heart attack before Raymond showed up? “Maybe I should wait with you.”

  Sam shook his head. “No. The outcome will be the same whether I’m alone or not.”

  “You mean—?”

  His grandfather silenced him by placing an index finger to his lips. “The time is near. Go in peace, Nashoba. I am well pleased with you.”

  Nash read the truth in his grandfather’s eyes. I’ll never see him again.

  A brief clasp of the forearm and pat on his shoulder and Sam made his goodbye. “My spirit will always be with you.”

  He watched as his grandfather walked away, his steps slow but back straight and head held high. Overwhelming sadness rooted him to the spot.

  A blue jay flew within inches of his face, beating its wings. Scraa, scraa. Save Lily, it screeched. Adrenaline trumped the temporary paralysis and he ran for the sea. Nash entered the water wearing only his boxers. At waist-deep level, he dove under a wave and swam as he’d always done. Eyes closed, mouth shut, arms forward, legs kicking behind. Nothing was different. His legs were still legs, no morphing into a fishtail. At last, his lungs burned for oxygen and he rose to the surface and gulped in air.

  Shit. What the hell kind of idiot was he to believe his grandfather’s fanciful legends? Nash turned his head in all directions, searching for the help he’d been promised. Water surrounded him in all directions—not even a damn seagull in sight. Nash treaded water, debating his options.

  He could return to land in hopes Tillman had secured a boat. But by the time they headed out, they were probably going to get there too late. Or, he could continue swimming, but even if by some miracle he was able to swim the distance, he’d arrive exhausted and weaponless and still too late.

  All hope rested on the undersea route.

  Nash sank in the water again and pushed forward, repeating the same, familiar motions. This time, he tried to ignore the screaming of his lungs. But it was no good. He broke surface and sucked oxygen long enough to break into a litany of cursing.

  It took his last ounce of strength to push his head above water once more. Salt stung his eyes and he coughed up water. He glanced back to the barely visible shoreline and realized he couldn’t return now if he tried. All around, the ocean stretched to infinity and the sun shone as brightly as it had when he started. Time and distance tangled into a Möbius strip he couldn’t unravel. He’d never been so disoriented with the earth.

  Think. Grandfather has never lied to me. I’ve seen and spoken to the spirits, sensed my ancestors roaming the bayou and fallen for a mermaid. Anything is possible. Before the ritual, he’d sacrificed his career and future happiness by agreeing to never leave the bayou. Now, he would sacrifice his life.

  Nash sank below the surface and opened his eyes, bracing for the sting of salt. Light green water danced with swirls of tiny black specks and bits of shell and there was no sting. First hurdle passed. His body instinctually wanted to rise for air, but he fought the impulse. My eyes adjusted, so why not my lungs? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to try until the last reserve of oxygen withered.

  The moment was upon him. Life and death suspended in the next breath. Now! Nash opened his mouth and inhaled. The sea rushed in—and bubbled out on an exhale. He took another breath, then a third.

  It worked! Nash placed fingers on each side of his neck where Sam had cut through flesh. Tiny currents of air flowed in and out. The ritual had opened superficial skin that had blocked the gills from functioning. Unknown to him, the ability had always been there, hidden under a thin dermal layer, awaiting discovery. Nash glanced down, curious to see if he sported a fishtail. But his legs were still human.

  He swam forward with speed. Must find Lily. But which direction was the island? He couldn’t tell. On a clear night, he might have been able to swim close to the surface and use the stars as a compass. But only the sun lit the sky. His grandfather said the spirits would help in navigating, but he saw and sensed nothing. Nash swam on, alert for a sign he was on the right track.

  Look below.

  Nash quit paddling, uncertain if he’d heard a voice or if the message had come from within. He gazed down at the darkness.

  Come deeper.

  The command was a vibration that rumbled in his gut and he obeyed at once. Down, down, down into the black, blind as a baby in a womb. Gradually, his eyes became accustomed and he made out shapes, which became clearer still—groups of fish, bits of driftwood, rocks and shells littering the ocean floor.

  Phosphorescent globs of light appeared suddenly like a colony of giant fireflies. But the long, slender columns of light didn’t flicker and they were tall and thin like bioluminescent strings of stalactites. Several of the lighted forms neared, coalescing into a ghostly human form. They were white, with elongated bodies and slender legs almost twice the length of humans’. Their long, silver hair billowed like clouds; the solid black of their eyes emphasized the paleness of their skin.

  The Okwa Nahollo had arrived.

  Perhaps they had been here from the start, ready to assist once he’d fully surrendered to the sea. Wonder paralyzed him at the appearance of the gossamer beings. Their figures rippled in the current and one of them drifted closer, lifting a hand and circling her fingers, beckoning him to follow.

  Nash gathered his wits and nodded to show he understood. The pale people of the sea surrounded his body, swimming alongside him like a protective battalion. Cocooned in their midst, he felt no fear. Although he moved as fast as possible, they drifted effortlessly around him and were probably capable of much greater speed.

  A shorter, younger one approached, just out of arm’s length. A male child, probably in his early teens. The boy grinned at him and pointed to his chest. Thin black lines were etched in some kind
of pattern. It took Nash several moments to grasp the design through the rippling water, but with a start he recognized it depicted the seal of the Choctaw Nation—an unstrung bow, with three arrows and a smoking pipe at its center. The tattoo’s color had faded but marked the boy as one who had once roamed on land. Nash wondered if he’d drowned long ago and was taken in by the Okwa Nahollo, or if he was an ancestor who’d chosen to live undersea to escape the once-wretched conditions of reservation life.

  Hurry. Almost there.

  The message came from a point directly ahead, and Nash refocused on his mission. Don’t let me be late. I have to save Lily.

  Abruptly, they shifted upward and he followed. By degrees, the darkness lightened until he saw sunlight flickering on top of the water. He estimated they were within twenty feet of the surface when the Okwa Nahollo halted.

  We dare go no farther.

  A woman drifted closer and pointed upward.

  There.

  Above him was a dark object, about eight feet long, wider at the middle and narrowed into a point at both ends. A paddle dipped down, stirring the water, guiding it farther from shore.

  His canoe.

  Chapter 19

  The singing stopped and Opal staggered to her feet, the paddle held out to her side in the position of a baseball player at bat, ready to swing.

  “Get out,” she hissed.

  Lily shielded her face with her hands. “Okay, okay. Please don’t hit me.” She stood, drugged legs clumsy and awkward as she stepped up onto the raised bench where she’d been sitting.

  Now. Jump.

  She took one last glimpse at Opal’s red, sweaty face, eyes focused in deadly intent, the bird of prey swooping in for the kill. Lily couldn’t resist a smile of satisfaction. “Joke’s on you.”

  Opal flushed an even deeper shade of crimson and her mouth twisted in fury. The paddle swooshed toward her, so close Lily felt it stir the air.

  She expertly dove into the sea, legs together, toes pointed and nary a splash left behind as she descended. Take that, Opal. Elation and relief made her giddy. Or was it the drug? She giggled—and swallowed a mouthful of salty water. Lily coughed and tried to draw a breath, but more water immediately clogged her lungs. What’s happening? Panicked, she looked down, dismayed to find useless human legs where her fishtail should have been. She kicked frantically while parting the water with her arms.

  Air. She needed air. Without it, her head would explode. Her lungs were a furnace, burning a hole through her chest. Lily clamored near to surface level, where Opal’s face wavered above the churning water, peering down, paddle clutched in both arms, ready to strike.

  But she had no choice but to break through for air. Her head bobbed up and she coughed up a mouthful of liquid before sucking in oxygen, the painful rasp of her inhalation loud as a siren. Another desperate gulp and then a sickening thump connected against her right cheek. Pain blazed and she fought the blackness of passing out.

  Lily moved beneath the boat’s hull, out of striking range. She lifted her hands and clung to the hull, trying to rock the boat and force Opal overboard. But she was too weak. I’m going to drown, after all.

  The irony of a drowned mermaid registered before the darkness obliterated all thought.

  * * *

  Nash watched Lily’s dive overboard. She’s safe. He swam toward her, eager to reunite. This ordeal was almost over.

  He got within a few yards before he realized something was terribly wrong. She hadn’t transformed. Lily’s face contorted with agony and she shot back up. Opal was there waiting and delivered a vicious blow that felt like he’d been struck, as well. Blood oozed from the side of her face as he covered the distance between them. She grasped the bottom of the canoe for a moment and then her hands dropped to her sides. She was sinking. Graceful even while unconscious, alabaster skin alit with a subtle pink-and-silver sparkle, lovely formed limbs slowly swaying as directed by the ocean current, long blond hair cascading above her elegant face like a staged spotlight.

  An underwater ballet of death.

  Nash grabbed Lily by the waist and pulled her by the canoe’s side. She was so, so heavy, a dead weight in his arms. They broke surface and he positioned her torso over his right shoulder, thumping firmly between her delicate shoulder blades. Lily heaved water and drew a short breath before vomiting once again.

  The wretched sound filled him with joy. He dared hope that he’d arrived in time. His body almost sagged and lowered back down in the sea from overwhelming relief.

  “Wh-what? How did you... Nash?”

  He’d entirely forgotten Opal. She plastered her body on the opposite side of the wobbling canoe, gaping as if a sea monster had bobbed up from the ocean’s depth. The oar fell harmlessly from her hands. He scanned the canoe’s interior, searching for a gun or knife, but there were no weapons. Not surprising—that wasn’t Opal’s modus operandi anyway. He searched for the shoreline and saw they weren’t more than fifteen yards out. The canoe was small and he’d have to contend with Opal’s possible interference if he tried to board. Lily’s chest rose and fell against him, her breathing shallow but steady.

  Land it was.

  It seemed he’d been swimming for hours. Despite the adrenaline rush that had pushed him on the long journey, his body had used up its last reserve of energy. The hormone crash was sudden and complete. His legs became useless appendages and he barely kept Lily’s head above water.

  From underneath, dozens of cold hands imprinted upon his back and legs, guiding and pushing his and Lily’s broken bodies. In short order his feet and knees crunched against rock and shell. Nash sat in the shallow water, catching his breath, Lily cradled in his lap. A crowd of Okwa Nahollo floated nearby, in such large numbers it appeared as if a cloud had fallen from the sky and lay suspended beneath the water.

  The youngest boy broke away like a wandering wisp of smoke and waved goodbye.

  “Thank you,” Nash called out, unsure if they could hear. He touched a hand to his heart and patted it, a final gesture of gratitude. These were his people—his kin—and the allies and friends who had saved his ancestors. And now they had saved him and Lily, as well. Without their help, his life would have become unbearably lonely.

  The columns of light departed in a brilliant ripple, leaving no trace of their presence.

  “What was that?” Opal screamed. She’d seen them—or seen enough that she appeared shell-shocked. She stood on the canoe, staring at him as if he were a ghost. “How did you get here? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  Nash ignored the questions and dismissed all thought of Opal. She wasn’t going anywhere and he’d deal with her later.

  He looked into Lily’s wan face, fear forming a tight band across his chest. She was breathing but remained unconscious. He tenderly pushed away tendrils of hair plastered against her face. An open gash cut across her right cheek, marring the perfect beauty of her alabaster complexion. He lowered his lips and kissed her forehead, which felt cold and clammy. Nash desperately sought something he could do to help her. Perhaps her lungs still contained water—he’d heard of it happening before when people drowned hours later from accidents. They called it “dry drowning” from fluid buildup in their lungs.

  It couldn’t hurt to try to pump more water. Nash laid her in the sand on her stomach, head turned so that the undamaged side of her face didn’t grind into sand. Straddling her back, he pressed his hands into her spine and several minutes later was rewarded with a trickle of brackish water that ran out of her mouth. He continued the ministrations until he was certain there was nothing more he could do.

  Lily coughed and her eyes fluttered open, seeking to understand where she was, what had happened. Nash scrambled to lie beside her and she focused on him, smiling as if it cost her great effort. “You came for me.” Her voice sounded bruised and g
ravelly, holding nothing of its usual siren’s cadence.

  “You’re safe,” he promised. “Help’s on the way.” Speaking of which—where the hell was Tillman? Nash had no idea how much time had passed.

  He glanced back again at Opal, frowning when he saw she was paddling their way. He rose to his feet to intercept her before she got anywhere near Lily. For all he knew, the crazy woman might yet have a knife or gun stashed somewhere.

  Nash waded up to his thighs in the water and raised his hand for her to stop. Opal stared at him with a wild, pleading look. She was a stranger to him, this woman he’d worked with for years, had considered a friend.

  “Please don’t be angry with me. We went for a little ride and she fell overboard. I tried to save her.”

  “Liar,” he spat out. “I saw you hit her with the paddle. You were trying to kill her.”

  Opal stretched out a hand, beseeching. “No, I was trying to help Lily, get her to grab on to the oar so I could pull her in.”

  “Game’s over, Opal. I know who and what you are now. So do the cops.”

  Her eyes flickered nervously past his shoulder, and at her sharp inhalation, Nash glanced behind.

  Lily had pulled up onto her knees and rocked back and forth on all fours like a crawling child attempting its first tentative steps.

  The sight enraged him. “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing. I—”

  “Stop lying. I know what you’ve done. You killed Rebecca and Connie.” Nash tried to control the fury long enough to find out what she’d done to Lily. It had to be something more than throwing her in the water. If that was all, Lily would have shape-shifted and swam away. “I’m asking you for the last time. What did you do? Slip her some kind of poison or drug?”

  Opal jumped out of the canoe and waded forward. “Please. Nash, forget her. She’s nothing.” Tears ran down her face and she sobbed, her whole body shaking. “I did it all for you. Can’t you understand? I love you.”