“If we had known we could have taken him into our custody; lives would have been spared and perhaps the island would not be tainted. Yet, here we are, the bindings on the island haven’t loosened after a week, and those wretched Uplanders are still on our land.”
Eidir moved from his seat and planted his palms on the table. “Galathea denounces you from their coven and I ban you from using magic in Selith. We will not risk another incident like this again.” His smooth features rumpled as he eyed down Jager.
“Your Majesty,” Lowanna croaked as she moved forward. It was clear she didn’t expect such a harsh punishment—or any punishment, judging by the shock on her face.
“Silence! It is either that or execution.” His pale eyebrows lifted as he looked to Jager.
“Such options,” he muttered.
“Pardon me?” The king drawled, not finding amusement in the cockiness.
“You leave me no choice, Your Majesty. If those are my only options… I have no desire to meet my end yet.”
King Eidir nodded his head and moved his gaze behind Jager’s shoulder. There was a guard there with whalebone shears. “Cut his hair.”
Lowanna gasped and clapped her hands together. “Your Majesty! You cannot. He is a boy, as he said; if he came to you, it still would have been too late!”
It was no use; the king had decided.
Jager struggled. It took three men to pin him down to the floor. The shears did their job and lopped his waist-length hair off. Pieces of it floated away in the water.
He couldn’t help it; for the umpteenth time this week he wept. His hands went to his head.
A shaming, that was what this was.
Hair to the merfolk was status; it defined who they were, and here he was, bald-headed. Everyone would know if they didn’t already.
“Now, remember you are to practice no magic. Oinone may have been your Mistress, but I am still your sovereign.” King Eidir growled his words. As he swam from the room, he took whatever dignity Jager might have had left.
In the weeks following Jager’s sentencing, he discovered that he had become a pariah. His short-cropped hair was the talk of the village, and the cities overreacted when they saw him. Each time they sneered, each time they whispered about Kriegen and the monster he became, a part of him died.
They made it a point to turn their back to him, to gasp or to pull a child away. It was ridiculous, and it stung him. The townsfolk of Limnaia never cared for him, let alone the patrons of Megalopolis.
The first two weeks he allowed himself to mope, and then he could no longer bring himself to live in the house. He sold off the livestock, sold whatever wasn’t dear to him, and instead of selling the house he opted to rent it out.
The bloody thing rotted, because who wanted to live in a house that belonged to them?
Which brought him to Megalopolis, a city of business. A place where the prestigious merfolk dwelled. In contrast to Selith, wealth came first and secondly pedigree. Even in the city he received looks of disdain; word traveled fast in this wretched kingdom.
“No matter,” he muttered to himself as he swam toward a shop. The first floor was vacant, shelving units within, and although it needed work, it would do nicely. There was a room upstairs.
“So, this is where you’ll be?” a familiar voice asked.
“I think so. I think it would be best.”
Oinone smiled sadly as she swam up to him, and her arms encircled him. “I am so sorry, my boy. My heart aches for you. It all happened so fast.” Her voice cracked as she swept a hand along his bare head.
It did; all of it was a blur. In a little over a month Jager’s entire life had been turned upside down. The life he knew and cherished was gone. His brother for all intents and purposes was dead, and Jager was unable to tap into his magic, lest he incur the wrath of the king.
Some said it was a bad day, or a tragic day for mer history, but it was more than that for Jager. It was the end of life as he knew it, the end of his brother, and the end of his life amongst the Galathea Coven.
He cleared his throat and motioned toward the outside of the shop. “I was going to name it Gizmo’s. Do you remember that turtle my father had? It refused to come out of its shell unless he was around.” A small laugh came from him as he remembered it fondly.
She clasped her hands beneath her chin and smiled. “I do. He was a sweet turtle.”
Better than any octopus, he thought sourly and laughed again. “I figured I’d revive his old business of trading, too. Or something similar. I’ll figure it out.” He rubbed the back of his head and sighed heavily.
“You’re a survivor, Jager. I believe you will succeed no matter what.”
True enough, he had endured far more than anyone had a right to and perhaps that was why he hadn’t caved in on himself. Maybe it was because Jager knew even if he wasn’t in the coven or allowed to practice magic, that Oinone would not and could not abandon him.
“Oinone,” he began, “Thank you. Thank you for watching over us.” And for not opting to slaughter Kriegen when he likely deserved it. There could still be hope that he would turn to the light again, that once the bindings loosened, and he saw that the Island continued to imprison Uplanders, that his mania would cease.
It was a fool’s hope, but it was hope.
“I will always look out for you, as long as I can.” She leaned forward to place a motherly kiss on his cheek and swam away.
Gizmo’s would become his livelihood. If he could not practice magic or do something worthwhile with it, this is what he would become.
He would serve as a reminder to Megalopolis that they could not bury some secrets. No matter how many turned a blind eye. No matter how many tablets they destroyed.
The truth would always rise.
Bindings of the Sea
The country of Stenfisk overlooked the Klenod Sea; its palace stood proudly on a cliffside. Waves hurled themselves at the stony sides savagely—as if wanting to claim the land for itself. It would serve the crown right if it did, but that was another matter entirely.
Below, next to the rocky ledge, a rasping noise cut through the air. Accompanying the noise, a tan face emerged from the whitecaps. A ragged intake of breath melded with the sound of the crashing waves. A moment later, laughter mixed with the roaring wind. Black eyes opened and promptly slammed shut. Zinnia felt the sun’s rays on her face and smiled in triumph. “Oh, holy depths,” she murmured and pressed her fingers against her cheeks. There was no gentle breeze; it was a turbulent day, and it hurled the sea violently, disrupting her smooth black hair.
She blinked away the bright spots in her vision and stared up at the structure above once she moved her hands. Curiosity wove its way inside of her, gnawing at her being until she decided on breaking one rule. A rule that protected the merfolk—never surface.
Zinnia, daughter of Kohl, felt peace, and she reveled in it. Tomorrow would be life-changing, and she was ready for it—come what may.
A violent whoosh of water protruded from the surface and a rattling breath was drawn in. It surprised Zinnia and made her turn around. She stared owlishly at the individual who rubbed their eyes viciously.
“Dru?” she asked incredulously.
“The light is burning my eyes from their sockets!” he complained and slammed his eyes shut.
Zinnia laughed softly. Dru had been a friend for greater than a decade. Their friendship defied many odds; he was a Lord and heir to a great fortune in Megalopolis, while she was only an apothecary’s daughter and lived in Limnaia, which was a farming village that produced kelp and hippocampus for the rest of the kingdom. Such things shouldn’t matter, but they did. Selith held on to the old ways and traditions with a vise grip.
“Your eyes will not burn. Look, open them slowly, and raise a hand up to your forehead.” She took one of Dru’s hands and lifted it to his forehead to shield the sun and when he opened his crystalline eyes, she laughed again. “See? No scorched eyeballs,” she said an
d lifted an eyebrow.
“You shouldn’t be up here.” Dru’s voice trailed as he glanced up at the palace, a small noise leaving him.
“Yes, well, to be fair you shouldn’t be my friend and yet you are.” She swam next to him and tread the water. Dru’s skin was porcelain to Zinnia’s sandalwood. Her hair was well past her waist, the thick locks often tangling to the point of frustration. Her dark, intelligent eyes always held a sense of wonder in them. Dru had the same black hair, but his eyes were an icy blue which, set against pale skin, lent him an eerie look.
“Semantics. I don’t really give a gill what anyone thinks,” he offered and grinned at her. “I’m all for adventures, but this one… I say we should get back to the depths.” Dru looked uneasy, his pale face looking slightly green.
“Are you nervous?” Zinnia inquired. “No one will see us here,” she began to say but heard a yell. It was a ship pulling up to the nearby docks. She took Dru’s hand and pulled him into the depths once again. “Better?”
“I suppose you count them as nothing, then?” Dru offered, his full lips quivering as he attempted to keep a stern expression.
“Hm, yes, they didn’t see us and therefore they are nothing,” Zinnia retorted. She wasn’t so curious as to explore the human world; she wanted to see it. “You’re not at least a little excited about having gulped down your first mouthful of fresh air?” Zinnia’s eyes darted to her friend as she swam a distance away from him.
Dru’s eyes rolled as he followed suit. “Okay, maybe a little. Once I realized you—we—were not in imminent danger.” His tail flicked downward and propelled him past Zinnia. Dru’s tail was a rich, dark blue with accents of black; it gave him the appearance of a predator.
Zinnia’s eyes widened as he floated in front, but the look quickly faded as she used her tail to spin around him. Unlike her friend’s tail, she had several frills that floated in the current; they were an assortment of pink, orange, and red.
“I’ll race you back.” Dru flicked a piece of hair away from his face.
“Okay, challenge accepted.” Zinnia grinned and darted off through the water.
Once they made it back to the city of Megalopolis, both were huffing and puffing, their mouths split into wide grins as they laughed. Dru won; he was a great deal taller than Zinnia and he was athletic to boot. Zinnia was not, she wasn’t afraid to admit that.
“Well done, Dru,” she said, panting softly.
They each received condescending looks from the nearby mer. To say the city was stuffy would be an understatement—not only that, but Zinnia was not of wealth and they saw her as something akin to an urchin.
“Nice try.” A cackle slipped from him once he caught his breath. Dru’s eyes slowly lost the mischievous glint as they locked onto a carriage in the distance.
Zinnia nudged his arm with an elbow and kept her voice low. “Are you okay, Dru?” she whispered.
“That’s… a royal carriage,” he stated and eyed the crowd that quickly gathered around. A soft murmur began to rise around the area.
The notion of a royal in the city’s heart wasn’t strange; it was, however, strange that one would be present without a scheduled tour. Mostly, the royals stuck to scheduling events and reasons to mingle with the merfolk outside of the capital of Selith, yet here they were—or at least one was.
Guards flocked around the carriage, which blocked the view of who it could have been, but Dru was having none of this and so he took Zinnia’s hand. As he led her toward the crowd, Zinnia listened to those murmuring around them. None were clear on what was happening.
“Get back,” a guard groused loudly. He held a sword across his person. The scowl on the guard’s face said that he had every intention of using it should someone disobey. “I said get back!” he shouted again.
A frisson ran along Zinnia’s spine as she watched with wide eyes, and unbeknownst to her she grabbed a hold of Dru’s arm, her fingers pressed into his skin as the next events unfolded.
White blond hair swirled in the current around a tall merman. Zinnia felt the air seize in her lungs as she spotted Prince Loch angrily swimming from a shop. Behind him was an equally ornery individual. He was nearly bald, which was strange because their people prided themselves on their appearances. Their hair symbolized a lot and to be with no hair was almost a shameful thing.
“You may not enter my shop without reason! I have done nothing!” the bald merman shouted. His expression was not one of a humble servant of the crown. He could have been handsome if it weren’t for the scowl that warped his features.
Prince Loch whipped his head around and charged in front of the man, who was only a hair shorter. “I am your prince, the heir to the throne. Is that not enough reasoning for you? I need no other reason, Jager,” he hissed.
The name tickled something at the back of Zinnia’s mind, a story from long ago, but it was difficult to grasp and felt like something wanted to keep it hidden. Why did that name sound so familiar?
“You may be the prince, Your Highness, but you are not yet the king,” Jager responded smoothly. He did not balk when the prince loomed closer; his hands may have been relaxed by his sides, but his jaw flexed in frustration.
“Watch yourself, witch, everyone may have forgotten what happened, but the royal family has not.” Prince Loch spat his words at the other. “He is clear, for now,” he said to the nearby guards and motioned with a hand for them to follow.
Jager stood in the shop’s archway, as he glowered at the nearby crowd. “Move along, this isn’t a sideshow,” he ordered and turned his back on the crowd to escape into the shop.
“What was that about?” Zinnia realized she had been clutching tightly onto Dru’s arm, hard enough to leave marks, and released it at once.
“I don’t know. Jager bothers no one,” Dru muttered, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at his arm. “Did you have to squeeze me so hard?” He rubbed it and made a face.
“Dru, he is a witch, what do you suppose Prince Loch meant by that?” Zinnia asked quietly as the knowledge settled into her mind and clashed with the stories.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
Zinnia did not want to settle for that. She snapped her fingers and her eyes widened. “I salvaged one of the history volumes that was almost destroyed. Maybe it will enlighten us.” She looked hopeful as Dru began to tug on her hand.
“Let’s get you back home, I don’t want your mother chiding me, she’s worse than what my nursemaid was.” Dru shuddered, only half-joking. “Also, leave it to you to pull a volume from ruin.”
“Don’t forget, we have to study for the Trial, too.” Zinnia worried on her lower lip. She didn’t want to think about that, not after what she had just seen, and yet there was no way around it.
Selith’s finest attended the Academy and if a mer were fortunate enough, they could shell out enough currency to afford the curriculum for their child. Zinnia was not wealthy, but her father created a comfortable enough cushion for her to attend a school that was otherwise out of her reach.
Selith was hosting a Trial this year, which occurred once every twelfth year. The event selected not one but two of the Academy’s best students who would be named superior students, and should they want for it, to join a coven. The Masters or Mistresses only selected the strongest magic-wielding mer to join their ranks. The subject over the years became a touchy one and magic seemed to be dying out in their kind, but some clung to it like a lifeline because it was all they had attached to their name.
Dru slapped a hand against his face harder than he expected and cursed to himself. “You had to remind me.”
“Someone has to keep you on track.” Zinnia giggled as she swam away from him, and despite the earlier tension, she allowed giddiness to run through her. She wove in and out of the crowd in the city, darting away from a cart that pulled out in front of her, and pushed further away from Dru. He’d catch up, but for the moment Zinnia was in the lead, winning and carefree.
As predicted, Dru caught up in no time. His face split into a grin as he pointed at her. “You’re getting better at slipping away, sneaky,” he said and pulled away. “Zin, I will ask around about what happened at Jager’s before we showed up. Something doesn’t feel right.” Dru pressed his lips together in a grim line.
“I know, I don’t like it either. Before I study, I will pull out my old volumes and see what I can find.” It was one of the few volumes that contained the story of the Dark; all the others had been ripped from their owners and destroyed. There was a time when people feared that the darkness would spread throughout the city and that it would infect people, that magic would taint everyone, consuming them until they were just a memory.
“Okay, the sooner I get you home, the sooner I can get back here to figure out what is going on, or at least a little of it.” Dru moved toward an awaiting carriage, shelled out currency to the awaiting driver and helped Zinnia in. “To Limnaia,” he said to the driver and settled in beside Zinnia as they left.
Luck was on Dru’s side. When he arrived in front of the humble home, Aminta, Zinnia’s mother, was still at work, which meant she could slip inside the house and make it appear as if she had been there for hours. So, she did just that and pulled out the crumbling volume that covered the origin of the Kraken. Zinnia’s fingers paused over the text; this had happened several hundred years ago, and while the mer lived a lengthy life, Jager didn’t look as if he were pushing five hundred years.
She opened the volume and her heart seized; it was a silly notion, but she felt as if someone or something was watching her. Zinnia had a niggling feeling as though what she was doing was wrong. That was silly of her, but it didn’t help matters.
“Kraken, where are you?” she muttered to herself as she flicked through the pages and halted at the text that glared at her. The Dark Time glared up at her and she devoured the text that came next.
In Limnaia, they valued the brothers Kriegen and Jager. They aided Selith in times of need and when the darkest time fell upon Selith, it was they who pulled the surrounding covens together. They were powerful individually, but when they combined their magic, they were nearly unstoppable.
Secrets of Galathea Volume 1 Page 5