The Teeth in the Tide

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  Kestra glanced to her left, and there was the sea as she preferred it—far away and deceptively peaceful, rippling somber blue under a sky washed smooth with the saffron hues of sunset. Gulls darted and dodged, star-white against strips of thick gray cloud. Up here on the hill, the world was bigger than the wall, bigger than humans or mermaids.

  Mermaids.

  The very word curdled her thoughts. She looked down at her clenched right hand, loosening her nails from her palm and staring at the red crescents they had left behind in the flesh. Her eyes skipped over to the nearest garden bed, where her capparis plants had just begun to bud. At least, they’d been ready to bud two days ago. She had been looking forward to plucking those tender buds and pickling them—a rare treat that she and Mai adored. Now the capparis plants hung limp and dying, wrapped in tangles of coilvine.

  Like most island gardeners, Kestra passionately hated coilvine. It sprang up overnight, creeping into healthy beds and snaking around the stems of maturing plants, choking them. And it was practically impossible to remove the vines without damaging the host plants—unless you knew about the secret trigger, the tiny bulbs along the coilvine stem that, when pressed, prompted it to relax and release its victim. But even with that trick, removing coilvine took hours.

  Kestra stared at her wilting capparis crop, imagining the long hours she’d have to spend to save it. Legs cramping, hot sun blazing on the back of her neck. She’d done it before. It would have to be done again.

  But a sudden fury roared through her—fury at the invading coilvines, and at the capparis for being so weak, so vulnerable. She dropped to her knees and sank her fingers into the soil, ripping up chunks of earth, capparis roots and coilvine stems together, throwing the clods as far as she could pitch them. She tore through the bed, not stopping until it gaped empty and hollow, until her fingers trembled, stained with earth.

  She was still staring at her hands when the door of the garden hut burst open, and Mai’s dark head popped out. “Kestra? What are you doing? Never mind—come in here!” Mai’s voice rang with excitement, and she grabbed Kestra’s hand, heedless of the dirt. “I have something to show you.”

  Kestra let herself be dragged to her feet, into the hut, and over to a rough-hewn table cluttered with tiny wooden boxes, pottery cups with bits of plants poking out of them, a mortar and pestle, jars of colored liquid, a few chopping knives, and a scattering of scales too large to belong to fish.

  “Mai,” she said, pointing to the scales. “What are those?”

  “Mermaid scales. I found them in the river.”

  “And why do you have them?”

  Her cousin took a deep breath, clasping thin white hands. Her dark eyes sparkled in a face that most people said was too asymmetrical to be pretty—but Kestra disagreed. At just twenty years old, her cousin had a light inside her, a fierce passion that burned brighter than beauty, brighter than the lamps illuminating the shed’s shabby interior.

  “To answer your question,” said Mai, “I must first ask you one.”

  Kestra settled herself on a wooden stool. The news about Umi’s need for an assistant would have to wait. “I’m ready.”

  “How many kinds of mermaids are there?”

  “I—I wouldn’t know.” Why did everyone insist on talking of the mermaids today? Whole weeks would sometimes go by without Kestra hearing a word of them, but today—stars save her, she was about to smack the next person who mentioned the creatures.

  But she couldn’t smack Mai, bright-eyed Mai who waited eagerly for an answer.

  “From what I’ve heard, the stories and sightings—I would say that there are two or three different kinds,” said Kestra.

  “Correct! I’ve been scouring the town, collecting all the reports and histories I can find, and I’ve been compiling them. Three types of mermaids, as you said, but it’s more than that. I believe the three kinds form a societal structure. Look here.” She spread out a broad paper on the table. Its grainy ivory surface was covered in graphite sketches. “These are the low-level mermaids, the ones that swarm outside the walls and eat everything in sight. See how they’re smaller, more fishlike?”

  Kestra examined the sketch, repressing a shudder at the jutting jaw rimmed with triangular teeth, the bulbous filmy eyes, and the bony arms ending in curved claws. “How did you draw this?”

  Mai shifted her weight. “I found a dead one.”

  Kestra’s head snapped up. “You found a dead one? Where? You shouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near one of these things! Is there a gap in the wall?”

  Mai groaned. “I knew you would react like this. Calm down! The mermaid was far below the wall, lying on a rock. I borrowed Takajo’s spyglass so I could get a closer look at it.”

  “And what’s this thing?” Kestra tapped the next image. This creature appeared larger and more humanlike, but it had no nose. Its tail was rimmed with fluttering, gauzy fins and its ears were splayed wide, almost like fins themselves. A series of gills opened along its ribs. Its eyes, totally black from corner to corner, seemed to gleam with deadly intent, and thin webs joined its skinny clawed fingers. It mouth gaped, showing a double row of razor teeth.

  “This is one of the mid-level mermaids,” said Mai. “According to the tales, these mid-mermaids are the fighters, the ones who take down ships, gather food, and control the swarms.”

  “And these?” Kestra’s finger slid to the last sketch. Somehow, it was the most terrifying, because this figure looked nearly human, except for its unusually large eyes, the gills along its neck, and the scales that started at the waist and merged into sinuous fishtail. The ribcage was wider, hinting at greater lung capacity, and there was a smallish sort of nose. But the fingers were longer than a human’s, with pointed nails.

  “Ah, these.” Mai caressed the sketch. “They are the most intelligent of the three species. They’d still eat you rather than talk to you, but I’m guessing they’re the ones in charge. Like queen bees.” She pointed to a smaller, rougher scrawl. “See this? From eyewitness reports, it sounds as if they can unhinge their lower jaw to get a better grip on larger prey. And they have sharper, more numerous teeth than humans do.”

  “And no breasts, apparently.” Kestra eyed the flat musculature of the figures.

  “I’m not even sure if that’s accurate, or how gender works for them,” Mai admitted. “Although I think the men I questioned would have noticed breasts, if there were any worth mentioning. Tales and sketches can only take me so far. What I need is a live subject, preferably a mid-level or high-level specimen.” She chewed her graphite sketch-stick, watching Kestra.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I was hoping, when Flay’s ship comes in, that you’d ask him to—”

  “To do what? To catch you a mermaid?” Kestra laughed, loud and harsh. “You’re insane, Mai. That’s like asking him to cut off his own leg, or jump into the blacksmith’s blazing forge!”

  “But Flay likes you,” protested Mai. “He’d do it for you.”

  “No, he wouldn’t, because he’s not suicidal.”

  “If you approached him the right way, he might.”

  “And what way would that be? ‘Hello, Flay, haven’t seen you in months! How are you? Would you care to risk life and limb so my cousin can satisfy her curiosity about the flesh-eating monsters that surround our island?’ “ Kestra scoffed, snatching her hands away so the paper curled up with a snap.

  “Or maybe, instead of that tactic, you could offer him a kiss. Maybe a caress or two.” The calculation in Mai’s eyes surprised Kestra, as did the assumption that a seafaring captain like Flay would be satisfied with a kiss and couple caresses. Truth be told, Kestra had already allowed more than that.

  “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” Kestra said, ducking her head over the paper to hide her blush.

  “Yes. I need to know more about the mermaids, Kestra. And not just for curiosity’s sake.” Her tone darkened, and her eyes s
parked with fierce intent. “If I learn more about them, maybe one day I can figure out a way to kill them all.”

  Kestra hesitated. Odd and frenetic as her cousin could be, she was also whip-smart and unrelenting. If anyone could manage to design a way of destroying the mermaids, it was Mai.

  “When Flay’s ship arrives, I’ll talk to him,” Kestra said. “Maybe he knows of a way to safely capture one—or at least collect a dead one so you can study the body. But I won’t bribe him with favors. And—” she added, thinking quickly, “you have to promise to assist Umi in her shop for the next three weeks.”

  Mai frowned. “Wait, that isn’t—”

  “She’s losing her memory, Mai. She needs help. And if I do this for you, it’s only right that you do me a favor in return. I would help Umi myself, but you know Mama needs me for the garden and kitchens.”

  “Fair is fair.” Mai nodded. A little of the sparkle had dulled in her eyes, but she still smiled as she rubbed her palms together. “I can’t wait to get my hands on one of those creatures!”

  Kestra’s skin crawled. All she could see in her mind was a sea of moaning mouths, hundreds of open jaws filling with foam as they sank to give place to more teeth, more thrashing tails. She doubted she would have the courage to touch a dead mermaid, even if it were laid out in front of her. But if Mai was willing to study them, and if her research could someday cleanse the sea of this plague, Kestra would do whatever was necessary to make it possible. Even if that meant kissing a very attractive young ship’s captain. Such sacrifices must be made. She smirked a little, then caught herself and sobered again. “Happiness,” as her mother often said, “walks hand in hand with carelessness. And both will lead you to an early grave.”

  Like the boy who used to dance with Death along the wall.

  -2-

  Rake

  Rake floated face-up so he could see the faint glimmers of sunlight from the distant surface. His tail flicked idly, a flash of golden scales and translucent blue fin at the lower edge of his vision.

  It had been two months since he was last summoned to Court. He was beginning to hope they had forgotten about him entirely. Unlikely that the three Queens of the Realm Below would forget about their favorite breeder—but he could dream.

  He rolled over, arms outspread, staring at the softly piled sand of the cave floor. He’d chosen this cell because there were rainbow flecks in the sand, and sparkles of quartz in the walls. Pretty things to tempt his eyes when his mind clamored for distraction from this dull life with its occasional moments of gut-twisting horror.

  He could have it worse, of course. If he’d been born less beautiful, he would have been given as a slave to the mermidons, the middle class of his race—or worse, delivered to the frenzied merlows to be chewed into chum.

  At least here, under the Queens’ protection, he had safety. Food. A purpose, such as it was—fathering generation after generation of mermaids and mermidons.

  He’d never been allowed to know which spawn were his. Each Queen joined with multiple males and produced spawn every few months. Most of the spawn were female, and were immediately hustled off to the nurseries where mermidon guards staved off sharks and ordered away any ravenous merlows who came too close. Twice Rake had wandered near the nurseries, curious if any of the spawn might look like him. Both times, the guards had prodded him in the chest with their spears and snarled, “Away, breeder! Back to your quarters!”

  Frustrated by the memory, Rake swam the circumference of his cell a few times, fists clenched at his sides. During his fourth circuit, a shadow quivered across the arch of the cave, and Scythe entered.

  She slipped through the water, a slim shadow with gray scales and silvery skin. The gills along her ribs, her extra row of teeth, and her solid black eyes marked her as a mermidon, one of the warrior class. The string of pearls draped over her elongated head and finned ears announced her status as a trusted emissary of the Queens.

  Rake did not greet her. As a male, it wasn’t his place to speak first, and to do so would earn him nothing but pain.

  “You’ve been summoned to Court.” Her voice thrummed through the water, vocal chords and throat flaps augmenting the syllables.

  His stomach roiled hot and sick inside him. “Why?”

  Scythe gave him a slow smile, showing every one of her sharp teeth. She slithered toward him, reaching out, and it was all he could do not to flinch when she laid a palm against his stomach. She moved her hand lower, lower, teasing the edges of the scaly flap that concealed the only part of him they considered valuable.

  “For their pleasure,” she said. “Why else? What other useful service do you have to offer? Do you have some knowledge, gained on your own? Clever ideas? Crafting skills? Have you scouted new feeding grounds or shelter caves?”

  He swallowed. I’m not permitted to do any of those things, he retorted inwardly, but aloud, all he said was, “No.”

  “As I thought.” She moved away, toward the cave entrance.

  “I am not able to serve today,” he said, before he could think better of it. “Tell the Queens I don’t feel well.”

  Scythe curved back through the water, rising before him, anger in every edge of her sharp face. She gripped his throat, her fingers sealing his gill-flaps shut. Her claws stabbed into his skin, almost breaking through it, but not quite.

  “You dare dishonor your queens?”

  Rake shook his head mutely.

  “You will come to them, and soon. No excuses.”

  He bowed his head in assent, cursing himself for giving in so easily. But he knew what would happen if he did not yield.

  The first time he had hesitated to perform his duty, Queen Acrid had scarred him herself—a series of crescents cut along his left ribs. After another perceived offence, the Queens had him taken to the edges of the swarm’s feeding grounds, where his escorts tied him to a rock spur and sliced his skin open. He barely escaped the oncoming sharks in time. He could still feel the quivering fingers of terror clutching his organs, whenever he thought about disobeying again.

  Only one other male of his generation had challenged the four queens openly—Lance, brawny and bold, with a quick smile and muscles that could drive a spear through water faster than any mermidon. Lance had wanted to be a guard—he’d begged for the role, plotted for it, risked the queens’ anger on half a dozen occasions. But war and guardianship, like all other complex tasks, were for the females alone. His job was to produce heirs.

  When Lance pushed the Queens too far, they had ordered their mermidons to rip out every last one of his scales, until no one at Court could see anything through the blood-clouded water. And then Lance was towed to the merlow feeding grounds, where the swarms sharpened their razor teeth on rocks and ripped apart anything that came too near.

  Rake’s pulse quickened at the memory, and at the stifling sensation swelling in his chest. Scythe pressed his gills shut more tightly, her black eyes drinking his panic. He thrashed his tail, fighting the urge to grip her wrist and throw her off—but laying violent hands on a mermidon was an unforgivable infraction.

  Darkness crawled at the edges of his vision, spikes of red shooting across his eyeballs. And then, at the last second, Scythe released him. He spun away from her, his gills fluttering, frantically sucking in water and processing it. It wasn’t quite enough to restore him, or to stave off his panic.

  “Be there within the quarter tide,” said Scythe, and she swam away.

  The instant she was out of sight, he shot up, through layers of cerulean and sunlit azure, to the surface. His face broke the liquid edge and he breathed, filling his lungs.

  Rake couldn’t open his eyes—the sunlight was too much, blazing gold-green through the blue of his eyelids. With one hand he shaded his face and cautiously, cautiously opened one eye, just a sliver.

  The surface glimmered before him, a mottled expanse of rippling blue, a landscape of ever-changing peaks and shadows.

  He waited, then opened his other
eye to the daylight. Up here it was easy to forget everyone and everything that waited for him in the depths. Up here, he could imagine that he was alone, master of himself and slave to no one.

  For a while he stayed, breathing, widening his eyes to let in as much light as he could bear. He’d always felt more at home at the surface than the others did. His lungs were larger, for one thing, more accepting of the thin air. The mermidons couldn’t breathe air for long, and the merlows had no lungs at all; but Rake had greater lung capacity than any high mermaid. The others considered it a flaw, a mark of his inferiority. But he had always been secretly glad that the air accepted him and filled him as it did, as if it knew that his native element had treated him cruelly.