The Teeth in the Tide

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  He discarded the thought the instant it flitted through his brain. That was a dream for a future Rake. This Rake, hiding in the dark hold of a sunken ship, must focus on one task at a time.

  First, testing the belts.

  He drew one out of the bag and looped it around his waist. He clasped it as he’d seen the others do in the memories, spun the tiny dial, and pressed the slim lever.

  A hot flash of pain shot into his spine, and his body jerked as the belt tightened around his hips. His nerves jangled, a confused riot of signals, and when he looked below the metal contraption, he almost screamed. His tail was disintegrating, dissolving into a cloud of miniscule particles.

  He was half himself.

  What if the belt was broken? What if he remained like this, a tailless lump? He’d be thrown out, a chunk of useless meat—

  And then the bits of him coalesced again, sucked back together by some mysterious power, reassembled into a pair of long, muscled appendages—legs. Legs with bumpy knees, narrow feet, and ten toes. A jolt zipped through him—he could feel those legs, could move them.

  He looked down at himself, between his legs, where all the parts that were usually hidden under his scale-flap hung loose and obvious. He didn’t like it. What if, when he reverted, his seed was somehow neutralized? He’d be useless as a breeder. Of course, if his plan worked, that wouldn’t matter at all. And if the scheme failed, he’d be chum anyway.

  He tested the legs, tried to mimic walking on the drifted sand on the floor of the hold. His steps bounced, but the movements were smooth enough. His body and brain seemed to understand instinctively how the legs worked. A benefit of the artifact, perhaps?

  He wanted to experiment further, but he had to go, before the mermaids lost interest in the human ship and circled back to search for Shale. Eventually they would come to the breeders’ quarters, asking questions. He must get back to Jewel.

  Flipping the lever and unclasping the belt brought back his tail, after a moment of swirling terror in which he stared at the particulates of himself while they slowly rejoined his torso. The horror of the sight bit deep into his gut, but he forced himself to move past it. This was the only way. He’d best acclimate himself to the process.

  Stowing the belt in his bag with its mate, he raced between reefy outcroppings, threaded a forest of kelp, and skimmed over broad stretches of sand until he glimpsed the outline of the breeders’ quarters in the watery distance.

  Weary as he was, Rake drew strength from some inner reserve he didn’t know he had, straining to go faster, faster, and still he couldn’t swim fast enough to satisfy the growing urgency, the compelling need to see Jewel, to know he was safe.

  He whipped through the door of his cave and looked frantically around. “Jewel! Jewel?”

  The sea grass in the sleeping alcove shifted, and a small hand wiggled out, followed by a golden tail, another arm, and a sleepy-eyed face. “What? What happened?”

  Rake snatched Jewel and pulled him close, gripping a handful of the boy’s curls. His spawn was safe. Warm and alive.

  “You’re squeezing me very tightly,” protested Jewel.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Are you going to stay a while now?”

  Rake tensed, groaning inside, reaching for the right words.

  Pulling away, Jewel stared at him reproachfully. “You’re leaving again.”

  “Only for a little while, my Jewel,” said Rake. “If I’m successful in this, you and I will be able to live free.” He dropped his voice low. “No more Queens, no more pain. At least, no pain of their infliction. We can make a life of our own. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.” But Jewel’s lower lip still trembled. “But why do you have to go?”

  “I have to explore. To find us a safe place.”

  “Can I come with you, right now? Please?”

  Why did Jewel’s eyes have to be so enormous and so beautiful? Like deep blue waves flecked with drops of golden sun. With all his heart, Rake wanted to say yes. But he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t bring Jewel with him through merlow territory. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to climb the wall himself—he definitely couldn’t manage it with Jewel in tow. And the humans might kill him on sight when he reached the top. If he ever did.

  “You can’t come. Not this first time.” He took his spawn’s face between his hands. “I need you to be very smart, and very brave. Stay in the cave. Remember the mirrors I set up? Check them often, and they will give you warning when anyone approaches. If you see a mermidon coming, or a Queen, or even another male, what should you do?”

  “I hide in the alcove, in the sea grass.”

  “Very good. And you stay there until whoever it is has gone away. If they find you, tell them I went to a shipwreck to find a mating gift for Queen Calla. Say it.”

  Jewel repeated the excuse.

  “One more thing—no matter what they do to you, endure it. Submit, obey, agree. Stay alive. You must stay alive.” He pressed Jewel’s head to his chest again, as if he could push the boy right inside his ribcage, next to Rake’s heart where he would be sheltered and safe. “Don’t die, my Jewel.”

  Jewel’s head moved in assent, and when Rake released him, the boy looked up, calculation in his eyes. “I’ll do all that you say, if you stay a little while with me. Please? I made up a game with the bright pieces I dug out of the wall. It’s fun.”

  Rake writhed with anxiety, but he couldn’t resist. “I’ll stay a few minutes. No longer.”

  He forced himself to learn the game, which seemed to have many rules and yet none at all. Jewel won by inventing a new rule, but Rake didn’t protest.

  “We’ll play again when I get back,” he promised. “Right now, I need to hurry.”

  Quickly he swam around the cave, checking the mirrors, the food stores, the alcove, the supply of pretty bits and bobs for Jewel to play with. He repacked his satchel, eliminating the remnants from his thieving excursion. In the bottom of the bag he placed the belt artifacts, covered with a bit of canvas. Next, several pieces of his personal jewelry. He knew the humans loved jewels and finery—many of their shipwrecks had chests of the stuff on board. Perhaps the sight of the treasure would buy him a few minutes’ reprieve from their weapons, so he could convince them he wasn’t there to feed, but to find refuge.

  Finally he added the rope and the iron claw for climbing the island wall, the conch he’d stolen from the dying mermidon, and a pair of glowfish, in case the way was too dark even for his large eyes.

  The moment was here. He’d longed and struggled and bled for it, and now that it was here, he couldn’t think past the feverish pounding in his chest and the cracking tension behind his eyes.

  Hovering in the center of the cave, Rake tried to think of something else that should be done.

  “Why don’t you leave?” Jewel cocked his head. “I thought you had to hurry.”

  Rake bit his lip, a swirl of blood rising from the puncture into the water. “I’ll return before they summon me to the next mating.”

  Kissing his spawn’s forehead, he drove himself upward, out through the top of the cave and away.

  Rake swam west over ruinous chunks of ancient cities and the gray-green carcasses of broken ships, their masts dripping with seaweed. He swam until the sea floor sloped upward and the water ahead clouded with the churned bubbles of the merlow swarms.

  Pausing, he took out the conch, looping its string around his neck. He tied one of the glowfish to the same string.

  Then he shot ahead again, whipping his tail and flattening his arms at his sides for maximum speed. When the merlows scented him and whirled, gnashing their jaws, he shrieked the warning cry. They parted, screeching and roiling in the dark water, forming a channel of clear space.

  Rake sped on and on, until he sensed them closing in behind him and saw a wall of toothy mouths racing toward him, gaping for his flesh. Raising the conch to his lips, he screamed again, and the shell caught the cry and multiplied its power.
The merlows arched away in pain, clawing their finned ears, filling the water with red eddies of their blood. And where that blood sprayed, teeth snapped, tearing away chunks of white flesh and dark fins. They gnawed each other, gobbling indiscriminately, blinded by the sight and scent of raw flesh. Rake’s stomach turned, but he kept on, a bright star streaming through the blood-stained bowels of the dark sea.

  Another swarm, another scream. This time they closed in faster, darting at his swift-moving tail. He felt claws shredding the edge of his fin and tightened his belly for another warning cry. The sound was weaker this time—he was tiring fast. Much faster than he’d expected.

  I can’t die here. Not here. Not lost in this cloud of teeth and tails.

  A ridged mouth closed on his arm. Violently he shook it off and whipped his tail faster, sweeping back the sea with both arms, driving himself forward. To the wall. To the island.

  Another bite, teeth scraping against his scales—not piercing yet, but loosening them.

  Faster.

  I won’t die here.

  Jewel. Jewel is waiting for me. Depending on me.

  Rake screamed again, with every ounce of power in his body, and the cloud of merlows recoiled.

  Something ahead, something big—

  He pulled back just in time to avoid breaking his neck against the sea-wall of Kiken Island.

  He swerved up, his shoulder raking the rough, barnacled stones. Blood swirled from the scrape, and the retreating merlows whipped around again, their pearlescent eyes ogling him. Rake used the conch, then tugged the rope and iron claw from his pack. He reared up out of the water, cold pellets of rain bursting against his face. He swung the iron claw around his head and launched it at the top of the wall.

  It clanged against stone and fell, nearly striking his skull. Again he ducked beneath the surface, only to find hungry jaws inches from his body. He shrieked the warning one more time, but the scent from his bleeding shoulder was driving the merlows insane. They barely heeded him—barely gave him enough time to try another whirl and throw. His muscles, though not powerful by mermidon standards, were stronger when moving through empty air. No resistance meant extra force, and he flung the claw with all his might. It flew over the edge of the wall and he pulled the rope taut.

  It held.

  Another plunge under the water, where merlows nipped at his scales.

  Another scream through the conch, driving them back.

  He pulled out the belt. Clasped it. Felt the sting in his spine again, saw himself dissolve and reform. The merlows withdrew, confused, but as his human legs coalesced and he began to kick, they shrieked in a frenzy of hate and hunger, and charged him.

  Rake leaped from the water, catching the rope and climbing, hand over hand, his feet braced against the wall. Claws snared his ankle, lacerating his flesh, attempting to tug him back down, but he shook the creature off, threatening with his own kind of cry this time—a savage, guttural threat, an animal roar of defiance. The merlow lost its grip and plunged back into the frothing waves.

  Turning his face up to the rim of the wall, Rake climbed.

  I will not be stopped.

  His bare human feet slipped against the rain-wet stones, and the sharp husks of barnacles shredded his skin.

  I will reach the top.

  He hauled himself with his arms, his muscles aching with every pull.

  For myself. For Jewel.

  The top of the wall was a dark slice across a dead gray sky. The rain poured straight into his eyes, but he was used to the press of the ocean, and he did not care. He bared his teeth to the wind and clawed higher.

  Again. One more time.

  He strained, muscles surging.

  Again.

  His feet found purchase on the stones.

  Once more. For Jewel.

  He reached.

  Clapped his hand over the lip of the wall.

  Gave a last violent, bone-wrenching heave.

  And collapsed on the cobblestones. On the land.

  On the other side of the wall.

  -11-

  Kestra

  When the Wind’s Favor docked that afternoon, the gentle rain had thickened to a downpour. A pair of sodden villagers helped secure the bridge, and then three of Flay’s men carried the mermaid’s cage, concealed with sailcloth, across the narrow span and up the village streets toward The Three Cherries, with Mai hovering behind them. Kestra was glad of the storm; it kept most of the townspeople indoors so they couldn’t pry and ask questions. Flay’s sailors were under strict orders to keep silent about the mermaid, and only the few who carried the cage knew where she was being taken. The rest of the crew stomped up the hill through the streaming rain, eager to take shelter and have a drink.

  Once the crew had dispersed, Flay came back aboard to escort Jazadri and Kestra off the ship. Jazadri seemed to have recovered from his shock and he insisted on walking without help. “Nothing wrong with me that a good meal won’t cure,” he said, shaking off Flay’s attempts at assistance.

  “He’s impossible.” Flay squinted at Kestra through the rain. “Coming, Blossom?”

  “Soon,” she said. “I have an errand to run first. Go on—I’m used to walking these streets.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

  “Tonight.” She waited until he and Jazadri had faded to misty silhouettes on the path uphill. Then she turned left and walked away from the docking station, along the sea-wall.

  She and Flay hadn’t spoken much more in his cabin after his comment about her heart, about how he wanted to protect its purity and such nonsense. Furious at his lack of insight, angry at her own reluctance to be honest, Kestra had curled into Flay’s chair and ignored him, rummaging through his stacks of drawings while he lay in his bunk and pored over a bill of goods. After a time, in that haven of shared space and quiet breath, Kestra’s anger faded into a kind of fragile peace. In the chaos of this strange day, Flay was her anchor, and she was his, and they could be happy to simply exist alongside each other, without even speaking or touching. Until they reached land again, and the charm broke.

  Kestra tugged her hood further down over her face, grateful that Mai had brought both their cloaks along on the voyage. Kestra wouldn’t have guessed that the bright, cloud-flecked morning would have turned into such a rainy afternoon. But Mai studied weather as she did everything else, talking to the elders of the village and writing down every clue she could find about the movement of wind and cloud, the color of sky and sea, the pre-storm habits of birds and the sounds of insects on a sunny day. It was a code to her, like the odd series of symbols the herbalist used to mark his concoctions. And there was little that Mai loved more than finding the code to unlock an aspect of the natural world.

  In spite of the cloak, Kestra felt a familiar chill as she rounded a curve of the wall and saw, up ahead, the place. The spot where her father fell.

  Instead of going to it, she huddled against the wall of the salt refinery, under a little half-roof that shielded several storage crates from the rain. Laying back her hood, Kestra perched on a crate, watching streams of water racing off the overhang and dribbling down to the street. The continuous gurgle and splatter was a balm to Kestra’s ears after hours of mermaids wailing and shrieking.

  From the back room of the refinery and from the windows of Takajo’s building across the way, warm light spilled onto the cobbled street, glimmering in bright golden patches on wet black stone. Fading fingers of the light touched the sea-wall itself, sharpening its edge.

  Kestra spoke softly, so no one but the wind could hear.

  “Jazadri wore a rope today, and he lived. He lost fingers, but he lived. Why didn’t you wear a rope, Papa?”

  Such a simple thing. An easy precaution that could have saved him. Had he taken the time to anchor himself, her father would still be here, checking the walls and mending them. Caring for Kestra and her mother—mending their hearts when they began to crumble and crack.

  Aci
dic fury shot through her soul, and she shouted, reckless, fists clenched— “Do you hear me, you fool? Why didn’t you wear a rope?”

  Clank.

  A sharp, grating sound. Metal on stone.

  Kestra squinted at the wall and noticed a large grappling claw angled against the lip of the rock, its rough prongs gleaming. A rope, tight with tension, disappeared over the edge of the wall.

  Her heart jolted.

  She gripped the edge of the crate so tightly her fingers ached. Every muscle in her body contracted, rigid with expectation.

  And nothing happened.

  She thought she heard a faint sound—a roar muffled by rain.

  She dug her nails into the wood, barely conscious of the splinters driving into her skin.

  “Papa?” she whispered, and immediately hated herself. No one, nothing, could climb the wall.

  No one. No thing.

  Smack.

  Beside the grappling claw appeared a hand. Pale, with long pointed nails.

  Another hand slapped onto the rock, and then, with a grunt, a figure heaved itself up, lean muscles rippling.

  Kestra couldn’t breathe.

  She waited for a scaly tail to come slithering over the wall, but the figure hitched a pair of long legs past the edge instead. If Kestra hadn’t been frozen in terror, she might have blushed; the figure was unusually tall, naked, and very obviously male. He stood for a moment, his body glistening in the rain, staring at his legs as if he wasn’t quite sure how they were holding him up.

  His mouth gaped oddly wide, as if he had to think carefully about his breathing, and Kestra caught the glint of vicious pointed teeth. He slid down to the ground, back propped against the wall, one knee bent, his large eyes slipping shut. Blood streamed scarlet from his shoulder, his ankle, and his feet, mingling with the rivulets of rainwater between the cobblestones.

  Kestra shut her eyes and opened them again.

  She looked at the stranger’s tilted head, at the long line of his throat, slashed with four gills on each side, the topmost set curving just below the angle of his jaw. She stared at his sharp, gold-studded ears, tinged blue at the tips. At the azure tint of his upper eyelids and his lips, and the bluish shadows outlining the muscles of his pale chest and stomach, and the silvery scars crisscrossing his skin. A woven satchel was slung across his body, and a conch shell and a glimmering fish hung from his neck. The strange golden belt resting around his hips glowed faintly as it flexed with his breath.