The Teeth in the Tide

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  “Yes.” The queens had a few combs, salvaged from shipwrecks, but those were ornamental—smaller and fatter, meant to hold the hair in place, not to manipulate it. The one Mai held was plain and functional, with a longer body and more teeth.

  “Hold still then.” She began to drag the comb through his hair, pinching the locks near their roots to minimize the pulling.

  “You sound like Kestra,” he grumbled. “She thinks I’m an idiot, too.”

  “Kestra has good reason to hate you and your kind,” Mai said. “Her father fell from the wall fifteen years ago, and the mermaids—I mean, the small ones, what do you call them?”

  “Merlows.”

  “Yes, the merlows—they ate him. Kestra is naturally sweet and kind, but she has never gotten over my uncle’s death.” Mai punctuated her words with little jerks of the comb. “My parents and my brother are dead, too, but it was different. Sickness, not teeth. Still caused by the mermaids, but indirectly. I was a mess for a long time—I’m surprised my aunt didn’t throw me out for all the foolish things I said and the trouble I caused. But I moved through it, got beyond it.”

  Rake listened, struggling to understand. He’d never had a relationship with the high mermaid pair that spawned him. He had no idea which breeder was involved, and his memories of the female who carried him were hazy. He wasn’t sure if he would recognize her if he saw her again. But for Mai, the idea of parents seemed vital, sacred. A bond that, once broken, caused irreparable damage to the heart.

  “My anger is gone now,” she said. “I still miss my parents, of course, and I want this mermaid infestation to end, so no other child’s parents die before a ship can bring what they need. But I’ve found a kind of peace with it.”

  Mai moved the comb more slowly, working out the last of the knots. Rake canted his head, enjoying the novel sensation of soft fingers prowling his scalp and trailing through his hair. He relaxed, letting his eyes close, listening to Mai’s voice. Different from Kestra’s, thinner, higher, quicker. Her tongue tripped over the words occasionally as if her thoughts moved too fast for human speech.

  “Kestra tried to hide her anger,” Mai continued. “Pretended she was perfectly fine. But she has depths, my cousin. Dark places that never healed. And now, all that rage that’s been festering inside her is welling up, and you’re a convenient target. The living embodiment of everything she hates, everything that’s wrong with our island.”

  “So she will always hate me.”

  “Maybe not. Give her some time.” Mai’s hands stilled. “That should do it. Now your hair doesn’t look so much like a hawk’s nest.” She dodged in front of him, inspecting his plain ivory shirt and brown pants, borrowed from Jazadri. “I wish your clothes were nicer, but they’ll have to do.”

  On impulse, Rake went to the corner where he’d stowed his bag and drew out a handful of jewelry. “I have these. Would it be appropriate to wear them tonight?”

  “Torrent and tide! No, it would not be appropriate.” Mai ogled the jewelry. “Well, maybe just one. How about that?” She touched a long golden chain with a pendant of sapphire set in an oval of mother-of-pearl, like a mystical blue eye. Rake slipped the chain over his head and settled the pendant on his chest.

  “You look like a prince of the sea,” Mai murmured. Then she flushed again and turned away. “Come on. Let’s show you off to the people.”

  The last time he’d been at the inn, Rake had been hustled around back with barely a glimpse at its front entrance or the space that lay before its doors—the courtyard, Mai called it. His eyes skipped from one item of interest to another—tables laden with heaping platters and brimming dishes, stools and benches occupied by humans of all ages. Most were scrawny and thin, but others had fuller shapes like Kestra’s.

  Jazadri, resplendent in a yellow shirt that set off his dark skin, approached them. “Rake is to stand over here,” he murmured to Mai, directing them to a corner of the courtyard. “That way he’s visible, and anyone who wants to speak to him can do so.” He nodded once to Rake and returned to the tables, resuming his spot between two human women with breasts so large they rivaled those of the figurehead Rake had seen in the Queens’ treasury. He stared openly at the women until Mai smacked his arm.

  “What are you looking at?” she hissed. “If it’s what I think it is—stop it.”

  Within moments, Captain Flay, looking trim and dashing in one of his coats, took up a post beside Rake, managing the passersby with jokes and smiles. Humans paused to greet Rake, bowing cautiously and murmuring a few words before moving away. He returned their bows stiffly, the belt flexing just above his hips. The humans had such soft features and smooth necks—no gills or extra fins or ridges. Their eyes were small, their noses large, their ears tiny and rounded. After a while their faces began to blur together in his mind until they all looked vaguely the same, and he couldn’t remember which ones he’d already met.

  Another pair of them had just retreated back into the crowd when a shout rose up from the opposite end of the square, and a series of odd sounds swirled through the night air.

  Rake had never heard such sounds—repeated thumps and trickling whistles that seemed to come from odd tools in the humans’ hands. Some of the tools made soft whining noises, while others rang out boldly as their strings were plucked. All the disparate pieces of sound merged and layered into one overarching something—a blended harmony that made his ears twitch and his heart race. He stood tense and awed, listening.

  “Something the matter, fish?” Flay asked.

  “What is it?” The words were more a plea than a question.

  “It’s music, fish. They don’t play music in the dark Court of your Queens?”

  “No.” Rake thought his chest might crack wide open and his spirit slither out to join those exquisite sounds.

  “Enjoy it.” Flay slapped his shoulder. “It’ll go on for a few hours at least. And I, bone-weary as I am, must play the joyful captain and entertain the good people of Anchel.” He sighed. “Don’t wander off, fish.”

  Rake barely noticed when Flay disappeared into the crowd. He was transfixed, paralyzed as surely as if the Horror’s tentacles had already twined around him.

  Music.

  He drank it like seawater, like sunlight. It rippled over and through him, filling his ears and his mind until he thought he might turn weightless and float away on its waves.

  Humans swirled past, but they did not stop or speak to him anymore. They seemed to be moving with the pattern of the music, their bodies twisting and feet tapping over the courtyard stones.

  Then she crashed into his view, and everything else scattered, grains of sand lost to the sea.

  Kestra wore a garment of dark gray, like a storm-cloud. It left her shoulders and back bare and tumbled in waves of shimmering smoke down to the ground, where dark slippers peeped from beneath its edge. At ends of the wide sleeves and across the top of the dress danced images of curling plants and flowers for which he had no name—swirls and blossoms in deep red and pale creamy yellow. She’d swept up her river of black hair, pinned it aside with a shell comb dripping with strings of glittering red beads.

  He drifted toward her, flotsam caught in the storm of her beauty, unable to think of anything else.

  Until the captain stepped in front of Kestra, his back blocking Rake’s view.

  Rake’s lips writhed back in an unbidden snarl; but fingers closed on his arm, and a slim hand tugged him away. Annoyed, he looked down at Mai’s black head bobbing below his shoulder. She glanced up, and when she spoke, her tone was reproachful.

  “Stop it, Rake,” she said. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing, but—don’t.”

  “I wasn’t—I was—” What had he been doing? His gills fluttered at his throat, and he had to take a moment to focus on his breathing. “I was only thinking that your family must be very powerful, to have such fine clothes.”

  Mai chuckled. “Not at all. Kestra is good at using what she has an
d making it prettier. The cloth is good, yes, but she made the dress herself and embroidered it using thread from unraveled scraps of old garments. It took her months.”

  “I make things too.” He wanted to tell Mai about the costume he’d cobbled together in such short order—the fake green tail that had been good enough to fool sharp-eyed mermidons. He was rather proud of it—but thoughts of the costume brought up guilty memories of Shale.

  To distract himself, he looked at Kestra again. She was moving with Flay, swinging to and fro across the courtyard, weaving among the other couples and families.

  “What are they doing?” he asked.

  “Dancing.” Mai grinned up at him. “Moving to the music. Don’t you dance under the sea?”

  “Never.”

  “Come on, let’s try it.” Mai bounced in front of him and took his hands, gingerly sliding her fingers past his claws. “If you’re going to stay on land, you may need to file these talons. Now do what I do. Let yourself flow with the music.”

  Rake tried, but his legs wouldn’t do more than stumble this way and that. His bare feet pressed atop Mai’s slippers several times, until she hopped away with a yelp. “I think that’s enough dancing.” She balanced on one foot, massaging her toes.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “I’ve had worse.” She sighed. “Are you ready to go back to Takajo’s? You should rest and heal, especially if you’re going to make a visit to your friend the monster soon.”

  “I heal quickly,” he said. “I can go tomorrow.”

  She perked up, fingers twitching as if she wanted her writing stick. “You heal quickly? How quickly?”

  “The bites will be sealed by tomorrow, and they’ll be nothing but scars in a few days.”

  “So something in your blood, then? Your flesh and skin particles must replace themselves more swiftly than ours. It makes sense, so many dangers in the ocean, and I suppose the salt-water helps with healing. Would you like a salt-bath before you go back to Takajo’s? The tank behind the shed is still full.”

  Sinking into warm saltwater sounded like heaven to Rake. “Yes.”

  “Come on, then.”

  He filled his eyes with Kestra one last time, with the curve and the sway of her, the glow of her skin in the lamplight and the shine of her swinging hair.

  Then he followed Mai around the inn, through the cool darkness of the garden, to the tank behind the shed. The cage had been removed and it sat nearby, the neck-hole stained dark from Scythe’s blood. He averted his eyes and set about stripping off his shirt, pants, and bandages.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Mai, backing away.

  Rake removed the belt and used his arms to heave himself and his newly reformed tail into the tank. Gratefully he sank into the water, his skin relaxing. His gills unsealed, filtering water and transforming it. He could feel each parched bit of his body plumping up again, drinking in the liquid. His eyes had been prickling and itching for the past hour, and the water eased the discomfort.

  He could have stayed there for hours, but all too soon Mai peered over the tank’s edge, her face blurry through the ripples. Rake resurfaced.

  “Jazadri came looking for you,” she said. “He’s waiting to escort you back to Takajo’s house.”

  “So I’m under guard?”

  “No.” She squirmed. “Maybe?”

  He lifted himself from the tank, slithering awkwardly to the ground.

  “Here.” Mai handed him the belt, her fingers lingering over its joints. “I know you don’t want me taking these artifacts apart, but I’ll need to study them eventually. Who knows how old they are? I’m sure they won’t continue functioning forever, and when they fail, someone will have to fix them.”

  “You are right. But I’m not ready to let you inspect them too closely.” Rake clicked the belt and clenched his teeth against the stab of pain in his back.

  Mai peered at him. “You make that face each time. Does it hurt?”

  “Yes. Like an urchin’s needle piercing my spine.”

  “So the belt joins with you, maybe extracts a little fluid, and uses that for the transformation, somehow.” She ran her fingers along the bottom edge of the belt, her knuckles brushing the scars on his abdomen. He quivered as memories of claws and teeth surged into his mind.

  “Did that hurt?” she asked.

  “No,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t like to be touched there.”

  Mai darted back, her eyes wary. “My mistake.”

  But the panic churning in Rake’s chest didn’t recede, and he could only manage a growl in response. Fighting against the images battering his consciousness, he lurched forward to collect his clothes and Mai tensed, ready to spring away.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he managed to gasp. He got the pants on, but collapsed to the ground again, bending under the weight of the memories. Acrid, marking him with her teeth. Bruta, seizing his hair and his tailfin, pulling until he was nearly bent double backward, his spine lanced with pain and his stomach stretched taut. Calla, whispering along his skin until he dared to hope she might be kind this time—until she sank her teeth into his flesh or pried loose one of his scales, laughing when he flinched. Mocking when he begged for mercy. Forcing him to—

  He splayed his hands over the ground, driving his claws into the soil.

  “Rake?”

  Mai spoke near his ear, and he twitched away from the sound.

  “Rake, are you all right?”

  “I’m—I need—”

  “I’ll get Jazadri.”

  He couldn’t respond. Her feet pattered away, and after a moment Jazadri’s heavy stride reverberated through the ground. His deep voice rolled to Rake’s ear. “What’s the trouble? Mai, did you break him?”

  “No! I touched his belt, and a little of his skin, and he just—snapped. Said he didn’t like being touched there, and now he’s—well, you can see.”

  “I have—I need—” Rake couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t focus. He closed his eyes.

  “You need rest,” said Jazadri bluntly. “Come on now. Get up.” A massive hand gripped Rake’s shoulder, hauling him upright. He shuddered violently at the contact and broke away, putting several paces between him and Jazadri.

  “Keel and brine, boy, I’m not going to hurt you,” Jazadri exclaimed. “Not the bravest of your kind, are you?” He reached out again.

  White-hot flames burst in Rake’s mind. His head jerked aside as he unhitched his lower jaw, bared his teeth, and charged.

  -19-

  Kestra

  Kestra swayed in Flay’s arms, her smooth cheek brushing his stubbled one as she breathed in the scent of him—sweat and spice and citrus. He had long since slowed his vivacious steps to a shuffle, and now they were barely moving to the music.

  “Flay,” she murmured. “You should sleep.”

  “Hm?” He stirred and lifted his head. “I think I was.”

  “Go to bed,” she said. “People are beginning to go to their homes. They won’t fault you for leaving.”

  He propped his chin on her hair. “Will you come with me?”

  “Not tonight. My mother and I argued today, and I think I should sleep in my own bed. Maybe it will pacify her. And you should be thinking of nothing but rest.”

  “As you wish. But the bed will be cold without you.” He tugged her closer, and she kissed his sorrowful mouth.

  “Just one night,” she whispered.

  Someone cleared their throat behind Kestra, and she turned, expecting her mother; but instead Mai bounced nervously on the balls of her feet, hands clasped behind her back. “Something has happened.”

  “What something?” Flay gently pushed Kestra back, his eyes alert.

  “Rake and Jazadri—behind the shed—”

  Before Mai could say anything else, Flay dashed into the night. Kestra raced after him. When she burst around the corner of the shed, right on Flay’s heels, she saw Rake in human form, on his back, with Jazadri’s bu
lk pinning him down. Rake’s snarling jaws gaped horribly wide, rows of vicious teeth glinting inches from Jazadri’s face.

  “What happened?” Flay shouted.

  “He went feral,” Jazadri said. “Mai touched him below the belt, and—”

  “Not like that!” Mai screeched. “I was touching the belt, and I happened to touch his skin. He reacted oddly—quick breathing, glazed eyes. Then Jazadri basically called him a coward, and he snapped. But he was quiet and sweet up until that happened—he even danced with me.”

  “I noticed.” Kestra threw Mai a sidelong look and hurried forward. “Jaza, let me talk to him.”

  “Talk,” Jazadri said. “I will hold him.”

  Kestra tried to look into Rake’s wild eyes, but her gaze kept slipping down to his jaws. Everything inside her recoiled at the sight of those hideous fangs and the slick cavern of his throat. “Rake,” she snapped. “Close your mouth.”

  His head whipped back and forth, inhumanly fast, his tongue darting out between razor teeth.

  Kestra clapped her hands to his cheeks, her thumbs tucked under his jaw, and he stilled, panting. After a moment his jaw retracted, and he was himself again.

  “Are you calm now?”

  A shudder ran over him. “Yes.”

  She backed away. “Let him up, Jaza.”

  Jazadri looked to Flay, who nodded.

  When Jazadri released him, Rake rolled to the side, throwing one arm over his face. He lay motionless in the dirt, until Mai crept closer and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You didn’t hurt anyone. And no one is going to hurt you, or Jewel. Not anymore.”

  Rake’s ribs heaved, almost a sob. Kestra wondered if mermaids could cry. It would be a pointless release under the sea—salt tears slipping into saltwater, invisible.

  “Come on,” Mai murmured. “Sit up. You need to return to Takajo’s so you can rest.”

  “I’ll walk him to the hawk-master’s house,” said Jazadri.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Kestra. “I need to speak with Takajo.”

  Flay opened his mouth to protest, but Kestra looked at him intently and he hesitated. “Be careful,” he said at last. “And you, fish—this cannot happen again. If it does, we’ll have to cage you.”