Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy)

by Anna Banks

  I can’t help but laugh. He just looks so traumatized, rehashing how he came to sprout a bony, icky fin.

  I’m pretty sure Dr. Milligan would be interested in this development. Maybe he and Doc Schroeder could get together over tea or crumpets or whatever doctors get together over. I’m sure they’d love to compare notes. But … I’m not sure Neptune would be willing to accept Dr. Milligan just yet. They do have their stranger filter on full effect.

  I can tell Reed needs some comfort or a distraction or something to help bring him back. “You expected a kiss in exchange for a story about the diseased fin of a chicken?” This does the trick. Unfortunately. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Without warning, he leans close to me, excessively close, so that barely any water can pass between our mouths. And my guilt about being “aware” of him knows no bounds.

  He uses his thumb to trace the outline of my cheek. My instinct is to move back, but I get the feeling that he’ll just ease closer. “Do I get one? Because if you’ve chosen me, Emma, tell me right now.”

  I close my mouth abruptly.

  With that he withdraws, gently taking my wrist and pulling me back in the direction of the Huddle. Which is good, because Toby has come back for us.

  “What is taking you two so long? Everyone is waiting.” The twang in Toby’s voice has devolved into a full country accent. “And anyways, I already told the sheriff about Galen, Emma. They’re getting together a search thingy right now.”

  As if he spoke the sheriff into existence, a party of Syrena and Half-Breed—and one human with scuba gear—appear from around the next bend of tunnel. The Syrena at the head swims directly up to Reed. “Your father’s waiting for you, son.” Then he turns to Emma, and his face softens. “You must be Emma. I’m ashamed we haven’t met yet.” He extends his hand to me and I take it. “My name is Waden Grigsby. I’m the sheriff of Neptune and this lot behind me is my deputies. Except for the guy in the gear. He’s lost.”

  My mouth pops open and Waden chuckles. “Just kidding. That’s Darrel. He’s with us.” Then his face melts into all seriousness again. “Toby told us you’re concerned that your friend—Grady is it?—is missing. Any idea where he would have gone?”

  “His name is Galen,” I say with more irritation than I should. He’s leaving a party full of good company to help me, after all. “And he is missing. He wouldn’t just leave me here alone like this.” Right? Right?

  “Were you two fighting?”

  My lips pinch together as I try to stave off a full-blown scowl. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  Sheriff Grigsby gives an apologetic nod. “The thing is, if he left after a fight, then maybe he did intend to stay gone. Not that I know your friend or anything,” he says quickly. “It’s just that sometimes people need their space to cool off, so to speak. Now if he ran to the store for some milk and never came back, that’s quite a different scenario. You can see why I would need to ask then, right?”

  Ugh. I do see, but Galen is too responsible—and thoughtful—to pull something like this. And helping a complete stranger understand that is like trying to seize a crab with your armpit. Not happening.

  When I have no answer, the sheriff continues soothingly. “Now don’t you worry, Emma. Go to the Huddle, enjoy yourself, and I bet by morning we’ll have found your friend. In the meantime though, young lady, you should know that you’re not as ‘alone’ as you think. You belong here.” Then he asks me all sorts of questions about Galen’s vehicle, which way we came from, if I thought he would take the same path home. And with that, Waden and his ‘lot,’ including Scuba Darrell, squeeze past us one by one. I watch until they disappear from sight, until I can’t sense them anymore. I have no confidence in them at all.

  Because maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Galen did leave me behind. Maybe I misjudged him like I have so many times before. It’s not as if he doesn’t have the whole freaking planet on his mind right now. What with our fight, his grieving over Rachel, his irritation at finding a certain illegal town called Neptune. Why wouldn’t he need some time to step away and deal?

  And what will he do if they find him? Be mad at me for sending them? Leave again? Maybe I should have left things alone.

  “They’ll find him,” Reed says softly. And all of a sudden, that’s what I’m afraid of.

  22

  THE ROOM is a whirpool of blur. Occasionally Galen will catch glimpses of Tyrden’s back at the open door, of the men he’s talking to. Is Reder there? He’s not sure.

  He only hears a few of the booted steps it takes for the group of strangers to approach the bed. The newcomers make no sense when they speak, are only capable of babbling. Sometimes they utter a coherent word. Those times the word is “search” or “Huddle” or “missing.” Then there is “out of sight.” The word “stubborn”—that’s from Tyrden’s mouth.

  Emma’s face flashes across Galen’s mind, but he can’t keep it there, can’t make it stick. Who are they talking about? Is Emma missing? Something isn’t right, but it won’t present itself. I have to find Emma. I have to protect her from these strangers.

  Then the strangers disappear. Suddenly, he’s in the water.

  He can escape. But every time he tries to swim deeper and deeper to safety, something grabs his fin and pulls him back to the surface, something stronger than he is. When he looks back, he stops fighting.

  Rachel. He’s pulled her too far in, she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, why isn’t she breathing? Her foot is no longer bound by the air cast. “Swim,” he tells her frantically. “Swim!”

  Now she’s tied to a cement block, sinking sinking sinking. He reaches for the knife he knows is in her boot. He just needs to cut her ropes, and she’ll be free. Like last time.

  But there is no boot. Only feet. Bare, manicured feet. Bubbles escape her mouth in a desperate cry. The ropes have somehow weaved themselves into chains, handcuffs and chains. The cement block is there though. It’s there and it keeps pulling her down down down into a box. No, a building. It pulls her into a building and there is nothing he can do. The roof swallows her up and she cries out and he’s got her but he can’t lift her. She’s too heavy. The blocks are too heavy.

  “Help me!” he screams around him. “Rayna! Toraf! Emma!”

  Rachel is dying.

  Rachel is dying.

  Rachel is dying.

  “Let me go, Galen,” she whispers, but he can’t let go.

  “Galen, let me go,” she says again. Her face is so peaceful. Decorated with her usual smile.

  Rachel, please. Please don’t die.

  Rachel, no.

  Rachel is dead.

  Again.

  23

  WE FIND our way to a pool ladder attached to the rock. As I wait my turn, I take in our surroundings. On either side of us are huge red curtains, not the velvety kind you see at a theater, but a kind of thick tarp stretched across the walls, tethered top and bottom to the cave. I don’t know if they’re hiding something behind them, or if they’re making a halfhearted attempt at decoration down here under the water.

  Finally it’s our turn to go up, and I watch as Reed’s swimming trunks disappear to the surface. Beams of strong lights strike through the water, dancing around without much purpose, and it reminds me of the big lights at Hollywood. I wonder what kind of production I’m in store for as I follow Reed up the ladder, slipping a few times on algae congregated on some of the steps.

  When I reach the top, and before I gather my bearings, a cheer resounds through the cave. What exactly they’re cheering about I’m not sure, since I’ve already met half of them or more. Maybe it’s some sort of initiation to be taken here for a Huddle—wait for the stranger to come up the ladder, then scare the snot out of her when she surfaces. Yay for strangers. If it is some sort of Neptune tradition, Reed really should have told me. I would have at least braided my hair. Or something. Not to mention, being cheered while wearing a bathing suit reminds me of a nightmare I have sometime
s about being naked in the middle of the school hallway. I do adore wearing clothes when I’m the center of attention.

  And now I know where the word “cavernous” comes from. This inner chamber is as big as a ballroom. Smiling faces part for us as we make our way through the crowd. I don’t like that Reed is holding my hand, don’t like how it looks, but I decide not to struggle at this moment. Not when I’ve just been cheered.

  Dozens and dozens of industrial-grade flashlights sit along the walls, sending columns of light to the uneven crevices of the ceiling. Lime formations cascade down the walls like huge curtains, only more beautiful than the plain red tarps below. A path has been roughly hewn that leads to the middle of the ginormous ballroom. In this new “room” are intricately carved wooden benches scattered around in a pattern that reminds me of the pews of a cathedral. The way they form a circle around the middle of the cave reminds me of the amphitheater at a summer camp Chloe and I once attended.

  What draws my attention the most are the paintings on the walls between the intermittent deluges of limestone. Galen said that in the Cave of Memories back home, they keep paintings and murals and sculptures from the past. I wonder if this is Neptune’s version of the Cave of Memories. The depictions seem to tell a story, possibly the one I’m about to hear.

  To my left is a painting with a giant Syrena on it, wielding a humongloid trident in his hand. From the colossal waves in front of him and the mark of a trident on his stomach, my bet is that this is the General Triton sending destruction to Tartessos.

  On my right is what looks like what all the history books depict as the first Thanksgiving. People—that is, a mix of humans, Syrena, and Half-Breeds—dressed in Pilgrim-like clothing are sharing a meal at a long picnic table outside. Children run around, chasing a happy-looking dog. The background of the painting shows wooden houses and buildings being constructed, and beyond that, the vast forest. I imagine this as the beginning of Neptune.

  The middle wall illustrates a town of ancient times. Stone buildings, windows without glass, cobblestone pathways. The people—again, a mix of breeds—fill the small square in the center and children play in a fountain that has a Syrena statue on it. It’s obvious that this is a marketplace of some sort; people can be seen trading things like necklaces and bracelets for things like loaves of bread and pigeons in small carrying cages. It’s a peaceful scene—all the faces are painted with contented smiles.

  I’m drawn back to the present when Reed puts a hand on my shoulder. I smile robotically, just in case I missed an introduction or something, but there is no one new nearby. It must be cool in here; everyone’s breath ghosts in front of their face as they greet us. He leads me to the center of the circle of benches. I notice that everyone is quickly taking their seats.

  I don’t want to be in the center. It reminds me of the last time I was in the center of a crowd—the tribunal held to investigate all the Royals for fraud. Not a happy time.

  Reder steps up to us. “Reed, what took you so long? We’ve been waiting. How did Toby get so far ahead of you two?” Reder smiles at me. I’d forgotten how friendly he is. “Toby told me about Galen,” he says. “We’ll do everything we can to help. If he wants to be found, we’ll find him.”

  Why does everyone keep saying that?

  “Thank you,” I choke out, prying my hand from Reed’s. Reder pretends not to notice the violence with which I do this. “Reed said we could form a private search party tomorrow. To aid the sheriff.”

  Reder’s eyes dart to his son, then he purses his lips. “Absolutely. I’ll make an announcement after the Retelling tonight.”

  “Retelling?” I ask.

  Reder throws his head back and laughs as if I’ve told a joke. It catches the attention of several people already seated around us. Well, several more people who may or may not have already been paying attention to us. “I keep forgetting you’re not from around here, Emma,” he says. “That you’re new to all of this. But, of course, you are. That’s why we’re holding a Huddle in the first place. And maybe after tonight, you won’t feel so new.” He nods to a front-row bench behind him. “I saved you the best seat in the house.”

  Reed says nothing, just drags me away by my wrist this time—which I guess is easier to keep hold of—hauling me toward the bench left open for us. “How did you guys build all of this?” I whisper as we sit. My attention is again drawn to the painted cave wall directly in front of us, where Triton sends the waves to shore. The small symbol on his stomach stands out to me. And of course, it reminds me of Galen. “Is that how you knew Galen was a Triton Royal?”

  Reed shrugs. “Everyone knows about the mark. Our Archives keep their memories just as well as yours do. They wouldn’t forget the mark of a Triton Royal. In fact, it was an Archive who painted that. Archives painted everything in here, since we don’t have access to the Cave of Memories. Everything here has a special meaning.”

  Even this mini Cave of Memories is too much for me to take in all at once. I hope Reed and I can come back and explore this place. It would take a full day to get through the paintings alone.

  He grins. “Impressed? You’ll be more impressed to know we did this all the old-fashioned way.”

  I shake my head. He rolls his eyes. I contemplate pinching the “fool” out of him as they say in these parts. “These benches we’re sitting on?” he says. “They’re over a hundred years old. See that guy over there? He helped build this place. And that lady? The one talking to Dad? She’s the one who found it when she was just a fingerling. Lucia is her name. She got lost in here, and when they found her, they found all this.” He makes a sweeping motion toward the ceiling of the cave.

  I allow myself to be impressed. Lucia must be pretty freaking ancient for a full-blooded Syrena to be sporting a head of white hair, wrinkles in abundance, and bony angles poking from her modest bathing suit.… She has to be older than the average geriatric Syrena—which puts her at more than three hundred years old.

  Or maybe not. Mom and Galen both confirmed that Syrena age faster on land, but I’m not sure how much faster gravity speeds up the process. Doesn’t look like gravity was all that kind to Lucia.…

  Wait. Syrena age faster on land. Does that mean I would live longer if I stayed in the ocean? Is that what Galen was talking about?

  He wants me to live in the ocean so he can have me longer? Probably I should have let him actually talk it out with me, instead of cutting him with all my sharp, negative words. Or am I connecting dots that aren’t there? Am I reading between lines that haven’t been written?

  All I know is, my stomach is seriously considering vomiting, and for lack of a better place, Reed’s lap seems to be the best target. If I aim in front of me, it might get on Reder. Besides, I’ve never seen Reed feel out of place. I’m betting a lap of upchuck will do the trick. It’ll be fun.

  Yep, my stomach just flopped over. I’m upchucking in three … two … one …

  “Thank you all for coming tonight,” Reder’s voice booms.

  Even my stomach is unwilling to trample on Reder’s hospitality. It settles down all at once, as if chastising me for letting it act up in the first place. Still, a small corner of it aches, and I don’t think that ache will go away until I see Galen again.

  Until I confirm whether I’m a heartless butthole or seriously overthinking every little thing that Galen said. Either way, it’s going to suck for me. Either way, I lose.

  If I’m heartless, I’ve lost Galen for sure. If I’m overthinking things, and everything he said can be taken at face value … I’ve lost Galen.

  So if I’ve lost him, why am I sending people out to find him?

  Some questions can’t be answered, some shouldn’t, and some weren’t questions to begin with. I can’t decide which category this falls into.

  But for now: life.

  And I’ve entirely missed Reder’s introduction to the Retelling and the fact that all the lights have been dimmed and adjusted to focus on him, and that the a
udience has grown maddeningly quiet while the voices in my head shout at each other.

  “So Poseidon came ashore and made peace with mankind,” Reder is saying. “Not just peace, though. He made friendships. Established a successful city where humans and Syrena could interact and live in harmony. Where they could form close bonds.”

  Reder chuckles. “And even Poseidon appreciated the curves of the land-dwelling women, did he not, friends?” This evokes a knowing laugh from the crowd. “So he took a human mate himself and had many children with her, Half-Breed sons and daughters who adored their father. Other Syrena were content to do the same, and so they, too, made sons and daughters with humans.”

  Then he focuses his attention directly on me, and I’m so grateful the lights don’t follow his gaze. When you’re sitting next to the speaker’s son and the speaker’s talking about taking a mate … that’s when you become hyperaware that maybe you’ve been giving the wrong impression—you stupid freaking idiot.

  Or you’re just being pyscho again. Awesome.

  “They continued on for almost a century, living prosperously. Poseidon used his Gift to feed his city; the words ‘I’m hungry’ could never be heard. What was left of the food they harvested from the oceans was traded to surrounding cities. In fact, the port of Tartessos became the epicenter for trading: It attracted merchants from around the world, eager to trade for its tin, bronze, and gold. Even human kings sent gifts to keep our great General Poseidon pleased.”

  “And that is when General Triton became jealous of his brother’s prosperity. In a fit, he poisoned the minds of our Syrena brethren against humans, and he divided the kingdoms into two territories. Those who believed his lies about the humans moved to Triton territory; those who saw the good in humans, the potential of forming alliances with them, moved to Poseidon territory. After the Great Sunder, Triton still was not happy.” At this Reder shakes his head. A disapproving moan moves through the audience. I glance at Reed beside me, but he doesn’t notice. He sits expressionlessly, engrossed in the tale, though he’s doubtless heard it many times. So far, the rendition of what Galen told me is fair, except of course in the Retelling, a more negative light is cast on Triton instead of Poseidon. And this is the first time I’ve heard mention of a Great Sunder. I look past that though, and try to be objective about what really did happen all those years ago.