Our Bloody Pearl

by D. N. Bryn

  I reach him through the gloom to find his eyes closed, his lips bunched. Two jagged rocks lock his arm in place. I grab a hold of it, and his face twists, his eyes opening a sliver.

  “I’m here,” I sign. A wave hits as I drop my hands, throwing me toward the cliffs. Snarling, I fight for another hold on the rock. The rough surface scrapes my palms, a bit of hard coral driving into my hand as I find a grip. Ignoring the pain, I yank myself back toward Dejean.

  “Go,” he signs. It’s a simple motion and he makes it with just his hand, shielded from the yanking of the current by the lips of the crevice, “Go, Perle.” It’s not a command. It’s a plea, soft and gentle.

  He wants me to save myself.

  “To think I’d ever leave you behind.” I grab his arm once more. Working my fingers around the outside, I shift bits of the rock away. I clasp his hand in mine, pulling against the current. The rock digs into his shoulder and he winces, but his arm comes free. His body lifts out of the reef cleft.

  The water rushes him away, and I follow, refusing to let go for even a moment. We surge toward the cliffs. I pull Dejean against me. The rocky wall approaches out of the gloom, but one darker gash cuts through it from reef to sky. Wrapping my arms around Dejean, I shoot a pulse from my tides, angling us toward it.

  Jagged rocks race past us as we enter a gash in the side of the cliff. The current fades into a sloshing pressure, and the water turns to a foamy brown. A faint light shines somewhere above. I drag Dejean toward it, applying power from my tides. We break the surface of the water, coming up in a small cave.

  Dejean gasps in a breath, his chest heaving. He pushes me back into the water to reach for more air. I let him, giving him as much lift as I can until he paddles with me toward a rock ledge sticking into the pool. I pull myself onto it and drag him up after.

  My whole body feels raw and shaky, my muscles trembling. The tunnel we came through rises like a tall, tight archway. Foam and water course through it, reaching the center of the little cavern. The low ceiling blocks out most of the rain, but a few open patches reveal a dark sky, the evening sun annihilated by angry, black clouds.

  Dejean lifts his unrestricted arm, examining a vibrant red scrape that covers much of his skin.

  “You all right?” I ask him, brushing a strand of his wet hair out of his face.

  “Yeah. It’s not deep enough to bleed properly, though it burns like it’s on fire.”

  “Let me check your shoulder.”

  He makes a face. Not giving him a choice, I work the buttons of his shirt open and pull off the bandage beneath. A mess of scar tissue covers the old wound, the wrong color for his skin, shiny and warped. But it’s still in one piece.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Tight. Useless. Wrong.” He cringes, drawing in a sharp breath. “But none of that’s unusual. I don’t think anything’s been pulled.”

  “Be careful.” I glare at him to be sure he catches the command in my signs, then help him back into his damp shirt.

  “I will,” he says.

  A lapse of speech follows, but there’s no silence here. The rain beats down above us, and waves crash into the cave before pulling back out only for their foam to shoot at us once more, coating my face in a briny mist. What are Abyss and Red doing? Perhaps, like us, they found a calm place to wait out the storm. The alternative makes my chest ache. There’s been enough loss already in these recent weeks.

  Slowly, Dejean stands, working his way toward the gap in the ceiling. He climbs over a few wet stones to reach it, and I hold the air in my lungs every time he takes a step. For a long while, he looks out. The wind blows rain into his face, his copper curls dark and limp from the water.

  I make a harsh noise to get his attention. “What do you see?”

  “The ocean.” He plops down on the rock, his feet dangling near my shoulder. His toes are funny as ever, but I suppose they have their use when it comes to climbing. “There’s a bit of cliff above us still,” he adds after a moment. “I can climb it, if I go slowly, but there’s no way I can carry you at the same time.”

  “We’re not leaving,” I demand. “We’re safe here.” Safe from the sea, from the sirens, from the humans. Here in this cave, no one can hurt Dejean.

  “My ship is out there,” he speaks gently, leaning down to brush his hand over my head. “With my crew… with Murielle and Simone.”

  “They know how to wait out a storm, don’t they?” I retort, though I like his touch, and I tip my head up to nuzzle his fingers while I sign. “They’re in the harbor. You can’t help them more than that.”

  “That hunting party had Kian’s blockers.”

  “So?” It hits me slowly, like a storm coming in, the incessant brewing breaking over what little peace I have left. I turn, looking up at Dejean. “She’s here. On the island.” In the harbor, with the Oyster and the Tsunami. With Murielle and Simone. With the rest of our pod.

  “I have to know they’re safe,” he says. “And if Kian hasn’t appeared yet, I have to warn them. The storm might persuade her to leave us alone for now, but she might also decide it’s good cover for a surprise attack. She doesn’t know Murielle, but it won’t be hard for her to connect us if she talks with anyone in town, and she’s well aware that Simone is my first mate.”

  “Go.” Nothing I can say will convince him to stay, no matter how much I want to remain at his side. Forcing him to sit here and worry with me is wrong. “Find Murielle and Simone. I’ll meet you at the house when I can.”

  I hope he adds to my ambiguous words: When the storm lets up. When it’s safe. I have no intention of waiting that long, but I won’t let him know that.

  He smiles, the corners of his eyes tightening. “Thank you.” His shoulders loosen and he pulls himself to his feet once more. Standing there, with the rain against his back and his face in shadow, he looks down at me. He opens his mouth again, as though he means to say something. Instead, he presses his lips together. Making a quick sign—a soft, fluid one I’ve never seen before—he turns away.

  My heart warms, filling my chest with a ripple of pride. But as his foot vanishes through the hole in the ceiling, a chill descends over me. I slip into the water.

  [ 13 ]

  SEA MONSTERS

  Fear is a trench—it leaves two options: to swim toward the light, or to sink into the darkness.

  I LET LOOSE a burst of energy from my tides just as a large wave recedes from the cave. The turbulent water rushes over me. I shoot out of the tunnel. Another crashing swell sends me into a sprawl, and I use my tides once more to distance myself from the rocks. Their glow weakens, their blast turning to a shaky sputter. I should drop deeper and use the reef for cover. But I can’t leave without knowing Dejean will be safe.

  Surfacing between the swells, I search for his figure. I almost miss him against the muddled, dark brown rock, his body tiny amid the lofty cliffside. The rain beats down on him, blurring his slow movements. His restricted arm hangs at his side as he hoists himself crookedly upward. He skids, and my heart jumps painfully. But he keeps moving, slowly nearing the top of the cliff.

  An outcropping crumbles beneath his hand and he slips. He slams into the ledge. The pouring rain and the crashing waves mute my cry, but I feel the knock of his head against the rock like a pounding through my skull.

  “Get up!” The plea escapes me in a whisper, drowned by the water rushing into my back. It tosses me into a spiral. I fight to get out of its hold, pumping my arms and flinging my hips back and forth, panic driving out all logic. I need to see Dejean. I need to know he’s all right.

  The current throws me downward, and I fling my tail harder. A jolt runs through me as it knocks against the reef. The wave rolls by, but I stay in place, one of the brace’s poles locked against a notch in the rock.

  I push at the mass of metal and fabric, my muscles numb and clumsy. Another wave cracks over me, spinning the world as it flings my body about. I need to see Dejean.

  Frantical
ly, I shove the pole until it pops free. The water carries me away, back toward the surface. I release the last bit of energy from my tides, breaking from the torrent and breaching the surface.

  Dejean still lays on the rock. Slowly, painstakingly, he shoves himself onto his elbows and stands. He wavers, all but collapsing again, and grabs the cliff face. With sluggish, terrible movements, he starts climbing. Five more waves come before he makes it to the top. He wavers at the edge of the cliff, then stumbles forward like he’s a fresh sailor taking to the deck for the first time. I can’t tear my eyes away until he disappears from view.

  He’s alive. He’s not well, but he’s alive. I must get to him. Dejean will come to the house as soon as he’s able, and I have to be there when he does, to know that he’s okay and to help him if he’s not.

  Turning in the water, I dive through the oncoming wave. No matter how aggressively I beat my hips, my tail can’t propel me forward in a storm like this. Every finger length is a well-calculated gain. I use the rushing water to my advantage, pulling myself along the rocks when I’m thrown too near to the cliffs, and hiding in crevices when I need to plan or rest.

  I run through the power in my tides five times before reaching the cove. The sky has darkened to a perfect black, the sun gone behind the horizon. The wind still blows fiercely. A burst of lightning outlines the cliffs, followed by a roll of thunder. The elevator clanks against the rock, lopsided.

  Putting my tides back onto my brace, I wait for the next wave and ride it toward the dangling clamshell. At the last moment, I catch hold of it, clinging as the wave crashes into the cliffside, the clamshell grating against the rock.

  I hit the lever. Nothing happens. Then the metal squeals and the clam jerks upward, slipping from my hold. A screech rises in my throat. Throwing my body into the air, I catch the lip of the clam between my arms. I refuse to let go.

  Gathering my strength, I pull myself higher, tossing my torso over the side of the clam. My breath comes in gasps, fighting for enough air to sustain my aching muscles. The clam rises in jerky motions, slowing and then jumping upward. I nearly drop every time it springs, my heart rising into my throat.

  The waves rush farther and farther below. The slick metal offers no hold for my wet hands. I clench my fingers until the ridges bite into my scales, shark teeth holding me in place, agonizing.

  The wind picks up, tossing the clam from side to side and driving rain into my eyes. As I near the top of the cliff, it slams me against the rock. Bits of the cliff crumble, falling toward the sea and vanishing.

  Blood pounds in my ears, and I can smell its metallic tang from somewhere beneath my hip. I chance a look down, my head spinning from the height. A fresh wound rides up the side of my tail, scarlet tinting the water that streams along my brace. My fingers slip and I dig them in harder. Everything but the cut hurts. My shaky arms feel torn from within, my hands marred and scraped.

  A terrible ache fills my skull, and my vision wavers. It would be so easy, so easy to drop. To let it all go.

  The very tip of Dejean’s house peeks over the edge of the cliffside. I won’t fall. I’ll reach the house—I’ll be there for Dejean, and for Murielle and Simone too.

  Another gust of wind assaults the clamshell. I swing toward land and let go, hoping for the best. The air rushes over me, my stomach rising into my throat. I sail past the cliff, tumbling over mud and rock. The force of the jump and the slick ground send me barreling halfway to the house before I finally slow to a stop.

  I lay there, concentrating on breathing in and then out again. The pain throughout my body fades into a worn, stiff ache. I must be bruised all over.

  The house appears empty, no foreign machines out front, no townspeople howling for siren blood—at least not anymore. No Dejean, and no Murielle or Simone. But they might be on their way now.

  Pushing myself onto my elbows, I crawl toward the house. Mud coats me from the back of my head down to the tip of my tail. The relentless rain washes some of it off as I lie before the back door, staring at the knob. My vision wavers the longer I look up, my bleeding tail pulling me into the dark.

  But I refuse to fade out here, with my tub one stupid human wall away.

  I force my chest up until the blackness takes me, floundering for the knob. The back of my hand whacks into the metal, and I grasp the handle and turn it. It opens.

  Limp with relief, I drop my head to the ground. Slowly, my sight returns. A groan rolls out of me as my eyes land on the tub. I want to be in it. I want to relax onto the sponge and sleep for a week.

  Crawling my way into the house, I knock the door closed and wiggle into the tub. The mud drifts off as I soak there, listening to the beating of the rain and the whip of the wind. I should check on my tail wound; the tub water smells faintly of blood. But it can wait a moment. It can wait…

  A crash from the front door startles me awake. I jerk to attention, my head spinning. My gaze moves to my tail. The wound sealed while I dozed, but enough blood seeped out that my head still spins, my limbs heavy. Another bang echoes through the house, and my heart speeds up.

  Dejean? He wouldn’t use the front door, nor would Murielle. Simone then, perhaps? Or it could be the storm, tossing a tree branch into the windows. But a darker fear looms in the back of my mind. Kian’s first mate, Theirn. There was the chance he escaped before the sirens arrived. He could have taken notice of Dejean and hunted out directions to his home.

  I swallow my fear as I wait, the rattling of the storm fading and returning in a chaotic rhythm as the wind shifts direction. The crash comes again, accompanied by the snapping of wood. The rain suddenly sounds near and vibrant, a torrent rushing in from the front of the house. Footsteps follow, light leather boots. My body fights me, unsure whether to sink into the tub or hide among the junk. I’m not given time to choose.

  A figure appears in the dark entry to the room, lit by a burst of lightning from behind. A cloak covers them, similar to Simone’s, but a smaller, featherless hat sits upon their head. The fabric falling around their leather boots twirls in the wind, and a feminine snort breaches the crashing rain.

  “There you are.”

  My heart stops. No. Not here. She can’t be here. She can’t—

  I hiss at Kian. The sharp, fierce sound boils out of anger and loathing, but it drains away quickly, caught by the strangling sensation in my chest and the trembles running down my spine. Seeing her again feels like having every good thing stripped away. A dreadful doom smothers me. Even with the nightmares and the ghosts, somehow I had forgotten that I feared her so completely, that her mere presence hurt this much. The terror must have been a part of me then, a constant force clinging to my soul. But now I’ve known something better.

  I will not let her take me.

  “Get out,” I snarl, though my words mean nothing to her.

  She laughs, and the faint lines of a smile show on her lips as another strike of lightning flashes at the front of the house. “You’re bold again. How cute.” Her voice implies something different altogether; a malicious jibe encased in bitterness, a sound that matches the familiar pain of her fist against my face. She takes a step toward me.

  My body freezes, unresponsive to the panic that runs through my mind. I have to move. I have to get away from her. Forcing my muscles to work, I slip to the back of the tub.

  Kian walks smoothly toward me. She hums and flicks the light switch near the door. Only three of the glass lamps shudder to life, and they drift in and out, matching the reverberation of the storm. In their faded glow, the sharp lines of Kian’s features stand out, her black hair pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck. The jagged scar across her left jawline casts a weak shadow on her skin.

  “Look at that. Gayle’s trying to help you swim again, isn’t he? It’s a fun little contraption, I’ll give him that.” She stalks to the edge of the tub, stopping there to look me over. “I hear he let you back into the sea,” she muses, as though talking to herself, as though I’m n
ot worth a reply. “How did he manage to change you? He must have exploited my previous attempts. But no… no, that’s not right, is it?” Her eyes move over me once more, and bounce along the tub, to the sponge Dejean sleeps on and the tank where he keeps my fish. “He built off my work, yes. He used your weakness to convince you he cared. He offered you more than I did, and you thought it meant something. He manipulated you. Clever.”

  “No.” I flinch away from her words as though they can physically harm me. She spouts only lies, trying to stir up my doubts. Dejean would never take advantage of me. He’s not like Kian. He cares. And Murielle—she’s kind and vibrant and honest. Mur wouldn’t go along with something like that.

  They’re my pod.

  I won’t let Kian turn me against Dejean, but there’s still a tingle in my back of my mind, telling me she’s right, that I’m alone, unwanted. It’s the same voice Dejean hears, taunting and demeaning. No matter how strongly I know the truth, I can’t ignore it. It tugs at my nerves even as I bash it down. Glaring at Kian, I wrap my arms around myself.

  She narrows her eyes. Laughter spills out of her, harsh and cruel. “Do you actually care about this man?” she asks. “He may treat you better than you deserve, but he holds no real affection for you. He’s lost people to your kind, just like all sailors.”

  “No.” I shake my head furiously. “That’s nothing but an assumption.” Dejean doesn’t begrudge me like the other humans.

  “You think I’m making this up?” Kian lifts her brows, and her scar twitches. “I saw his father die in the same siren attack as my own parents.” She snarls her last few words, stepping around the side of the tub with the poise of a predator.

  Part of me almost believes her, as irrational as it is. What if it’s not so irrational after all? The little voice in my head sparks up again. Maybe he held it back because he didn’t want to raise my suspicions. Because he didn’t want to risk losing control over me.