Fathom Five: The Unwritten Books

by James Bow

  “Serves you right!” Peter yelled. But he was smiling.

  “Come on, Peter!” said Rosemary. “It’s fun!”

  “Uh uh!” said Peter, shaking his head vehemently. “No swimsuit, no water!”

  “Don’t be lame, Peter!” She threw water at him. “Loosen up —” Her words cut off with a scream as a breaker struck the back of her legs, sending her sprawling into the surf.

  “Rosemary!” Peter rushed into the water. As he reached for her, she grabbed his wrist and pulled. Peter’s yell ended with a glub as he went into the drink. He surged to the surface. “You did that on purpose!”

  “Yeah,” said Rosemary. “Just like this.” And she pushed him in again.

  He came out, gasping. “You’re mean!”

  “I can’t help it.” She held out her hand. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and pulled her under.

  They splashed until the chill sent them onto dry land.

  They sat dripping, on the stones, basking in the warm air as twilight deepened. Rosemary settled back with a contented sigh.

  “This is perfect,” said Peter.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied.

  But I’m forgetting something, she thought.

  “What?” she muttered.

  Peter.

  She opened her eyes, and blinked at the starless navy-blue sky. “Peter?”

  “Hmm?” said his voice beside her.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  That’s not him.

  “Course it’s him, silly.” She closed her eyes and began to drift off.

  No, it’s not. It was him, but now it’s just a memory of him.

  “Huh?”

  Get up.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “I ....” She frowned. “I need to be somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  You need to keep looking for Peter.

  “But he’s right here,” she mumbled.

  Peter laughed. “You’re not making sense.”

  That’s because this doesn’t make sense. Peter’s gone! They kidnapped him! You’ve got to go and find him!

  “What?” she mumbled. She shook her head clear. “I’m looking for something,” she said. “I have to keep looking.”

  “Did you lose something?” asked Peter.

  “Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “I have to keep looking.” She pushed herself to her feet, and picked up her knapsack.

  He looked up at her. “You’re leaving?”

  “I’ve got to.” But her feet wouldn’t move.

  “I’ll help you,” said Peter. He touched her shoulder. “But stay a bit.” He nodded. “Look at what the sunset’s doing.”

  The base of the escarpment reaching out into the bay was dark, but the top and its trees glowed bright orange against the darkening sky. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” She sat down. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.” Unconsciously, she snuggled closer to him. He put an arm around her. “Just a few minutes, then I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  And as she watched the sunset play against the top of the escarpment, she lost track of time.

  The waves rumbled.

  Gradually, she became aware of a vibration in her body; like standing next to a big speaker at a dance. A bass note hummed in her chest. She found herself flicking her hand past her ear, as if to brush away an annoying mosquito, and realized that the low note had been joined by another of higher pitch.

  Then she realized the sounds were no hallucination.

  She sat up. Peter vanished in a burst of fog. She looked longingly at the space where he’d been, and then clarity set in with a thunderclap. She was not in Clarksbury anymore. She was in deadly danger. And something had woken her up from her dream.

  She scrambled to her feet. Her clothes were dripping. She could feel their cold biting into her skin, but she scrambled behind the cover of a rock. She could see the fog pulling back. The rock face and water were solidifying like ice melting backwards. She pulled her knapsack beside her as she scanned the land and water. Finally, she caught a flicker of motion beyond the waves.

  She focussed on that speck as it grew larger, until it revealed itself as a boat. It was small and thin and moved without sail or oars or noise, cutting through waves it had no business cutting through. Two people were on board: a woman at the prow and a man at the stern, holding the rudder.

  The two had their mouths open, and the doublenote song was coming from them. The difference in their size matched the difference in their pitch. The woman looked as thin as a pole, and the man was three times her size. Neither stopped to take a breath until the boat neared shore. The singing stopped when the boat crunched onto the stones.

  Rosemary watched from behind the cover of the large rock. The woman’s red hair stretched beyond the small of her back. The man bore a thick black beard. Both had skin like weathered glass, eyes like coals, and webbing between their fingers.

  Just like the woman who had pulled Peter into this world, Rosemary thought. Maybe they know where Peter has been taken. Maybe they’ll help.

  They pulled a pair of harpoons out of the boat.

  Or maybe not.

  As she watched, the couple glanced warily at the small cove beyond her rock. They turned to each other, joined hands, and began to chant.

  As with their singing, the sounds were barely audible to the human ear, but they tugged at Rosemary’s heart and shook her brain. She felt sick, but she kept listening.

  The chants quickened, and the couple pulled apart, leaving two people in the space between them.

  Rosemary gasped. Where there had been two, now there were four. A second man and a second woman stood, clasping hands. The man was slimmer than the first and wore a red beard, while the woman had black hair and was huskier than her counterpart. Both had harpoons already in their hands.

  They turned to face the rock. For a frightening moment, Rosemary thought these four might be hunting her. Why else would they land here, harpoons at the ready?

  But from the way the four concentrated on the cove beyond the rock, Rosemary realized that she wasn’t what they were after.

  She frowned. If they weren’t after her, then what were they here for?

  Behind her, the fog erupted into a mass of tentacles. A giant squid rose out from a cove, roaring. Rosemary dove for cover as the four figures rushed the water, stabbing and slashing. The battle was short and brutal. Finally, the squid thrashed and fell limp. The hunters stared at their kill in triumph.

  Leaving the bulky man and his second to tie ropes to the squid’s tentacles, the two women returned to the boat. Along the way, they stopped by the shipwreck and eyed a richly carved, dark wooden bench. They chattered to each other, gesturing from the bench to the boat, their voices barely carrying across the stones. Each grabbed an end and hefted it over the stones.

  Rosemary brushed wet hair from her eyes, and watched the women work. As she circled around the rock to keep them in sight, her feet slipped. Stones clattered. The women looked up.

  “Darius?” asked the red-haired woman. “Is that you?”

  Rosemary crouched lower.

  The red-haired woman set the bench down. “Why are you hiding behind that rock? We have work to do!”

  There was now nothing to lose. Rosemary stepped out of hiding and tried to look … friendly. Confident. Not scared to her toes.

  “Hey,” she called.

  The red-haired woman stumbled back with a gasp. Her black-haired cousin disappeared without so much as a puff of smoke.

  Rosemary stared at the spot where the dark-haired woman had stood, then shook the questions out of her head. “Hey,” she said again.

  The woman stared at Rosemary in horror.

  Rosemary raised her hands, palms out, wondering how she could possibly make herself look less threatening. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said carefully. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need your help.”

  The shock f
aded from the woman’s face, replaced by a wary glare.

  “Please,” said Rosemary. “I need someone to take me across the water. Can you do that?”

  The woman’s wariness intensified. “Darius!” She hardly raised her voice, but the tone of it cut across the stones and stung Rosemary’s ears. “Darius! Come quickly!”

  “Loria!” The thick-set man came running, his second nowhere to be seen. “What is it? Why did you cut your song?” He stopped short at the sight of Rosemary. “Who is this?”

  Before Rosemary could say anything, Loria cut in.

  “She broke my song! She broke it with her words!”

  Darius stepped protectively in front of Loria. “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled at Rosemary. “Who are you?”

  “M-my name is R-rosemary,” she stammered. “II’m not here to hurt you or anything. I just need —”

  She halted when Darius raised his harpoon. “Stay back, songbreaker!” Glaring at Rosemary, Darius hustled Loria to the boat.

  “What about our kill?” Loria protested.

  “We’ll hunt another day,” said Darius. “We must warn our village. Go!”

  “Wait!” Rosemary stood, flabbergasted, as the two pushed off from shore. They sped across the waves, briefly interrupting their song to flash her looks of hostility and fear.

  She began to shiver in the wind again. The fog returned, rolling across the water towards her.

  ***

  When Fiona found Peter, his tears were still dripping into Ariel’s hair. Fiona stood by the door, her gaze cast down in shame. “Peter, I am so sorry. I should have told you everything before I brought you here. I made a mistake.”

  “It’s okay.” Peter let go of Ariel, dried his eyes, and stood up. “I’m ready to meet everyone, now.”

  “They’ve all gone home.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Everyone except my mother, of course. This is her home.”

  “Then I’ll start with her.”

  Fiona put a hand on his shoulder. “Only if you are ready, Peter. Do not push yourself.”

  “If I wait until I’m ready, I’ll never meet anyone. Let’s go meet our family.” Ariel caught at his hand.

  The house was silent, save for a few subdued voices in the kitchen. Peter hesitated at the threshold, but forced himself forward. Eleanna was sitting on a stool beside the butcher’s block, talking to a strikingly tall and dark-haired woman. At Peter’s entrance, the woman stood, hugged Fiona’s mother, and left.

  Peter stood across the butcher’s block from Eleanna, silent and uncertain. The old woman indicated other stools. “Please, sit down, all of you.” Her voice was as warm as the Gulf Stream. Peter, Fiona, and Ariel took their places at once.

  There was another uncomfortable silence as the four stared at each other. Peter tried to work up the courage to say something, but Eleanna beat him to it. “Welcome to our home, Peter McAllister.”

  “Thank you, Mrs....” Peter hesitated, suddenly realizing he’d never known Fiona’s last name. “I’m sorry, but what should I call you?”

  Eleanna blinked and smiled. “Ah, yes, the human custom of multiple names. Do forgive me. I haven’t much experience with introductions. My name is just Eleanna, so Eleanna will do.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” Peter looked at the table.

  “I’m sorry I bolted just now.”

  “No need to be sorry,” said Eleanna. “I understand how you must feel. I also understand that there are several questions you want to ask. Ask them. I’ll answer.”

  Peter swallowed. “How did my birth parents die?”

  Fiona reached for him. “Peter, are you sure —”

  “Just tell me, please!”

  “It was their time,” said Eleanna.

  “You mean they died of old age? But, I’m only sixteen, Ariel’s barely ....” Five? Ten? He had no idea, he found. She was a little kid but she seemed old, too. Then again, people said that about him: sixteen going on forty. “I’m not old enough to have parents die of old age.”

  “I told you that we were not human, Peter,” Fiona cut in. “We are built differently, as is our world. Our lives are long and full, but we pass quickly.”

  Peter mulled over this answer until he was satisfied with it. He nodded. Now for his other big question. “Why did you leave me … over there?”

  Fiona touched his shoulder. Her mother took a deep breath, but couldn’t answer.

  “Because there are so few of us,” said Ariel. “There are only one hundred and fifty-seven people in this village.”

  “A hundred and fifty-seven?” said Peter. “What about the other villages?”

  “There are no other villages,” said Ariel.

  Eleanna took Peter’s hand. “Let me be honest, Peter. Our people are dying. Rather than doom the few who remain to a dwindling life, we give our children to humanity … when we can. They live their whole lives as human, and take what joy they can.”

  “Then why am I back here?”

  “Because of Ariel,” said Eleanna.

  “Those of us sent to live with humans are solitary, lonely people,” said Fiona. “Because you were orphaned, your suffering was much worse. And your sister was here, the only siren child, lonely too. We decided that we had to bring you two together.”

  Peter caught Ariel looking at him from behind a screen of curls. He smiled at her. A big-brother smile. It felt good.

  “You see,” said Eleanna, as if reading his mind. “It is right that you are together, now.”

  ***

  Peter felt better after dinner. The food was tasty and filling, and it took all of his resistance to keep Fiona’s mother from stuffing him with third and fourth helpings. In the end, he sat at the table, nursing a steaming mug of tea and smiling as Ariel amused herself with a porcelain doll, and Fiona and Eleanna discussed village politics.

  Then Ariel began to yawn. She caught Peter looking, smiled sheepishly, and returned to playing, but her eyes drooped. Chuckling, Peter nudged Fiona, and nodded to Ariel.

  Eleanna stood up. “Perhaps it is time, Peter, to put Ariel to bed.”

  Peter picked Ariel up and carried her as she sagged onto his shoulder. He followed Fiona through the halls, past a room scattered with toys including a metal jack-in-the-box and a clockwork train, past a bathroom with a large basin cut into stone with a bucket of water waiting for a bath, to a closed door, solid oak, with shiny brass fittings. Fiona opened it onto a neat bedroom, with pink stone walls and a small wooden-frame bed draped with lace covers.

  Ariel was asleep in Peter’s arms. He juggled her carefully, pulled down the covers, and set her on the mattress, prying her arms from around his neck. She settled into her pillows, her breathing deep and regular, smiling. Peter stood up and stared at Ariel in awe.

  This is too good to be true, he thought.

  Fiona touched his shoulder warmly, then led him to the door. Peter left, looking back.

  Then the door swung closed between them, making no sound.

  Peter blinked. The warmth inside him cooled. He looked at the walls and the doors with a new intensity. Something wasn’t right. Questions bubbled at the back of his mind. Where was he? How did he get here?

  “Peter?”

  He started, and looked behind him. Fiona had opened another door and was beckoning him in. It was a small and cozy bedroom, with a window, a tall dark wooden closet with straight sides, and, beside that, a chest of light wooden drawers, full of curves. In the middle of the room, a canoe extended from the wall, its wooden struts removed and its insides filled with feature cushions draped over with a blanket. Peter wondered if it rocked like a cradle.

  He couldn’t help laughing. “What a house. I haven’t seen a mix of styles like this outside of Rosemary’s ...”

  Fiona sucked her lips against her teeth.

  He shuddered. Rosemary! How could he have forgotten …

  Fiona touched his shoulder, and the thought vanished from his mind. The emptin
ess echoed like a void.

  He touched his forehead, and looked at her. Another memory slipped into his mind, silent like the closing door. “How did you find me?”

  Her brow furrowed. She cocked her head.

  The memory repeated. Sliding doors opening; a gurney pushed through. A doctor’s voice echoed in his mind’s eye. “Peter?”

  “Peter?” Fiona’s voice barged into his thoughts.

  “Why … why did it take so long?”

  “What?”

  “Six years.” Peter shook his head. “What were you do—”

  Fiona grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into his room. She planted a firm kiss on his lips, and caught him as his knees gave way.

  “It did take time to find you,” she said, pulling him further into the room. “I almost gave up more than once. But one thing kept me going.”

  “W-what?”

  Fiona kicked the door closed. It clicked shut behind them, isolating them from the rest of the house as effectively as a moat. The gleam in her eye filled Peter’s consciousness. “You.”

  He struggled to think, but he couldn’t look away. “W-what are you doing?” He caught the scent of her and had to breathe her in. She was like a breeze off the ocean. His heart beat like a Taiko drum.

  She smiled. “What I know you’ve wanted from the very beginning.”

  He swooned, but she held him up. Then she kissed him, and all sense of time vanished. He pressed against her desperately.

  She pulled away, smiling at the vacant look in his eyes. “Welcome home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MERIUS

  Rosemary looked at her watch. It was still broken. She tore it from her wrist, grunting as she threw it at the waves.

  The glass had smashed on her journey to this world. She didn’t know if it was the fall, the wave, or any of her stumbles on the stony beach. Her legs were crisscrossed with cuts and bruises. Her bandaged arm jabbed her with pain every time she moved it, and once again she’d been soaked. She shivered on a rock by the roaring fire, wrapped in a blanket, her drying clothes spread out around her.