The Vicious Deep

by Zoraida Cordova

  “I met Atticus,” I say.

  Thalia squeals, then covers her mouth when she realizes she’s about to wake the whole island. “Did you find your chambers? Kurt already went to his. You can stay in mine, Layla.”

  “Do you snore?” she jokes.

  Thalia leads us back through the passageway, the mini-firelights hovering over our heads. Layla reaches for my hand, and I take it eagerly. She’s my rock, and I’m a balloon getting carried away in the wind.

  Thalia runs into an opening to the left, forgetting about us and jumping into the pool with her recently well-fed sea horse. I don’t exactly know where I’m going. All the tunnels look the same. The cluster of lights gets frantic in front of my face. I try to flick them away, but Layla stops me. “I think they want us to follow,” she says.

  Oh, I knew that.

  The light leads us right and then left again. There’s only one opening here. I part the silky sheer curtains and walk in. It’s a room, like any other room. The bed is made of more shipwreck parts, and when I touch the mattress, it is the softest thing in the world. Layla hits the bed first. The last time we slept in the same bed was when we were little. Before I knew we had matching parts, but maybe even then I sort of got the idea. She stretches her body, and the arch of her back lifts from the mattress and then sinks back down. I sit carefully. I’m afraid she’s going to banish me to the floor. Then, her eyes flutter, barely awake, and she reaches her hands out.

  “I thought you’d left me,” she says.

  I lie down beside her. I trace her face lightly with my finger. The slope of her nose, the dip of her lips. I stop at her jaw and then let myself trace her neck. She whispers something, and I wish it were my name. Her eyes open suddenly, bright against the hazy light of the stone walls.

  “What are you doing?” She doesn’t move. Neither do I.

  “You had something on your face.”

  She smacks her cheek. “Is it gone? What was it?”

  “This poisonous fly that you can only find on Toliss Island. Really, I killed it for you.”

  Just then she smirks. She’s caught me. She presses a hand on my chest and pushes me away, but grips my T-shirt at the same time. “Tristan.” I don’t like the way she says this. No, let’s just smile and stay in this moment, because whatever she’s going to say, I’m not going to like it. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?” She lies flat on her back, and I do the same. I follow the grooves of the ceiling with my eyes, trying to count the tiny chips that sparkle.

  “I’m supposed to be a champion.”

  “So it’s not just a feast in your honor?”

  I shake my head hard. “Nope. I’m going to be introduced as the king’s heir. Apparently he has no living sons.”

  “That’s so sexist. Why can’t there be a girl Sea Queen? Why—”

  “Relax, it’s not like that. He has daughters, but it’d be like making Hannah Montana president, you know? My mom was supposed to be queen. But she chose to stay with my dad.”

  Layla gets on her side. Even though the room is cool, I can feel the heat of her body “So, what? You’re going to be this king? You’re not going to graduate? You’re—” she chokes. You’re never going to see me again.

  I didn’t think of that. I mean, I didn’t exactly get on one knee and accept, but when your grandfather is wielding a trident that crackles with lightning in your presence, you don’t exactly want to disagree. “I can’t exactly go back to the way everything was, can I? Now that I know what I am. How do I just sit in class and joke with the boys?”

  “How are you supposed to be a champion? The only time you’ve ever fought is when Angelo and Jerry want to reenact WWF.” She’s sitting up now. Her voice goes up a few octaves when she’s stressed.

  “Come here.” I pull her close to me so her head is on my chest and her hand is over my heart. I’m not as sure as I sound. Can she tell?

  “Tristan,” she whispers. “The day of the storm, I cried from the moment the wave hit you till the moment I found you. Please don’t leave me like that again.”

  I hold my breath, because it’s what I’ve wanted to hear from her since the moment I came back. My Layla, my girl. She’s always been there; I just never saw her the way I do now. I kiss her forehead and feel her body soften against mine as she sinks into sleep.

  •••

  First I think it’s a trick of the light. There are so many moving shadows in this room that I can’t tell. But then I see it moving. A hooded figure past the entrance to my room.

  As gently as I can, I pull myself off the bed without waking Layla. I part the curtain, my eyes adjusting to the low light. I take slow steps and listen. The figure is walking quickly, and I can tell it’s a girl—her hood swishes in the wind. Maybe she’s trying to hide from something. Maybe she needs my help.

  The tunnel makes a break to the right into a room covered with floating orbs of lights. There’s a pool like the one in my grandfather’s chamber, but bigger. The rock around it forms a perfect circle. Leaning over the pool is the hooded girl. Her slender hand holds something silver and dips it in the water.

  She sees me and gasps, jerks her hand back, and covers her face with her cloak. She runs to an opening to the left.

  “Wait!” My voice echoes off the stalactites. I turn to the pool, where the silvery head of a fish floats to the surface. The water is clear and bright, as though there’s a light all the way at the bottom. The blood around the torn flesh of the fish head taints the water with blood, but the trail thins out quickly.

  Maybe she was feeding Atticus. But why would she need to hide and run from me? I can see a gray shape behind my reflection again. This time it isn’t the sea horse. I trace my hand on my chest where she cut me once before, only I thought it was a dream. I can’t force myself to move. The dark melody of her voice vibrates through the water and fills the emptiness of the room. I can see her face, the white of her eyes, her cruel razor-sharp smile. She grips the bottom half of the fish and waves it at me, blood trailing from its end like dripping paint. I take one more step back and feel something hit me hard on my skull.

  She licks her lips, and then there is darkness.

  I wake up in my bed with the taste of iron on my tongue. My chambers are bright with floating butterflies. One lands on my arm, and I swat it away. It leaves a sticky neon trail.

  “Morning, sire,” someone says. She’s the color of orchids with slick silver scales covering her breasts. Her hair is braided and twisted with shells, piled atop her head.

  “Who are you?”

  She bows. “Hannah. I’ve come to deliver your armor.”

  I feel the back of my head. There’s nothing there. Yet I know I didn’t dream being hit hard.

  Hannah holds up a gladiator outfit like the guard was wearing the day before. I think I’ll pass, but I say thank you anyway. She bows low and gives me her white smile. I jump back when I notice how sharp her teeth are.

  “I’m sorry, sire.” She stands back up. Her teeth are fine. It’s me. The dreams have started again. I have to talk to my grandfather. Maybe he knows the deal with this sea witch and can tell me I’m not crazy.

  “No, no, it’s me. I’m just a little jumpy.” I take the clothes from her and set them on the bed.

  “You’ll be fine,” she says warmly. “My mother used to be your mother’s handmaiden. She really loved her. Your mother was a kind princess, the loveliest of them all. Not like these other girls.”

  I laugh at that. “Thanks. Have you seen—”

  “She’s getting fitted for something a little more fitting for the tournament announcement.”

  “Right. Good.” I don’t know how to tell her to go away. “I’m just going to get dressed.”

  She looks startled, as though I’ve just caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. And that’s undressing me with her eyes. I know that look. I give it to girls all the time. Hannah bows again and this time winks at me. “Are you sure you won’t be needing any
help?”

  I cough into my hand.

  “I’m sure Lord Sea will be fine, Hannah.” Kurt saves me. He stands at the entryway wearing a chain-link metal skirt. His violet scales decorate his forearms.

  Hannah bows her head low as she walks past Kurt.

  “Unless you want her to stay,” Kurt says with a mischievous grin.

  “Really, I’d like to live another day.” I go over to the pool of water and splash the cold and salty water on my face.

  “What’s that you got there, Kurty?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Just trying something new.”

  Kurt holds a long wooden box with moss growing over it, looking like he went to the bottom of the sea and dug it out of a pirate wreck. Really, he shouldn’t have. “I am to give you this as a symbol of your house. It will let the court see you are the true heir of the king.”

  I set the box on my bed. “You haven’t seen Layla, have you?”

  “She’s got a new dress,” he answers.

  “Yeah, I heard that. But where is she?”

  “You asked if I saw her, not where she was.” He can’t keep the smirk off his face. “Come, open it. There won’t be any food left if you don’t hurry up, and then you have to be judged—I mean, presented—before court officially.”

  “You know, you could be a little nicer to me.” I flip the lid open. “Now that I’m going to be a champion and all.” I’m expecting the thing to either blow up or glow. Everything seems to glow on this island.

  “Holy—”

  “It’s been handed down in your family. Only a son of Triton can touch it.”

  Nestled in the box is a dagger about two feet long with a double-edged blade that catches the light of the room. The handle is dusty gold with swirling black pearl as an emblem. I can sense it humming. It’s not the smelling thing; it’s something else—like feeling power that’s as old as the earth. The way I felt the power of the trident without even touching it.

  “What happens if someone else touches it?”

  “It burns them,” Kurt says casually. “Now, here’s a shoulder strap to sheath it. Look how nicely it matches your new armor.”

  I think I might let him hold my new dagger just for fun.

  •••

  The hush over the court reminds me of the silence during a meet, just before I dive. Bodies rustle against each other, lips whisper behind cupped hands.

  Here, the sun is shining. My stomach rumbles because I missed the seaweed buffet while I tried the armor on. It’s only a skirt underlined with leather so you can shift into your tail without ripping your clothes. Even without a mirror, I decided to change back into my cargo shorts.

  Kurt crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at me with annoyance as I take my place beside the king. Beside him is Layla in her new mermaid-woven dress. The rosy silk clings to her body like a second skin, and it’s so translucent that I can see her muscles flex beneath it. Somehow she looks like she belongs here more than I do.

  When my grandfather snaps his fingers, the little green boy with the golden conch comes running. He blows into the conch until the whispers die out and all you can hear is the breeze in the trees and the trickle of the waterfall behind the wall. The Sea King stands to his full height. He’s quite spectacular to look at, with his mane of white hair and turquoise eyes. His voice is amplified in the silence. “Today is a day like no other,” the king announces. “Today I welcome home a lost son, Tristan Hart, my grandson.”

  There’s polite applause and some overly enthusiastic cheering that I bet comes from Marty’s section of the crowd.

  The king looks around at the crowd, one by one. He licks the salty wind off his lips and says, “We are the keepers of the deep, ancient as the belly of the sea, a remnant of every era of this world. And yet our numbers fall to others who will have us drown in our own waters, our magics all but lost as we war among ourselves. We are forgotten. But we are not gone, and we are not going just yet.”

  At the last bit, the heralds stare sheepishly at their scaly toes.

  “I presume some of you wonder why we’ve returned to these shores eighteen years too early. I have no living sons. My reign is ending, like the remnants of a storm, and soon I will return to the waves that created me.”

  Across from me, the grizzly silver merman Elias whispers something into his girl’s ear. I want to throw something at them to make them shut up and pay attention.

  “I give you my trident.” He holds up the spectacular golden shaft. It crackles and sparks and radiates its own light from the quartz. “He who holds the trident is the King of the Seas. For millennia, there hasn’t been a championship for the throne. The last one to win it was my great-great-grandfather, Pelagios. In my time, a champion will win my throne. Each champion will be selected by his regional herald. With one exception. I will select my own.”

  The green boy with the conch scuttles back out, his webbed feet slapping on the ground. His voice is high pitched and amplified for someone his size. “From the West Sea, Dylan, son of Ammon.” A tall, broad man steps forward. His hair is like raw gold with streaks of silver. His skin is slick with a golden tan, and he has patches of scales along his ribs. He wears a small gold band across his forehead with carved symbols I have no name for. He holds a young guy’s arm up in the air. The guy is a younger version of the herald. Ammon and his son. Their tent roars with applause as they walk before the throne, beating their chests like something out of Clash of the Titans.

  If there were ever a time for me to shit my pants, it would probably be now.

  “From the South, Adaro, son of Leomaris.” Father and son strut out with their fists in the air. They have long black hair and skin like sienna chalk. Their scales are a cluster of reds and oranges. Adaro bows and presses his fist to his chest like an oath.

  I hate the way Layla whistles for him, as she did with the guy before that. I know she’s just having fun. But she should only be whistling and cheering for me.

  Adaro bows to the king before standing beside Dylan, two warriors with their arms behind their backs and chests puffed out with pride.

  “From the North, Brendan, son of Finbar.” The loudest cheer erupts as this guy walks out with his father. They’re the tallest of the bunch and not as abrasively muscular as the other champions. They at least smile instead of roar at the crowd. The father has cropped gray hair, more GI Joe than the other gladiator-like heralds. His son, Brendan, has a shock of bright red hair that reminds me of my mom. A woman with the same red hair, piled in a sophisticated bun and decorated with starfish and pearls, walks behind Finbar. The slope of her nose and her sharp cheekbones are so much like my mom’s that a pang of nostalgia hits me like a shock. She waves at her son, who shakes one fist in the air. He could be one of my friends, and I can already tell he’s not taking this as seriously as the rest.

  I motion toward the red-haired woman. “Is she—?”

  My grandfather nods once. “Mm-hmm. She is my daughter Maristella.”

  The green boy then announces, “From the East, the herald competes as his own representative, Elias, son of Ellion.” Elias and his fiancée stride out of their tent. They remind me of Jerry’s parents during parent-teacher conferences, the way they walk side by side but look in opposite directions. Elias is all roaring chest-pumping, and his Snow White mermaid stands there barely holding his hand like if he were going over a cliff she’d definitely let go. I sort of like her. Despite getting the fewest cheers, Elias takes the most time walking back and forth in front of my grandfather, who frowns at the display.

  The boy with the conch blows on it lightly and clears his throat. Oh, shit. I’m up. But—I don’t have an entourage. I don’t have my dad or a fiancée to walk me in front of the court and show off my goods. Compared to everyone else, I’m actually wearing too many clothes. Maybe I should’ve worn the metal skirt after all.

  “The Sea King’s champion for the High Court.” Somehow, people are already cheering
. “Tristan Hart, son of David Hart.”

  Am I supposed to prance around beating my chest like a chimp in front of my grandfather? Right now what I’m least prepared for is the cheering. They’re actually cheering at me. Granted, I can make out Thalia and Layla and Marty, and if I listen hard enough, I can even hear Kurt hollering. But then there’s Hannah, and the boy with the turtle shell and his mom, and even my mother’s sister is clapping with a smile on her face. I find Layla’s face in the crowd, her skin glowing in the light. She cocks her head to the side and blows me a kiss the way she always does before a meet, and deep in my heart this all feels right.

  My grandfather grabs my hand and holds it in the air, just as the heralds did for their kids, and suddenly I wish my dad were here to see. I haven’t won anything yet; I’ve just been introduced to a court of sea creatures, but they’re not booing. At least not yet. Maybe I can do this. I pull off my shirt and strap the dagger to my bare chest. I’m not rippling with the muscles of the other bros, but I’ve got a pretty hot body.

  Finally, the boy with the conch steps forward and blows the horn. I take my place beside Elias, who isn’t shy about the way he snarls at me.

  The Sea King stands again. “The five champions of the High Court,” he says for a final round of applause. It dawns on me that if I have to fight any of these guys, I’m done for. I can hold my own in a fight against some asshole after school, but I’m not at Thorne Hill anymore, and Elias could crack my skull open and use it as a serving bowl if he wanted to.

  “The challenges that await our champions will try their strength, their minds, and their hearts. They will come face-to-face with the darkest parts of their souls as they go in search of the power of the Sea King.” The king holds the crackling trident over his head. When he releases it, it levitates and spins slowly over his outstretched palms. “This is the power of the Sea King, a gift from the gods.”

  The trident breaks cleanly into three pieces and sounds like knives sharpening. The three-pronged fork crackles with thin fissures of lightning at its tips. Its handle fits into a long staff made of braided gold. The bottom is a long and jagged spear that appears to be made of quartz or some kind of cloudy glass; it has a brass handle. Each piece hovers in the air over the lake. They each spin in their own contained tornado until the force is too much and they’re sucked down into the lake. Down, down, down into the blackness of the bottom.