The Surface Breaks

by Louise O'Neill

  “Regardless of that fact,” I say. “It is an invasion of my privacy to come into my room like this. And at such an hour.”

  “Oh, I do apologize, young Muirgen.”

  “Zale, I’m serious. My father—”

  “Your father? I’m sure your father would be interested to hear about how often his youngest daughter has been travelling to the surface.”

  How does he know that? “I am fifteen now,” I say, trying to ignore my uneasiness. “I will have you remember that.”

  “Yes,” Zale says, and his eyes drift down my body. My heart beats too quickly, like a song made up of broken chords. “You most certainly are.”

  Watch the fish, my grandmother had told me when I came of age and I began to ask questions of an intimate nature. Watch the fish and you will understand. And so I did. The male fish chasing the female fish around and around, biting her fins, nipping at her tail, waiting for her to fall down in exhaustion so he could claim her as his own. I could not tell if they were fighting or making love. Perhaps it is all the same, in the end.

  “Fifteen,” he says. “And I have been so patient these past three years. I feel like I deserve a small reward, don’t you agree?”

  I swim away from Zale, floating up towards the surface. My breath feels leaden, as if it wants to break my ribs. I wish Oliver was here to rescue me, take me away. I wish my mother was still alive. I wish someone would ask me what I want, just once. I wish for so many things, and I know that none of them are possible for girls like me.

  “Always looking up,” Zale says, floating easily beside me. “Tell me, what is it about up there that fascinates you so much, Muirgen? Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

  “What do you mean by that?” (Does he know? How could he know?)

  “Nothing,” he says. “I was just wondering.”

  Zale has never even been to the surface; it is a point of pride for him. Why would I? he says. Why would I even want to be near those disgusting creatures?

  “And all of this nonsense,” he says now, pointing to the statue and the precious things on my table. “This human rubbish. I don’t know why your father indulges this obsession of yours.”

  “It’s not an obsession.” And my father does not know anything about me. “I just think they’re pretty.”

  “Typical girl,” Zale says. “Distracted by shiny trinkets, regardless of their provenance. Things will change when we are bonded. These visits to the surface will come to a stop, for one. It’s too dangerous, your risk of capture increases with each return. Perhaps you should heed what happened to your mother. There’s a lesson in that, isn’t there? A lesson I’m sure you would do well to remember, especially when you belong to me.”

  What he says is true; I will be his. I belong to my father, and my father has chosen Zale for me. I shall be passed from one man to the next, ownership transferred with the ease of a handshake, and I will be expected to smile as the deal is done.

  “Do you mind being bethrothed to Marlin?” I had asked Nia a few months before my last birthday. The others had gone on a rare trip to the surface to watch a lightning storm (Don’t tell Father, Talia warned me. You know how he would get if he heard we were going up there.) and I had to watch jealously as they swam away from the palace. Bored of sitting in the tower for them to return, I found Nia in the dormitory, staring out the window.

  “Do you mind?” I asked her again when she didn’t answer me. I couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation between her and Grandmother that I had stumbled upon; Nia’s despair, her pleas that our grandmother do something to help her. Both of us remained still then, listening to each other’s breathing. We were waiting for the other to be the first one to tell the truth. “Do you love Marlin?”

  Nia was quiet for a long time. “Muirgen,” she said eventually, “you can’t always get what you want. We should know that better than anyone else.”

  “Zale?” I ask now. “Do you…” I am unsure of how to phrase this. He moves through the water until he is floating in front of me, reaching out to caress my hair. Something heavy pulses in my throat.

  “Delicious,” he murmurs, examining each bare inch of flesh and scale. Next he will ask me to show him my teeth so he can check for cavities. “What were you asking? Do I what?”

  “Do you love me?” I need to ask him this. If Zale feels the same way about that me that I do about Oliver, if he dreams about me, if he can spend hours thinking about holding my hand, maybe it will all be okay. He will treat me with kindness when we are bonded. I could learn to be content if I was treated kindly.

  “Love you?” he says. “What has ‘love’ got to do with anything? This isn’t one of those nymph-tales your grandmother has filled your head with, Muirgen.”

  “I don’t think it’s the most absurd question in the kingdom,” I say, anger rising in me. “Considering we are to be bonded on my next birthday.”

  “Don’t be such a child,” he says. “You are the Sea King’s favourite daughter. Your beauty is unrivalled and therefore you are the correct choice for a man like me. He has no sons, so once we are bonded, the Sea King will have to honour me as rightful heir to the throne. I shall make certain improvements that need to be enforced around here.”

  He has never spoken so freely about his ambitions for the future before. There has always been a chaperone present, an elder there to safeguard my purity. But in a few short months, there will be no one there to protect me from this man. I will be alone with him, for ever.

  “But I am the youngest,” I say, ignoring the pain in my chest, my lungs feeling as if they are too big for this body to contain. “If this is what you want, surely Talia would be a better match. She is the first-born. Or Cosima, the way it was supposed to be. Zale, she still adores you, she would—”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he says, his mouth tightening at the mention of Cosima’s name. “You are just girls. Your looks are the only thing that distinguishes you from one another, and I want the best.” He touches my face, as if testing my beauty to ensure it is worthy of acquisition. “You remind me of your mother,” he says. “I wanted Muireann myself, you know – every mer-man did at that time – but the Sea King had first priority.” He smiles at me. “But you’re the next best thing, little Muirgen. With you by my side and the Sea King’s trident in my hand,” he closes his eyes, as if imagining the power flooding through him, “the kingdom will be mine. All of it. I will make sure of that.”

  “You don’t mean—”

  “Yes, I do,” he says, opening his eyes again. “It is time to be rid of the Salkas for good. We were so close to victory the last time; if your father had remained resolute instead of allowing a mermaid to persuade him to concede. We had nearly destroyed them when he agreed to this joke of an armistice.”

  The armistice that my mother was so anxious to achieve. A crown of white lilies in her hair, my father’s hand on hers. Peace, that was what Muireann of the Green Sea wanted, the stories go. She wanted peace so badly that she gave her body to a man old enough to be her father. I would not see that legacy so carelessly dismantled.

  “That ‘joke of an armistice’, as you put it, has worked for so long,” I say. “No one wants a return to the times of war, Zale. The mer-folk nearly died of starvation before. Why would you want such a thing to happen again?”

  “It won’t happen like that this time. This time, we shall be the victors.”

  There are no victors in war. “But why would you want to take such a risk? When things are peaceful now…” We have heard the stories of the Sea Witch, and the atrocities that she is capable of. If provoked she will eat our young, she will send her Salkas to scalp our women, shave our hair and wear it as their own. And they will kill every last mer-man they find in the kingdom. There is no guarantee of our victory, no matter what Zale might think. He is so blinded by prejudice that he cannot see his own foolishness.

  “It is not a risk,” he says. “The Salkas are an abomination and must
be destroyed.”

  “But—”

  “Enough back talk, girl. I am a man, not a fish,” he says. “And men go to war.”

  “Why do you hate them so much?” I ask him. “What did they ever do to you?”

  “Muirgen. They came from the world above, from the human world.” I am silent; that is all he needs to hate, I think. A human touch is enough to make him venomous.

  “Besides,” he says, and there is an amused smile on his face, “a war should make you happy. Are you not afraid that they will come for you? They must have been most displeased at your little … intervention.”

  “What?” I say, and the water is ice suddenly, frost chipping into my bones. “What are you talking about?”

  He tilts his head to one side, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? I saw you. I saw you the night of the storm.”

  “But, but you never go to the—”

  “—dragging that human away from the Salka.”

  My hands are trembling so I clasp them together to make them stop, as if in prayer. “That isn’t true. I don’t know what you think you saw, Zale, but—”

  “Don’t lie to me,” he barks, and I shut up. “I wanted to keep an eye on you, little one, your mother’s blood is in you. I wanted to make sure that, along with her red hair and her—” he stares at my breasts and I resist the urge to shudder “—form, you had not also inherited other, more displeasing traits. It was such a disappointment to discover the truth, but don’t worry,” he says, and he rubs his tongue against his top teeth as if he’s sharpening it. “I can purify you. I can purify you in ways that you have never imagined. It would be my pleasure.”

  “Zale,” I say. I begin to drop down into my room, too weak to stay afloat, and he follows closely. “Zale, I beg you. Please don’t tell my father. There hasn’t been any word from the Sea Witch, no hint of a reprisal. No one need know. This could be forgotten—”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this in a hurry.”

  “What do you want from me?” I say, sinking on to the bed, fear spinning me dizzy.

  “Well,” he says, tapping his fingers against his jaw line in an exaggerated pose of thoughtfulness, “there is one thing you could do.”

  “What?” I’ll do anything he wants. Anything. So long as my father does not find out.

  “You think I don’t see how you flinch when I look at you? How you pull away when I touch you?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t mind a bit of reluctance. That can be fun, actually. But in public? It won’t do, not any more. I won’t be made into a laughing stock.” He places his hands on my waist, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You will be mine soon, little one; you had better get used to it.”

  “Are you going to tell my father?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. But what fun I am going to have with you in the meantime.” He tightens his grip and claims my lips with his, his cold tongue invading my mouth like a greasy sea slug. “Goodnight.”

  As the door closes behind him, I can feel my stomach clenching, propelling something up through my chest and my throat, spewing out of my lips. A dark yellow cloud, a shadow on the waves, floating away from me. And I watch it dance.

  That was my first kiss.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Time passes, as it always does in the kingdom. The winter festival comes and goes. The court room is adorned with silver and gold in its honour, and goblets are held in the air to toast the Sea King. “Thank you for your graciousness,” the mer-folk say. “Thank you, Sea King, oh, blessed Sea King.” The chorus maids sing songs celebrating the ice, thanking the winter gods for another year of peace.

  Peace. Yet I do not feel relief. I don’t feel very much at all. I have become resigned to my fate: I will never know true love. This is as good as it gets for maids like me, maids who should be content with beauty, wealth, status. Perhaps it is greedy for me to want to be happy too. But I am hungry, so hungry, for something more. My desire is carving a hole in my stomach, leaving me hollow.

  “Sing,” my father says to me as the festival celebrations become wilder, his eyes blurring from the drink. “Sing, my darling.” (That’s what Oliver called Viola, my darling.) Thinking of that night, I sing a song of my heart; something strange, full of longing. I sing a song for him. When I am finished, the crowd is quiet, some wiping tears from their eyes. “That was fine,” my father says. “Though a tad melancholic for my tastes. Remember, Muirgen, the winter festival is supposed to be a celebration.”

  I am still my father’s favourite; Zale kept his promise and has not told him of my misdeed. And I uphold my side of our bargain as well. He continues to visit, late at night when everyone else sleeps. I envy them that. They still possess an innocence that I will never know again. He does not take my purity – he knows that would be a step too far without my father’s blessing. But he is rough with me. He pulls my hair, his fingers forceful on my skin, leaving discoloured marks that I struggle to explain to my grandmother and sisters in the days following. “You’re hurting me,” I tell him, and he only laughs. “Better get used to it, little one,” he replies.

  Spring breaks slowly that year, spilling light through the water. The eggs hatch, the next generation of mer-babies unfurling themselves in a new world. There are more girls born this year than ever before. I want to tell them to be careful. I want to tell them to swim away at first light. I want to hold a pillow over their mewling faces and bury their last breath inside their mouths. They would be safe then, safe from men who watch them all the time. Men who come to your bedroom every night, demanding you pay the toll for their silence.

  When Zale leaves, I curl up in a ball, nursing my disgust like I am feeding an infant at my breast. Summer will be here soon, I think. Summer means my sixteenth birthday. It means a bonding ceremony with Zale. This summer will also bring the anniversary of the shipwreck, of the boy in my arms on that beach. Watching as he was re-born and the humans took him, helping him to his feet, helping him walk away from me. He didn’t look back. I’ve stopped going to the surface to try and find him. I spend my days lying in bed, weary, staring at the water-softened sky, jolting at every unfamiliar sound for fear that it is Zale.

  He continues to visit in an official capacity, smiling when I float into the reception as if he hasn’t seen me every night. Cosima rushes to his side as soon as he arrives at the palace with a: “How are you, Zale?” and: “You look so well, doesn’t he look well, sisters?” and: “Are you comfortable, Zale, I can get you another cushion if you so desire?” She fusses incessantly, until Father sends her to her room, complaining of an ear-ache.

  “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” he asks Cosima. “Muirgen is always quiet. It’s much more attractive for a maid to be quiet.”

  I am quiet because I have nothing to say. Every Saturday, Nia and I sit in the palace’s reception room with Zale and Marlin while Grandmother hovers in the corner, keeping a close eye on us to ensure we don’t behave inappropriately. Where are you at night-time? I want to ask her. Why don’t you protect me then?

  “You do seem rather quiet,” Zale says to me, after he told me a joke and his punchline landed into silence. “I’m sorry,” I say automatically. I can’t afford to anger Zale, not now. “I found it hard to understand. Can you explain it to me? You’re so intelligent, Zale.” I see Grandmother’s head jerk up as if in surprise at my response, but then she nods. It is easier for girls to be agreeable, she has always said. Don’t you want an easy life, my child?

  “Muirgen.”

  I am counting the fish as they swim past my tower. One fish, two fish, three fish more.

  “Mama used to say that counting fish helps you fall asleep,” Talia told me when I was little. “Look out the window and tell me how many you can see, Muirgen.” I would fall asleep soon after, dreaming of fish and a woman with hair as red as mine. Talia was seven when our
mother left, and she can remember. Those memories might be patched together with half-forgotten bedtime stories and kisses on foreheads and whispered I love yous, but it is more than the rest of us have. And we resent Talia for that.

  “Muirgen,” my grandmother says again.

  Gaia. My mother called me Gaia.

  “Muirgen, I know that you are awake.” Grandmother swims closer to the bed, sitting by my side. “Muirgen, look at me,” she says, and there is an urgency in her voice that makes me roll over and face her. “My child, you must not worry. You must not worry about the Salkas.”

  “What…” I need to find words. Safe words. Words that will not get me in trouble. “But why would I be worried about the Salkas, Grandmother Thalassa?”

  She is unadorned at this time of night, the hair hanging freely around her face is the same silver-grey as her tail. There are tiny gaping wounds in her tail from the pearls, the flesh taking longer to heal these days.

  “I know what you did, my Muirgen. And I need to tell you that there will be no retribution from the Salkas for your actions. I have spoken with Ceto and all is well.”

  I push myself to sitting on the bed. “What? You spoke with the Sea Witch?” She nods and I carry on, bewildered. “After what her Salkas did to Uncle Manannán?”

  “Don’t.” My grandmother raises her hand, as if she wants to push the words back down my throat. “Do not say his name.” Her voice cracks. “Do not speak of things you do not comprehend, Muirgen.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother,” I say. “But how did you find out what I did? What did the Sea Witch tell you?”

  “So many questions,” my grandmother sighs. “All that matters is that you are safe.”

  “She will not attack us? She hates the Sea King so…”