Cursed Tides

by Jade Kerrion

  And what was wrong with Ashe?

  Her face, after saving him from nearly drowning, was pale and drawn. He had never seen her look so exhausted. She had said nothing of it to him. She and her parrot had left the laboratory almost immediately. That had been hours ago. He had not seen her since.

  More than slightly irritated by her damned refusal to provide any answers that would allow him to help her, Varun decided to check on her. Silence, however, met his knock on her cabin door. He knocked again, waited, and this time, Jinn’s raspy voice squawked out, “Come in.”

  The blinds were drawn, the room darkened. Ashe lay asleep on the bed. Jinn perched nearby, his feathers ruffled by the near-constant self-grooming. Not boredom, Varun realized immediately. Worry. Even the parrot was worried.

  He tried to rouse Ashe. She stirred briefly, enough to swat him away, but did not wake fully. Damn it. His gaze fell on her feet, peeking out from beneath the covers.

  They were covered in blisters.

  Didn’t the stories say that the mermaid—the Little Mermaid—was mute and her feet hurt?

  But that was almost three hundred years ago. That couldn’t be. It simply could not.

  It had to be a coincidence.

  Something in his gut said no.

  He shook his head. “What are you?” he murmured.

  Jinn rasped a reply. “If you have to ask, you already know the answer.”

  The Little Mermaid? The one immortalized in children’s fairy tales. The one who visited my great-great-whatever-grandfather?

  But how can that be?

  He needed answers, but Ashe was not going to give them to him. He returned to his laboratory, gathered his data, and used his satellite phone to call an acquaintance. “Hey, Cynthia. It’s Varun.”

  Her friendly voice belied how busy he knew she had to be. “Hi, it’s good to hear from you. How is life after graduate school?”

  “Like nothing I imagined,” Varun said drily. “I hear you’re the big data expert.”

  “It pays the bills,” was Cynthia’s modest reply. “And working for the enemy—I mean the FBI—keeps me out of too much trouble when I hack other government networks. I’m obviously slowing down in my old age.”

  Varun chuckled at her remark; Cynthia was no older than he was. “Do you have a few moments to look at something for me?”

  “It’s almost always longer than a few moments. It’s not magic, despite what everyone thinks—but what do you want?”

  “It’s going to sound crazy, but just stick with me on this idea. Let’s say that I have the locations of dead spots in the ocean, and I know that carriers of…disease…are responsible for these creating these spots. Would you be able to track them back to a point of origin?”

  “Of course,” Cynthia replied immediately. “It’s the same kind of algorithms used to monitor an epidemic, to find patient zero.”

  Varun winced at the analogy; it was closer than he liked. “I’ll send you the data right now. I need to know where the disease originates. It’s critical—far more than I can say.”

  Ashe awoke to a room bordering on indecision between light and dark. A glance out the window confirmed it was the pale promise of dawn rather than the fiery defiance of dusk. Her shoulders slumped. Trying to find a suitable curse word for the situation demanded more effort than she could find or spare.

  Lethargy dragged at her limbs as she pulled on her clothes. She stared at her boots with distaste.

  She just couldn’t.

  She called to Jinn by extending her arm. The parrot fluttered onto her shoulder and rubbed his beak against her hair. The irascible bird clucked softly, a comforting sound. Ashe smiled as she stroked Jinn’s feathered head. What would she do without her voice?

  Probably curse a lot less.

  Jinn cackled, gray feathers brushing against Ashe’s cheek as she walked barefoot from her cabin and down quiet corridors. The crew mess hall, which usually buzzed with conversation and laughter, was empty.

  She found all six members of her crew gathered on the bridge, with Varun. Everyone looked up as she entered. Their eyes widened. Jackson cleared his throat. “Captain, your…hair.”

  She glanced down. The long blue-green strands startled her. Damn it. She had been distracted when she reformed her physical body, and had defaulted back into her natural hair color.

  Think fast.

  Hell. A woman shouldn’t have to explain vanity.

  Just run with it. No explanations necessary.

  Everyone looked surprised and uneasy, except Varun. Their gazes met across the room, then he nudged his chin toward the far wall.

  Ashe glanced up at the nautical map displayed on the large screen, her attention immediately drawn to a single red mark on the map.

  Her heart thudded. Blood whooshed through her brain. No. Damn it. Her fingers flicked. “What is this?” Jinn demanded on her behalf.

  “I asked a friend to run the data on the dead spots in the ocean, and to see if it could be logically mapped back to an origin point. It can.” Varun pointed at the map. “It’s in the Levantine Sea.” His jaw tightened until a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Right near my home on the island of Kalymnos.”

  Chapter 12

  Yet another dawn was breaking when the jagged cliffs of Kalymnos finally came into view several days later. It was as serene and beautiful, as it had been centuries earlier. The wild isolation of the Greek islands had always called to Ashe, even before her disastrous escapade on land.

  Harsh storms were uncommon in this part of the Mediterranean, but when they struck, it was with ferocity, and without warning. So it had been that day, almost three hundred years earlier. The little craft—calling it a ship would have been an insult to shipbuilders everywhere—had been overloaded with young people celebrating his birthday.

  Drawn by the lights of the lanterns on the boat, Ashe had popped her head out of the water and watched the festivities with amused indulgence. It was nothing compared to the glittering celebrations hosted at the Oceans Court at Shulim, but the humans’ exuberant joy was infectious.

  Of course they were happy. They had souls. They had open access to eternity.

  Ignoring the waddling ship, Ashe had returned to brooding over the warm-water currents. A small storm whisked in from the Atlantic, but she did not notice the boat taking on water and sinking until the sea churned with thrashing limbs. She darted around the panicking, drowning people. One of them flailed, trying to keep his friend’s head above the water. A massive wave crashed down on them, driving them underwater. For an instant, their eyes met before he vanished beneath the crushing pressure.

  She dived deep, far beneath the churn of the water, and wrapped her arms around his chest. His head already hung limply. She wondered, for a single horrified instant, if she had risked discovery for a dead man. He stirred, however, when they broke the surface, although his eyes did not open.

  Well… Ashe glanced around. Hell. She swam for the closest shoreline, dragging his bulk along. As strong as she was, it was still hard work, his non-aerodynamic body slowing them down. With extreme effort, she dragged him onto a narrow piece of beach. Waves lapped against her tail as she stared at his face. He looked all right for a nearly drowned human, she supposed. Humans did not belong on the water. They were such frail, pathetic creatures.

  The man’s eyes fluttered open. His confused gaze locked on her. He blinked hard.

  It took her merely those few seconds to dart away, back into the safety of the ocean. Far out in the sea, she had surfaced and looked back. He stood at the water’s edge, staring out, shock and bewilderment on his face, as the tide returned the bodies of his friends. He alone had survived.

  She had made certain of it.

  Now, three hundred years later, Ashe’s gaze fell on the same narrow strip of sand, seemingly unchanged from all those centuries earlier. If she had known then what would happen, she might have let him drown.

  Footsteps approached her. She did not have to
turn around to hear Varun’s familiar step.

  If the prince had not survived the shipwreck, Varun would not have been born.

  Her lips quirked. Well, perhaps she would have saved the prince anyway, but she certainly would have left it at that. The more she thought about it, the harder it was to blame anyone but herself for what had happened three centuries earlier.

  “That’s my family home up there.” Varun pointed to a large house presiding over one of the highest cliffs. Far below, waves crashed on jagged rocks before shattering into white spray. “The Zales have made their home on Kalymnos for hundreds of years. The family has been through good times, and more recently, through not-so-good times. We’ve managed to hold on to the house, though. However far I traveled, I could always return home.” He glanced at Ashe. “My parents have invited you and Ondine to the house for dinner.”

  Ashe’s fingers flung back a reply. Jinn squawked, “I’m staying on the ship.”

  “They’d like to meet the captain of the Veritas.”

  “I’m sure they don’t want Jinn at dinner.” The parrot suddenly ruffled his feathers indignantly. “But I want dinner.” Apparently, Jinn was not above speaking up for himself.

  Varun stared at Ashe. “You’re not…afraid, are you?”

  “What?”

  “No fear of diving deep without equipment, or getting into a bitch fight with a mermaid, but dinner with the folks…hell, no.” He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “I don’t like people.”

  “Surprisingly enough, I figured that out on my own,” Varun assured her. “It’s just dinner, and my parents would love a chance to meet you. I owe you my life, after all. A bit of thanks is in order. My mom’s a great cook.”

  “Not much into food either.”

  “I did notice that too.” He sighed. “It’s two hours, Ashe. That’s it. What could happen in that time?”

  Bad decisions are made in moments, not hours. And somewhere in Varun’s home was a drawing of her. How much of a likeness was it? The ancestors forbid she would have to send in an errant tornado to take it out. No way to know without checking it out herself.

  Ashe scowled. “Fine.”

  “Welcome! Welcome to Kalymnos,” Paulos Zale boomed, his voice surprisingly deep and resonant for someone so thin. His sparse gray hair was meticulously combed over his shiny pate.

  His wife, Marina, managed to transform her slenderness into elegant grace. She hugged Varun warmly, and offered the same to Ondine, before extending a hand to Ashe. “Welcome to our home, captain. We’re honored to have you here. Have you been to the islands before?”

  Ashe signed her response. Jinn squawked, “Once. A long time ago.”

  Marina stared with delight at the parrot who preened from the attention. “How marvelous! He is so smart.”

  Varun nodded. “Jinn also has a pirate’s vocabulary and a temper, so be warned, Mother.”

  Marina only laughed. “I think we shall get along fabulously, then. Shall we?”

  Jinn astonished Ashe by fluttering off to land on Marina’s shoulder. Varun’s mother and father headed down the corridor, followed by Varun and Ondine. Ashe followed slowly, the distance between her and the others expanding with each step.

  The house had not changed.

  Three centuries earlier, it had been one of the largest on the island—almost palatial in comparison to the fishermen’s huts on the shore. It was now worn with age and scuffed by time, but well maintained. The wood, its polish faded, was still solid and strong. The underlying bones of the house were resolute. It was a home built to last through the fragility of human lives.

  That incongruity had bothered old Medea too. The ancient sea witch had lived many lifetimes through means no one understood and dared challenge, not even the royal family. She lounged in her illuminated underwater cave, apparently indifferent to Ashe’s plea. “A soul will avail you nothing, little princess,” she had said. “The humans have souls, yet their focus is not on eternity. They strive to leave something of themselves behind. Even their buildings outlive them. The marks they stamp upon the Earth last far beyond their lives.” Medea shook her head. “Possessing a soul and thereby touching eternity is not the goal. All that matters is what you do with the time you spend among the living.”

  “Easy for you to say. How old are you? Nine hundred?”

  “A thousand and eleven. And in all that time—nearly four lifetimes—I have never met anyone so smitten with the idea of a soul. Haven’t you anything better to do with your time, Asherah, than pursue what was never the Beltiamatu’s to have?”

  Ashe scowled. “That’s ridiculous! Who made that rule?”

  “Rules set the scaffolding for the universe, my girl. They are not lightly crossed.”

  “Hasn’t anyone bothered to ask why?” Ashe swished her tail impatiently, chasing away the small fish nosing at the edge of the cave. “Rules are meaningless without reasons.”

  “We are not given to understand all the reasons.”

  “Says who? I’m not opposed to abiding by the rules if only I could understand them! The old stories say the Beltiamatu once had souls.”

  Medea shrugged. “Those stories are lost in time, older than even myths and legends.”

  “You’ve lived for so long, Medea. Surely you know something about souls.”

  “Not as much as would please you, your little highness. The affairs of humans do not interest me.”

  “If we had paid more interest to humans, perhaps Atlantis would not have met the fate it did.”

  “Or perhaps it would have anyway. Humans are…different.”

  Ashe snorted. “They have souls.”

  “It makes them different. Not better.”

  “Their souls live forever.”

  “You assume eternity is worth having.”

  “I won’t let him die.”

  Old Medea smiled. “And there it is—love, innocent and pure. What would you risk for him, Asherah?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “Everything is a worthy price, Asherah. Even so, there are no answers here in the ocean.”

  “The humans must have it, then. They have souls. They must know more about souls, including how to obtain one.”

  Medea’s shrug was indifferent. “Sometimes, we care nothing for the things we take for granted. Humans are no different.”

  “Send me up there, Medea. I know you can do it. I know they have the answers I seek.”

  “You will lose your tail.”

  “I know.”

  “And there is a greater price.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your voice….”

  Ashe had never figured out what old Medea wanted with her voice, but she had willingly paid that price. She had not missed her voice much, but she had missed her tail. Legs had been a poor substitute, and she had literally gotten the raw end of that deal. Three centuries later, her damn feet still hurt.

  Her gaze snapped toward a partially open door. The library.

  Ashe pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  It was unchanged. Shelves of books reached to the vaulted ceilings. The cozy reading nook by the fireplace had new pillows and throws, and appeared as comfortable as it had once been. She had spent hours there leafing through one religious manuscript after another.

  None of them provided her with the information she had desperately needed.

  Her gaze traveled across the library. Many of the books were new since her last visit almost three hundred years earlier, but she was certain they also did not have the answer she had sought.

  Medea had been right. The humans knew nothing and cared nothing for the origin of souls. They possessed souls, but professed no interest in them. It was all such a damn waste.

  Sunlight glittered on something contained within a rectangular glass case. She walked closer, her heart racing as the shape became painfully familiar.

  The dagger her half-sisters had given her.


  The dagger with which she was supposed to take the prince’s life.

  The dagger would have paid the price Medea demanded. It would have given her the one thing for which she traded everything.

  “Please do it,” her sisters had pleaded with her as they bobbed along the shore. The moonlight shone upon their too-pale faces and their hacked hair. “You have to come home. We need you. He needs you.” One of them reached out and set the dagger in her hand. “Just kill the prince, and it’s done.”

  No, it wasn’t done. Nothing was that simple.

  Back in the library, Ashe stared at the dagger. Nothing about its subtly wavy edge or plain handle hinted at the potent energies hammered into the blade—dark magic far beyond her understanding.

  Isriq Genii.

  Soul Stealer.

  The prince’s descendants had no idea that the dagger they had casually displayed for so many years had been forged in a demon’s heart from the core of a fallen star.

  Ashe sighed softly and stepped away from the Isriq Genii. It was safer here, its deadly capabilities unknown, than back in the sea—especially considering the chaotic state the ocean was in.

  All these books. No answers to be found.

  She ran her finger along the dusty bookshelf. Why didn’t humans give a damn about their souls? It was the most precious thing they possessed.

  “There you are.” Varun’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Dinner’s almost ready; I wondered where you were.” He strode into the library to stand beside her. “Have you seen the picture?”

  Damn it.

  “It’s over here,” he continued. He walked across to the nook where she had once spent hours of each day. A framed drawing hung on the inner wall.

  She stared at it.

  The prince had not been much of an artist. If there was a resemblance to her, she had to strain to see it.

  “Does it look like anyone you know?” Varun asked.

  Nice try. Won’t work.

  Varun tilted his head to look at the drawing from another angle. “I never put any stock in the old family stories. Now, I realize I should have listened better. For centuries, the drawing of a mermaid sat in my family’s library, and I never knew.” He glanced out of the window at the cliffs and the ocean far below. “How much more did I miss out on because I never bothered to listen? Because I was always looking somewhere else?"