Falling in Deep Collection Box Set

by Pauline Creeden

  She turned to me. “This is where it becomes dangerous. Are you ready, Ia?”

  I nodded. As ready as I will ever be.

  * * *

  She took my hand, and we swam, keeping our upper bodies above the water as our tails propelled us, until the others were but spots in the distance behind us.

  “Look! Do you see?” She pointed to the north, and there they were.

  Three ships. One after the other, small but growing.

  The sun had all but faded now, and the storm was nearer. Lightning lit the sky above us, threads of iridescence wrapping in and out of the encroaching gray and black.

  The sight scared me, and I fought the instinct to dive back to the safety of our grotto.

  Liliana’s calm, determined presence strengthened me. “It is going to be difficult for your first test, but you must try,” she spoke up over the rising howl of wind.

  More experienced or talented Callers used such acts of nature to their advantage, their gifts allowing for an extraordinary, hypnotic tone and volume that stretched for kilometers, convincing the men on the ship that their voice would guide them to safe passage.

  I felt the rising waves before I saw them, the currents shifting swiftly beneath us, and we bobbed with them in the water, attune to the movement.

  The ships were not as lucky. They were large, cumbersome, and the bulk of them rode the waves crudely, sometimes airborne for a moment before the bow crashed down, splashing violently into the next wave. The sails, radiant white in the fading light, teetered and tottered from side to side, the weight of them dragging the vessels down to a perilous distance.

  Forms moved about on the deck, frantic, but calculated. Some pulled at ropes; others shimmied up to great heights. As their vessels neared, their shouts and commands could be heard softly in the winds.

  “We must get closer,” Liliana yelled, her voice dampened by the gale. “See the ship to the right? That is the leader.”

  She pointed, and I nodded.

  The rain felt sharp as it fell, increasing from drops here and there to a barrage.

  “I have to call over all this noise?”

  “Yes!” She dove under, taking my hand.

  We stared at each other for a moment as our eyes adjusted to the dark, and I knew from the look on her face that the weather was worrisome.

  “Ia, we can decline this one. There will be other ships, and you have two attempts left.”

  I considered it. “Can you call through this?” I asked, the root of me knowing her answer as I pointed to the storm raging above us.

  Liliana nodded.

  “Maybe I should try,” I thought out loud. “I would hate to discard this attempt without trying.”

  “Are you sure?” She took my other hand as she searched my face with her eyes.

  “We will have to get ourselves as close as possible, and stay on the surface to lure them to the rocks,” she said. “The others will join us when we get close, but it will be on you.”

  “Or you,” I added, anticipating my failure.

  The belly of the foremost ship approached, its shadow looming ever closer, parts dipping in and out of the view beneath the waves. I took a deep breath, the gills under my ears flexing and reveling in the reprieve of the saltwater, and then swam toward it, Liliana in tow.

  “Surface……NOW,” she shouted, and we both propelled up and through the water, jumping out of it from the force of our tails.

  The ship was massive, the wood creaked and groaned even though it was soaked. I braced myself against its side.

  “Now, call. When you have their attention, they will follow your voice,” she yelled. “Start small and easy. Use a single, wordless tone.”

  I pulled air into my lungs, felt the pressure of it tingle and burn, and turned my head upward trying to direct my mouth to the edge of the deck as we bounded in and out of the storm-tossed sea. I parted my lips and let loose with all my strength, concentrating on trying to create the beautiful sound my family was known for.

  Nothing came out save a deep, pebble-filled screech.

  Liliana lost her grip on the side of the ship as her hands instinctively covered her ears, and she fell back into the depths, wincing as her eyes broke contact with mine.

  The ship’s movement grew more erratic by the second as the winds unleashed on us, and I too, lost my grip and retreated underwater. The waters beneath were angry as well. Their currents reached deeper and lifted the contents of the upper levels of the sea to the surface in towering waves.

  Liliana screamed my name. I heard that much among the turmoil, but little else, and I followed her voice.

  “We are in grave danger. This storm is more than either of us can handle, and the ships are -”

  A large hull, like a giant beast, tore through the water as we were pulled up.

  “Lili!” I cried out, watching my sister slam against the wood and bounce into darkness.

  Pieces of wood skewered my vision; the roar of the winds and rain and crash stunned my hearing.

  The humans screamed, some of them now overboard and floating helplessly in the waters with me. The ones still conscious gasped for breath, reaching their arms upward, straining for help, but found none as we were tossed about.

  I strained to push myself deeper, knowing if I could make it past this pull, I could retreat to calmer waters and maybe find Liliana, but as I orientated myself, hard wood grazed the right side of my tail. Thrusting my fin up and down as fast as it would let me, I was determined to push away from the behemoth chasing me. Something sharp bit into my fin as the waters began to pull us all upward yet again. It tugged me back, and when I glanced back, I saw its reflective sheen.

  A hook.

  A very large hook.

  The pain of it tore through me, and the desperation to free myself transformed into pure panic as I felt rough threads wrap around my tail, moving farther up my body, wrapping itself around my arms until I could no longer fight it. It was a net, and I was completely, utterly snared.

  The ship plunged downward again, and I, tied mercilessly to its side, went with it, the force of it throttling me against the unyielding wood.

  My vision darkened as my head grew light, and an unnatural deep sleep consumed me.

  Chapter 3

  The weight of the world was on my body, or so it felt.

  Pressure.

  Enormous pressure in my head, in my ears.

  Heat.

  It bathed my skin, but it was not a comforting warmth. It was torturous, as though a thousand sharp rocks were scraping across every bit of me.

  I coughed and knew from the pain of the water bubbling up my throat that I was no longer in the ocean.

  Sand was beneath me, hot and gritty. I closed my fingers around it, cradling it. How different. It felt barely moist.

  The light blinded me as I opened my eyes. Overwhelmed, I wiped the remnant of vile moisture from my lips with the back of my hand, noticing the red tint of my skin. Bright pink and burning, it felt it could rip with any movement.

  How am I alive?

  While merfolk may stay above surface as much as we like, our ability to breathe air is limited. Our human-like lungs are quickly exhausted to the point that we must return beneath the waters at least every other hour or so to draw in better breath through our gills. I suspected from the height of the sun that I had been here more than a few hours, perhaps even a day. The pain coursing through my body told me that I must make it back to the water.

  Lifting myself up onto my elbows brought forth a new agony, the hooks and net digging in to the parts of me still entrapped. I released what barbs I could from my arms using my free hand and began to slide down the netting. Rolling on to my stomach would be painful but necessary if I were to dig the remaining hooks out of my tail. The ones in my back would have to remain there until I could make it home. The net I would have to carry, and hope against hope it would not snare something else or trap me along the way.

  I groaned as
I turned myself over, using the little strength in my arms that I had left. My tail was not cooperating. It convulsed as I tried to use it to assist my movement, and it jerked in multiple directions. I kept my eyes closed as I pushed myself up to sit, afraid of viewing the incredible damage that it suffered.

  It might render me unable to swim, unable to survive, and cast me into a long and drawn out death on an unfamiliar beach.

  I opened my eyes to find feet at the end of my tail, still bound with the netting and hooks. Not a tail at all.

  Legs.

  Two of them, with two feet at the end. I followed the reddened, angry skin, sliding my palms up it, my hands in as much disbelief as my eyes. They were mine, the legs. I stopped at my stomach, knowing from the ache of the sunburn and the shocks of pain from the still-embedded hooks that this was neither a dream nor an afterlife.

  I had turned human, someway, somehow in the mess.

  I sobbed, terrified of what lay before me. Legs. Feet. Hooks, nets, scrapes, scratches, gashes, bruises.

  How do I get back my tail? How do I get home?

  Legs. I had legs, but my left one was turned inward, the knee dislodged and bulging.

  I reached behind my ears and grasped for gills that were no longer there. I wrapped my arms around me, seeking to find some comfort, some calm in the emotions flooding me.

  Not only was I human, I was maimed.

  Human.

  The story of my birth, of my turning, rushed back to me. I was human, now, but not beautiful as the mermaid I had become. I was the human that I would have been had I lived.

  The unwanted, deformed, weak human that her father threw to the depths of the ocean.

  Then again, while my form was perfect in the water, I had failed my first test. The odds were growing that I would be a Lesser. Perhaps this weaker, human form was a gift. I took deep breaths to calm the turmoil within me, and studied my skin for a moment, watching as it crinkled then grew taut with my movement.

  “Miss? Are you alive?”

  It was a woman’s voice. A human voice, soft, calm, and comforting.

  She spoke English, but in an accent I had never heard. I took a moment before I responded, my head and body still reeling from the pain…and the surprise that I was still alive.

  “I do not know.” The words were difficult to say as my lips splintered and cracked. “How long have I been here on shore?”

  “All day, I think. We have one other survivor that I know of, and he is not expected to live much longer.” She kneeled down next to me, her face but a blur, and offered me water from a thick, leather pouch.

  “We searched for survivors this morning. I am sorry we overlooked you. You are hurt bad, and I will take you to be healed, yes?”

  I focused my sight on the sturdy, large frame next to me, and the details grew clearer with each second. Her skin was dark as midnight, smooth and rich, contrasted against the solid white dress she wore. The same cloth was wrapped about her head, just a tuft of soft brown hair peeking out at the top. Her eyes were kind, and her half-toothless smile, along with the gentle lines that framed it, told me she was loving, and I would be safe by her hands.

  I took the offered water, and then gagged at the flavor. It was salt-less – something I had never tasted, but I knew the pain in my stomach signaled that I needed it. She pulled the sack of water back some.

  “Easy, miss. You will be sick if you drink too much.”

  I nodded, keeping my grasp on the vessel as she draped a piece of fabric around me.

  “Zatia lives not too far from here. She is a freewoman, a healer. She can give you clothes, too.”

  Clothes. Yes, many humans wear fabric about them, and I’ll have to be one of them.

  “Yes, that would be good.” I replied, still unsure of my surroundings, but as I was at a loss for other options, I agreed to go.

  The woman’s stout muscles helped me to my feet, and I cratered.

  “I will carry you. You are light.” Without permission or protest, she swept my legs out from under my body and lifted, carrying me as one would an infant.

  “What is your name, miss?”

  “Ia.”

  She paused for a moment, glancing down at me before we continued on. “Eye-uh,” she repeated. “I am Jiba.”

  Unsure of my response, I chose silence. Her name was as unique to me as mine was to her.

  * * *

  Jiba moved at a quick pace. Sweat streaked down her face, and her breaths became more shallow and frequent as she, no doubt, pushed her stamina to its limit with the added burden of my weight.

  Fields and a few houses loomed in the far distance when we reached a modest home. It appeared new, the wood in excellent condition compared to the rotten, aged shacks with brittle thatch on the dock that we’d settled near in the north. This structure was one story, simple, painted white. It was unassuming aside from the smear of red that stained the doorframe.

  Jiba carried me up its cobblestone walkway, pausing halfway through to take a brief respite. She muttered something beneath her breath then continued her course. We were greeted by an open door.

  A girl stood behind it, slumping in that awkward limbo between youth and womanhood, the soft pink of her palms grasping the edge. She shrunk from view as best she could, seeking cover in the shadow as she searched me with her small, inquisitive eyes, and then turned away when they met my gaze.

  “Nattie,” Jiba spoke to her, her voice smooth and slow as she carried me inside. “Close the door behind me.”

  A heavy sigh heaved from the girl’s chest as she pushed it to, the shadow of the door receding and revealing her petite form and night-kissed skin.

  “Zatia won’t like this, mama,” Nattie’s frail voice whispered on the wind away from us, her speech less accented than her mother’s.

  “I won’t like what, girl,” called a heavy, sultry voice from the back of the house. Jiba carried me farther in, following the voice and a strange aroma that began to waft through the house.

  “A woman from the shipwreck,” Jiba called out to the disembodied voice.

  “Matthias told you to bring all survivors to the estate grounds. Master’s orders,” the woman said as pots and pans clanked about.

  “She is hurt.” Jiba called out over the clanging, and it ceased for a moment.

  “Fine,” the voice replied, and Jiba turned us to face a door next to the main entrance. It was worn, more so than the rest of the house as far as I could see. A large red dot was painted in the middle.

  Nattie opened it without a word, her lips moving quickly to mouth an unspoken prayer.

  The room was small, cluttered, and archaic compared to the structure that contained it. Dirt was dusted on the floor; plants grew next to every window with stalks bent to the light, drinking in the sun. Dried leaves hung from the ceiling, forming a canopy.

  Jiba laid me down on the floor in the center of a giant circle of white that smelled of salt. Her rough, calloused hands lifted my head and placed a small bundling of straw beneath it to cushion me.

  Every bit of my body ached.

  The door opened, and in walked the commander of the house, the owner of the hoarse, low voice. The sunlight pouring in from the windows illuminated her smooth ebony skin. She pursed her plush lips as she crossed her arms and examined me with her golden-brown eyes. She was beautiful. Breathtaking. Her features bold yet delicate. Her age was only hinted at when she leaned close to me, and I saw soft wrinkles forming at the outer corners of her eyes.

  “Pale for a slave, for someone who does hard work in the sun.” Her words were sardonic, yet true. Jiba smirked, and looked up at her.

  “She is new, from the north. Maybe she works in the house,” Jiba reasoned.

  Zatia shrugged, waving off Jiba’s explanations. “He will be angry that you have brought a white woman here, Jiba,” Zatia’s voice was even-keeled with a tinge of scolding. She raised her eyebrows as she addressed her counterpart.

  “Will you help her
or not?” Jiba stated. “Her leg is bad.”

  Zatia grunted as she took my right foot in hand and reached with the other into a leather apron draped around her neck, pulling out a tool, metallic and worn.

  “Have to get these barbs out,” she said, showing me the tips of the pliers. “It will be very, very painful. I will work as quick as I can, yes?”

  I nodded, breathing out through my nose as the tip of the tool dug into the holes of my flesh. A quick jerk of Zatia’s arm freed broken fragments of the hooks that had snared me.

  Pain ripped through my body, and tears formed in my eyes. Jiba leaned close, cradling my head, and began to sing a soft song.

  Zatia paused.

  “She was born like this,” she said to Jiba, her tone easing off its earlier abrasiveness. “Her knee, the bone, all of it. Nothing I can do but mend where the barbs tore.”

  I looked down at my legs again. My left was mangled indeed. The knee bent inward toward my right side at an awkward angle. An equally deformed musculature restricted its movement. My left foot pointed in to the right as well, and down, the calf that controlled it in a permanent flex.

  Zatia pressed her hand softly against my forehead. “You rest as best you can.”

  With a snap of Zatia’s fingers, Nattie appeared with a pitcher of water in one hand and torn rags in the other. She knelt next to Zatia and me, dipped the rags in the water and scrubbed off the matted dirt and blood as Zatia continued her work, yanking barbs free from my skin and muscles.

  The water was warm, soothing.

  “Thank you,” I said, and the women paused to look up at each other before resuming their work, a gleam of surprise in their expressions.

  “You are welcome,” Jiba replied, smiling as she took my hand in hers. “You are in good hands. I must get back to work. I will return, and if you are well enough, I’ll take you to the main house.”

  I nodded, muscle spasms ripping through my concentration with each of Zatia’s maneuvers.

  Nattie followed her mother out; her high-pitched voice carried through the door despite its low volume. She returned with a smile, more at ease with my presence, and continued her task of cleaning me up.