The Lonely Merman

by Kay Berrisford

  Accepting that Lyle was magic was like Ben imagined falling in love might be. A wild jump into a pitch black night; a total faith, which should have been the most difficult thing in the universe to give, but that turned out to feel natural and easy.

  These ruminations flurried across Ben's mind for the briefest of moments, quashing the ongoing niggle that he was hallucinating or going mad. Then he rushed to Lyle's side.

  "Who are you?" he asked, sinking to his knees on the soft pine-needle bed. "What are you… and, Oh God, you look ill. How can I help?"

  "You can't help me," said Lyle, sliding his gaze to Ben without moving his head. Ben fought an instinct to take Lyle's hand; he looked so weak and poorly. "I'll be alright presently. After the full moon last night, I thought my powers would be strong. I suppose I used too much energy healing you and sending you home, but concealing the pool for a short while should have been simple. I must be getting old."

  "Whoa, slow down," said Ben. "I don't understand how you can do any of this, and I still don't understand what happened yesterday. It was all… magic?"

  Lyle nodded. "I'm still not quite sure why I did it; even years ago, healing and transporting a fully grown human to their favoured place of safety would've been hard. I panicked, I suppose. It was the only way I could think of getting you somewhere safe. You did arrive somewhere safe, I presume?"

  "You healed me and sent me to the pub. Using magic." Ben chuckled. Compared to anything he had come up with, Lyle's appeared the most logical explanation—if logic was a term that could be applied to any of Ben's experiences over the past eighteen hours. "You also tied up my shoelaces. Um, was the kiss all part of the magic?"

  Lyle smiled wanly, offering a faint nod.

  Ben silently berated himself for being a tad disappointed. "And this morning you repaired the gargoyle," he persisted. "Oh, and hid the pool using, uh, magic too. That was why it took me and Kristof so long to find it, and then it seemed to be in the first place we looked."

  "Yes, I did." Irritation animating Lyle, he turned to face Ben. "Why did you have to bring him? I liked you, Benjamin, despite your meddling. But him—I know his kind, and he won't give up. He'll destroy this place for certain and that'll destroy me."

  "I'm sorry," said Ben. A crisp wind cleaved between them, cooling Ben's skin and ruffling Lyle's auburn hair. "But I still don't understand. What are you? I can't help you unless you tell me."

  "You can't help me!" Despite the melodramatic exclamation, Lyle shifted so he slumped less, his energy apparently returning. He hugged his cloak about himself. "I shouldn't like you, Benjamin. I knew the moment I saw you that you were the beginning of the end."

  "Look, I think I deserve to know about you, especially if you keep blaming me for…" Ben couldn't bring himself to say "killing you". Instead, he said, "If you keep blaming me for something or other."

  "Oh, very well." Lyle rolled his eyes and gestured in the direction of the pool. "It's easiest—for you at least—if you just watch."

  Still kneeling, Ben turned to face the pool. The surface appeared smooth save where the drooping willow leaves gently agitated it. Lyle lifted an arm, wiggled his long fingers, and as if somebody had turned on a Jacuzzi button, the pool began to bubble. The bubbling intensified into a cauldron of simmering, frothing heat.

  "Wow," said Ben, transfixed. "How on Earth do you—"

  A geyser burst from the heart of the pool, jetting as high as the treetops, setting Ben's heart thudding hard against his ribs.

  "Bloody hell!" shouted Ben.

  "Whoops," said Lyle, barely audible above the rush of water. "That's gone a bit mad. Not sure where the fountain came from."

  The waters splashed back down into the pool, a wave of hot spray dashing Ben's clothes and wetting his face and hair. As fast as the waters had stirred up, they calmed again. Ben inhaled sharply, his adrenaline buzzing as if he'd just stepped off a rollercoaster. "Lyle, that was amazing! Can you control the waters?"

  Lyle dropped his hand back to his lap like a puppet that'd had its strings cut. "Yes… and no," he said quietly. "To some extent, I have power over all of the elements, over time and space even, but it's hard, it's getting harder, and often I lose control. I need… to… stop." Lyle groaned, flopping back against the tree; Ben shifted a little closer, the instinct to take Lyle's hand returning. Instead, Ben chewed his lip nervously. "You see," continued Lyle, "I'm an undine, a fairy of the waters, and in my case, the oceans. Although… the last human I confided in called me a merman, which is another name we use for ourselves."

  "A merman? But you haven't got a tail."

  Lyle groaned again, pained, and shut his eyes. An onslaught of concern diminished Ben's surprise and the thousand other questions on the tip of his tongue. At last, he mustered the courage to take Lyle's hand; it was stone cold. Ben's innards clenched. Was Lyle really dying?

  "Shall I take you to a hospital?"

  Lyle rattled a dry laugh, pushing his eyes open to slits. "That would be a very bad idea," he whispered. "I… just need to rest. Stay with me?"

  "Of course." Ben squeezed Lyle's hand and edged closer, until he too pressed against the rough trunk, and less than an inch remained between their bodies. As if drawn to Ben's heat, Lyle wriggled until he closed the space between them and rested his head on Ben's shoulder. Ben snatched a swift breath, wondering what would happen if anybody stumbled upon him and this strange man; he discovered he cared less than he ought to have. He wrapped his arm protectively around the front of Lyle's chest.

  Lyle snuggled into him. Their bodies melded together disarmingly naturally, given that all Ben could feel of Lyle was hard bones and parts that poked into Ben in unexpected places. Even Lyle's face felt hard against his shoulder, though glancing down, the sight of Lyle still snatched Ben's breath. Lyle's skin was flawless, like satin, his long lashes brushing his chiselled cheekbones.

  Ben stretched out his legs, folding them around Lyle's, still concealed beneath the cloak. Their breathing fell into the same steady rhythm. Ben knew he should be panicking and worrying to the high heavens. He found he was not; he felt comfortable and at home, staring across the now placid pool, feeling the thud of a single heartbeat resonating through both their bodies.

  His tiredness after his sleepless night soon forced his own eyelids shut. He pondered whether the steady pulse belonged to himself, or Lyle. Himself, he supposed, wearily. But he remained unsure, and he rather liked that. He hugged Lyle tighter.

  A merman, eh? Why is he so far from the sea?

  *~*~*

  As Ben meandered back toward wakefulness, the crick in his neck struck him first, and then the long rod-shaped object that jammed into his ribs. By the time he registered that his cheek rested against damp earth and musty leaves rather than his warm, dry pillow, he was well aware he wasn't at home.

  He opened his eyes, foreboding zinging through him and fading only slightly as he recalled the events that'd brought him here. Then, as he absorbed the scene before him, wonder triumphed over all else.

  Lyle stood in the pool, basking beneath a starlit sky and a near-full gibbous moon. The waters lapped to just above the well-defined ridges of his hipbones, kissing his trim, lightly-muscled belly. Viewing Lyle side-on, Ben could see Lyle smiling, humming softly to himself as he stirred the waters with his fingers. The sight stole the air from Ben's lungs—not least because Lyle had the strangest appendages protruding from the tops of his arms, where his biceps met his shoulders. At first Ben thought they must be ribbons, gleaming like a peacock's tail in a spectrum of petrol blues and greens, which complimented the red in his hair. When he blinked then blinked again, Ben realized these strips flowed seamlessly from Lyle's arms and tapered to delicate feathered tips.

  "Are those some kind of fins?" Ben's astounded voice sounded distant and foreign, as if he spoke in a dream. Lyle whirled around to face him, sending water droplets scattering from his wet hair.

  "More or less." Lyle curved his mouth into his most enigma
tic smile. Under the bright moon, Ben discerned more colour in Lyle's cheeks than he'd seen earlier, or even yesterday. He looked much happier and a thousand times stronger.

  Made sense, really. The merman had returned to water… Well, a small body of water, at least. Ben shook himself. He was staring rudely, though Lyle didn't appear to mind. Indeed, Lyle grinned, baring his white teeth. "Would you like to see more of me?"

  Ben nodded. The tug of need in the pit of his stomach fast overwhelmed even the wonder in his heart. He yearned to touch those long fins—which reminded him of an exotic angelfish's—to explore if they were smooth, scaly, or slippery. Even more urgently, he wanted to touch Lyle, to stroke Lyle's smooth flesh and thread fingers through his luscious hair.

  Lyle tossed his chin and laughed, then waded forward toward Ben's side of the pool, the shallow part where the slope was gentle. As Lyle paddled closer, Ben's suspicions that he was naked were confirmed. Lyle possessed all the parts a human male should have, and fine well-proportioned parts they were too. Lyle's thighs were lithe yet muscular, more so than his arms; further beautiful fins trailed from the outer edges of his quadriceps.

  Ben didn't recall sending a message to his own body to get up. Nevertheless, by the time Lyle left the waters, Ben had risen to his feet and stood, waiting. Lyle paused, a single pace away, his smile faltering slightly.

  "What do you think, Benjamin Miles?"

  "You're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen," said Ben. No regrets or doubts shadowed his words this time. Lyle intoxicated him.

  "I'm so glad you like my body," said Lyle. "I chose it."

  Ben frowned, confused. "You mean you chose to be a merman?"

  "No, not the fishy parts," said Lyle, "but the other parts. The male parts. I'm glad you like what you see."

  Ben swallowed hard. Hell yes, he liked men and men's bodies—and he particularly liked Lyle's. The furnace of desire that Lyle stoked within him couldn't lie. Before he could get his head around the rest of Lyle's words—Lyle had chosen to be male?—he'd surrendered, stepping forward into Lyle's opened arms. Lyle was soaking wet, yet exuded balmy warmth. Ben returned the embrace and lifted his chin, inviting a kiss.

  Their lips brushed together, delicately exploring one another. Lyle's mouth tasted as delicious as it looked—a mingling of something salty and an outdoor, woody musk, bitter yet somehow sweet. The kiss deepened, and their tongues slid together, slick and keen. Ben's senses spun. He ran his hands down the length of Lyle's back, then up his chest, exploring each hard ridge and furrow before delicately tracing his fingers along those strange tentacle-like fins. They possessed the texture Ben imagined a tropical fish would have—covered with tiny scales, each smooth and polished. He lingered, intrigued but far from repelled, especially when Lyle moaned with delight beneath his touch.

  He could've drowned in Lyle's kiss for the remainder of the night, wordless desire cascading through him and subduing the last remnants of his rational mind. When they surfaced for air, Ben sighed with a ravenous hunger for more. His hands clasped Lyle's firm arse.

  "I suspected you'd be a good kisser the first time I laid eyes on you," whispered Lyle, his breath bated. "I haven't kissed like that in an age."

  "Me neither," murmured Ben. Actually never. He'd kissed guys, but nothing compared.

  "I bet it's been less than seventy years for you, though."

  That latest thunderbolt jolted Ben back to reality, or whatever version of it he'd stumbled into. Everything Lyle said prompted compelling questions that even Lyle's nakedness couldn't distract Ben from forever. "Seventy years? Exactly how long have you been here?"

  Lyle leaned down to rest his forehead against Ben's. "I don't know. I used to try and keep count, but it's been hard. If you're to be my last hurrah, maybe we should work it out together. I hope you've got all night?"

  Ben lifted his hand to cup Lyle's face. "I've got as long as you need. Please, tell me everything."

  "Oh, I will, I promise," Lyle snapped, his sudden severity surprising Ben less than before. He'd grown accustomed to Lyle's melodramatic swings. Still, Ben recoiled at the force of Lyle's next disclosure: "You see, Benjamin, I was trapped here by a curse, and I was cursed for becoming what I am. Cursed by my own family!"

  Chapter Six

  Many springs ago

  Lyle would have escaped without detection on the morning of his wedding night had it not been for the screams of the dying.

  He'd left the caves at dawn, with a red sun blooding the horizon and a storm brewing in the west. His fellow undines were chiefly nocturnal beasts, the wedding not scheduled until after moonrise. Lyle's betrothed had believed him sleeping, safe and alone. He should have had all day to get away, to swim out into the oceans as far as he dared and seek some distant place where he could decide upon his own way of living.

  At first, he'd believed the cries had been seagulls, the howling a trick of the wind. The gale set the waves whipping and buffeting him, hampering the progress of even such a strong swimmer as he. As he rounded the headland that had sheltered the caves of his childhood home, he'd faced the lash of a strong crosscurrent, and the sight of a humans' ship, breaking apart on a rocky islet not half a league afar.

  The wooden hull had split in two, water lashing between the two sections. Some survivors clung to shards of debris, and others desperately grabbed at the disintegrating ship or the tattered shreds of its riggings and sails. As Lyle swam closer, a loud splintering cut above the screaming and the tumult of the storm. One of the ship's three masts broke in two and crashed into the waters, dragging the folk who clung to it down too.

  All his life, Lyle's family had told him not to interact with humans, never to go close, and never to use magic near them. But now? With them perishing in front of his eyes? Maybe his poor long-dead father would have used magic to help these stricken souls, and Lyle could try the same. But saving just one would drain his power, which was still young and budding as he was. Besides, he could easily lose control of even one small cast of magic, and the remainder of the land folk would be lost. These people needed him. It was time to prove what Lyle had always hoped—he was stronger than his brother. Better than any of his family. He'd do this the hard way.

  Lyle pushed toward the wreck, tempted to pull off the thin tunic that all young undines had to wear, a tradition of his people that spoiled his streamline shape. He hadn't time. He dived beneath the colossal waves to cut through the waters faster.

  He spotted the first human almost immediately, a girl with a tight bodice and heavy layers of skirts that dragged her toward the ocean bed. She weakly kicked and flailed. Lyle thrust forward to catch her, looping his arms beneath hers, and pushing for the surface with all his strength. She gasped as they burst into the open air, then choked and spat water. He'd not time or the wherewithal to tend to her, instead concentrating on keeping her head above the water as he made for the rocky islet. He helped her up onto the safety of its barren shore. She propped herself on her palms and stared at him, glassy eyed.

  "Somebody will come for you," said Lyle. He offered a hopeful smile and dived back under, making a beeline for a boy he'd just seen ripped from the rigging by an enormous breaker.

  When he burst up into the open again, another wheezing individual was closer, a man clinging to a block inscribed with the name of the vessel, Jubliana. Choosing which to save first was horrible; he couldn't think about it too hard. He'd never rescue them all.

  Lyle lost count of how many he tried for, and he gave up at the stage where all he dragged to the surface were lifeless corpses. The deep might as well have them. The poor dead humans looked peaceful at the bottom, the shifting sands offering them the dignity of a shroud. Besides, the winds had dropped and the waters had calmed enough for others to send boats to pick up the survivors from the islet. His job was done here.

  His nerves jangled as he floated near the headland, regaining his breath, remembering how he'd come here. Today was the morning of his wedding night, and he rem
ained dangerously close to home. If his betrothed had realized he'd gone…

  "Cousin, what are you doing?" Lyle shut his eyes, his heart plummeting to the depths where the bodies lay. He turned slowly to see a troop of his fellow undines approaching, led by his cousin, Emmet, who had hailed him. Lyle gritted his teeth. He would have swum for it, but he knew he would have no chance of escape from such a strong band while exhausted from his ordeal.

  "Welwyn demands you return home immediately," said Emmet. "He's extremely angry. Now he's about to be your husband on top of your brother, you'd do best to obey him, young lady."

  Lyle wanted to scream and rip the heavens apart with his fury. He'd told his brother and all his family a thousand times—he'd chosen his gender and he'd chosen to be male. All undines were born able to decide their sex, willing their bodies into the shape of male or female during their formative years. Yet as the youngest child of a tribal leader, tradition had overruled Lyle's freewill in the matter. The youngest sibling must choose to be female in order to marry the eldest brother and carry on the purity of the line.

  How angry Welwyn would be if he lifted Lyle's tunic that night and discovered Lyle had wished everything into place as Lyle, not Welwyn, had wanted it.

  Lyle allowed his cousin to take his arm and drag him home, fear diluting the potency of his anger. He stared up toward the gulls, and wished for their freedom to wheel through the skies… Oh hell, for the freedom just to be. He'd have to wait for another chance to escape, if his brother's wrath allowed him to survive that long.

  *~*~*

  Emmet, still holding Lyle with a bruising grip around the upper arm, pulled Lyle from the sea and across the narrow sliver of beach. They entered the low mouth of the cave—the start of a great labyrinth yet also a wretched dark hole, which Lyle had grown to hate. Once inside, Emmet hurled Lyle to his knees on the rock floor in front of his brother, Welwyn, who rose from the low stone seat where he waited.

  Welwyn's head, and the top of his staff, nearly brushed the dripping rocks above him. Lyle gritted his teeth and snarled. His brother was a colossus of rippling muscles and shimmering fins that trailed behind him like a robe of honour. So proud was Welwyn of his physique, he never wore more than a loin cloth to conceal his bulging manhood. The only covering on his upper body was his long ebony hair, as wild and curly as Lyle's was straight, and which cascaded as far as his waist.