Chapter 2
TWO
I t had been a few days since Mo scuppered the pirate ship. There were plenty of items from her that he could sell—jewelry, artwork, and weapons. The weapons especially were a nice touch. Letting him give in to his macabre cravings, playing with the drowned. Each stab and slice fed the Song and elongated the high, satisfying him in a way he could never possibly describe to anyone who wasn’t a siren.
Since that day, because he couldn’t swim with everything he wanted to grab all at once, he made the journey from his grotto to the ship and back a handful of times. Carrying goods in a sack over his shoulder, other merfolk never questioned what he held. In fact, they too scavenged treasures from the shipwreck—it was simply a common practice for their kind when encountering human remnants. First come, first served. And as the source of that destruction, Mo was always first.
Though, after a few days of scavenging, he’d had enough of that particular area of the sea. He’d fulfilled the Song’s pull, he took what he wanted. Yet now, with discovering so many interesting human things, his curiosity piqued, and he wanted to explore. Such a notion clashed with the Siren’s Song, it clashed with how merfolk in general feared humans, but Mo ignored those sentiments. He still wanted to see humans anyway. It had been a while since he explored anywhere near dry land. Really, how long has it been since he last ventured? He remembered seeing ice hanging off cliffs, and white, fluffy blankets covering the land. Snow —that was what sailors called it. That had been winter. Now, it was summer. A trip to the shoreline would definitely be much more enjoyable at this time of year.
So, Mo swam toward land, lunging through the water with each flick of his tail. It was still bright enough in the day to travel without carrying a sea crystal, and he wouldn’t want to carry one anyway, as the light would surely attract unwanted attention. The closest landmass to him was a large island, but not many humans lived there, or at least they didn’t appear to. While the flora was certainly beautiful, he was more interested in getting a better look at the humans themselves.
Further and further, he passed fewer merfolk. Practically none were this close to shore. Only the bravest traversed this close to human civilization due to perceived dangers. Humans were widely known amongst merfolk as terrible, murderous creatures, yet, unbeknownst to his kind, Mo gave humans the benefit of the doubt.
Which was why he could never open up to other merfolk. While no mer had ever spoken about it to him, he could imagine the things they’d say: Why bother using your Siren’s Song only for pirates? Why be selective at all—why not kill humans as they’ve killed us?
Past the island appeared the heartland: ‘England’, he’d heard it called. He breached the surface as he swam closer, taking in the sights and sounds of a world so similar, and yet so different from his own. Ships and smaller boats gathered by large stone buildings lining the coast, gliding across the water into an inlet. His curiosity begged him to swim closer, to observe the humans and happen in on their conversations, to see where they walked, to witness their gatherings. More than anything, he wanted for a life he’d never known.
But an uncomfortable feeling churned in his gut. Despite his want, and despite the power of the Song, he’d never had the courage to swim closer to where humans congregated on land. Sailors knew of merfolk’s existence—and even then Mo was hesitant to befriend them, afraid the Song’s call would arise and he’d dangerously reveal that fact about himself to everyone—but humans as a whole were not aware. If anyone spotted him, chaos would ensue. Mo respected humans and their culture, and did not wish to cause harm unless it was necessary. If he wanted to swim up to shore, he’d need to be discreet.
While he was decently far away—no human would be able to see him from this distance—he could still hear some sort of shouting, some sort of commotion from outside the buildings that lined the coast. A celebration, a disagreement, a brawl, he couldn’t tell. It posed too much of a risk for him to be seen, and the uncomfortable pulse only swelled fuller in his chest.
So Mo swam away from the city, toward the quiet, pebble beaches to his far left, keeping his head low, only his eyes peeping out of the water. Sunlight gleamed against the surface, blinding white in some spots as gentle waves lapped all around him.
For a good length of land, all he saw were green trees, ashy gray pebbles, and even more luscious green, green trees. Was this trip to land all for naught, if the only humans he saw he couldn’t even convince himself to eavesdrop on? No, he could keep going. The further along he swam, a speck of something looked like it was sitting, a figure contrasted against the bright stretch of beach.
A human?
Closer and closer, he crept, and the figure didn’t move. He was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city that it was merely a faint buzz in the distance, barely even noticeable. Yet here, on this lonesome stretch of shore, this one individual caught his interest enough to gather up his courage, and swim closer. What were they doing here all by themself? Still too far to see their face clearly, Mo circled further left, lifting his head a bit more out of the water?—
The human was singing.
It was a voice of rich deep tones—the melody dipping low, then gliding with precision to reach higher notes with ease, then back down. A slow, gentle tune with no words at all, simply letting out oo’s and ahh’s as the song saw fit. It pulled Mo closer still, as if he’d found a Siren’s Song to counter his own.
He’d never heard anything more beautiful in all his life.
From what little he could see and the timbre of the voice, the human singer sounded male. Oh, how he wished to get a better look, but he feared being caught. If this man’s voice was lovely, Mo could only wonder if his face was just as beautiful.
There were a few tall rocks sticking out of the water a bit closer to shore, wide enough to serve as camouflage. Perfect. Mo ducked under the water again to swim toward them, only peeping his head back up once he was sure he wouldn’t be seen. His long hair fanned around his shoulders as he found a comfortable spot to hide, water dripping down his face and onto his chest as he rose.
Now that Mo was nearer, the voice sounded clearer. It was a melody he couldn’t recognize, but one filled with intense emotion. A certain sort of longing, asking a question of which way was right, what he’d need to do to feel at peace. It tugged at Mo’s heart in a way he couldn’t really describe—not quite sad, but not quite happy either. He had no words, other than it was beautiful.
Mo dared to peek around the rock. If he was stealthy enough, he shouldn’t be seen. With such anticipation and excitement bubbling inside him, he couldn’t hold back. What was the worst that could happen?
Mo leant out, slowly, carefully?—
His heart skipped a beat as he saw the profile of the young man’s gorgeous face.
He was already much closer than he previously thought. As the man continued not to notice him, Mo in turn continued to stare. The man’s eye had no color at all, and instead it was clouded white. He’s blind, then? That would explain why as Mo crept his head out further, the young man gave no notice to him at all. But Mo could just see half of his face—perhaps only one of his eyes was blind.
Either way, the young man was strikingly handsome. He had pale skin and long, curly brown hair, tied back with a pretty black ribbon. With his soft facial features partially feminine, partially masculine, and paired with a deep voice that sounded delightful at any note, Mo felt minnows swirling in his chest. And while Mo knew close to nothing about human clothes, he at least admired them, especially how well they shaped the man’s alluring slender legs.
Oh, legs. Mo had always dreamt of what it would be like to have them.
While his life as a merman was, at the very least, adequate , he’d always longed for more. He longed to walk through the forest, to step foot into their marvelous buildings—things he could only explore if he were human.
And, if he thought about it long enough, he had to admit he was lonely.
Another being, someone who he could call his own, was a nice thought. The only times in his life where he truly felt fulfilled and happy were when he had something thrilling to look forward to, and the call of his Song usually only came around about every other moon. If it were possible, to have a human fill that open spot in his heart…
After one long final note, the young man ended his song. Mo felt a loss in his chest from the stretch of silence that followed, but his heart quickly picked back up at hearing him speak?—
“Perhaps I should head back,” the man said to the sea. “Father’s probably at sixes and sevens wondering where I went.”
Mo had no idea what that expression meant, but it only made his heart swell with more endearment.
But then the man shifted, putting a hand on his knee to sit up. It adjusted his posture, facing more toward Mo?—
He jolted out of the human’s view, nearly slamming his back against the rock to quickly hide away. Panting frantically, he held a hand flat against his chest, fingers brushing against the necklaces resting there. The man may have been blind in one eye, but there was still a chance he could see him with the other, and Mo didn’t want to take that chance just yet. He had only discovered him moments ago—and yet—while he wasn’t ready now, he didn’t want this to be the only time he gazed upon that beautiful face. But how could Mo guarantee he would ever see him again if he didn’t make himself known? He didn’t know who this man was, if he lived around these parts, or when he would ever be out here again.
Mo’s heart fluttered madly against his ribs, and he heaved out breath, after breath, after breath.
I need to say something.
So Mo closed his eyes and cupped his palms around his mouth, changing his tone and the direction of where his voice would go.
“Your song was brilliant. Your voice is so beautiful,” he spoke in human tongue.
It felt like his heart was about to stop. Each moment that passed tightened his neck, salty air caught in his throat.
“Wh-what? Is someone there?” the young man asked back.
Mo bit his lip, silently cursing as his fangs nearly tore the skin. Nerves had already reopened that scar too many times in his life.
But he had to confirm with the human, to make sure he was absolutely clear.
“I would love to hear it again. Please. Tomorrow. Same time, same place. I will be waiting,” said Mo.
Kent stood, bare feet digging into the pebbles, searching frantically all around to find the origin of the mysterious voice.
“Tomorrow? Wait, who are you?”
The voice didn’t reply; only the waves of the sea answered back.
I thought I was all alone out here. I couldn’t—I still can’t see anything. Am I imagining things? Hallucinations? No, it sounded so clear. Surely, there was someone ? —
And there, to his right and past his blind spot, he heard movement in the water. He searched with his good eye, whipping his head to the sound of splashing, something behind that tall boulder?—
It looked like a fishtail.
A frilly, impossibly large fishtail with brown and gold fins, shimmering in the sunset.
And as soon as he saw it, it disappeared back into the water.
“What the…” Kent stammered, blinking his eyes. “What the devil was that?”
He continued to stand in place, gazing at that same spot in the water. Seconds, minutes passed, and nothing else emerged. The sea remained calm, rolling thin whitecaps of delicate, gentle foam.
There was no way what he saw wasn’t real. Not with the sunlight shining on it and the clear sounds of splashing. But it didn’t make any sense—if it was a fishtail, how come it was so large? Did fish as large as that ever come this close to shore? It couldn’t have been a dolphin or a small whale, no, those creatures never came in those colors. Perhaps it was a new discovery? A fish that hadn’t ever been documented? Possibly, but that didn’t explain how he also heard a male voice. Fish didn’t talk. No, perhaps it also could’ve been?—
Merfolk.
“No, that… that can’t be.”
Kent put his eyepatch back on over his right eye and tied the string behind his head. He huffed out a lingering breath, taking in the sight of the sea as the sun moved past the horizon in the west.
For years, Kent wanted to believe merfolk were real. From the amazing pamphlets he’d read, stories and legends he’d heard from various people, it was all such a dreamy fantasy. Whether they actually existed or not, Kent loved to imagine a different world than his own, of half-human, half-fish creatures living peacefully under the water. And with so many pamphlets on the subject that the authors treated as factual, so many tales told through word of mouth, how could such a thing not be true?
But despite his beliefs, all he had was faith. There was no proof merfolk actually existed. Members of nobility had always said merfolk were a myth conjured up by sailors; fun stories to pass the time while endlessly bored out at sea. And such tales evolved, passing onto the common folk taken as fact, when it was nothing more than fiction.
Even so, Kent kept an open mind. What if the Crown was simply spreading rumors to suppress the knowledge of merfolk’s existence? Possibly, but what was more likely was the majority of the peerage truly didn’t believe they were real, never having seen them. From what Kent knew, merfolk rarely showed themselves to humans in the first place.
If— that were true. If merfolk were real.
Kent turned and walked towards the trees, back to Biscuit. He petted her nose as he smiled dearly at her.
“Did you see it too? Or were you too far away?”
Biscuit shook her head, then huffed, making Kent pull his hand away.
“I don’t even know why I’m asking,” Kent chuckled. He sat down on the grass and pulled his stockings, his shoes, and his coat back on.
It was bizarre how in only a few short moments, he’d nearly forgotten why he’d come out here in the first place, now so focused on what he saw.
This trip to the beach was taken out of anger, impulsively, after disagreeing with his father and an attempt to settle the confusion and melancholy that endlessly mustered around in his mind. Love and marriage , that was the cause. He was hurt; he didn’t wish to be seen as a disappointment, and he didn’t want to feel so alone all the while.
While the sea had always been a steady constant, now it gave him something back that made him scratch his head even more. Was this a sign? Something telling him to come here, that if Kent was searching for relief from all his troubles, that all he had to do was look toward the ocean.
What’s waiting out here for me?
Kent stood, gaze still locked onto the sea.
Please. Tomorrow. Same time, same place. I will be waiting, the mysterious voice had said, Kent was sure he heard correctly.
“Perhaps I shall come again,” he told Biscuit, grinning. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
She grunted, and Kent could guess she might’ve approved of his decision.