Chapter 15 #2
Instead of getting caught up on my homework, I spend an hour combing through articles about maritime symbols in the Golden Age of Piracy, which doesn’t yield any helpful information, but is somewhat interesting.
Then, I spend another hour poking around, looking for books about merfolk.
Duncan was right; it seems like the library has been relieved of books about shifters.
There’s only seven or eight total. The shelves around them are suspiciously empty.
I finally settle for a massive tome called Shifters A-Z, carrying it back to the table as nonchalantly as possible, considering it’s approximately the size of a small suitcase.
Jane takes one look at me and rolls her eyes.
Setting the book down with a table-quaking thump, I flip to the table of contents.
It’s not exactly a definitive guide to being a shifter.
It’s more like an encyclopedia of every shifter ever recorded, which I decide is sufficient.
I open to the section about water shifters and begin reading.
Sirens. Selkies. Krakens. Kelpies. Whale Shifters.
Dolphin shifters. Shark shifters. And finally, Merfolk.
I spend a long time staring at the illustration.
The Mer in question has lifeless, shaggy hair, a lanky body covered in spines, and a fish tail that looks more appropriate for a trout than a betta fish.
The eyes are cold and dark, the ears strangely pointed, the claws even longer and sharper than my own.
Why not use a photo? Then I realize with a sinking feeling that that would probably be even worse—they’d probably use a photo of a dead mer who washed up on the beach or something.
I check the publication date and flinch.
1971. OK. That explains some things. I don’t like it, but the knowledge quells the shiver running down my spine.
Jane looks over my shoulder, curious. I keep my voice low. “That’s not what I look like.”
She nods slowly, probably noting all the unflattering details. “I believe it.”
“I-Duncan said they were like betta fish fins.” For some reason, I really need her to know that I’m not some dead-eyed fish monster.
“This looks like an old illustration,” Jane agrees with a frown. “I bet it’s pretty out of date.”
“There aren’t very many books,” I huff. “This is the best one they have.”
She shakes her head. “Fucking Wyndham.”
I’m starting to get more than a little nervous about him. Banning shifters, ordering an entire section of the library cleared and probably destroyed… This is full-blown oppression.
As badly as I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend this isn’t happening, I can’t. I can't ignore things that can hurt me and the people I care about anymore.
Ignoring Jane’s expression, I read the description. Merfolk, famous for their beauty and seductive prowess, are social creatures. Typically seen in pods, they are known for their exceptional voices, which they use to seduce sailors, often dragging them to their deaths. Driven to extinction.
I stare at that last sentence.
What.
Suddenly unable to speak, I tap Jane’s shoulder and gesture before me.
Without hesitation, she slides the book over to her.
When she reaches the final sentence, her eyes widen.
Then she looks at me. “OK,” she says. “Don’t panic.
This book is out of date. Let’s use a search engine and find out, alright? ”
I nod, because my voice isn’t working. Jane types something into a search bar, frowns, then turns the screen to me.
There are dozens of academic articles listed. Sacrilege and the Mer; Death in the Ocean; Mer: Extinct, or Well-Hidden?; Shifters and Halea University’s Drowned Levels. And then, Halea University: Haven for Merfolk?
I blink. “So… Am I extinct?”
Jane clicks on Mer: Extinct or Well-Hidden? and we read together.
Although considered extinct for the last fifty years, researchers are now beginning to find indicators that the Merfolk, though far from common, may be hidden rather than extinct.
Hunted to dwindling numbers in the twentieth century, they’ve long been endangered, if not eradicated altogether.
Infamously despised by sailors, they are revered for their scales, long considered the source of their power.
For centuries, they suffered targeted attacks.
Now, they exist only in museums. Or do they?
The article goes on to list a number of sightings and strange stories, most of which were allegedly recorded in bars along the coastline.
By 1997, it was established that small pockets of merfolk exist, hidden along the ocean floor. Because of the existing stigma, no official locations have been disclosed.
“OK,” says Jane slowly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “So they aren’t extinct.”
“Just impossible to find,” I mumble. Numbness spreads from the center of my chest to my arms and legs, a cold current of dread. I’m alone.
Then I remember another article of interest and take control of Jane’s laptop.
For decades, rumors have swirled about Halea University’s Shifter population.
While Wolves and Bears are as common as they’ve ever been, there’s a reported population hidden beneath the surface: merfolk.
Though secretive, protected by privacy laws (at this, I scroll up to check the publication date: 2003), and reluctant to speak to reporters, I’ve done the impossible, and arranged an interview.
Corbin (name changed to protect his identity) is in his final semester at Halea.
Tall, tan, blond, and athletic, he’s practically a living Ken doll.
But he’s got a dark secret: most of his family was killed fifteen years ago in a massacre.
He’s agreed to speak to me. His only condition?
That I don’t ask any questions about it.
Naturally, I’ve agreed.
INTERVIEWER: What do you think about the shifter population at Halea?
CORBIN: I think it’s awesome. It’s a very diverse group of people from all walks of life.
INTERVIEWER: Do you feel like you’re among good company?
CORBIN: [laughs] Not exactly. You know, there’s plenty of phoenixes and wolves, but not many merfolk.
It’s, uh, kinda isolating sometimes. You know, nobody to go swimming with, nobody who can really relate.
But I have to say that the community here is really good.
People try, you know, even if they don’t really understand. I think that counts for a lot.
INTERVIEWER: Oh, definitely. So what do you think about the discontinued shifter programs?
CORBIN: I mean, obviously it’s a travesty.
There was nowhere in the world like Halea.
And now… there’s nowhere offering those kinds of programs. You know, being a shifter—it’s unique.
It’s an unusual experience. Having classes geared toward us was kind of special.
I think shutting them down is really doing students a disservice.
I understand the dangers of the drowned levels, but there’s gotta be a way around that.
INTERVIEWER: Did you ever participate in any of these programs?
CORBIN: Hell, yeah. I took an Underwater Magic class last semester.
The most amazing thing I’ve ever done in my life.
It’s really depressing to know that at least for right now, nobody else will ever experience anything like that.
Budget cuts suck, but there should be funds in place to keep shifter-specific programs operating.
INTERVIEWER: Underwater Magic sounds magnificent. Tell me a little more about how you find community at Halea now that the shifter programs have been cut.
CORBIN: Well, you know, I still have friends, my girlfriend. We meet up once a week in a sort of “shifter-support” group. It’s not ideal, but it gives us something to focus on. One step at a time, and all that.
INTERVIEWER: How do you feel about Halea’s missing merfolk scandal?
CORBIN: Not great. But that was thirty years ago.
Halea has done a lot to atone for their lack of judgment.
It would be nice if they kept the shifter programs in place as an act of reparations, but I get that shifter support is fading.
I, uh, should probably clarify that I don’t approve of any of this.
I think they can and should do better. But I’m also a realist.
INTERVIEWER: It’s a bummer, isn’t it?
CORBIN: I guess you could say that.