Chapter Two
T he full moon was coming up so quickly–in less than two nights I would be twenty-five. My stomach churned and I swam deeper. My fins would ache in the morning, but I needed to keep going. I heard my mother calling through the waves for me to come home, to start preparing for the celebration, but I couldn’t face them yet.
I couldn’t face the ritual.
I prayed for my voice to crack and disappear so I wouldn’t have to sing. I prayed that the Pearls would be wrong, and there would be no sacrifice. She’s just a bard! She isn’t a warrior! She doesn’t need to kill to join our ranks!
These prayers fell on deaf ears, and even as I swam further, I knew that my mother’s call would inevitably bring me home. The magic of the siren’s call was irresistible, especially so when the call came from your own blood. The stirring in my bones seemed to make me tremble, anxious and needing to heed her call.
The waters were still cold to me, and I’d regretted our migration north so soon. It wasn’t even truly summer yet, and the ocean agreed. The chill seeped through my scales to my core, but maybe that was just dread. I flew through the seas, picking up speed as the currents guided me further and further away from my tribe, the White Tides. The El Ni?o was strong this year, and its flow influenced every droplet of the oceans.
My mother called for me again and it seemed to echo. Every passing fish glanced my way, confused why I was running from the siren’s call.
“Merrow?” Titania, the sea turtle, called as I was about to swim faster. I forced myself to stop, to float, to bow my head in reverence of an elder. Titania was part of the White Tides. She tended the merlings, watching our young while she softly paddled over. Her massive shell had a few small barnacles attached and the shell itself was weathered with age. Her large, spotted fins had swam for generations and moved with an effortless grace.
“Titania! I didn’t see you there,” I said, my eyes still looking at my tail. My fins were getting longer–a telltale sign of adulthood. Soon my tail fins would be nearly as long as my tail itself. I remember as a child longing for my fins to grow, so I could be truly part of the tribe. I didn’t know what I was yearning for back then. The fins curled up, like if I couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t seal my fate.
“Mmm, perhaps because you were fleeing and not using your eyes. Come Merrow, I hear your mother singing. She’s worried about you,” she said, her old, weathered flipper resting on my lower back.
“I wasn't fleeing,” I said, and even I could hear how bad the lie sounded on my lips.
“Mmm, of course not,” Titania smoothed down my hair, but the waves disagreed with her, mussing it back up. “Are you going to tell me why you were swimming so fast?”
“Just feeling a little cooped up.”
“In this open ocean? Have you been hiding in a cave? Or are you just not ready to face the Pearls?”
I stiffened at the mention of them. The Pearls were the soothsayers of the mermaid tribes. They used our failing magic to search for a pure hearted, but lonesome soul. A human, kind and gentle, but one that wouldn’t be missed. Someone that wanted–deep down, in the darkest parts of their hearts–to embrace the sweet release of the waves.
“I’m not ready to kill. I’ll never be ready for that,” I whispered, hoping the water would swallow my words, but I wasn’t that lucky. Titania could hear a snail scooting across the ocean floor if she listened for it.
“Sweet Merrow, you are a merciful soul, but this is not the age for mercy. Your people, your race , are struggling for survival. This is not the time to be afraid, tenderheart.”
“But–”
“Come now, you’ve kept your mother waiting long enough.” Titania danced through the currents; she floated and flowed through each surge of water, until we dove deeper. The White Tides’ current home laid deep under the water, far from the reaches of the sun. It took me a minute to adjust to the pressure, but after a couple of breaths, it felt like the ocean welcoming me home. I saw my mother, Pasha, circling with her friends, spinning together and singing while creatures large and small gathered together to listen. The sea was alive with color today; tropical fish with their array of rainbow scales and fins fluttered to the music. The merfolk danced and twirled too–blues and purples, pinks and greens–all merging into an endless spectrum of color.
Every time I saw my mother and the sisters of my tribe, my heart swelled with pride. Belonging. Peace.
“You’ve come home,” my mother said. Every word of hers was melodic–it wasn’t just the siren magic, it was her. She was a bard, and I wanted nothing more than to follow in her wake. We kept the stories of our people, passing them down through the ages with song. Our histories floated between the waves, and I could hear the centuries if I listened enough .
She greeted me with her arms open and pulled me into a hug, foreheads touching, tails touching. Her love could warm the coldest water, and I was so thankful that she was still healthy.
The rest of the tribe wasn’t as lucky. As long as she can remember, and even before, the mermaid tribes struggled. Our magic wasn't as strong as it once was, and some of us were more fish than mermaid these days. The magic in our songs and heart kept our faces like the landwalkers and our arms long and nimble instead of stunted and finned. My fingers were webbed which was already unusual enough, but I still had the heart of a mermaid, not an ocean dweller.
Which was why I had to go through with the ritual.
“It won’t be long now,” she cooed, keeping me tight in a hug. Her body trembled, but she shivered with it, pretending it was just the chill of the water. It wasn’t. My mother never had to complete the ritual because she was with child when she came of age.
There hadn’t been a mermaid reach adulthood in over a decade, and all of the neighboring tribes were planning to attend. Everyone wanted to see the change–see my tail split into legs, my scales fall away, as I learned to stand. Everyone wanted to see my first breaths like I was a newborn, and they wanted to see my human face blend with the landwalkers. The humans.
“Two moons,” I said, and she nodded.
“Have you been practicing your song?”
“Of course–”
She zoomed off, a trail of bubbles behind her as she harmonized with the water. It was inky and shimmered as she moved through it, the purple of her eyes lighting everything around us.
“Come my child, come with me,” her voice rang out, and I flipped through the water, singing back to her.
“I’m here, I’m here, sweet mother. ”
“Remember the ones who came before–”
“The ones that swam the seas–”
“The ones that were brave and brought the hearts of men–”
“Deeper and deeper to our waters–”
“Their love will sustain–”
“The magic in our veins–”
Other mermaids chimed in, trailing after us and singing. It was an old, simple song that all the merlings knew. I loved the ballads of the ancients–of Neptune and Solaris, Atlana and Regis. They told the stories of how the humans would fall in love and run to the shorelines, shouting for another glimpse, praying to be reunited with their lovers. The stories all ended with the humans dying, but the love was there. Wasn’t that the part we should celebrate in song? A love so grand it knew no better than to chase a mermaid to the sea?
“Pasha,” Breena called. As one of the elders, Breena’s words were law. My mother stopped swimming and singing almost instantly. I nearly collided with her. She was already lifting her tail in reverence, and I rushed to do the same.
“Yes, Breena?”
“Your song fills the oceans with joy, but we need to start preparing Merrow. Is she ready?”
My mother cut her eyes to me, telling me not to say a word. “Yes, Breena.”
“Excellent. We start in the morning. Get some rest, Merrow.” I flipped my tail three times to show my respect and agreement. She nodded and swam off slowly. Her fins had slowly lost their shine and I knew that the tips had frayed.
“Oh Merrow,” my mother hugged me again, and she held my webbed hand between hers. She pressed kisses to my fingers and we swam hand in hand back to the small cave of our current home .
We migrated with the seasons, returning to the same four alcoves. As the spring changed to summer, we moved north. The landwalkers were nearby, but we stayed out to sea. They loved the ocean almost as much as we did–it was no wonder that they fell so easily in love.
Our home was the same as it always was: the waves may have shifted the furniture, moving our tables and beds but they stayed in more or less the same place. It was hard to believe this was the twenty-fifth time I made this journey back. This was my favorite of our tribe’s homes. I could spend the days further out to sea, letting the sun warm my face or dive until my body felt the welcoming pressure change. I could watch the humans as they pretended to brave the water, when I summoned my own bravery.
“Your head is full of algae,” my mother said, laughing. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Sorry–”
“The Pearls will collect you the morning of your birthday. You need to rest.” Even though I was an adult mermaid, I felt like a merling. I cuddled in my mother’s arms until we both relaxed and the tension eased out of our tails.
She fell asleep quickly. My mother was not one to struggle with a racing mind, but I wasn’t so lucky. Slipping out of her arms, I swam out of the cave, and headed for deeper water.
The tides were relentless and the season hadn’t even fully changed yet. That promised to bring trouble; turbulent waters never meant anything good. It was still spring and the water played against my skin and scales like icy, silky ribbons. My tail was the same shade of blue as the evening tide, soft and hushed, with little filigrees of purples twinkling at the tips of my scales and fins. It was an average tail, nothing truly noteworthy. My fins didn’t splay like those of the mighty sailfish or really glitter in the sunlight. But here in the deep, all of my color was lost. I faded like the ocean wasn’t just swallowing any chance of light but pulling the color right out of me .
Part of me wanted to go deeper, but the pressure was nearly too much. Not even a mermaid could scale the entire ocean, to reach the very bottom of the seas. I wanted to press on and see how far I could go before my body would give up.
At least I wouldn’t have to kill anyone .
The words of the elders all played through my mind, as I slowly wound myself back up. We pick the weak ones, child. We don’t go after their leaders. We find the ones their packs won’t miss. We don’t seek out the strongest blood, just the kindest. Pure hearts are better than brave ones. A pure heart full of love to give freely to us.
“Not freely,” I muttered, the sounds not even coming out, just swallowed by the pressure
“Hello?” a voice rang out. I turned but didn’t see anyone. I treaded water, staying as still as I could. “Hello? Please, can anyone hear me–”
A fragment of light caught my eye, and I saw it then. A golden shimmer in the distance. I squinted until I could see what the spark of light was: a mermaid. It was a mermaid. She was pinned by something shrouded in darkness still. The only light came from her. Panicked flailing made the light tremble in the waves.
I paddled as fast as I could, darting over to her, and she nearly collapsed with relief.
“Please, my fins, I’m stuck.” I couldn’t see well in this much darkness, but the light came from within her. A moment passed before I realized that I had been staring at her, the glow on her skin, instead of searching for a way to help her. A whimper broke the spell and I felt alert again, scanning our surroundings.
“I’m here, peace, sister. I’ll try to free your fins.” Only then did I see what she was stuck on. It was a shipwreck. A huge one. The ship loomed over us, nestled between some ocean cliffs. It was just a husk now–the sails were long gone or hanging in ribbons, trailing through the water like streamers. The hull was split open and it hung precariously on the undersea mountains. I didn’t want to touch her; it felt like one touch and the ship would crush us both.
“Can you move your tail?” I asked in hushed tones. Even whispering made me nervous that the ship would come down.
“Some, but I can’t feel my fins,” she said, struggling to free herself. Finally, I worked up the courage to hold her still. She froze immediately, and I worried for a second that I had hurt her. She glanced at my hands, and I saw that they sparkled with the same golden glow that came from her.
“What…?”
“Can you try to pull the boards? I should be able to get out if there was a little more space.” I did as I was instructed, and she hissed out in pain, straining against the planks. Yanking harder and harder, until every muscle in my body ached, the planks moved and her fins were free.
The torn edges of her fins bled, but even her blood shimmered.
She clung to me, hugging me tight as she tried to get her damaged tail to move. She smelled like blood and seaweed.
It wasn’t moving.
The ship lurched, the creaking and snapping of wood echoing through the water. She squealed, a tiny mewling noise that forced me to act. The mermaid was still in my arms, and I swam as hard as I could, kicking my tail fins until my whole tail ached and spasmed.
It seemed to fall in slow motion. Each portion of the ship that broke made my heart race faster, and I pushed my body past the point of exhaustion. It was too dark to see how much of the ship was further damaged, so once we were far enough away, I stopped.
The ship, now lost to the darkness, clanged as it stopped falling or settling with the only light again coming from the girl with me.
“Are you okay?” I asked. My lungs burned and I took deep breaths of cleansing water .
“I will be, thanks to you.” she replied. Her voice was soft even by mermaid standards. With the glow of her skin, I saw the delicate features of her face. It was perfect human; her almond eyes and button nose and bow shaped lips. She had sharp cheekbones and a dainty chin.
She was the kind of mermaid that even the most faithful man would die for.
“What is your name?”
“Anahita,” she said. I let go of her slowly, testing to see if she could tread water without sinking.
“Try to move a little,” I said. My hands were raised at her sides, ready to grab her before she sank.
Instead, she bent forward and gathered her tail in her arms. The bleeding had stopped–mostly. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the deepest tear, and she smoothed her ripped edges out.
And then she sang.
She sang in our ancestors’ tongue and it sent chills through me. I’d never heard anyone sing this song and as the notes wrapped around me, my heart calmed. I watched her with eager eyes, unable to look away.
This is what a siren song is meant to be.
When she released her tail, the fins were healed. The tears sewed themselves back together and she gave it an experimental flick. Then she looped through the water, darting and dashing around, much faster than I expected.
“How did you–”
“Thank you, Merrow,” she said, bowing and lifting her tail in reverence. Anahita lifted her eyes to mine and I held my breath. She pressed a kiss to my cheek, thanking me again, before she darted away, leaving me in the darkness.
“How did you know my name?” I said to no one, as I floated in the vast water all alone.