CHAPTER FOUR
I remain behind that rock for the rest of the day. I no longer want to flee; all I want to do is watch the humans. Watch him.
We have been told often how evil they are, how depraved. These are the people who are responsible for my childhood, for nights spent searching in the darkness for a comforting hand that would never come.
But they seem so innocent now they are before me. I count them, seven girls and eight boys, on the precipice of adulthood with their awkward limbs, the material they swathe around their hips and chests so they are not naked. “I love your swimsuit, Lizzie,” one girl said, sticking a finger down her throat when the human called Lizzie turned away. They seem oddly ashamed of their bodies, particularly the girls. They tug at stomachs and rub thighs, pulling down the edges of their suits to conceal more flesh, refusing offers of food because “I’ve eaten so much today, I’m disgusting”. It appears as if the humans, boys and girls, have come to sea to celebrate a birthday. His birthday.
“To Oliver on his twenty-first,” they shout, demanding that Mabel bring more champagne, whatever that might be. Oliver keeps walking to the side of the boat, staring out to sea. He is searching for me.
“Oli.” Viola’s arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. Her hair is cut to her chin and she has very long, brown legs. “You’re missing all the fun.” Oliver kisses her, and my throat feels as if it is made of teeth while I watch them. Are they betrothed, Oliver and this Viola? Keep looking for me, I urge him silently.
The sun becomes weary as afternoon stretches into evening, wilting in the lilac sky. Voices curve and become indistinct, dripping at the edges as if doused in liquid. The sticks – umbrellas, they called them – have been removed so the humans can dance. One has brought an instrument and he is making music with it, the others yelling out songs that they wish for him to play next. Oliver and Viola in the centre of the boat, bodies close, swaying to the tune. I should leave, I tell myself, counting the ways that the humans are bad, how often my father has warned that they promise destruction and ruin. They killed your mother, Gaia. I should leave, but I know also that I would sooner die than do so. As odd as that sounds, I would rather dissolve with this sight burning in my eyes, Viola’s half-smile as Oliver murmurs in her ear.
“Are you ready for the finale?” the boy called Geoffrey yells, pointing to the heavens. All of them stare at the sky, and I follow suit. For a moment it is as if we are all one. Even here, the humans look up, searching for something more.
A screech of a whistle, a bang, and an explosion of gold dust. The stars plunge, raining light on to the boat, and my heart drives its way into my chest with fright. My skin will surely burn, I think, these bursting stars will tear our faces apart – but nothing happens. The lights re-emerge, flaring into the air, sprinkling red and silver and gold on the world, in spinning circles and shooting rockets. The humans grin, the glitter reflected in their eyes. They are dazzled by the display, hypnotized. Only Oliver is looking around him still, frowning. A murder of crows are spinning through the air, flying in chaotic circles, crashing into one another with a screaming cry. The sky is bruising purple, as if battered by the birds.
“Wait,” Oliver says, and everyone turns to him immediately, as they do in the kingdom when my father speaks. It is a kind of influence that I cannot imagine. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Viola asks, running her hand up his arm. “Are you enjoying the fireworks? It took me an age to organize.”
“Of course I am, my darling,” Oliver says, but he’s staring out at the sea and I don’t think he’s looking for me any more. “I just… something isn’t right.”
I dip under the surface, tasting the water as it wakes up around me, stretching its arms out, ready to play. Hello, it says, and it begins caressing the left side of the boat, then the right, just enough to inform the humans that it is here. The water does not pay much heed to the boats ripping through its skin but occasionally the humans must be reminded of the water’s generosity in allowing them to do so.
I rise up again to watch the humans. A glass walks off the table, exploding as it hits the floor. No one calls for Mabel this time.
“Rupert did say the weather looked dicey,” Viola murmurs.
“Never mind Rupert. You said you checked the forecast this morning, didn’t you, Gupta?” Oliver says.
“I did,” Geoffrey replies, grabbing a railing at the boat’s edge to steady himself. “It didn’t say anything about a storm.”
A sudden fork of lightning, a serpent’s tongue licking the sky apart. A girl’s scream.
“Okay, we all need to stay calm,” Oliver says as the sea begins to grumble. Hungry, it tells me. “Everyone put their life jackets on. It’s going to be fine.” He turns to Geoffrey. “Where’s Teddy? He’s the only person who knows how to sail a yacht this size.”
“Teddy is asleep.”
“Then wake him up, for fuck’s sake. We need to get back to port right now.”
“Oli, Teddy has been drinking since noon. I doubt he can even stand, let alone steer this boat.”
Oliver curses. The sky is broken again, flashing brilliant, and another human screams, more desperate this time. They scramble for these life jackets that Oliver spoke of, ashen faces against the luminous yellow. The wind lifts its heavy head, sniffing deeply, inhaling the sea’s anger. It wants to join in. It wants to put the humans in their place too.
“Oli,” Viola says. She is not crying, like some of the other girls are, but her face is tight. “Oli, what are we going to do?”
Something slithers past me, a substance like seaweed sliming my skin. A head bobs out of the water, then another, and another. Right on time, as they always are. They will have been anticipating this moment all day, as soon as they smelled the storm, no doubt. Pale green hair slicked down their backs, the whites of their eyes flashing in the dark. They circle the boat, holding hands, their song gathering at the back of their throats. Oh, come, human men. Come to us. We will teach you a lesson you shall never forget.
“What was that?” Viola says, staring into the water as a Salka moves forward. “Did you see that?”
They never believe in us until it is too late. The sea begins to climb, stacking wave upon wave, it is a giant with a gaping mouth, looking for something to feast upon. The humans offering their useless prayers to their gods, as if anything can save them now. Pressure builds behind my eyes, like I might cry. Cry for these creatures who would see me as a freak if they knew I existed? Cry for those who took my mother from me? What is wrong with you, Gaia? But if they die, if he dies, then will I ever feel this way again? Never feel heat pooling in my stomach, that urge to take his hand in mine and never let go? I cannot bear the thought of it. A whip of a vicious wave, a snapping sound, wood crumpling between the water’s death-grip fingers. The boat lurches desperately to the side, the water gushing in while the humans scream. They scream and they scream. And all I can do is watch.
The Rusalkas begin to sing, the tune vibrating sharply in my teeth like gritted sand.
Come to us. (Their song is so beautiful.) And the humans cease struggling.
Accept your fate. (Their song is so terrible.) And the humans close their eyes. They beg for mercy.
And the Salkas move.
Limbs and planks are torn apart by the wind and the sea, tossed from one wave to the next, and, for some reason that I cannot name just yet, I find myself swimming, heading into the wreck, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a thrashing beam. I ignore the salt sizzling hot in my veins, warning me of certain death if I continue. I refuse to be frightened, not now. The water twisting and devouring the boat. Arms and legs and screaming mouths and eyes wide open, beaten into submission. The bodies that descended to the kingdom looked so peaceful; I did not realize that their demise would have been so violent. The girls are left to swallow death as the Salkas claim the men for their own.
Left, right, peering into the lashing water, searching for one person only. Where is he?
I see him. A Salka has her hand against his chest, hunting for his heart.
“No,” I say. And then, “Not him.”
Her head spins completely on her shoulders, in one clean movement.
“And why not?” she asks, her tongue waggling past her teeth. “Why should I spare this man?”
“I—”
“Don’t be foolish, little mermaid,” she murmurs. “Human men will bring you nothing but pain.”
“No. You can’t have him,” I say, that heat tingling through me once more. I don’t know what this is but I want to hold on to this feeling for ever. “You can take her instead.” I point at Viola, struggling in the water, fingers clawing wood as she reaches for a beam to hold on to, her features twisted in what looks more like fury than fear. A warrior, that one. She would have made a good Salka if she had died in a more tragic fashion.
“You would trade a girl’s life so easily, would you, little one? For some man you don’t even know? And besides, what use would I have with a girl?” the Salka says. “It is not women that must atone for their sins.”
“You can’t have him,” I say again. “I am telling you now, Salka. I am Princess Muirgen, sixth daughter of the Sea King. I am betrothed to Zale, leader of our kingdom’s troops. And I command you to let this human go.”
I wrestle Oliver’s body away from the Salka, ignoring her promising war and destruction after me.
“Ceto!” she screams. “Ceto will hear of your actions. You will regret this.”
I ignore her. In this moment, I do not care for my own safety or what retribution the Rusalkas will seek for this flagrant transgression of our laws. I don’t care if my decision upends the uneasy truce we have brokered between our kingdom and the Sea Witch’s Shadowlands. All I care about is this man, the blessed weight of him in my arms as I drag him to safety. Oliver.
He must live.