Dark Depths Page 3

  “You should have killed me while I was asleep,” he said, standing with the knife. This would end now. There would be no more tolerance.

  The nymph’s eyes widened with realization, clearly knowing what he aimed to do. Her lips parted to make her plea, and he found himself waiting, wondering what she might possibly say in her defense. At the same time, he was afraid for any sound to come out of her mouth. He remembered the hypnotic power of their song, and wanted no part of that a second time.

  Nathan had just thought to cover his ears when out came a string of sounds so screeching and high-pitched that he dropped the knife and fell to his knees in the sand, clutching his head. The noise ended shortly after it had begun, but it was like nothing he had ever heard. The wordless screech caused him physical pain just to hear it. But this was no time to be weak. Danger was near.

  He lifted his head, expecting to see the creature in her more hideous form, lunging at him hungrily. That was not what he found. Her upper body was still made of lovely skin. A delicate hand was covering her lips, hiding from the sound they had made. Her shining eyes were wide with surprise—not at all the bloodthirsty beast he’d expected. Taking his hands from his ears, Nathan stared at her with uncertainty. Was she shaking? Was that embarrassment in her averted gaze?

  “I’m sorry,” she uttered quietly.

  Nathan stared. He had understood her. There were so many things he wanted to demand, but before he had the chance to respond in any way—to forgive or else rebuke her—she was gone. The nymph dove in and vanished beneath the water, covering a wide distance in a short moment. He could only stare at the reflection of her pale hair and golden tail until she had faded, drifting out of his sight. He was too shocked to react. But then he remembered.

  “Wait!” he shouted, climbing to his feet, but his action was several moments too late. “Don’t leave me here!”

  His voice spanned out to nothing, deserting him completely. All was quiet, and he was no better off than when he had started. He was stranded on an island with nothing but the clothes on his back and the knife by his boot, along with whatever happened to be in his pockets. The wind blew through his hair while it rustled the foliage behind him—a mocking sound. Once again in his life, he was alone.

  Comeuppance, was the only thing he could think.

  Overcome by this new curse, Nathan lifted his head and shouted over the water, his voice carrying out over the waves as far as it would go without returning to him. When that did not make him feel any better, he repeated himself until he fell down into the sand, breathless.

  3

  No matter how violently a storm raged on above, it was always calm in the darker depths. The children of the sea were hidden away, protected from the prying eyes of the outside world. There was nothing above the water that needed to see them unless they wanted to be seen, and on this day especially, there was no need. Their bellies were full of human flesh and their wombs full of seed to grow their young. Their need was fulfilled. They could rest for a time.

  The structure they lived in was a crumbling tower, slanted where it rose from the heavy sands. It was all that remained of a much grander palace carved from stone, which had sunken low in the sea floor. The spire was as tall as it was deep, or perhaps not anymore. The upper reaches had been broken apart in some past calamity, and had not been repaired.

  The tower was one of many underwater strongholds below the surface world, and had seen more glory in former days when the Sea King had ruled over these strange and wicked people. Human tongues referred to him as Poseidon; others, Neptune. The spiraling walls of stone were encrusted with barnacles and slippery weeds. Around the palace, the forest of underwater plants had overgrown without care or beauty.

  Since the death of the king—and only male among them—there had been very little order to what the nymphs did. They still fed twice a year as they had to, now filling their wombs with the fertilizing liquid of the humans to compensate for the missing males of their own kind. Somehow, they managed to conceive, but only more females were born to them. Never another male. This was a problem, tainting their species, but it could not be helped. They did what they must to carry on.

  One such female, appointed to be a chief among the rest, sat upon the throne within the palace. Though she was more of a revered general than a queen, leading in battle and exacting punishment for acts that were deemed inappropriate, the society as it had once existed was no more. The nymphs lived for very little aside from feeding and populating. They had truly become as animals.

  The reigning nymph, whose true name could not be spoken by the human tongue, tapped her long nails against the slick armrest. The water did not moisten her rough skin, covered from head to tail in hard scales. Her head was like an armored helm, and she had no hair to speak of. She was the fiercest of warriors, and most ambitious among her kind. Her glowing yellow eyes passed over the room, cutting through the darkness. Silently and furiously, she waited.

  It was several hours before she received word of her slave. The wayward one had been absent since the feeding, and the Mistress was becoming increasingly sour toward it. This behavior was a direct contradiction to the rules, and if the child knew what was good for her, she would simply be dead upon discovery. That was the only way she would be forgiven for her insolence. There had been too many instances already, too many chances given. And yet—

  When the slave was finally brought home to her, the Mistress felt her lips curl at the sight. Not only did this slave have the nerve to be alive, but she did not even have an injury on her soft, unarmored flesh.

  The slave was escorted by two other nymphs, quite a contrast between them. While these captors had gray skin and thick, steely hair, the slave had smooth sun-kissed skin. Her hair was a pure yellow color, unchanged by the sea. She looked very different—human. The only common features were their tails, but even they were not the same. The guards’ scales were thick, like platelets. This slave’s was shimmering and gold, like a spill of coins.

  The captors brought the slave to the center of the room and left her there to hover over the floor without restraints. She would stay there. Trying to escape would only get her killed.

  The furious Mistress looked toward the young one before her—one of the tainted. She was imperfect among them, not what she should have been, and so she was suitable to be nothing but a slave.

  “Explain your absence,” the Mistress commanded angrily, her language a series of echoing sounds.

  The slave, as nameless as her mistress—Innominata—lifted her glittering, aqua eyes from beneath her cloud of floating hair. There was uncertainty within those eyes. Fear.

  “I…”

  “Careful with your answer, whelp,” the Mistress growled. “You know I am as intolerant of lies as I am of your absence.”

  The Mistress swam out from her throne, passing in a circle around her slave and wrapping the girl in her tail. With anger on her breath, she leaned in toward the slave’s human-shaped ear.

  “You know you were not to venture off during the feeding,” she hissed viciously. “You were to wait attentively until we were done—to observe, but not interfere.”

  The slave did not attempt to explain herself. Her lips remained sealed.

  “Certainly you did not partake…”

  “No,” came the immediate defense, projected in the same language the Mistress spoke. “I was pressed by the current and was lost. That is all. I beg you to believe me, Mistress. I beg for your mercy.”

  The Mistress twisted her expression, gripping her slave’s throat roughly. Drawing the gills on her neck closer, she took in the scent of the golden one’s hair. Unsatisfied with the result of that, the Mistress ran a harsh, serpentine tongue across the servant’s smooth face.

  “You taste of human,” she noted. “Of sweat; of fear. Of man.”

  The slave lowered her eyes. She had nothing to say to this accusation.

  “You are becoming lax in your care,” the Mistress warned. She mo
ved closer to her slave’s human-like face. “You know that I have only allowed you to live for so long because of your blood—because you may have been my own hatchling. Any other slave would have been long dead for some of the things you have done.”

  The Mistress slapped the child’s face away, deeming it unworthy to look in her direction. There was no resistance in the water. Her webbed hand slid right through it, stinging the slave’s face of flesh.

  This was not the first time that the Mistress had pondered over the value of this one. Was the girl more trouble than she was worth? Maybe it was so. Still, there was something so attractive about her. While humans were inferior, they were certainly beautiful. This one may not have been worth much as a slave, but she made a lovely ornament.

  “I will forgive your insolence this time,” the Mistress hissed with a degree of kindness even she could hardly grasp. “You will live another day.”

  It was clear that the slave was relieved, but much too smart to lift her eyes. Her lips remained closed.

  The Mistress swam back to her throne, perching upon it like some chipped statue. She observed her slave—her disgusting beauty. This one would never learn, would she? She would never learn without punishment.

  “I will forgive you,” she repeated, “but that does not mean that you will not be punished.”

  At the sound of that, the girl finally lifted her eyes, wide with horror and protest. She shook her head slightly, but the Mistress’s mind could not be changed. She smiled a wicked smile.

  “Perhaps from now on, you will be more careful in the currents.”

  Chapter Three

  Blessed Semblance

  1

  Blood from her cuts drifted up into the water, diluting and vanishing like clouds of thick smoke. The salt stung the open flesh, but the pain was nothing. It was not comparable to what she felt in her heart each day.

  The golden nymph with the sea-green eyes looked upward out of the depths. Her tears drifted away from her, becoming part of the sea. She had been punished in the past for disappearing for too long, for lingering on the surface when she was supposed to be tending to her Mistress, but how could she keep herself away? He was there.

  He was handsome and strong. He was what she wanted, and even if he never looked her way again, just the sight of him would ease a bit of her pain. He had kissed her—wanted her. She believed that. After everything, she could not be discouraged.

  She was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to be in the sun. There was no comfort for her in the darkness. Her eyes peered through the area in front of her, but not so well as if she had been born properly. Her tail maneuvered in the water and she pressed upward toward the surface. Her speed was cut on account of her arms being bound, but she did not care. She would get there eventually—up to that world above the waves, where her tears would be real.

  2

  The tropical sun was bright; the heat, intense. Footprints in the sand overlapped three times from only one pair of feet. The sand was scorching and the sun drew the hydration from his body, but Nathan saw no other choice for himself. On the beach of the island where he had been abandoned, he walked continually.

  He’d soaked his shirt in the cool waters and wrapped it around his head for protection from the rays. Then he’d left a pile of discarded possessions—his boots, what was left of his coat—in a spot on the beach. By passing those objects that he had left behind, he knew he’d paced around the entire length of the island three times in the past five hours. He looked on in all directions as he moved, trying to spot a ship somewhere on the horizon. Tucked beneath his arm, he carried a few pieces of wood that might be used to start a fire as a signal. Two rocks and a handful of tinder in his pocket could be used to create a spark. In his other hand, he held the knife.

  In five hours, he had seen nothing but waves.

  He walked on: a young man with wavy hair and sun-darkened skin. Strong shoulders and a muscular frame. A wicked man with a large tattoo on the right side of his back—a voluptuous woman with the wings of a bird. Her eyes were hidden as blood splashed from her face. The Blood-Red Siren. It was a mark he had taken two years ago when he’d joined the pirate crew under Captain Edward Nash, the Singer—so called for the ring of his steel—pledging his loyalty to both.

  It was amusing to Nathan when he thought about it. To live the most uninhibited life possible, he’d still been forced to bind himself. He’d been willing at the time, and he’d told himself that he did not regret it—only now it meant nothing. There was no more crew of the Blood-Red Siren. He was singular, detached, and left with nothing.

  What was to happen to him? Would he die here? He’d thought about many different things as he’d walked. Thinking about death had made him reflect on his life—his childhood, the future that had once been promising, his mother—but that had all led him right back to where he was now, stuck on this island with limited resources that would not keep him alive many days. This led him to think of the young woman he had woken up beside on the sand.

  No, not woman. Creature, he reminded himself.

  He was fully convinced that the golden-tailed nymph was the one who had put her arms around him and pulled him out of harm’s way when the ship had gone down, but why had she? The more he thought about her, the more he was doubtful that she had planned to kill him. He remembered the look in her eyes when he’d accused her. He remembered the sound of her voice as she’d apologized to him.

  “I’m sorry…”

  Had his rescue been genuine? Out of goodness? He shook his head, disturbing the fury of the knot he’d received from the ship’s railing.

  “No, Nathan,” he scolded himself. “She’s not what you saw her to be. She’s a monster. You must be mad from the heat if you let yourself forget that.”

  He said it aloud as if it would convince him more easily. Her beauty and purity were an illusion. The more he thought of that, the angrier he became. How dare she be so wicked as to mock the goodness of a young virgin? How dare she intervene and bring him here to this place? Damn that nameless sea wench. And damn her lips for being so soft!

  The hours of the morning faded past noon and there was still no ship in sight. It was hot, and he was getting tired of this endless trek. Perhaps it was time for rest.

  The island was not fully rounded against the surface of the sea. The beach touched on all sides, but around the bend, there was a slope and a cliff. There were rocks out in the water, and beneath that cliff, the cool breeze from the sea was spiraling through. The simple thought of it made him want to sit down, but there was still a short distance to go. The stretch of beach beneath that cliff would be an ideal place to rest.

  As he went on toward his destination, he wondered what would keep him alive here if he had to stay for any extended length of time. Thinking this, he took out a coconut he had found and began to hack his way toward the liquid within. He could dine on fish and land crabs—if he could catch either—and coconut water would be enough to let him survive, though he couldn’t say it was very refreshing. Perhaps tomorrow he might need to invest some time in exploring the island. Possibly, he might find a spring or some way to purify the water—

  His thoughts stopped as he approached the cliff. So did his feet. He almost laughed in disbelief and annoyance as he looked out toward the area that was his intention. He was not alone here.

  Amongst the rocks, sitting up over the water, was his attractive fish friend. Her back was to him as she looked out toward the open sea, but he recognized her immediately by her hair.

  Anger flared strongly within him at her sight. He was in no mood to deal with her. He only wanted to rest. It was torture that this demon would haunt him so continually. There must have been a way to drive her off.

  Or perhaps if I can get close enough, I won’t have to worry about her stalking me any longer.

  Nathan felt the knife in his fist, knowing it would do well to pierce her flesh. She was a bit off the shore, but still in the shallows. He was certain
that he could get to her, though he wasn’t sure if he could reach her position without her disappearing into the waves. He decided that it was worth the chance just to be free of her.

  He stepped down into the water, trying not to make more noise than the waves themselves. He noticed that she did not stir much, though he could see the end of her shining golden tail moving slowly about in the clear water. As he crept closer to his target, he began to realize that she did not look quite like she should have. Only a few strands of her long hair were blowing in the breeze. The rest was bound by something, and in fact, it was bound to her body by something—tangled.

  He moved closer still, confusion knitting his brow. There was something wrapped around her upper body, across her shoulders and arms, fully down her torso. Closer. Her hands were bound behind her back. There was blood on her skin.

  Not watching the shift of the sea floor beneath him, his foot slipped into a small hole and he stumbled, disturbing the water. The splash caught the mermaid’s attention.

  Nathan watched her turn to look at him, but before she had met his gaze, she winced and jerked her head away. A light whimper of pain reached his ears, carried back to him with the wind. What was that device on her? Obviously, it was causing her pain. Had she gotten herself tangled in some fisherman’s net? No, this was something else.

  He knew he should not have been concerned with her misfortune. He should have kept moving toward her with the knife and separated the human part of her from the fish. But he could not. His conscience did not always keep him from doing ghastly things, but coupled with curiosity, his plans were normally thrown off. Nathan tucked the knife into the side of his trousers.