Magic by the Sea
For Truth and Travel

--

Chapter Eight

For Truth and Travel

--

It was a long time before anything moved in his room. Ryan sat on his makeshift bed watching the ocean outside his underwater prison. It was desperately beautiful with its deep blues, greys, and silvers. The corals that lit his quarters pulsed gently at odd intervals. It was utterly quiet with nothing but the muted white noise of the ebbing ocean. Fish swam and from his seat he could almost forget that the odd jutting shapes on the ocean floor were the sunken wrecks of ships. There were probably bodies on those ships, long since stripped of any human remains and left to sink into the sediments as muddied bone.

Did anyone else remember those people? Did they too have families somewhere out there?

He shivered. The daggers lay beside him. His mind had been going around in circles for hours. He had to get home, but he had long since admitted to himself that he wasn’t going to be able to do it alone. He couldn’t operate any of the door, if one could even call them that. If he tried to leave, Firth would know straight away.

How could he get the collar off?

Could Den?

Ryan ran his fingers over the thick collar for what must have been the hundredth time.

Still smooth.

Still seamless.

He sighed.

His stomach gave a low rumble. He hadn’t been given much of a chance to eat the chowder Den had given him and that was a long time ago. For a teenager used to three square meals a day, that was hardly enough sustenance and the combined with his aching limbs and anxiety, Ryan was starting to flag. He stretched out his legs, feeling his muscles protesting slightly. He jumped when the wall across from him opened. He shifted, quickly covering the daggers with the blanket.

Firth walked in with a plate in one hand. The king was far removed from the terrifying monster Ryan had glimpsed hours ago. His long silver white hair had been pinned back into a ponytail of neat braids. He was wearing clothing that covered him chest and legs. He looked almost human in a strange fairy tale sort of sense. Ryan didn’t get up. The silence stretched on for a rather uncomfortable amount of time.

‘You are hungry,’ the king stated factually. Ryan frowned.

‘Why would you say that?’ he replied, ignoring his stomach’s protests.

‘Your collar connects you to me. I can sense your discomfort,’ Ryan snorted.

‘Poor choice of words,’ the boy muttered. ‘When can I get a change of clothes, or at least wash? I stink and my clothes are crusty,’ Ryan snapped.

The king regarded him for a minute. ‘You really think it is in your best interest to speak to me with so much disrespect?’ the merman growled. The teen glared.

‘And you expect me to believe that you would let me go if I was polite?’ he shot back.

The king placed the plate down on a nearby table. ‘I could throw you in the deepest hole the ocean has and leave you there to be torn about by goblin sharks,’ Firth hissed. Ryan stood up, his short temper flaring.

‘Then shut up and do it already!’

Silence as cold and tight as the grave…

‘You aren’t afraid of death?’ the merking asked.

Ryan shrugged, his stomach in knots. ‘I wouldn’t say that I’m thrilled with the idea, but fear isn’t going to help me,’ he said finally. ‘What are you doing? What does any of this achieve?’ he added. The king growled. He turned to look out at the ocean, his shoulders rigid.

‘I’m going to break the curse on my people. I will use you to do it.’

‘But you don’t know that killing me won’t just condemn your people to extinction,’ Ryan said flatly. He sat back down on the bed, staring intently. The taller male flinched. Apparently, he wasn’t made of stone after all.

‘There must be more to the story, another reason for why the curse is still here. Let me go back and-’

‘No,’ the merman snapped. Was it Ryan’s imagination or had the man stood there this entire time without blinking? The dead fisheyes were narrowed on him, making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. The hair on the backs of his arms rose like they had before.

‘What have you got to lose? After all this are you really going to risk the fate of your clan on a coin toss? I can replace out what happened back then,’ Ryan urged. Firth sneered and the exposed teeth looked sharp and angry.

‘I know what happened, boy. I was there,’ he snarled.

‘You know what you saw. You don’t know what happened from the humans’ perspective. Wouldn’t you rather know? Wouldn’t you rather be sure? This is my past too. I want to replace out why I’m here.’ Ryan was sitting so straight his spine felt like it was going to snap. He had to convince him to let him go. Ryan wasn’t lying either. He wanted to know the truth about his past just as badly as Firth did. There was still so much of it that didn’t make any sense. For starters, who and where was his mother?

’And if you discover that your death would free my people? You expect me to believe that you would willing return?’ Firth’s voice was thick with incredulity. Ryan hesitated.

Well… no.

He had never been called selfish before, but he wasn’t sure he could willingly walk to his own death either. Firth’s expression was one of smug self-satisfaction and bitterness, as though he had already won.

‘Then don’t give me the option. The collar connects me to you. Don’t take it off. Let me go back to my island with it,’ he said softly. The smirk fell from the merking’s face, an expression of shock in its place.

‘Separated from me, the collar will drive you mad. It will break down your body and mind the longer you are away from me,’ he said slowly. Ryan swallowed, then nodded.

‘I guessed as much from what you said the first time.’ His voice was a little raspy. Despite his own suggestion, he was scared. He cleared his throat.

‘That or you leave me in here to stare at the waves until you come up with something better.’ Ryan added. He tried to sound confident, but his fingers were white with how tensely he was gripping the blankets. The merking seemed to rock on the balls of his feet for a few moments and Ryan could feel the first prickles of real hope.

‘Eat your food,’ the king said. Ryan’s jaw dropped as the man spun on his heel and marched through the doorway.

‘Wait!’ Before he had even gotten to his feet, the solid wall was back in the corridor’s place. Ryan bit his lip as he tried not to panic.

This wasn’t over

He hadn’t said no. He could do this, he just had to be patient.

--

Firth didn’t look up from the table in front of him. For decades he had sat at this table, its pearly grey quartz surface reflecting the concern, rage and concentration of his advisors and warriors. This room used to fill with so many of his clansmen that even he had to stand. Now…

‘Sire, we have our concerns. Why is the boy here?’ Marana steepled her clawed fingers. Den sat on her left. Firth swirled the black liquid inside his glass. The eight sitting across from him all exchanged glances. He had watched their faith in him dwindle over the centuries. He didn’t blame them, couldn’t blame them.

‘Sire?’ He looked up.

‘He asked to go back to his people,’ he said. There was a derisive snort from Everette.

‘Why is he still alive?’ the young merman snapped. His father had been killed in the earliest years of the confrontation with the pirates, Everette had been born of this world and had never known life outside the islands they were all now bound to. To him, killing humans had been his entire life. He had inherited his father’s position in the war council due to the number of human skulls he had collected rather than any real-life experience or strategic knowledge.

’Yes, by all means. Let’s just keep killing all of the humans. It has gotten us so far. Shut your mouth boy, before you embarrass your poor mother further,’ Den sneered. Everette showed long sharp teeth.

‘You were such a renowned warrior. Father used to tell stories of how you would kill five of those disgusting humans at once. Now you skulk around, mending clothing and making human meals. When did you become such a-’

‘Silence!’ Firth roared. The room went still.

‘Would you kill him, potentially condemn us all?’ he asked. No one spoke though Everette looked as though he wished to.

‘The boy wants to return to replace out how the humans were affected by the curse, if it can be broken by their side,’ Firth said. Marana gave him a questioning look.

‘The humans were not affected by the curse,’ she said. Several of the others were nodding.

‘I’ve never been so sure about that,’ muttered Keelin from the other end of the room.

‘That human is the son of our greatest enemy! He can’t be allowed to just leave!’ Everette barked.

‘He is a boy. He was never a part of the war,’ Den growled.

’He is of the islands! He was born on the islands, fathered by the prince’s murderer! That boy should never be allowed to leave without paying for his family’s crimes,’ Everette sniped. Several terse whispers and hisses wisped around the room like a light wind.

‘He wants to keep the collar on, even knowing that it will destroy him should he choose to flee,’ the king said and the room went quiet.

‘Logically there is little we lose. If he replaces answers, though unlikely, it could lead to an end to all this. If he chooses to run, the collar will kill him anyway which may also bring an end to this,’ Marana stated. Firth was grateful for her level head, a trait she carried from her mother. The others exchanged looks. The king looked to Den. The old merman shrugged.

‘I say send the boy back. He isn’t much good here.’ Den grunted. Everette made a noise that was not unlike a hiss but he said nothing. The king nodded.

‘I will give him forty-eight hours. After that, if he does not return on his own, the collar will ensure he does not survive.’

--

Ryan sprang to his feet as the doorway appeared again. Den walked in, followed by the king. Den was holding a bundle of fabric. Ryan squared his shoulders, preparing for battle. He would make them listen to him even if he had to shout himself deaf.

‘Get changed. You’re leaving in an hour,’ the king said. Ryan’s mouth dropped open. He wanted to ask what had made him change his mind but the only sound that came from his throat was more of a

‘Huh?’ The clothing smacked him in the face.

‘Get changed. I have met with my war council. I am giving you two days to ask your questions and then you will return to the same place on the shore where I will collect you,’ Firth explained. Ryan’s head was still spinning, not quite able to process the change of events.

‘…Just like that?’ When he finally managed to force the words out, they were distinctly disbelieving.

‘Just like that.’ Den’s answer was said with a large dose of sarcasm. Ryan stared down at the fabric in his hands. A moment of panic flashed up his spine as he realized just how light and airy the material was. It would be undoubtedly easier to swim in, but it would also leave nowhere to hide the two daggers he still had stashed in the blankets. He couldn’t leave them here. He didn’t know why he couldn’t, but he just couldn’t escape the feeling that they were important somehow. He also didn’t think either merman would let him keep them if they found out.

‘Why should I bother changing? These clothes are already ruined anyway. I may as well just swim back as I am,’ Ryan said hesitantly. The king raised one eyebrow.

‘You wish to go back to your people looking like a drowning victim?’ he asked. Ryan winced. The older merman was giving him a suspicious look. After all, he was the one who had been asking for new clothes.

‘I think it would be less of a shock to my mother to see me as she remembered me going in. It’s not going to look particularly inconspicuous if I rise up out of the ocean in fairy cloth.’ Ryan tried to argue, his cheeks turning pink.

Den snorted. ‘Fae couldn’t weave clothe if their lives depended on it,’ the old merman said.

Ryan stared. ‘…. Okay, I’m just going to file that away in my vault of memories, never to be seen again,’ he muttered.

Firth sighed. ‘Fine. If that is what you wish. Leave your boots though, they are already falling apart.’ The king took the bundle of cloth and turned to go.

‘Forty-eight hours boy. That is all the time you have to replace a way to break the curse. After that, you will return here. I suggest you use your time wisely.’ Ryan wanted to argue but he bit his tongue. He didn’t want to take any chances that the king would change his mind and refuse to let him go at all. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. For now.

--

It was Den who came to get him. With his boots abandoned, Ryan had to awkwardly slid the daggers into his pants, through his shorts and up against his legs. He prayed the old merman wouldn’t notice how stiffly he was walking.

‘Let’s get on then,’ Den grunted. Ryan took a deep breath and followed him through the doorway and down into a pool of dark water. The cold hit him first. Not unbearable but complete as he immersed himself. Out of habit he took a deep breath before he went under, then yelped as pain like ripping off a stubborn Band-Aid seared down the sides of his neck. Oxygen rushed in, not through his mouth, but through the newly reformed gills.

Den, his human form completely replaced by the powerful battle-scarred tail, waited for him to collect himself. Ryan nodded and they both swam into the tunnels. It was oddly the reverse of the way he had come in. In truth, he remembered very little of that first swim, probably due to the concussion he’d had at the time. The coral and plant life twinkled as they swam past. Slowly, around one bend, then another. Left up one tunnel, then right down another. He tried to remember all the twists and turns, but it was impossible. Already his muscles were burning with the speed with which he tried to swim. The fear of being left behind in these tunnels sent a primal terror through him that he couldn’t untwist.

The tunnel became less smooth, less polished. The coral and weeds grew only in odd tussocks, providing mere splashes of multicoloured light in the dim. The water was definitely colder now, the silence oppressive. Ryan hissed as a jagged rock, only half seen in the gloom, scratched his ankle as he kicked his feet. Den’s pale tail was only just visible ahead and Ryan tried to go faster.

Around him, things moved. Fish, he hoped. Fish could be long… and finless. An eel turned itself right way up from where it dangled from the rocky ceiling. Ryan kicked a little faster. The caves started to spread out, the light dying away to nothingness. As the ocean spread out beside and around, the current got rougher. The water pushed and pulled him.

Upwards. They were definitely swimming upwards. It was slow going but the water was starting to appear more blue than black. A school of fish swam past them. When Ryan looked down, all he could see was insubstantial blackness. There was no trace of the rock sculptures and tunnels they had emerged from. There was light up above. Finally having a proper direction to head towards, Ryan swam with a desperation he hadn’t felt since he had seen his brother fall into the ocean.

When his head broke the surface, he was almost immediately dunked back under by the rough surf. Spluttering, he felt a large hand on his shoulder as he was pulled around. They swam parallel to the ocean floor, just under the crashing waves. They had the currents on their side now and Ryan didn’t have to paddle so hard as he was pulled along towards land.

He had never felt such relief at the sight of those jagged rocks and bleak coastline. He had never appreciated the matted reedy grasses so much as when he pulled himself bodily from the water. He had never desperately wanted the fresh air of salt and damp wood so badly as he did now. He coughed and spluttered, his muscles fiery useless noodles as he rolled onto his back. The clouds were a depressing grey, but Ryan was overjoyed to see them.

‘Remember kid, forty-eight hours. Don’t make us come looking for you,’ Den growled. Ryan nodded, still panting, still shaking. The waves pounded against the rock shelf. He didn’t hear Den go but knew without looking that the merman was gone. Distantly he could hear sea birds. With a pained groan, Ryan rolled over and got to his feet. Small stones and sharp grasses stabbed at his bare feet as he made his way back down the slope. He wondered just how long he had been gone.

Maybe two days? Three?

Judging by the partly hidden sun it was afternoon. He saw no one on his way back to his house. That surprised him a little. Where was everyone? Why weren’t there parties of people looking for him?

The sight of his house made his throat tighten. He really hadn’t thought he was ever going to see it again. Stiffly he walked down the mossy cobblestone path. A wind had picked up and he raised his hand to knock.

The door swung violently open. Alice, white as chalk, stood in the doorway. Her usually neat hair was unkept and there were heavy dark shadows under her eyes.

‘Ryan?’ Her voice was so strange. It shook slightly and squeaked in the middle.

‘Hi,’ he rasped. He was wrenched inside and crushed in bone cracking embrace. Alice’s grip was gorilla like as she hugged her son. Her face buried in his hair. Moment later a second pair of strong arms wrapped around him, and he heard Grandpa Jo mutter;

‘Thank God.’ Tears bit at the corners of Ryan’s eyes. He didn’t try to pull away. Finally, it was his grandfather who cleared a suspiciously blocked throat.

‘Alice, let him get cleaned up, he’s freezing.’ Alice hovered nervously as Jo took the teen to the bathroom. She peered anxiously around the corner after them.

‘Do you have everything?’ she asked for what was about seventh time. She seemed to think that if she took her eyes off her son, he would disappear in a shower of fairy dust.

‘He’s fine dear. Why don’t you go make some tea for us all?’ Grandpa Jo suggested. Alice rocked uncertainly on her heels for a moment before reluctantly retreating to the kitchen.

‘Where’s Tyler?’ Ryan asked as he was helped out of his crusty and tattered shirt.

‘He’s on the mainland with your cousins.’ Jo folded the shirt and placed it on top of the sink.

‘How is he?’ Ryan croaked.

‘Hop in the shower and we can have a sit down and a talk once you’ve cleaned up. I’ll be right outside if you need me.’ It was childish but Ryan didn’t want the old man to leave. He was home and he desperately wanted his family.

But he also stunk and ached all over. His desire to be clean finally won over his clinginess and he nodded. He checked the door twice before he removed the two daggers and stuffed them under his tattered shirt in the sink. It took a bit to get the shower knobs to turn. The warm water was bliss. He lathered himself, ignoring the stinging cuts and scrapes. He scrubbed almost fiercely. He spent a long time under the shower’s hot spray until the water started to go cold. Skin red, Ryan climbed out and dried off. He pulled on a pair of threadbare sweatpants and shirt. It was so good to be back in familiar dry clothes. He never realized he would miss so much about his life until he had faced the threat of losing all of it.

Still. He missed Tyler painfully. His little brother must be so scared and miserable. He had never been without Ryan and his aunt had never been the most patient woman when it came to crying toddlers. Well, other people’s crying toddlers. Her own children could do no wrong even as they were stealing from a guest’s wallet as she defended them… The image of Tyler, curled up and crying in a strange house without him made Ryan want to cry himself.

He had to fix this. He wasn’t sure how, but he had to replace a way.

He tiptoed to his room, daggers tucked under one arm. The sight of his patchwork quilt, his laptop, his rug, all desperately familiar and welcome. He shoved the daggers back under the bed in a spare shoe box and paused. He looked down at his quilt. He had memories of this quilt for as long as he could remember. He dragged his fingers over the little squares.

Some of the pictures were what he would expect to see on a kid’s blanket. There was a caterpillar, an apple, and a raincloud. There was also an anchor and pirate ship which struck a little too ‘on the nose’ for him. Frowning, he yanked on the quilt, looking over the little pictures with more attention. At the bottom of the blanket was a trident.

And a petrel.

Right.

Tucking the fabric under his arms he marched back into the kitchen. His mother and grandfather turned around.

‘Ryan-’ She paused, looking at the quilt in his arms and the hard expression on his face. Mugs of tea in hand, Grandpa Jo ushered them over to the table. Outside, the grey clouds had turned menacing, and the first splatters of rain could be heard on the roof.

‘We need to talk,’ Ryan said. Neither adult looked particularly comfortable.

‘You know about it all don’t you? About the thing that took me? Why it took me?’ Alice and Jo exchanged troubled looks. Alice’s eyes were red. He tried not to let how upset she was derail him. It was difficult. He had never known his mother to cry. Both adults nodded.

‘Tell me,’ he urged.

‘The story is a sad one from start to finish I’m afraid,’ Jo murmured. He suddenly looked his age. The boyish grin was gone, and it made his wrinkles look so much more deeply set.

‘Start from the beginning.’

--

END

--