The Wild Mermaid Read online

  He rose his hands and the hall grew quiet. Cora held her breath.

  Then with a flick, he lowered his arms, signaling it was time for the song to begin.

  The choir began with a low sound, like a hum. She could’ve sworn her skin vibrated as she became the focus of their singing.

  Their melody began softly, almost hidden behind the sound of humming. But the sound grew, becoming prominent, providing the pulsing rhythm that pressed the water against her skin.

  Its stimulus felt uncomfortable, its power growing bigger. The water pounded against her, becoming a force that she didn’t know how to handle—she would break soon if she didn’t do something—

  “Absorb it!” Maestro reminded her.

  Cora tried, recalling her single lesson and how Sarina had slapped her stomach—

  With a gasp, Cora absorbed the energy, gathering it in the pit of her stomach. She felt the lifeforce within her, more power than she could comprehend and made of a substance that she couldn’t use.

  Convert.

  She pulled the lifeforce up to her chest, dragging it to her heart, the effort taking all her focus. She needed to change it into energy others could absorb.

  Understanding came to her easier than she’d expected. Comprehension slid along the neuropathways that the physic had created.

  And with a brilliant flash of power, she did it. She had shifted the substance, adding a little of herself, twisting here and pinching there. She now held the lifeforce the crowd demanded from her.

  She shifted the energy to her vocal cords, and responding less to Maestro’s signal and more to the song itself, Cora began to sing.

  Cora sang as her heart compelled her. She followed the notes up and down as the choir became the backbone of her melody.

  Music trickled from her being, shifting the appearance of water before her—something only her altered mind could see. Cora saw the pool of energy as it drifted from her toward the Queen’s seashell seat.

  She needed to do much more if this was going to reach them, if she was going to accomplish what needed to be done.

  Her focus returned to the source of the energy, the choir, and allowed their voices to fill her even as she simultaneously converted the energy. She pushed the power toward the Queen.

  Absorb, convert, and give. She repeated the motion again and again. The work grew hypnotic as the energy approached the Queen.

  The effort began to transfix her, she was sorely tempted to give herself to the music…

  “Keep something back,” Maestro warned. His voice a reminder: she would die if she gave herself away.

  Yet she kept singing, no longer because it was what she was supposed to do, but because she was enjoying it.

  The pool of energy was growing bigger, expanding closer to the Queen and Triton.

  Triton. She pressed onward, anything and everything for Triton…

  Something pinched her. She snapped her eyes open but maintained the spell. Maestro was at her elbow. “I said to keep something back.”

  If she weren’t so annoyed, she could’ve been thankful. But he was right: she was working with spells well beyond her experience.

  She began to bounce a finger against her tail, hoping the sensation would center her.

  The tempo began to accelerate. Cora writhed, her spine shifting to one side and the other, forward and back. She was holding so much power within. Tone was no longer enough. Movement could not satisfy.

  Cora’s voice grew louder. Was she singing or shrieking? Regardless, it was working. The energy began to kiss the Queen’s box.

  Queen Mari expanded in radiance. Her beauty reached new heights and her curves became more voluptuous. Skin tightened and scales shone. Somehow it was possible for her to be more magnanimous than before.

  Triton changed beside her. If he had been devilish, now he was divine. He was looking at her, she knew it, and maybe it was her imagination, but she’d never seen him consider her so eagerly. How she wanted him, needed him to want her in return… He smiled at her.

  She fueled the song with her now-raging desire. She could’ve kept going, she could’ve done this until her end—

  But Maestro gave his signal, and it was time for the song to wind down. Cora pulled herself free, finding the sliver within her spirit that was wanted to survive.

  So with a final trill, she ended the solo.

  The spell scattered where it struck the Queen’s box, falling like glitter onto the eager crowd below. The mers transformed, their faces lightened and their glows brightened. Many smiled.

  Cora swayed on her seat. She wasn’t the only one.

  She heard shifting behind her, someone in the choir had fallen. She turned, finally allowing the headdress to tumble, and lunged toward the fallen mermaid. Phoebe.

  Cora couldn’t reach her before the others had helped her sit. She watched as they soothed her, confirming she was okay. Cora scanned the choir then, evaluating the damage she had done.

  A few more had collapsed, but everyone was alert. She’d been lucky, and yet she wanted to cry out, to feel with them. It was the least she could do—

  But a hand grabbed hers, and Maestro pulled her up. He led her to the front of the stage.

  She looked up to the ocean as the cheers grew louder, hating herself for what she had done. And yet, the Atlantean approval drummed her wasted body.

  Chapter Six:

  Breaking Down Barriers

  “Is this helping?” Maestro asked.

  He and Davit, the choir’s guard, had brought Cora back to the choir room. It was empty for now. The choir would rest on stage, hidden behind the curtain, before returning. Apparently, not everyone was worth carrying.

  Maestro had settled her on the small stage that had become her nest. He arranged her so she sat with her back against the wall.

  She was shaking, and he handed her the blanket.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  He held up a bubblet of broth. “Drink.” And then a seaweed cracker with the other hand. “Eat.”

  She turned away. “I wanna sleep.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?” she cried, whinier than she intended. “All I want to do is sleep.”

  “Soon. But first, sustenance. If you sleep now, you may not wake up. It’s happened before. But if you take a little food and water, you’ll recover better.”

  “And I should trust you?” She was surprised she’d said it.

  “You have reasons not to, but I’ve got experience in this, and you don’t.”

  “You help the Queen, the court, all of Atlantis!” To her embarrassment, Cora was angry-crying. She cleared her throat. “You help kill mortals.”

  His face grew taught, like she’d struck him.

  Cora felt bad, but just a little. “You’re not like the other immortals,” she said. “It’s not just your clipped fin…” It seemed rude to say that. “More that I don’t feel compelled by you. I mean, I admire you like an immortal, but Mari and Triton, they—when I’m around them…I can’t look away. It’s hard to question them.”

  “It’s a glamour, a spell that courtiers can use.”

  “But not you?”

  “I choose not to.”

  She considered that. Maybe he was the Queen’s instrument—but maybe—she hoped he was different. “Is that why the Queen hates you?”

  “She hates me for many reasons, and my avoidance of glamour isn’t helping me.”

  “You said something to me before the recital, that I inspired you.” Maybe she was asking too many questions, pushing him too far, but she wanted to know. “Why?”

  His face relaxed, but he remained tense. “That’s a very long story.”

  “I love stories.”

  “Do you promise to eat and drink while I talk?”

  She nodded, curling onto her fin and taking a bite of the cracker to prove her point.

  He pulled the blanket over her shoulders and settled beside her. “Melusine was a different kind of
mortal. The sea didn’t transform her, but a river,” he began.

  “Since birth, she’d been cursed with a fishtail, one that only appeared at the full moon. While Melusine longed for a regular life, she learned to hide her full identity and live among humans. In time she found a lover, and when they married, she made him vow never to look upon her during the full moon.

  “But in time, he broke that promise. And when he saw her fishy half, he could not love all that she was. Instead, he feared her.

  “Melusine was heartbroken, and in her sadness, she asked the river to transform her completely. When she sang of her betrayal, the water listened and made her fishy form permanent. Now know that her transformation had a different cost than yours. After all, even though she was mortal, she had been born born part-Fae and had become part-fish.

  “She lingered in the river, grieving. But in time, whispers of Atlantis, carried by the mouths of fishes and crabs and turtles, reached her. Melusine gathered her courage and began the long migration from her river. She learned to circulate the salty water and navigate the wavy sea. She explored great depths and found many islands. And eventually, Melusine reached the Gates of Atlantis.”

  He stopped talking.

  “Is that it?” Cora was disappointed. “That’s not a long story. Besides, I already knew most of it. It’s in the first two verses of The Ballad of Melusine.”

  “It’s a good story.”

  “But you’ve avoided my question. Why do I inspire you?”

  “Melusine,” he chewed his lip. “You…look like her, in a way. Your tail is colored like mine. Hers was a dark blue too. Her hair was golden like yours, but hers was straight, and yours is wavier. Even your nose reminds me of her.”

  “And because I look like her, I inspire you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks be to Asher of luck.” She laughed.

  He shrugged.

  “Tell me of her, the real Melusine.” Cora realized she needed to know everything. “What was she like? Why did she inspire you?” Cora finished her second bubblet of broth. The crackers were long gone.

  But Maestro didn’t answer her.

  He looked at her, his dark eyes bright with something, but he just shook his head. “I talk too much. The color has returned to your face, and it should be safe for you to sleep now.”

  He patted her on the head, frowned at the awkwardness, and swam away.

  Cora prepared for sleep, but it didn’t come, at least not as instantaneously as she’d expected. She lingered on the cushions, thinking.

  She probed the edges of her mind, still awed by its…complexity. It wasn’t just that she could remember more things but that she could use that information differently. She could recognize the sophisticated patterns at play and vaguely understand the power dynamics of Queen Mari’s Atlantis.

  And as her worldview sharpened, Cora realized she didn’t like anything that she was witnessing.

  ✽✽✽

  Kyla stirred on the lonely beach and knew something was different. The fog had cleared to be replaced by low clouds.

  And with that change, everything around her had become crisper, her reality was a little more solid.

  She jumped to her feet and cautiously waded into the sea. As before, she ignored the wrongness of the water and reached the transparent wall that blocked her from the imaginary ocean.

  The last time Cora slept, Kyla had banged against the barrier, beating at it with her fist and then flinging sand because that was all she had. She’d acted out of anger, with no expectation that anything could change.

  But now the fog had lifted.

  Kyla didn’t know why. Maybe it was because of her effort, but maybe it was because Cora had performed her solo. Maybe it was just blind luck.

  Regardless, Kyla was now within arm’s reach of the invisible barrier, and she extended her hand to touch it.

  Her finger brushed its glassy surface.

  Of course it was still there. Had she really thought it would disappear? Just like that? It had been indestructible the night before. The hope that had begun to flutter in her chest began to die again.

  Kyla groaned and knocked her tired fist against it.

  —gonnng—

  That was new.

  She hit it a second time. Same effect. Good. She gathered her remaining strength and slammed her fist against it.

  —tink-tink-tink—

  The sound of glass shattering filled the air, but nothing fell, nothing touched her.

  Then, the noise stopped.

  She held her breath and opened her hand, letting her fingers graze the space where the barrier should’ve been.

  Nothing stopped her. It was gone.

  She exhaled with disbelief and pressed her entire hand through the would-be barrier. Success.

  She yipped and jumped and skipped a few steps into the sea before stopping herself. After everything, she knew better than to run into the ocean. Kyla retreated to the shore and began to pace.

  All right, she’d broken the barrier. What the hell was she going to do next?

  Cora. She needed to talk to her.

  “Cora,” she whispered, her voice was scratchy. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Cora!”

  Nothing happened, but by now, Kyla knew this sleeping world had its own sense of time. Besides, her next idea was to try swimming, and she wasn’t eager to attempt that yet.

  “Cora,” she singsonged it that time. Her voice wasn’t anything like the mermaid’s. “Kyla created Cora…something something…” she was muttering by the end. How did Cora sing all those ditties?

  She heard a large splash and looked in time to see a fishy body, followed by a broken fin, disappear into the water. The mermaid approached the beach and settled several body lengths from Kora, her head bobbing on the surface.

  “Can I help you?” Cora asked. But even as she spoke, she considered Kyla with curiosity. “You look like me, in a way. Are you Melusine?”

  Kyla chewed her lip. It was uncanny to see her mermaid self. While their basic features were the same, Cora was much more beautiful than her. She had none of Kyla’s blemishes and imbalances. Kyla’s better traits had been enhanced when Cora had copied them.

  But there were differences too. There was something about Cora that Kyla couldn’t recognize. It had to do with the way she held her spine, the way she kept her shoulders. Kyla would never go bare-breasted, but Cora did it without thought.

  The mermaid held her body with a confidence Kyla had to believe was only possible because of the transformation. She had never been so sure of herself.

  “Can we talk?” Kyla took a few steps into the water. With Cora there, it didn’t bite as badly. It wasn’t cold or warm—it just was. That was strange, in its own way.

  Cora swam a little closer, sitting at the depth where her shoulders met the waves.

  “I look like you because I am you,” Kyla said. “Or I was you, I guess.”

  Cora looked at her, doubting. “This is a strange dream.”

  “This isn’t a dream—well, I guess you’re sleeping, but I’m real.” At least, Kyla hoped she was real.

  “That sounds quite silly, but…”

  “I’m the human you, the person you were before—” She waved her hand over all of Cora “—before this mermaid thing happened to me—to us.”

  Cora’s eyes grew full, the expression giving her a cartoon’s cuteness. “You’re my human?” Her fin twitched like she was restraining herself from spinning. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Kyla.”

  “Kyla’s curiosity called to me,” Cora sang, swaying from side to side.

  “Well at any rate,” Kyla continued, “I think I broke the barrier between us. Or you did. Something happened at any rate.”

  “You’re saying we can talk now! Can we be friends?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Do you think I’ll remember this when I wake up?” Cora asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ll h
ave to find out, I guess.”

  Cora nodded. Then her expression grew…serious. It looked strange on her happy face. “We’re in trouble.” Her brows tightened. “Atlantis, the Queen, nothing is like I expected.”

  “I know.”

  “The mortals—the serenaded humans—they’re just slaves to the Atlanteans, aren’t they? We work their land and make their lives comfortable. We give our lifeforces so that they can be immortal!”

  “Shh,” Kyla soothed. “I know, I see everything you do.”

  “You do?” Cora sniffed.

  “Yeah. I’m there, in your mind. I’ve been there since Maestro first gave you physic. But I’m only a witness. I can’t talk with you, can’t interact with the world.”

  “Do you have any ideas about what we should do?” Cora asked. “I mean, you’re the human. Don’t you know more than me?”

  That made Kyla pause. The fact that Cora thought as much astounded her. Kyla was the one who’d gotten them into this rotten mess in the first place. Cora should be blaming her, not looking for guidance.

  Cora continued, “You’ve got a lot more experiences than me. I mean, I’m learning things, but knowledge isn’t the same as experience. I’m really new to lots of things.”

  That wasn’t wrong, but Kyla was hardly an expert in mermaids, magic, and Atlantis.

  Regardless, Cora’s big, wide eyes looked to her hopefully. Kyla didn’t know how to tell Cora the truth: she had no idea what they should do.

  “Actually…” Kyla stalled. “I think you’re doing good already, all things considered. Somehow, we got here, talking to each other. That’s got to be something, right? You’re paying attention to the world around you, we’re learning about Atlantis. That’s promising.”

  Cora grinned, and even Kyla felt reassured by the sound of her own words. Maybe they actually could figure this out.

  “Just—” Kyla felt the weather change. “—be careful.”

  “What?” Cora turned toward the dark, dense fog that was rolling toward them, accelerating toward the beach.

  “You’re waking up,” Kyla explained. But her reaction was too slow, for Cora was already gone.

  Then the fog swallowed Kyla too.