The caps of the waves off Aurora Island shimmered silvery in the moonlight. The island, located off the coast of Florida, had long been a sacred place to the merfolk. Too small for a fancy human hotel, the land too unstable for a beach house, and the water too infested with sharks for partiers, the remote little island was where mers walked out of the ocean to begin their year in exile, their year as a drywalker.
I tread water, my head and shoulders above the waves. I could feel the sandy ocean bottom with my shimmering blue flipper. Isla, Indigo, and Creon swam in the water nearby, and the rest of the tribe, including Seaton, swam deeper into the water behind us. On the sandy shore, King Manx stood waiting, the Queen Mother at his side. Torchlight illuminated their faces. Behind them, a group of drywalkers, many of whom belonged to my tribe, stood waiting. Among them was Roald, my old friend. His hair looked very yellow, paled by his days in the sunlight. He had a strange expression on his face. Why did he look nervous?
A path from the ocean to the beach was lined with glimmering shells, flickering torches, and a rainbow of flowers. I could smell the heady scent of the blossoms. The smell of earth things burned strong in our noses. Life in the water had tuned our senses to the subtlest scents in the environment. It was a skill that was both a blessing and a curse for drywalkers.
“They are ready for you,” King Creon said, urging me forward when I did not move.
I glared at him.
I then gazed back at King Manx, who was smiling at me. He looked handsome in the firelight. He wore a white shirt fluttered open at the neck and tan pants. His feet were bare, and his long hair was unbound. He was holding a pale blue robe. I would emerge from the water in my naked human form. While it was the custom, the thought of it humiliated me.
Isla swam closer to me. “Don’t be afraid. I’m sorry all this is happening against your wi—”
“I’m not afraid,” I said, cutting her off, then turned to Creon. “You’ve sold me to my parents’ killers. I’ll never forgive you.”
“Ink,” Indigo said, her voice full of warning.
Creon motioned for her to be silent. He moved closer to me so the others could not hear his voice. “I don’t need your forgiveness. If you’re brave enough to play with a nagual, let’s see how you fare with the Gulfs,” he said, then turned and swam away.
I gritted my teeth and turned back, staring at those gathered on the small island. Steeling my nerves, I swam forward. My tail dragged along the sandy ocean bottom. I curled it, resting it on the sand, then closed my eyes. I had seen the transformation many times and had borne witness as the others left the tribe for their year in exile. I always pitied them.
The first crash of agonizing pain washed over me. I felt as if I had been stung by an entire jellyfish bloom. Pain swallowed me. It was like I’d been sliced from my flipper to my waist. I betrayed myself by gasping out loud.
“Ink,” Indigo whispered softly.
My body arched as another shooting wave of pain bolted upward. My body shook as jolt after jolt racked me. After the sharp pains subsided, I felt a warm tingling sensation. I opened my eyes. Blue and gold light spiraled around the lower half of my body. I stared at the water in amazement, watching my tail slowly transform into legs.
The glowing light then traveled up my body. It centered on the tribal mark on my back. The mark began to feel very hot. Suddenly, pain seared across my back. I felt like I’d been scraped along a coral reef. A drywalker’s tribal mark forms its final pattern when we make our first transformation. The mark on my back, strange and large, always puzzled me. Now, I learned it was renowned enough to earn me a prophecy. I hardly knew what to think of that. Had Creon known? Would he believe something like that, or did he just find a way to use it to his advantage? The answer, it seemed, was evident. At the end of the pathway, King Manx waited for me.
The glowing light pulsated brightly once more, surrounding my body in an orb of light, then dissipated into the night sky. Moments later, I felt a strange sensation as cool water swished between my legs, touching my body in its most sensitive female parts, which, without the protective covering of my tail scales, were exposed. It took me a moment to steady myself in the rocking waves. My hand drifted underwater to my sides. I gently stroked my hands over my body, feeling the bastardization of myself as a mer. Now, I was just like the humans. I stood on two feet, feeling the sand between my toes. Fighting the waves on wobbling knees, I approached the beach.
King Manx moved down the beach to meet me. I stiffened my back. If I had to walk out of this water naked, in front of strangers, destined to wed my enemy, then I would do it with as much dignity as I could. I was Ink, daughter of Dauphin and Coral. I was no fragile mermaid princess. Stone-faced, I scanned the group collected on the beach. Then, I noticed a shimmer in the darkness behind them. I swore I saw a pair of glowing green eyes among the thick foliage along the shore. Something or someone was watching from the shadows. For just a moment, I felt a soft vibration. There was an odd feeling like someone had whispered in my ear, soothingly touching my cheek. I could almost hear words in the wind. I tilted my head to listen more closely but could not make them out. Had Hal really come? There was too much risk in it. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. I peered more closely, but the green eyes had gone.
Feeling encouraged, I tensed my muscles and moved against the waves. I tried ignoring the pain as I walked with soft feet on broken stones and jagged shells. I‘d nearly reached the beach when a loud voice intoned.
“Land and bone; earth and tomb; may the blood of the Great Mother Ocean remain strong,” chanted an ancient woman in long robes.
I looked her over. Surely, she’d come with the Gulfs. She was a holy woman, that was obvious, but she was not a mermaid. My mother loved to tell me folktales of other aquatic shifters, the cecaelia, in particular, who’d lived among our kind before my ancient relatives’ unfortunate gambit. Still, there were more creatures out there besides mers and cecaelia. Judging by the swirling snake-like designs trailing down this woman’s arms, I guessed her to be a mamiwata, a serpent shifter. I was beginning to see how naive I really was. Creon would have us believe that the other shifters had all been decimated, but it was a lie. Freshwater mers, naguals, and mamiwata all still lived. Why perpetuate the ruse? What purpose did the lie serve?
“Speak the words,” the mamiwata commanded.
“Sea to stone; water to air; exile reborn; stand among us here,” the Gulfs crooned.
Her long, dark robes trailed along behind her, and the mamiwata moved down the beach where the surf faded along the sand. She took a small dagger from her belt, stabbed her hand, and then shook her blood into the water.
“Walk, princess. Child of the ancients. Join your bonded one.”
I scanned the crowd. My Atlantic brothers and sisters looked worried. Some even looked angry. And again, I looked for those green eyes, but no one was there. A flight of fancy, just romantic nonsense. I must have imagined the eyes, the feeling, in the first place. By now, Hal would have returned to his own people.
I walked forward. The surf lapped around my ankles. The pain was excruciating. Most mermaids cried. It was expected. But not me. I would be the first mermaid in history who did not weep even though my newborn legs felt like they were on fire. I clenched my teeth and moved forward one foot at a time.
The mamiwata called to me, “Come, brave princess.”
I stepped along the shell and flower path. The crowd bowed. I tried to ignore the nagging embarrassment I felt about being naked in front of them. They had all been through this before. They knew what it was like, the pain and shame. I fixed my eyes on Manx, who moved forward to meet me. He stood at the end of the path, waiting for me, holding the sheer robe in his hands.
As I walked forward, I realized the Gulfs were weighing me, judging me. When I wed Manx, I would rule them too. What kind of princess had the Atlantic tribe sent? Did they all believe I was the mermaid from some prophecy? No doubt they were trying to determine. I fought away the pain, stiffened my back, and reminded myself that the eldest among them had fought in the wars had shed the blood of my tribe. We were at peace, but that didn’t mean I had to forget.
Yet there was Manx, waiting for me, looking so…concerned. Maybe he was different from the Gulfs of old. Perhaps I could find some good in the merman to whom I had been traded like a heap of kelp.
The sharp scent of land assailed my nose. I looked back once more at the waves. Isla, Creon, and the rest of the tribe had gone. Only Seaton and Indigo remained to watch my wretched transformation. The surf roared as it broke along the shore. Moonbeams reflected off the fins of a pod of dolphins swimming nearby. I was lost to the sea. I was an exile. But I would not cry.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and descended the path to Manx.
“Ink,” he whispered, then carefully helped me put on the robe. I slid my wet arms into the human garb. The material was soft and sheer. I moved to close the robe, but Manx did not let go of the fabric. Standing very close to me, the front of the robe still open, his eyes slid slowly down my body. He stared at my wet, uncovered breasts. My nipples were pert in the chill of the air. His eyes slid further, down my waist, across my hips, between my legs. He took a deep breath and sucked in his bottom lip.
“Thank you,” I said, tugging the fabric.
He did not let go. His eyes drifted back up my body, hovering on my breasts for just a moment before he met my eyes again. “By the old ones of the sea, you are amazing,” he whispered in a voice too low for the others to hear. “So beautiful.”
Annoyed and feeling taken advantage of, I pulled the fabric hard. This time, I wrestled it from his grasp. I folded it across my body and belted it.
I then looked back at the water.
Seaton inclined his head to me and then disappeared into the waves.
Indigo was crying. I could see the shimmer of tears on her cheeks. A water-bound merdolphin, she would never have to face exile. There was nothing she could do to help me. She raised her hand in farewell, turned, and sank under the water. A moment later, I saw her dorsal fin reflecting the moonlight. She’d transformed back into her other self, and so had I.
I looked up at Manx, smiling down at me, his forehead and upper lip moist with sweat. “Welcome to sunny Florida.”