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JAIL. That’s what the sheriff said. Shelley is going to “jail” for a “long, long time.” Fuck! At least she has the coin. I’m sure they will take it from her, but she has made claim to it. If it stays on land, I’m sure I’ll be able to walk. But what good is walking if Shelley cannot walk with me?
Three hundred years ago, I would’ve thought Shelley was an aristocrat, changing her beliefs at any given moment to suit her needs. She’s a bit of a brat, but it makes me want her more. She feeds those old desires, wishing to have been born with better status when I was a boy and a seaman. When she accepts me, those desires will be appeased and my status will no longer matter. Whether I’m a cripple or half a fish, Shelley accepts me.
I also know how crippled Shelley feels, having lost pieces of herself with her parents’ deaths—something I have to fix for I am responsible. I just can’t believe the one person I chose to trust with my fate is the same one whose life I already shattered—and I’m doing it again.
I have to help her, to save her, but a storm will not do her any good; my powers are made for destruction and a jolt of lightning or a flood of rain could hurt Shelley, along with many others.
My eyes follow Shelley as the sheriff accompanies her, in shackles, to his car. Lights flash, swirling like magic, and my stomach churns. Magic. I know what I must do.
Diving back into the deep blue sea, I swim for hours. By the time I approach Lenora’s plateau, the home of the tortured slave turned sea witch, the sun has risen.
The sea witch’s plateau rises from the ocean floor like a steep, snow-capped peak except it is flat at the top and rather than snow is covered in fine white sand. The plateau glows with a shimmering luminescence from the sun’s bright light penetrating through layers of salty water; here, the ocean does not appear as the dark tomb as I know it to be, though this place is a tomb.
Hovering over the plateau, which is not much wider than a whaler’s ship, I search for a way to wake the witch. If I could call out to Lenora I would, but my throat was scarred from the explosion on the night Captain Willis, Master Mayhem, and I tried to rescue Lenora and I’m hoping she can fix it.
I swim closer to the plateau and glide over it, skimming the fine sandy surface carefully for any sign or method of waking Lenora. The top of a single, rusted chain link comes into sight; I slip my finger through it and pull hard. As I do, a longer chain is exposed so I follow it, grasping the chain one hand after the other.
I find it leads back below the sand next to a toe whiter than marble. I yank the chain firmly, lifting the foot of a man shackled to the chain.
The toe and then the foot stir before a knee pops up. Fingers, as pale as the appendages, protrude and wiggle. Soon, an entirely naked man rises.
He’s an Englishman and must be as old as me, as he’s still wearing his peruke. I’m sure it’s the only thing Lenora allows her captives to wear to feel the full brunt of their punishment. The white wig serves as a reminder of their social class, which has no bearing down here.
The Englishman stands then bends over and grasps at the chain linked to his other ankle and pulls, but that chain is shackled to another ankle. Another man rises who doesn’t look like he’s from my time. He’s is as pale and powdery white as the Englishman, but his round features and short, kinky hair make him look like he is composed of mixed ethnicities. He has letters or numbers tattooed on his face, among other symbols, most likely etched into his skin in the last decade for his gang to identify him.
As the second man stands, he, too, pulls at his chains; one by one men rise from below the sand like corpses rising from the earth. Except these poor souls are not corpses; these souls are trapped in their own bodies—half-alive, half-dead. When the last one of at least a hundred miserable half-corpse men rise, they all gather at the center of the plateau before kneeling and bending over like dogs to dig their hands into the sand, digging for their master to awaken her.
Slowly, the sea witch rises from her sandy seabed. First, one dark hand emerges then an arm followed by the rest of her beautiful voluptuous body, which is a stark contrast to the men—pale and naked, each one linked to the manacles binding their thin bodies to her. I cringe at the shackles she wears—the same ones we found her in on the ship, which we could not free her from and nearly led to our deaths.
“Well, hello Henry,” says Lenora.
I haven’t heard my name for centuries. I always thought I’d cry if I should ever hear it again, but I’m distracted by Lenora’s giant melon-sized bosoms swaying weightlessly in the pit of the ocean as she walks gracefully towards me with each one of her captives cowering at her feet. Her pretty plum cheeks flush as her enormous brown eyes get beady as she smiles at me, knowing I’ve come to her for help.
I point to a few of the new men she’s captured and added to her collection.
Lenora huffs. “The slave trade is not what it used to be, but I’ve managed to collect a few more traders in the last century.” Lenora looks to the Englishman; her smile is gone and she cocks her head. I notice her hair is still tied in the same braided bun she’s worn for centuries. The Englishman rushes as fast as he can through the water, paddling like a dog, and gets down to kneel behind her. She sits on him.
I gulp. As the master of wind, rain, and atmospheric energy, I have no powers down here and Lenora knows it. If she should choose to make me one of her half-dead slaves, she could.
I decide to cut straight to the point. I jab at the center of my bare chest.
Lenora laughs, “Yes, I’ve heard. Gossip travels fast underwater. The sea nymphs are as bad as humans when it comes to spreading the word on others’ scandals. So, you’ve found the one who you think will break the curse and I see you’ve given her your trinket.”
I swim down and wiggle the chain link that is bound to one of the men and then hit my wrists together.
“Yes, I know,” Lenora says. “I’m already aware your lover is going to jail.”
I clasp my hands together, praying to Lenora to help me.
“Help you!” Lenora laughs. “Help you to do what? Rescue your lover from the chains that will soon bind her, like the ones that bind me?”
Lenora bends to the side and tugs at the chain anchored to a collar around the Englishman’s throat. His tongue is crimson as it pokes out of his pale white face and he gags.
The sight is quite repulsive. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be enslaved to another. I rub my forehead with my palm.
“I’ll tell you what, Henry, the wannabe hero and illiterate deckhand who thinks he was born of too low a status yet was never a slave.”
I bow my head. Lenora is mocking me and she has every right to.
“I will make you a deal,” she says, “because the truth is this girl—Shelley, the seashell, does love you. She loved you the moment you first pulled her from the water. It was simply misfortune for her to have forgotten what you did and credit another. Of course, it’s been a wonderful comedy for me, but I don’t believe a woman should be in chains for the sake of a man, particularly not a merman,” Lenora chortles. “So, here is my proposal.”
My heart starts racing, not just with the confirmation of Shelley’s love, but also because I knew this was coming. I knew Lenora wouldn’t just help me; I’d have to make a deal and there’d be some price to pay.
“Since your lover has chosen to make claim to the coin,” speaks Lenora, “I will help you. Your legs will be fully functioning and I will give you your voice back—for two days, but you must profess your sins to her. The child that lives inside of her is still chained to the past and she will never be free if she does not know the truth about her parents.”
I close my eyes and nod.
“If the tender child she’s buried inside decides to come out of her shell and forgive you, I’ll let you keep your legs per our original agreement. If she chooses not to forgive you, you must return to the sea as a merman, never walking the land again. You will be chained to the sea as I am, as her parents are, and as her past is for all time.”
The words echo in my head but I open my eyes; I shouldn’t hesitate with Lenora, so I nod once more in agreement before trying to swim away.
I suddenly feel a sting around my waist and turn around to see Lenora with the handle of a whip in her hand—Captain Averill Leahman’s whip, the device of the man who tortured Lenora and many slaves.
She pulls me back and I notice each of the pale corpses have a small, devilish grin on their faces. “Magic is not free,” says Lenora. “If you want your voice back, you will have to pay.”
I squint my eyes at her and show her my hands, as I have nothing to pay her with.
Lenora stands up and pulls the whip so I’m face-to-face with her. “You must give up your power. The part of you that makes you a piece of Poseidon’s trident, you must give it to me.”
I shake my head. I know what the sea witch is trying to do. She cannot bear to live under Poseidon’s rule; if she possessed the powers of the trident she would not only command the seas but possibly Poseidon as well.
The witch points to one of her slaves who brings forth a knife. I feel like I’m suffocating though my gills are working. I recognize the cutlery—it’s the same knife Shelley’s mother used to cut herself.
“As payment for the voice you plan to use to save your beloved little sea shell, you must cut yourself. As a merman and in this domain, you are too much like a god, Henry. You must forsake yourself and cut out the part of you that makes you imperishable. But once your blood leaves your body, your power will flow with it and I will collect it, then your power to control the atmosphere and the weather will be mine.”
I unwrap the whip from around my waist. The sea witch has never been a vile person, except to those who probably deserved her wrath.
“Think of it, Henry,” she speaks. “You will have all you’ve ever desired—legs, a voice, a woman to rescue. You will not only be the man you always wanted to be but a hero in the eyes of the woman you love.”
The witch is right. I’m not giving up anything but power over death and destruction. If Poseidon should choose to punish me, he simply will not be able to do so. I’ll be on land and safe with Shelley, far from the sea.
I think about my two brothers and consider why they have not tried to intervene. Surely, they know everything happening, but they have yet to show themselves or attempt to stop me. I wonder if they would make such a deal.
I look into the witch’s big brown eyes and hold out both hands. Lenora takes the knife from the man in chains and places it in one of my palms. As she retracts her hand, I see the scar in the shape of an “L” where she was branded by a hot iron so the world would know her status—slave. Lenora has endured more pain than any creature should bare and I feel humbled.
I think about Shelley.
I look at my hand and cut it; blood seeps into the water like lava flowing down a mountainside. The half-dead corpses start to waddle towards me and I choke. I flick my tail to create some distance and Lenora starts laughing. I can’t breathe. I flick my tail harder and swim as fast as I can up towards the surface.
The sun is straight overhead and I propel harder, holding my breath until I finally breach into the open air. As I come crashing back down into the ocean, my body feels different—my lungs, my neck, my throat. I’m thrilled as I come back up to the surface to take a breath. Tomorrow, my legs will return and I won’t just be able to walk to Shelley but talk to her.
“Shhh...Shhhell...lee.”
My voice sounds different. It’s been too long since I’ve heard myself speak. I flick my tail as I lay on my back. The sun’s rays are beaming on my face.
“Ssssssu...uuun.”
I tilt my head back just a little and see the flat horizon with no land in sight. Dark, heavy gray clouds are swarming in the direction I need to go.
“Ffffuck.”
I’m ecstatic to hear my own voice, but I’m more concerned with how I’m going to get to Shelley. I only have two days and, without gills, this is going to be a long swim back to Leahman’s Bluff.
