They were seconds in which Salia didn’t know how to move. The realisation engulfed her, driving her down into uncertainty, even though she was there to help.
Still, the water seemed to pull her aside as a claw darted past her face and the hiss of a mermaid roared in her ears.
Shoulders tense, Salia shook off the kindness of these women and let her gaze slide. They had taken advantage of the careless moment to encircle her. The flowing beauty they carried made it hard to focus on anything else, and yet Salia could barely take her eyes off the claws they were trying to use to destroy her.
“Why do you stand against me?” Fighting without the spear was impossible. She no longer possessed fingernails, her teeth were too normal and her body too weak to stand against three mermaids.
“All you have to do is call out to me...” The voice in her head had receded into the far distance and yet remained the only thing present amidst those gasps.
“Because we don’t want war,” the redhead explained. “We want power. We want the opportunity to live in the way we’ve been denied all these years, without having to build it all ourselves.”
“But if we build it ourselves, then we can shape it the way we want. We could create a world for ourselves!” Without understanding, Salia spread her arms. “No one would have to hide anymore. No one-“
“You really don’t get it, do you?” she was interrupted gruffly. Brows raised, the dark-skinned one of them shook her head. “Probably why you were chosen.” She tapped her head. “The waters lean towards those who cling to a single thing without seeing the rest. Similar to a tsunami that engulfs everything without looking at the consequences.”
Momentarily, Salia opened her mouth, but her voice found no sound.
She couldn’t claim to be thinking of anything other than revenge. There was no room in her mind for clever plans. All that prevailed in her were the images on the boat. The memory of the dark room where she had been left days before – with a piece of mouldy bread and a bowl of water. Behind that, the chair on which she had screamed and bled as her nails were torn out, accompanied by endless questions, none of which she had answered.
There was no denying all this had to end. It was the easiest way.
She swallowed.
Vix’s reproving voice seemed to sigh in the background. The easiest way was not always the right one. There were alternatives. She could think of ideas-
“None of them would last for eternity,” the voice interrupted her. Any detached thought, removed from the desire for revenge in her bones, fell silent. Emptiness lurked behind. Silent, secretive loneliness that had no answers for her.
“Have you nothing to say?” Again, the dark mermaid demanded an answer, but Salia’s tongue remained motionless.
Only the taste of blood, the absurd perception of torture on the land, lingered. It made the moment languid. Heated. It clenched her bony hands into fists and made her heart race.
“The only consequences we’d have to face for our freedom would be starting over, and I wouldn’t say that’s a shame.” She pushed through her back. “We’ve started over many times before. It’s an essential part of human beings. We started over after the disaster and we will do it again – better than before. And if you can’t handle it, then it would be better if you stayed here. Forever.”
Hissing punished her with refusal. The claws lifted again, and though the spear was missing, she was ready to fight. She had given up once before, just like that. Letting this second chance pass was out of the question.
She would fight back with everything she had.
But she wasn’t a creature of the seas. The water didn’t carry her the same way it carried the mermaids.
Her legs kicked too slowly to follow the swish of the tail fins. They circled Salia like fresh prey and whenever they swam in her blind spot – where her sightless eye couldn’t make out anyone – she felt the hammering inside.
The water distorted, moving the images that rushed past her into a storm in the middle of which she found restless calm. Her head darted after the colours, trying to locate the mermaids and failing anew with each successive attempt. Pressure pressed against her body from all sides, forcing Salia to look up and below her. But she couldn’t spot a figure.
Until the gulping sound of the water shook her ears and her neck snapped with an ugly crack, making her look forward again – in the same breath that claws raced needle-sharp towards her throat and spread before Salia could lift her hands. Nails clutched her throat all at once, while wild red hair took over her vision. The tips dug into the flesh, pushing her body back, down, straight into a position where the kicking of her legs became useless. Bubbles of air rose. The water suffocated her for a moment.
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And reflex set in.
Instantly, Salia clenched her hands into fists. One of them she rammed into the mermaid’s face. The strangely firm impact, the speed – the water seemed to offer no less resistance than the fresh air above. It drew blood from the redhead’s lips and brought out her anger so clearly that it pooled between her brows.
Then she let go of Salia. With momentum, she brought her body into a spin and slammed her tail against Salia’s torso. The force made her upper arm crack. Only for a moment before the impact threw her backwards.
Roars filled her ears, ached in her hearing, and stopped in the same blink as she crashed back against the facade of the sunken building. The air pressed out of her lungs. Stones bored between her shoulder blades and the water threatened Salia’s sanity. The vision before her eyes blurred, only moving back into view the claws she couldn’t escape.
But she couldn’t die. Not in this place. Not until she had brought justice.
Lips pressed together, Salia tried to push herself away from the stone. Her teeth gritted, muscles screamed, but the heat in her chest swallowed every sound even before it could reach her throat.
Then she opened her mouth. “Help me!”
It wasn’t a cry for aid. Not a cry of desperation. Salia’s voice remained so quiet, so even and yet quivering, that only the vibration in her ears confirmed that she had said something; that she had indeed brought the request to her lips.
The mermaids, however, missed it. The whisper of their voices, the question of how far they really wanted to go, drowned out the whisper of the sea. They smothered it in useless fantasies that escaped them bloodied a blink later.
Redness coloured the water darker. Claws lay against the necks of the mermaids. They gasped for breath. The whispering stopped.
And then the sea crushed them as if they were nothing more than overripe fruit.
Salia’s eyelids fluttered a few more times, unsure if all this wasn’t just imagination playing tricks on her. But the blood spread like a cloud, bursting over Salia, leaving an unclear image on crushed fins, flowing hair and fleshy bones torn through the skin. Distorted faces stared back at her for another moment – sunken eyes next to broken teeth that had bored into once full lips.
Hardly later they sank into the depths of the sea, down into sandy soil that swallowed them like a meal.
Salia’s anger faded. The heat inside dwindled, and what remained was a heaviness that made her shoulders slump. Her hands automatically reached out for the lost mermaids, unable to catch them.
Was this really what she had wanted?
These mermaids had been part of her people. They had spent their whole lives in this place. Of course, doubt lived in their hearts and, of course, the fear of change was greater than anything else. But that was no reason to kill anyone.
“We have no time for doubt.” Out of nowhere, Mireille rose from the surrounding shadows. The bloody cloth was still part of her face. “You can’t let these things get to you.”
“But they were part of us...” Briefly, Salia put her head back. The siren’s powerful figure still possessed the charm of a washed-out ghost.
“An old, long-forgotten part that you must sacrifice to save the here and now,” Mireille explained. “The old days aren’t what you should be facing. They don’t know what it’s like up there. Not any more. But you do. And all those who live there with you know it too. Take your hate and remind people of the mess they’ve been through before.”
There was no need for a reply. There was nothing Salia could have said to frame all the things that rested fuzzy in the back of her mind. The views that diverged from hate were too transparent for that. She couldn’t grasp a single word behind the curtain of the voice Mireille conjured in her head.
“Thanks to you, the spear can finally be passed on,” the siren continued, unperturbed. “I can leave it in your hands, Salia, because you have enough rage in you for both of us.” Her claws lifted. “Vix never understood. She was always too kind, too positive, too hopeful. But you’re different. You’re perfect.”
Eyes fixed on the creature, it became impossible to form a clear thought. The mermaids faded into oblivion. Only Mireille’s words still mattered.
“A part of me reigns in this spear. You and I ... together we can create the world our hearts have always longed for.” Her claws lowered again. “Gratitude ... I can hardly put into words how glad I am that you see what I see.”
Hate. Destruction. The discord of two sides that had once been one. Behind it, greed that had started with a handful of people to infect everyone within reach. And now that very greed ruled Couvia and the entire world.
Still, there were too many holes in that picture. Too many questions pressed against the veil in her mind, demanding answers.
“Why didn’t you ever do anything? You didn’t need Vix, did you?” Her words were little more than a whisper, but when Mireille tilted her head, Salia was sure they had been heard. “Why didn’t you help us?”
The momentary silence that spread between them crushed the fog in Salia’s perception. What remained were hesitant thoughts that clung to the restlessness within her – unable to create clear images.
“I... I don’t know...”, Mireille finally brought herself to say. “I wanted to do something. Vix was going to let me do it. And I came to the surface... But...” Her huge hands clutched at her chest.
The next words failed to come.
All that spoke in those seconds was her hunched posture. The hands on her chest threatened to tear the fabric, the cloth in front of her face quivered, and her shoulders tightened so much that all at once she seemed far slimmer.
Salia knew this posture. She had assumed it herself, in captivity, curled up on the floor. She had longed for rescue and had been flooded with fear. She had wanted to see the palace burn, accompanied by the desire not to hurt innocent people.
The memories were there, taking her to the same side of a simple-minded story.
Mireille hadn’t gained courage in the face of the world she had seen. Something had stopped her. Perhaps the unknown. The new surroundings and the friendly pretence that people liked to believe. Little things that Salia knew and couldn’t bring her back to her knees.
“I see,” she returned thus, like a gentle breeze. “But you don’t have to be afraid anymore.” She reached out to the siren, unable to find conviction in her heart. “I will change things.”