The Savage Blue

The cave is smooth rose stone. Round pools light the entire ground. Down here, the energy crackles in and around me. Traces of others who’ve passed through here linger in the air. But the emotion is a fraction of what I felt coming down the well. Kurt whispers, “According to legend, the laria feed on the memories of men.” I wonder which of my memories are mingled in with the others.

“Mind the floors,” Kurt says. “The pools are chambers of eternal sleep. Only the oracle can release you once you’ve plunged in.”

In one of the occupied pools, a girl’s hair floats up to the surface like weeds. I wonder why she’s down there. What is she running from that would make her want to do this? I tell myself that I want to remember all of my life, no matter what happens.

At the end of the cave is a great basin made of polished moonstone. A tiny waterfall fills it, and the runoff trickles into skinny rivers that line the grounds. “Pretty sweet Jacuzzi.”

Kurt elbows me in the ribs. “Shh.”

I want to tell him to chill out, though my insides are as uneasy as the tremble in my legs. I miss Shelly’s pond in Central Park. The bright Thumbelina-sized fairy maidens that blew me kisses. Even Shelly’s kind, wrinkly face.

Then, she emerges.

Her movements are slow and delicate, like a doll coming to life. Wondrous and strange, from the belly up she’s so pink. Her eyes are like the blush of new roses. Her smooth, naked torso is obscured by powder-pink hair tumbling down to the water. At her hips, she disappears into a giant, golden nautilus shell. I wonder how she bends her legs to fit. Maybe she doesn’t have any legs.

“Surely you’ve seen creatures more wondrous than me on your travels, Tristan Hart.” Her voice… Her voice is achingly lovely. Every word fills me with a peace I haven’t felt in so long. I want to put a smile on her sad face.

“No, ma’am.” I know I sound dreamy, but I feel very, very good.

She turns a fraction, setting pink jeweled eyes on Kurt, and I suddenly hate it. I want her to keep looking at me. “Surprised to see me, Kurtomathetis?”

“You’re not Lucine.” His words are steeped in disappointment and hurt, but when I wait for him to turn to me and explain, all he can do is stare at the nautilus maid.

“Come forward,” she tells him.

And he does it. Kurt, the most logical guy I’ve ever met, goes to her without even thinking. It happens slowly, the brush of his feet on the ground, then all at once, into a memory pool with a heavy splash. The space is narrow but he manages to lift one hand to punch against the force containing him until he stops moving and finally sleeps.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I don’t need him, that’s why.”

Somewhere in my mind I know she’s wrong. But here I am, agreeing with everything she says.

“Your girl,” I say. My tongue is like wet cotton in my mouth. “I had something for you and she took it.”

“I’ve no use for trinkets.”

“But I have nothing else.” I sound whiny. I don’t want to sound whiny, but I do. It’s like I’m complaining to my mom. I miss my mom. My bed. My friends. I want to sleep like Kurt. Then the cave whispers, and I snap awake.

Her voice is like a trail, and I follow it around the danger of the sleeping chambers and right up to her basin where she fingercombs her hair. “I know something you can give me.”

The cave dims. We’re alone. She dips her fingers in the water around her. There’s that smile, brilliant as dawn. When she looks back up at me, her eyes glow with eager newness. I wonder what happened to her legs, then I study her face—the slope of her nose, the bow of her mouth—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Second. Second most beautiful—but I can’t remember who the first is.

“Why was he surprised to see you?” I ask.

“You mean why am I here?” Her smile is strained. I can tell she doesn’t do that very often. “You mean how could I possibly be stuck in this cave on an island full of degenerates? I don’t belong here. I belong in Eternity. Eternity is my home. But my sisters and I, we are all shifting, moving, breaking, like the plates beneath us. We’re moving like we’re intended to. I must be here and now for you. In the Well of Memories.”

I rub my face. Wake up, Tristan. “I saw things that weren’t mine to remember.”

“When you go down the well, you leave traces of yourself behind. Don’t make that face. You aren’t losing anything. Only now I know your mind as well. From kings and heroes to lost boys and girls, they all leave their memories here. The water is impregnated with the past. The oracle is the keeper of the well.”

“What do they get in return?”

“Unburdening of the soul. Reflection. If they’re lucky, perhaps insight to the future.”

“And what do you want from me?”

She sets her delicate hands on the smooth gold shell. Moves her hair all to one side, exposing herself to me. “I want you to come closer.”

“So you can stick me in a memory hole?”

“So I can look into your eyes.”

There’s pressure at the base of my neck, a force that pushes me right to her until we’re eye to eye. It’s like wading through hip-high water while wearing ankle weights. Her rose irises are as hard as jewels. I can see flashes of lightning, the ground tearing like an open wound, seas whirling, beasts rising from the depths. I shut my eyes against it, but that’s no help. It’s in me—the uproar, the turmoil. The sky rips apart.

Then it’s quiet again. I keep my eyes shut and I’m surrounded by the sea. Behind me is Coney Island. I’m undressing and Layla is laughing, holding her hands to her closed eyes. It’s the first time I let her see me shift into my tail. I let her climb on my back and suddenly I flip her over. She wraps her legs around me and we fall back into the water, kissing.

I’m not prepared for the ragged chuckle that wakes me.

“What’s so funny?” I ask the oracle. Closer like this, I can finally see that the deformity of her legs starts at the hip. The skin has rough grooves as if the skin were burned.

“Even after everything you’ve seen, everything you are, your most powerful memory comes from a girl?”

The pressure around me is released some. I scratch at my scalp where my skin tingles. It’s like she was digging her fingers into me without actually touching me. “Damn, you people are creepy.”

“I’m not people, Tristan. I am eternal. I am the sky that blankets you. The sea that is your home. I am the ether between your dreams. So call me anything you’d like, but don’t call me ‘people.’ I am better than that.”

“Your top half is pretty people-looking.”

“This is just a body. We are modeled by our makers. As you can see, my maker didn’t want me going far.” She pats the smooth shell that holds her.

“Well, if you don’t want anything material, then what can I give you? I’m kind of in a time crunch. Championship and all.”

The smile that plays on her lips sends a tingle down my spine all the way to my toenails. Think of anything else. Think of Kurt stuck in that tube with nowhere to go. Man, he’s going to be pissed when I get him out of there.

“I will give you a choice. You can give me a memory or make me a promise.”

“What do you mean a memory?”

“The one of you and the girl. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced that kind of happiness from any memory.”

My heart is racing. My first real kiss with Layla. “Like, you borrow it?”

“No, stupid boy. It’ll be my memory. Mine to keep. Mine to cherish. It doesn’t do you any good. Human love doesn’t last. All you’ll have left are hazy images. You hoard them in the corners of your mind and they stop you from living. No, it’ll better be kept with me.”

My ears are hot. She doesn’t know the half of it. With the way things are between us, it’s the only thing I have of Layla. Memories. If I have to leave her—no. I won’t think that way. But something snakes its way into my thoughts telling me I will have to leave her; I will have to go. Even though I know I don’t want to, I have to blurt out: “Promise. I choose the promise.”

She frowns, the frown of longing. Maybe I’ve chosen the wrong thing. But she recovers and calls out, “Mina!”

The laria who led us here emerges from a dark corner. I make note that she never really left. Mina carries a conch shell. It’s the size of a basketball with golden patterns. Then I feel the sting of a knife slashing my arm.

“What the—”

“Words are so willingly spewed, like water from the mouth of a gorge. Blood, when taken, means so much more.”

Mina hands the conch with my droplets of blood to the nautilus maid, who accepts it, cradling it against her belly. She brings it to her lips and drinks from it.

“You will swear to me that the next time we meet, you will kill me.” Her voice is so alive, grazing my skin, nuzzling a warmth against my neck. I haven’t felt this way in so long, and I don’t want it to stop.

I can’t do that, says a whisper in the blackness of my mind. But it’s like shutting the door of a dream, and the whisper is gone.

“Swear,” the oracle repeats.

“I swear.”

Mina brings the conch to my lips and tilts it back. The copper drops coat my tongue. They roll down my throat, burning all the way down.

The nautilus maid sighs, filling the cave with a new breeze. A cloud is lifting over me. The pressure completely dissipates from my muscles. It’s like waking up from a long sleep.

“You can’t do that.” I spit on the ground. The burning taste lingers. “I can’t kill you!”

“Haven’t you ever killed anyone before?”

The memory of Ryan landing splat on the ground, dead, rushes into my mind. “Stop it! Stop doing that! I didn’t kill Ryan.” There. I’ve said it.

“Will it make it easier if you remember that I’m not a person?”

“You’re immortal.”

“I’m eternal. There’s a difference. The gods are immortal. They can’t be harmed. But this? I’m only skin and bones. If no one touched me, I could live forever.”

No matter what she says about not being a person, all I can see is the blush of her skin, the sadness in her eyes. People have emotions. I shake my head. “I won’t do it.”

“Say no all you want. The promise is sealed with our blood. If you don’t do it, you will be the one to die.”

I want to scream. I unsheathe my dagger and stab it in the ground. Sparks fly as it cuts a shallow wound into the stone.

“Believe me, Tristan, it will be for the best.”

“If you want to die so badly, why don’t you just kill yourself? Have one of your laria do it.”

“It has to be you.”

My whole body is shaking. I turn my back on her. “Give me Kurt and give me the trident piece and pray, just pray that we never meet again.”

Her smile is sad but pleased, as if she’s the cleverest thing in the world. It feels like she’s set me on fire when she says, “My darling Tristan Hart, I do not have any piece of the trident. But you may take your companion, for soon the day will come when you will no longer call him that.”

The blood in my mouth makes me want to retch.

The pool holding Kurt splashes like a geyser. Kurt chokes on some water. His hands grope at the ground until he grabs my hands and I pull him out. He holds on to my neck for support, reclaiming the use of his legs.

“Mina will show you the way out.” The nautilus maid turns to look at me once more before retreating behind her waterfall. “And don’t forget, Tristan. Don’t forget me.”





The moon hangs low over the Vanishing Cove, the sky speckled with stars I’ve never been able to see in Coney Island. The church bells ring in the distance. The drumbeats and singing and laughter are replaced by the rush of wind and the creak of old houses.

I don’t know how we got back here. We took a tunnel that led out onto the main road, back downhill the way we came. When we turned around, Mina was long gone, along with any signs of the door that slammed shut behind us.

I punch open the doors to the Kraken’s Tooth. It settles a silence over the remaining patrons, who shrink from me.

Layla’s the first one to ask, “What happened?”

The girls have moved from the bar and are sitting at their own card game.

“It didn’t go very well.” I pull up a chair.

I try to give her a look that says, Not now. Not here. But right now the only expression I can manage is anger. How can I tell my friends that I got manipulated by the oracle? Did the nautilus maid think I was weak? Too weak to give up a simple memory of a kiss?

Thalia places a hand on my knee and offers me a smile.

I point at the card game and the mess of things collected at the center—gold coins, a pack of cigarettes, rusted gold rings, a jar of pickled frogs, and a small barrel labeled “Wind.” I pick up the barrel, and Thalia warns, “Don’t let it out! We need that to get back home.”

I set it back on the table. “Is this all your winnings?”

Gwen, who’s been studying my face, thumbs at Layla. “This one here took the pirates for everything they were worth.”

Layla reluctantly smiles at Gwen. “Tristan taught me.”

I dip my head in a little bow. “This place really cleared out. What time is it?”

“Nine,” Thalia says. “Reggie says there’s a curfew. Says too many strangers have been appearing. Not just the champions. Ships seeking refuge from terrible monsters out at sea.”

Reggie rings a shrill bell. I cover my ears to stop my head from pounding. “Go on, you festering sores. Last call.”

The remaining stragglers get up and stumble out into the night. Reggie gives the girls a black sack to throw all their loot in. Kurt shoulders it and I want to ask if merpeople have a Santa Claus, but the words just won’t come out.

I get up and lean against the bar. “Bit early, even for a curfew.”

“Mayor’s orders. Nine p.m., we start closing up shops.” Reggie takes a sip from his mug. “Ten p.m., everyone in their beds until further notice. For everyone’s safety. Last week, we had an attack. Came in the dead of night. The night men that keep watch couldn’t get a good look at them. They were searching for something. When they couldn’t find it, they tore apart whatever they could. Tried to get into the cathedral as well, but we’ve got our own protection for that.”

“The entrance to the oracle was through there,” I say. “Wasn’t it?”

Reggie nods once but doesn’t elaborate. Gwen pushes the double doors open, letting in the cold.

“Best if you get back to your ship.” The troll man salutes me. “Fair seas to you, Mermutt.”

•••

The farther we get down the hill, the darker the town gets. The yellow glow of the street lamps casts long shadows. I see faces where there aren’t any and hear whispers that shouldn’t be there. I wonder if it’s the lingering effect of the well memories. I concentrate on the cobblestones beneath my feet. The coolness of the stone. The daylight hours away. Hands, warm small hands, grab onto mine and squeeze. She leans her head against my arm, and for a terrible moment, I realize I’ll keep my promise to the nautilus maid just for this.

“Is that fire?” Thalia breaks into a jog.

Layla and I drop hands and sprint ahead. We follow the light of the moon on the water and the crosshatch of lit apartments until the pier comes into view. Our ship is bobbing in the wind alone. A blue flame crackles in the crow’s next.

“Where are the other ships?”

“Where’s Arion?” Thalia yells.

It’s too dark to see where his ropes lead, but Arion is missing from the masthead. Our footsteps are a stampede down the pier and onto the ramp. The deck is empty. “Blue?” I unsheathe my dagger and it hums frantically in my hand. “Arion?”

“There’s no one here,” Gwen says.

“That’s not possible.” Kurt throws the black bag over his shoulder and onto the deck. “Arion can’t leave the ship.”

In the wind I pick up the smell of the oil feeding the small lantern flame atop the mast. The ramp connecting us to the dock splashes into the water. The sails billow like clouds against the wind and I fall back, nearly toppling overboard.

Red claws snap at me. A merrow is climbing up the side. Its face is all teeth and red gums chomping at the air. It levels up to me and takes a snap at my face. I swing my dagger out, cleaving its head right off. Black blood oozes all over me, and before the merrow can decompose, I push it overboard.

We form a circle at the center of the deck. The Vanishing Cove is a dark mound in the distance.

With the dying wind, I can smell them perfectly. Dirt and decay and death and the stink of rotting fish. They’re climbing over the sides of the ship, waiting along the ledges, merrows and mermen alike.

Kurt’s shoulders are right against mine. “Twelve, I think.”

I shake my head. A figure steps forward from the shadows. “Make that thirteen.”

Number 13 towers over all of them. If not for the fin-like ears, I’d say he was a merman. But with the scars that cover his bare chest and shoulders in rough patches, the tan of his scaly skin, and the dorsal-like ridges that form a Mohawk down his bald head, he’s a merrow—and he’s holding Arion with a jagged knife at his throat.

Arion’s face is red with fury. His fists are white and, more importantly, powerless in helping him defend himself. My dagger hums with frantic energy matching the rush of adrenaline that makes my knees shake. I take a step forward but the giant merrow holds out a careful finger at me.

“Now, now,” Number 13 says. They’ve never spoken before. It’s always been sharp teeth and flying fists. “Would you believe me if I told you I mean you no harm?”

“Would you believe me if I said ‘no’?”

“Mother told me you were funny.” His high cheekbones are pronounced when he smiles. “The only difference is that I mean you no harm tonight, in this moment. I was seeking another ship. But when I recognized this prisoner here,” he gives Arion’s neck a squeeze, “I couldn’t resist meeting you in person.”

“Let my captain go and come meet me.” My heart is booming in my chest. Kurt catches my eye. I know he doesn’t want me to throw the first punch. We’re severely outnumbered and the merrows are getting smarter. At least, this one is.

“As you like,” Number 13 says. “He isn’t going anywhere any time soon.”

He throws Arion overboard, and the captain grasps at the air as if his ropes are failing him. A loud thud echoes when he hits the side of the ship, then hangs slack.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask.

“So small. So feisty.” Before I can counter with another insult, he continues, “My mother calls me Archer. I am the voice of my brothers. Our condition makes it so most of us can’t communicate the way normal sea folk can. Then again, we are not normal sea folk. We are stronger. Better. Our mother nurtured us, took care of us when your kingdom threw us away like driftwood.”

Kurt spits on the floor. “You’re a fool. You can no more trust the silver witch than the eye of a storm.”

Archer cocks his head to the side. His men encircling us are getting restless, but with one hand motion from him, they stop shuffling. “I’ve heard of you, Kurtomathetis. Such beauty, wasted in the end.”

At the threat, Thalia tries to step forward but Gwen holds her back.

“Not that this isn’t fun for all of us,” I say. “I mean, I love meeting new people. But we have places to go. I’ll thank you to get off my ship.”

“I thought you were the civilized one, being human and merkin. I knew the rumors of your greatness were exaggerated. Believe me, I will feel your spine crumble in my fist.”

I smirk. “I thought you were here to be my friend.”

Archer takes another step toward me. He’s a good foot taller. His fists are calloused, and his teeth are rows of perfect canines.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want to be your friend. My mother says we are not to hurt you.”

“Why?” Nieve, the silver mermaid, the itch in my veins I can’t scratch.

“Because we are to be brothers.” Archer holds his blade forward, pointing it at Kurt. “I can’t say the same for your shipmates.” His eyes fall on Layla. Her breath catches in her throat as she takes a shaky step back against me. He breathes her in. “She smells divine. Mother would like her.”

Then he reaches out a hand for her, keeping his eyes on me the whole time, and I do exactly what he’s been waiting for.

I throw the first punch.





Forget Nieve.

Forget the throne.

Forget the oracle that tricked me into a promise I don’t want to keep. Forget Kurt shouting my name to stand back.

When I throw the first punch at Archer, I lose myself. Hell, it doesn’t even hurt him. Not the way it hurts me. It’s like hitting cement, and even though the pain hasn’t hit me yet, sticky blood drips from my knuckles.

The shouting starts instantly, along with swords clashing, wood splintering, and bodies splashing.

Archer said he doesn’t want to hurt me. Though I have a hard time believing him exactly, all he does is grin. He breathes in the rage, the adrenaline.

I’m not ready for the blow he reciprocates with. I fly across the deck. Right smack against the side of the ship. My head spins, and my shoulder makes a loud crunch. I scramble for my dagger with a trembling hand, and despite the black spots floating in my vision, I get back up. To my right, Thalia attacks a red merrow with a shark fin on the back of his head. She fakes to his left and jumps on his back, straddling like a horse. She’s this wild thing, bringing down her daggers into his back until the hilts won’t let them go any deeper. Planting one foot on his spine, she kicks. He slides off like butter, breaking down the way they do into oozy black blood and sinew. She holds out her hand, and despite how small she is, she pulls me right up. “Where’s Archer?”

He’s gone from the deck but I know he’s still there somewhere.

One of them lunges at Thalia, but I block his arm and drive my dagger deep into his solar plexus. I hold my breath from the retch snaking its way up my throat.

“Brother!” Thalia shouts, but she’s blocked again. “I’ve got this, Tristan. Help him!”

Kurt is wrestling with a merman and a merrow. The merrow, like Archer, is more human looking than the others I’ve encountered, except for his shark-like face. The merman is covered in tattoos.

A trident is tattooed on his chest, and a nasty scar runs from his clavicle to his belly button, as if he was gutted and then put back together. He’s fast. Faster than even Kurt, the way he uses the edge of his hands to deliver crosshatch hits until he’s got Kurt in a master lock while Shark Face sucker-punches him in the gut.

I tap Shark Face on the shoulder, and when he turns around, I bash the hilt of the dagger in his eye. He makes a terrible sound, cupping the nasty black blood pouring down his face. Something the nautilus maid said bugs me. Would it make it easier if you didn’t think of me as people? Bad time to feel her freaky vibes in my head, but Shark Face doesn’t even come after me. He’s going back after Kurt.

My hands are shaking. I don’t like killing anything. Not merrows, not mermen. I hated it in elementary school when Angelo used his BB gun to kill squirrels. But if I don’t do it, my friends are going to keep dying. I grab Shark Face around the throat in a nelson, and from behind me, Layla screams, pushing her sword into his chest.

It takes her two tries to get it through to the back.

I can feel the tip of her blade as the merrow breaks down all over me, a hand still grabbing onto my wrist. “That was too close,” I say. She smiles, wiping the black ooze from her cheeks.

I pull the merrow’s hand off my wrist and throw it at the merman fighting Kurt. He turns around, eyes glowing like headlights. “You’re lucky, prince.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because no one is to lay a finger on you.”

That’s enough of a distraction for Kurt to kick the breath out of him. Kurt lifts his sword over the merman’s head. Kurt’s breath catches and he hesitates, just for a moment but I can see it. He drives the sword right through the merman’s back, and the merman turns to a slopping pile of foam.

Behind Kurt, Archer shows himself again. He’s crouching on the edge of the ship, one hand under his chin. He’s studying us, smiling the whole time.

There’s a bang on the other end of the deck, and its force knocks me forward into Kurt. Fishy chunks of merrow spray everywhere. We scramble to Gwen, who is fending off the last merman in Archer’s troupe. He’s so tatted up that there isn’t any bare flesh except for his face. He’s holding his knife right over her, execution style. I reach out with my dagger, but Archer’s hand clamps down on the merman’s neck with a powerful squeeze. The merman strangles, eyes peeled back and body shaking until Archer’s fist is full of surf and air.

An arrow falls to the floor, and I realize Archer’s grip wasn’t what killed him. Someone shot him.

“You’ve fought well tonight.” Archer runs to the ledge of the ship. “But soon our numbers will span the entire sea, and you, brother, will join our cause.”

“We shouldn’t let him get away,” Thalia says, craning over the ledge. “We can swim to him.”

I hold my hand out. “If that’s what he wants, he’ll have a whole lot more of these guys waiting for us.”

Kurt picks up the foreign arrow and examines it. “Cedarwood.

Gold leaf. Golden spearhead. Ouch. It’s very sharp.”

“You didn’t shoot?” I look to Thalia.

“I couldn’t reach my bow in time.” She holds up her daggers in her hands.

“Then where the hell did it come from?”

The unanswered question settles over us. We reform our circle, careful of the shifting shadows along our ship. There’s the rustle of water, the flapping of loose sails, the creaking of the old wood swelling against the sea, and the extra loud thumping of Layla’s purely human heart.

“We know you’re there,” I warn.

“Easy now,” he says, stepping forward.

His hands are raised, holding up his bow. Even in the dark, I recognize him instantly. Brendan, champion of the West. Starlight gives a coppery sheen to his bright red hair. His clothes look like he had a fight with a big pair of scissors.

Though the only time I met him was for a brief hello at Toliss Island during the presentation of the champions, Brendan runs down the steps and pulls me into a strangling man-hug. “It’s good to see you too, Cousin Tristan.”