SECRETS OF BLOOD AND SONG
By Dorothy Pensky
Chapter Two
Grandmama’s Queenspearl may not have recorded the actual fight, but my
triumphant return with the eye will be long sung. I use my shard to
extract the kraken’s right eye from its mantle. Grandmama has insisted
it be at least the size of our Stickleback Orb, a small rough, grey
sphere, to count for my initiation as Protector. A strange request, but
no matter. This eye will certainly be larger, though it’s been a while
since I’ve seen the Orb.
Every autumn Grandmama uses it to fill the sea with vibrations. When the
leaves of the kelp fall, and the cod can no longer be fooled by our
hair, we need its magic to call seals for us to hunt to get us through
winter.
I flop in the swaying eelgrass, gripping the eye to my chest with one
hand, a lock of hair swirling around my finger with the other. I went
into the belly of the kraken and came back to this beautiful meadow! The
eye is enormous, but surprisingly light. For once, I don’t need to
apologize for my blood. For once I have glory in my grasp.
At first, my heart soars to the clouds, but no matter what I do, it soon
sinks. A lifetime of slights, invisibility, bullying reminds me of what
I truly am: a scar-necked clamdigger, who must fight for any scraps of
respect. I will build my own legacy.
The Strongest will see my victory as petty. They are the ones who shield
all thirty of the Stickleback mermaids from dangers. But Kelp, their
leader, wants to be Protector. She won’t be pleased if I’m anointed
instead. But I’ll hold onto my soaring heart then. Once I’m the
strategist for the Strongest, not their target, I will finally have a
legitimate place among them and in legend.
The sea glows rose and orange. Where a circle of sand is free from kelp,
the singing place, Grandmama sings the last note of a song to the
merlings. With her weakly twitching hair and loose skin, her age shows.
But the wrinkles around her mouth smooth as she sings. She sees me and
her eyebrows flash up, but as I register that, her face smooths as if
she were giving a speech. “Between! What can I do for you, my dear?”
I flinch at the name, but never-the-less, I release the long gush of
life-giving air required: a sign of respect. That gush represents lost
time underwater, and I resent its necessity. Grandmama smiles unctuously
and nods in acknowledgement, perhaps a performance for the mothers of
the merlings.
I hold up my prize, sinking below Grandmama’s eyes. Despite misgivings,
I peek at her face, hoping for a change from her usual coolness. She
doesn’t give the kraken’s eye the merest glance. No glance means no
registering in our history. Neither does she meet my eyes in a seal-soft
gaze.
I have seen Grandmama’s eyes brighten for me only once, when I killed a
shark, whose teeth grazed Amber. Years ago. But hope is something that
rises like a bead of air without my permission and becomes a rush,
suffocating me.
I look away. I would rather swallow jagged amber chips than wait to
check the size. I still don’t understand why the eye being the size of
the Orb has anything to do with being anointed Protector, but she
makes the rules.
I had hoped Grandmama would immediately announce my anointing. She
didn’t, but perhaps once Grandmama compares the eye to the Orb, the kin
will know everything.
Grandmama sighs a bead of air. “You may go.”
My jaw clenches. I notice and relax it. “Yes, Grandmama.” Go?
I turn my back on her and dash away without further exchange. I don’t
look back to see Grandmama’s expression. It won’t have changed.
When I return to Amber’s hunting grounds, I scream. A wail that will
reach the ears of dolphins and whales for breaths around. Why did
Grandmama adopt me?
Not from love. I can see that in her gaze. Nothing in my power can earn
me love, and respect is just out of reach. I would trade places with
Amber if I could. If I were her, love and respect would come to me as
easily as herring in summer. With the delicate features of a Queen, a
dainty mouth, smooth sea-blue neck with white Queenspearls embedded
there, Amber’s regal. Everyone is drawn to her.
I serve as her Hunter: feed her fish; scrub her skin smooth; make the
loveliest mermaid even lovelier. Her lips curve delicately when she sees
me, but my smiles back come out crooked. Her perfection chafes me as a
grain of sand does an oyster. She has learned to lead, and her pearl
will soon sing—the most valued skill in the sea. She has a guaranteed
legacy.
#
As the first star of the night rises, I bring up the rear of the vee of
mermaids, dark heads above the surface, tails beating below. Like
dolphins, mermaids rest half their brains throughout the Journey of
Sleep.
Every dozen beats of my fluke I jerk awake to check myself for cuts or
abrasions that might endanger the kin. I wish away my poisonous Cockle
blood. But there’s not a drop here. Reassured, I try to settle back into
the rhythm of the Journey. So, I am always a little tired.
Tired, not lazy.
But it’s just as well that I can’t sleep with them. Over the years, I
have alerted the Strongest of stinging jellyfish, sharks, and even a
stray orca, breaths away. Not that I received appreciation for that.
When the Journey ends, each Hunter takes their assigned mermaid to her
territory. They’ll catch fish for them there. The shard-maker and her
assistant retreat to a gathered pile of amber, and the Strongest
disperses to patrol the edges of the forest.
No one glances at me as they leave. The list of reasons for their
disdain is long, but I don’t deserve them. My mother spent her life
digging clams as a Cockle mer, but I hunt fish. And I’m scarred, but I
wear my shark bites with pride. No Queen would have blessed my parents’
pairing, but I will only pair if blessed. And, worse of all, the kin say
my parents must have met more often than Mama’s fertile time. When I
am paired, I’ll follow the Ancestor’s wishes and meet once a month as is
proper.
Afterall, the point of mermen is merlings. I will love mine twice as
much. Once for me and once for my mother who was never given the chance
to love me.
I’m different from the Cockle kin. More active. Less sensitive to
sounds, textures and light. Less lazy. And more obedient. I hear they
don’t even respect their Queen!
Even now, Grandmama has mentioned my new position to no one. What if I
told all thirty mermaids before they go about my promised position above
even the Strongest’s elevated rank! They would have to respect me then.
But no, I must wait for it to be official, hair twitching as I wait.
Amber leads me deep into the fronds to her hunting ground where many
fish dart, singly and in schools, the territory her privilege, since
Queenspearls circle her neck. In Grandmama’s domain, her own Hunter,
aptly named Shard, sits in the center of a huge school of fish. Because
of Shard’s rank as Hunter, she is only allowed one braid to sheath her
shard, like me, but she seems to enjoy her hair loose. She moves her
locks in a smooth sinuous rhythm. They’re a darker yellow and green than
mine, like the kelp fronds deep under the surface, and she can simply
sit still and entangle one fish every ten heartbeats.
Shard and I are both Hunters for royalty, yet she whispers in
Grandmama’s ear whenever I approach.
Despite Grandmama’s delayed announcement, once I’m alone with Amber, my
heart rests. I sway my hair to the kelp’s rhythm. A herring, as if by
command, flits past. I maneuver my free locks around it, trapping it on
all sides. It turns one way, then, another. It tries to back away, but
my hair wraps tight. With a practiced flip, I grasp its head, and nimbly
lifting my shard from the sheath braid at the nape of my neck. I stab
it, untangle it, and hand it to Amber. Amber eats the fish in one gulp,
pulling the skeleton out, intact.
I look at her satisfied expression with a mix of satisfaction and
irritation. Why must I always be last to eat?
“Pink in the water!” Amber’s lips grow thin and turn foam-white.
Blood! I have pricked my thumb, a drop at a time leaks from the wound. I
try the vibration, again, mouth to thumb, this time harder and longer
and it works. The pink dissipates. I search Amber for signs of
poisoning—limp hair, gray skin, dull eyes. “Are you hurt?”
Amber pats her springy braids, blue skin glowing, bright eyes fixed on
me. She quirks one side of her mouth and says, “What do you think? Am
I at the entrance to death’s cavern?”
Disaster scenarios about this day had filled my mind in every idle
moment: killing the entire kin, sickening Grandmama, proving I have no
place among decent mer. Each scene played repeated until I was convinced
those scenarios were inevitable. The songs about me then!
My lips stretch into a smile so wide it aches. The worst hasn’t
happened. Perhaps the kin will fear me less now that I can quickly
respond to bleeding.
This makes today the happiest of my life. I, the Hunter, have now proved
I can care for Amber despite my poisonous blood, the final stage to be
one of the Elderkin.
Stage one is reaching the age of maturity: fifteen. This year there are
four mermaids who qualify in that: Seabed, me, Amber, and Kelp. Stage
two is proving ourselves in our posts. Seabed, the apprentice Shard
maker, made her first useable shard last month. We two are ready. Two
more must prove their worth. Amber, the Queen-in-waiting, must resolve
her first dispute and Kelp, leader of the Strongest must show she can
follow orders even when the orders are against her heart.
The Elderkin carvings could be eels curling around the blade from the
base to the top; a line of sturgeon mouth to tail; a large and ponderous
cod. Anything in the sea—except for the despised clams, of course.
Clams are beloved of Cockle kin, a food that requires no dexterity, no
finesse. A food for lazy eaters with no interest in the range of tastes
fish could give them. A Stickleback would rather spew a cloud of fish
bits than eat one.
Each shard will be carved differently. Seabed has already chosen hers,
twists of holdfasts clasping a rough amber stone, yellow glowing at its
heart, each line of its ancient surface showing.
I slip mine from its thick braid. It saved my life many times. The new
one will be splendid with decoration, and, with my careful whetting,
just as sharp as this one. The shark image from my time of danger rises
before my eyes. I will choose that.
“You will have an intricate herring carving, perhaps they will be
ensnared in delicate swirls of hair,” Amber announces, lifting her chin.
Herring? After I single-handedly killed a kraken? It’s as if she’s
claiming my service, forever. Her words are the same inevitable grain of
sand in my soft oyster belly.
Protectors blow gushes of air to Queens and Queens-in-Waiting; they sink
lower to greet them; and they obey their commands. What more could Amber
want? And she’ll always have someone feeding her, and listening to her
complaints.
It’s no use to argue about why I deserve a shark engraving— I can’t tell
her I killed the kraken before Grandmama does. I do have reason besides
rank to care for Amber. I rub my finger over a crease in my forehead
until it smooths.
Amber seems to notice that less-than-gentle response and waits.
I say, “Herring are important. Yes. But sharks, curving teeth to tail,
will make me remember their ferocity.”
Amber tilts her head. “Aren’t the scars on your neck enough of a
reminder of sharks?”
“I don’t see those.”
“I don’t think your destiny is to act like a shark.” She folds her arms,
her eyes slits.
“I’ll make my own destiny!”
Amber tightens her jaw. “So Grandmama promised you Protector if you
killed a kraken?”
I don’t say a word.
“Yes, I do know that,” she says. “But I say no. Don’t do it. I’ll die
if you die.”
A corner of my lip twitches up. “Right, someone with Queenspearls taking
it upon themselves to die. You can’t kill yourself. You’re the next
Queen.”
Amber huffs a couple beads of air, but she can’t keep a straight face.
She knows I’m right, but is always rebelling against it. I don’t
understand. Why wouldn’t she relish her role?
I wait. She can never resist a last word. ‘You’re a genius at snaring
fish for me, Bett. That’s safer. And I’m hungry.”
Gritting my teeth, I catch another herring and hand it to her. I’m
hungry, too, but my own fish will have to wait. When I’m Protector…well
I guess then I will still eat last, but not because of my rank, and that
is what matters most.
“Any disputes you can resolve?” I ask her. “It’s almost the start of
summer and I’m ready to be paired at the Elderkin dance.” But what if
I’m not paired? I have nothing. No rank. No beauty. Yes, Grandmama
adopted me, but does that mean she’ll pick the best mate? What if I
never have a merling of my own?
“Kelp wants to expand her territory to the edge of the forest, and she
can start patrolling without discomfort. All I would have to do to make
Grandmama happy would be to say yes.” Amber crosses her arms.
“You have no choice,” I say. “If you put it off now, the next dance
would be in a year.”
“That territory is Foam’s. Could she fish in open water with her
merlings clinging to her? With fewer fish, sharks to attack them,
nothing to camouflage her?”
“No, but still it’s not much time until this year’s dance.”
Amber is known to be kind and fair. She passes out the extra fish I
provide her to the elderly. She holds the newest merlings while their
mothers hunt. She finds the freshest purple seaweed for the sick. She is
the one on whose neck shines the Queenspearls, so valuable to all the
kin. All these things are well known, unlike my fighting. None of that
was enough for Grandmama to move her to stage two, so I don’t think she
has any choice about Kelp.
“Aren’t you worried that Stone won’t wait to pair with you next year?” I
ask.
“Well, I don’t know. Kelp will be at the dance.”
I sigh a bead. “He likes you. And if he waited, his child would be Queen
someday.”
Amber pinches me hard. “Remember the look in his eye when he caught us
on the Sliding Rock rubbing our skin smooth? His eyes shined and full
lips opened in a laugh as we slipped and twisted, sliding across the
rock.
“Yes.”
“That still makes me shiver. He blushed when we caught him! That’s not
the behavior of someone who wants me for my rank.”
I try not to think of my fisherman, with his broad shoulders and rich
voice. A voice that pierces my marrow. Legs that bend like a monsters. I
shiver.
Never mind that! Amber doesn’t seem willing make the hard choice. She’d
have it all. A position of highest respect. Love. Her shard will be
made of the finest amber and carved exquisitely: a circle of
Queenspearls on the hilt with swirls of braided hair winding their way
up the blade.
“Plus, I want kelp leaves on my shard,” Amber touches her throat then
drops her hand as if her Queenspearls are hot. Strange.
“Grandmama said no,” she says, “but I’ll feel at home with the kin
whenever I see it.”
“That’s something to fret about for Ancestor’s sake? Who cares?
Everything you want is ahead of you. You’ll start apprenticing to sing!”
“Terrific.” She swallows, voice flat as if she meant the opposite.
Why would she dread a role she is born for? A legacy for thousands of
years.