Page 36 of The Merman's Betrothal
Rory straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms. ‘What next?’
A smile tipped the edge of Fionn’s mouth. ‘I shall hold onto you. Be assured, I will not let you go.’
Rory followed Fionn out into the drizzle and climbed over the rail until he was hanging off the side of theStarwith only the Minch beneath him. Fionn dropped in first, not even registeringa gasp as he entered the freezing water. He held out his arms and beckoned for Rory to follow.
Rory’s instincts froze. All at once he recalled old stories about mermaids luring sailors to their deaths and for a foggy instant wondered if Fionn had been playing a very long game. The waves sloshed below, dark and unwelcoming.
‘I will not let go of you,’ Fionn called up to him. His eyes were as grey as the clouds overhead, but bright with sincerity.
Rory sucked in a deep breath and jumped from theStar.
* * *
Crushing, swirling,roaringwater. Eyes squeezed tight. Lungs straining.
Fionn’s arms cinched across his back. Head tucked under a strong chin, skin warmed through by the heat of Fionn’s body. And an other-worldly, water-muffled melody that seemed to carry him as much as the water.
Rory counted the seconds in his head.Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty. Forty-one. Forty-two—
He was thrown upward, face hitting sky. The splash from the choppy waves was somehow worse than having his whole head underwater, but Rory gulped down a relieved breath anyway. Fionn clung onto him, keeping him from being ripped toward the jagged shoreline. Sharp rocks peeked out of the roiling surf, leading to a sheer cliff face ahead.
‘You did very well,’ Fionn remarked, studying him. ‘Even strong Minchmen often throw up during their first time riding the currents.’
Rory was glad he was already quite red from holding his breath for so long. He didn’t like the way his body reacted to compliments from Fionn. ‘What the hell was that?’
It felt like he’d just been shot like a bullet through an underwater tunnel.
‘I can sing the ocean to speed us on our way,’ Fionn said as though it were simple. ‘It is a skill that requires years of practice to feel where the currents are most pliable. But, of course, I have mastered it.’
‘Of course you have.’ Rory scanned the imposing wall of land. He was treading water, but kept one arm hooked on Fionn. ‘Where do we go from here?’
Rory jolted as slippery fur grazed his arm, and then relaxed as Acha’s nose poked out of the water next to him. He dared to hold out a palm in greeting. She nuzzled into it briefly, her long whiskers tickling his wrist.
Then, as quick as she’d appeared, she deftly twisted away and skimmed under the water towards the shore.
‘Hold onto me,’ Fionn instructed, and Rory found himself obeying the sureness of his voice. Despite Rory’s weight Fionn swam easily while following Acha’s path around the jutting rocks.
If Rory had been given a moment to think critically, beyond his fixation with the feeling of Fionn’s skin against his fingertips, he might have noticed that he wasn’t even slightly cold. His body itched a little, but otherwise the ought-to-be-freezing sea was an oddly comfortable temperature.
After navigating around an outcrop of stone, a narrow sliver of beach became visible at the foot of the cliffs. Rory could just make out a heap of something lying in the dark sand.
Swimming in Acha’s wake, they hit the shallows cautiously. Rory kept hold of Fionn’s arm for support while wading onto the beach. The surf was thick with seaweed and… detritus. Silver crisp packets and orange bottle tops and scraps of blue mesh. The waves foamed yellow with a sour smell as they rolled over the sand.
How sick, Rory thought, that even a place as wild and uninhabited as this stretch of brutal shoreline wasn’t left untouched by human rubbish. Likely some combination of currents and weather patterns had brought it all here; this little beach had simply drawn the bullet in a game of environmental roulette.
There was even more scattered over the sand where the tide had retreated. The thing they were walking towards looked like a giant heap of rubbish until Rory looked more closely.
‘No,’ he gasped
By his side, Fionn muttered in agreement. ‘She is a sorry sight, indeed.’
Collapsed under the weight of garbage wrapped around her limbs, a giant leatherback sea turtle lay stranded at the foot of the cliffs.
Under different circumstances, Rory would have marvelled at her. If he’d lain down next to her, he was sure she’d nearly match his height. Her body, what could be seen of it, was a dark slate-grey, dotted with white speckles that were more pronounced over her rounded face. The turtle opened her eyes, two shining beads of ebony that drooped with fatigue as she tried to look back at Rory.
He knelt by her side. Instinctively began to pat down the debris she was caught in. It was such a mess. Some fishing net here. Twists of indistinguishable plastic there. Fluttering white carrier bags and rags of cloth. It was all matted and tangled, choking three of her flippers and forming a massive hump over her carapace.
‘This must have been collecting for ages,’ Rory said, searching for a place to start unravelling. He hadn’t brought any tools. There was a pocket knife on the boat. He could really use something sharp…
