Page 11 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
The merman writhed as Maeve pulled the wood from him, forcing Sorcha to tighten her hold. She lost her place in the song, and the human melody took over again. As Maeve bandaged the wound, Sorcha focused on her song, and the merman relaxed.
Maeve pulled her aside when they were done. She removed the shells from over her ears and motioned for Sorcha to do the same. “That’s a human song. Where did you hear it?” Her fingers were tight around Sorcha’s arm, and her unnaturally blue-white hair stood even more on end than usual.
“No…nowhere,” Sorcha gulped. Going to the surface wasn’t exactly forbidden, but the heat of Maeve’s eyes made her feel as though she’d committed the worst offense.
“Humans aren’t to be trusted. You forget that song, or before you know it, you’ll be flopping on dry land like a dead fish.”
Sorcha nodded, her eyes wide. Howdeadfish flopped, she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t feel like the right time to ask Maeve.
“And you forget the human who sang it, you hear me? You must never go near them again.”
Sorcha nodded again.
“Good, now get back to work. Give this to the one by the entrance; he’s looking a little green around the gills.” She handed Sorcha a vial of turquoise liquid before swimming off to help someone else, her black scales showing purple in the light. Despite her bulk, Maeve floated around the infirmary with grace, bringing an odd sort of comfort to the injured. As long as Maeve was snippy and cantankerous, you knew you’d be okay. She was only kind when there was no hope.
Sorcha settled the shells back over her ears, wishing she could use the starfish the way the Watchers did. But there were only so many that could be convinced to help, and the Watchers needed the extra protection. Picking a different song, she sang as she navigated through the chaos, letting just a bit of her magic seep into the upbeat tune — not enough to drain her, but just enough so that the magic would help ease the pain of any who heard.
She offered a comforting smile to the Watcher reclining on a shelf by the entrance. The merman clung to the coral as he gasped for oxygen.
Studying him, she frowned. There was no mark of injury anywhere on him, yet his eyes were wide, and he shook as he tried to breathe.
His starfish!
One of his starfish was gone, and the other clung to his neck rather than the side of his head. She reached for it, but he let go of his hold on the coral long enough to bat her hand away. He shrank back into the wall. She tapped the side of her own neck, but he just shook his head violently.
Leaning close, she yelled into his ear. “The starfish is on your gill — that’s why you can’t breathe.”
He stared at her, wide-eyed. Taking that as an invitation, she reached for the starfish and gently coaxed it free. He shoved her arm again, but not before she had lifted the starfish partly away from his gills.
As oxygen reached his brain, he understood and ripped the starfish off, flinging it across the room. That was one that wouldn’t be interested in helping again.
The merman looked better now that he could breathe, but he still held tightly to the coral wall.
“Don’t let them take me,” he whimpered as thunder rolled in the distance.
“Who?”
“The humans! I heard their voices!”
She reached to pat his shoulder, then remembered the vial in her hand. Was it capable of canceling the siren spell? Or was it just a tincture to calm him down?
Either would work, if she could convince him to take it. She held it out to him, but he shook his head, refusing to let go.
“This will help?” She swallowed hard. She hadn’t meant to make it a question.
He squinted at her doubt. “Will it?”
“Of course.” She pulled the stopper out and leaned over to give it to him. If she had to pour it down his throat, she would.
He jerked again, his head knocking into her hand.
The vial flew out of her grasp, the green liquid spilling into the water. It bounced against the coral and smashed.
“That’s how you deliver medicine around here?” A sarcastic voice asked.
Sorcha looked up to see Rona in the doorway, her arms folded. Some of the liquid bubbled against the yellow stone in her bracer.
“Sorry,” Sorcha muttered, ducking to pick up the glass shards.
