The Mermaid Trials Read online

  Half-sister!

  I clenched my jaw in annoyance.

  “Keep up, Beazil!”

  Even after I’d slowed my breakneck pace, Beazil was lagging behind me. My shark was not all that fast, at least not for his size. Beazil was not just unexpectedly friendly for his species, but he was also unaccountably lazy.

  I’d heard that sharks never stopped moving. They had to swim or they would die. Well, Beazil did stop. Quite often, in fact. I assumed he had magical qualities that allowed for this, because I certainly hadn’t put a spell on him. I couldn’t.

  He was overly fond of naps as well.

  And belly rubs. They were his third favorite thing, after naps and eating, though I supposed that the eating was at least in character for a shark. But Beazil preferred seaweed and shrimp to large prey. Too much screaming and gore for his sensitive nature.

  Yeah, my shark was practically a vegetarian.

  “Come on, you big baby.”

  He looked at me inquisitively, his eyes sharp with intelligence. Beazil was lazy, sure, but he was no dummy. Sometimes, I thought that being smart was part of the reason he was so lazy.

  “We’re going to the cave.”

  Beazil seemed to smile, swimming faster. He loved our secret cave as much as I did. There were delicious seaweed varieties along the coast, and the cave featured a wide shelf not far below the surface that was perfect for napping. And since the smaller fish that lived close to shore were unfamiliar with sharks, they practically swam into his mouth.

  But that’s not why I wanted to go. I needed to practice and I didn’t want anyone watching. I didn’t want anyone to know I was practicing skills or that I was actually getting pretty good with a spear.

  I didn’t want anyone learning all of my tricks.

  The Trials started soon, and I was in for the fight of my life. Literally. Every hundred years, the crown held a series of contests for all the young Merpeople who were of age. Not just a competition either—the Trials were not unlike war.

  Entry was mandatory, but I would have participated regardless of the rules. Even if I was on the younger side of all the entrants.

  The Royals used the Trials to choose the Mer Nobility, which was earned through service and changed generation by generation. Messengers like my father were among the most important, though there were many other positions. The appointments came with status and wealth, sometimes even riches beyond imagination.

  But I didn’t want to be a Messenger, even though it would solve many of the issues I was currently facing. I could finally face down Thalia and my stepmother. As a Messenger, I could hold my head high. I’d equal them in status, if not exceed them. Travel, adventure, respect, and material wealth would be mine.

  I’d start with the repairs to the dilapidated home we used to live in with my mother. I had loved the house when I was a little girl and still visited it when I could. The garden was overrun but lovely, with my mother’s corals and grasses still growing.

  It was a real home, the only one I’d ever known. One that had nothing to do with my stepmother or her wealth. A safe place that I could eventually move into myself.

  But even more than that, I wanted to see the one thing that was out of reach for all Mers. I wanted to see it more than anything.

  Land.

  I had my eye on the highest prize of all.

  The best of the best was assigned to become the Sea Spark. There were sometimes two or three assigned, but never more than that. More often, only the highest scoring Mer ascended to Spark. That meant there was only a handful at any time, with many never living to the age of retirement.

  It was more than an honorary title. Sea Sparks could travel from land to sea at will. They were meant to keep an eye on the two-legger world. A Sea Spark would do anything they could to protect our watery domain, the underwater world the dry land folk seemed determined to destroy. It was the highest prize and the greatest danger one of the Nobility could face.

  Humankind did not know of our existence, but they seemed determined to wipe us out.

  Plastic. Chemicals. Oil rigs. Fish farms filled with toxic antibiotics. They poisoned the water, oblivious and uncaring of the extensive damage they caused.

  Blah. It makes me sick. Two-leggers can be so gross.

  I was desperate to learn as much as I could about them and their world. Why they treated the ocean as a garbage dump. Why they seemed so obsessed with material goods.

  And how they could create such beautiful art and sculptures if they were so vile.

  Plus, they saw things every day that a Mer could only dream of. Trees. Flowers. Sunrises and sunsets. Rainbows. Books made of paper that didn’t dissolve in your hands when you opened them. The big striped animals they called teegers.

  Teegers were ferocious, with sharp claws and fangs, but also unspeakably beautiful.

  As far as I knew, that was about it. In my dreams, I expected to see a teeger on every corner. I’d seen a skin once, a tattered rug in a shipwreck that had already been picked over. The oily fat on the underside had kept the colors bright. I’d trailed my fingers over the fur, wondering how anyone could kill such a magnificent creature.

  I’d been endlessly fascinated by the land walkers as a child, and I’d yet to outgrow it.

  Merpeople are long-lived compared to our dry land cousins. We might look human from the waist up, but we live a lot longer.

  And we’re not nearly as stupid.

  Most Mers live to be three hundred human years old or more. We’re adolescents for twice as long, leaving those who were chosen to serve for at least a century or two, until the Trials could be held again.

  We also mature much slower, leaving a large group of teen and young adult Mers to compete in the Trials. Mers come from the world over to participate, and most are fiercely, and sometimes savagely, competitive. It’s not unheard of for ‘accidents’ to befall competitors, even when there are no weapons in a particular competition.

  The current Trials were more important than they had ever been, with two-legger technology rearing its ugly head. I’d wanted to be a Spark ever since I learned the meaning of the word. I’d risk everything for the chance to turn the tide and make things right.

  But it was a risk. The Trials were deadly more often than not. And the jobs themselves were dangerous. So many chose to just drop out by losing the initial race before things got bloody.

  It was not a costume contest, as Thalia seemed determined to make it. I doubted she’d make it past the first round, opting out through deliberate defeat as many of the less ambitious Mers did. But me? I was going all the way.

  I had to.

  There was nothing else for me to do.

  I had to win.

  I had to be a Spark.

  Chapter 2

  The cave was quiet and dark, nearly invisible from the outside. I’d swum past it several times, circling back to make sure we weren’t followed. And then I gave Beazil the nod.

  We dove deep, finding the entrance to the cave easily. The imperfect triangle near the sea floor was partially hidden by rocks and seaweed. It was hard to find, but once you knew it was there, it was easy.

  Once inside, we swam upward. The cave was like what I imagined the two-leggers called a cathedroll. Tall and wide and elegant, it was expansive. There was something deliberate about the structure, though I knew it was entirely an accident of nature. There were several openings high up in the cliff wall that let in the light of the sun like windows.

  The back of the cave was quite shallow, with a narrow sandy beach and bright blue water that was warmed by the sun and air. Even in the colder months, it was relatively warm in here.

  I knew it was selfish of me to keep this place to myself. It was too close to civilization to make a safe permanent home for a Mer, but I knew others who might have liked to come from time to time if they were daring enough to come this close to shore.

  But I wanted one thing, just one thing that was for me alone, a place I felt saf
e. Not an unloved orphan. Not a servant. Not a freckled Mer without a home. This was it. Only Beazil and I knew this place. It was more of a home to me than my stepmother’s palace had ever been.

  When I was here, I was the master of my own domain.

  I swam to the back of the cave to gather my weapons. The long spear was my favorite, something I’d scavenged from a shipwreck. The ship had been well picked over by the time I found it, but the spear was wedged behind a large piece of furniture. It was the sort of place only a desperate and slender Mer would look. Being small and flexible came in handy when scavenging.

  Made of a hard, dense wood, it had been roughly carved when I found it, looking primitive compared to the refined construction of the ship. By now, it was worn smooth by the sand and water and the palm of my hand.

  I also had two daggers, also scavenged. Mer folk did not have the ability to forge metals, other than the few legendary blacksmiths who dared work close to an active volcano. Sure, you could find warm spots in the ocean. Entire communities sprang up around them. But a reliable spring that was hot enough to forge metal and contained enough to not boil you in an instant?

  That was truly rare.

  Only a Royal could afford what those blacksmiths charged for their work. In fact, many of them had become Royals, marrying into the family. The ability to forge and work metal was easily as good as becoming Nobility.

  But we had weapons all the same. Spears were the most popular, but two-legger swords were also used. And something called kitchan knives were gaining in popularity, especially after a crate full of thousands of them fell off a cargo boat headed for Block Island.

  Sparks were even sent to dry land to gather weapons and other items from time to time and bring them back for the Royals and other high-ranking Mers. Nothing frivolous, though the Royals were known to be fond of something called chookalate, which any Spark would bring back from their missions if they were ambitious enough.

  So, my weapons themselves might not be all that rare, but to me, they were worth more than gems and gold. Which was why I never brought them out of the cave. And I would not. I couldn’t risk losing them.

  Not until the Trials began. And they would, the day after tomorrow. I realized I would have to take my weapons and hide them soon, just in case there wasn’t time to come back to the cave the day of the opening ceremony. Then where would I be?

  Once the Trials began, my weapons would never leave my side until the end. Literally. Months ago, I had fashioned a belt to hold the daggers on my hips and a sling to keep the spear on my back.

  I picked the shaft up and admired it, relishing the feeling of its weight in my hand. I geared up with the belt and sling and swam to the middle of the cave. Beazil was already lounging in an extremely unsharklike fashion. I could practically hear him sigh in relief as he settled himself onto the shelf.

  He looked utterly still, lying there prone on his belly. But his head was turned just slightly so he could watch me. I gave him a wave and he wrinkled his nose in a semblance of a smile.

  He was always doing that. Watching. Protecting me. Though he’d been expressly forbidden to come anywhere near my stepmother’s house. Not wanting trouble, he’d stayed away, often waiting by the rocks just past the outer walls of her palace.

  Yes, he was a pacifist, except where I was concerned.

  The few times he’d thought I was in danger, well, he put other great whites to shame. Probably teegers as well.

  I would never forget the time an octopus caught my tail in its tentacles. I was very young, not even what the humans called a pre-teen yet, though it didn’t stop me from trying to fight back. I tried and failed. It was dragging me rapidly toward its lair when Beazil came storming out of nowhere. He’d torn the creature apart, leaving it with only two tentacles. He didn’t even swallow one bite, which was frankly an insult to the octopus. I shivered in distaste. It could still be alive, for all I knew, crawling the sea floor with only two legs.

  So yes, he could be fierce. But it had taken a toll on his delicate sensibilities. He’d been more shaken up than I was!

  Immediately afterward, he’d needed a snack and a belly rub. I’d obliged him, bringing him a meal of shrimp and oysters and letting him rest. The poor thing really did not like to exert himself.

  I smiled at him and held my spear out in front of me at the ready. I went through a series of deceptively simple motions, twisting and turning the spear with ease. Each move was smooth and graceful, almost looking ceremonial. But my exercises had a purpose. I was transitioning back and forth between offensive and defensive positions, though you would never know it if you were watching.

  I’d bribed an old Royal guard into teaching me some moves with my fresh oysters. They were hard to come by in the past few years, even for a Royal retainer.

  I drilled with the spear for at least an hour, warming up my muscles and perfecting my form. I needed to be fast. Ideally, the spear would become so familiar that it was almost a part of my body. Each move had to be pure instinct by the time I entered the arena. Otherwise, I would be fish food, especially considering my size.

  Beazil was big. I was . . . not. Not even for a young Mer. Not that I was short. I was just kind of skinny, especially compared to the young male Mers I might be facing.

  I sighed and did some more stretches before pulling out my blades.

  Once again, I ran through a series of thrusts and parries. I even flipped over and attacked from above. Eventually, it became second nature, even though I hadn’t practiced in a week. As much as I wanted to, I could only sneak away from my duties every so often. But now I was making the most of my day off. I was in the zone.

  Finally, I slowed and shook out my tired limbs.

  I slipped the blades into my belt and slipped my spear into the harness behind me. Then I visualized an opponent. Someone bigger than me. Meaner too.

  Someone who was actually wearing armor.

  I imagined them speeding toward me with a wickedly sharp sword drawn. I kept my hands loose and my arms relaxed at my side. I waited until they were almost upon me, pulling the blades first. I arched to the side at the last possible moment and dropped, crossing my arms and bringing the knives down in a slicing motion.

  That’s gotta hurt.

  I turned, facing another imaginary attack from my now severely wounded opponent. I shoved my knives into the woven strap around my waist and pulled the spear from behind my back with one hand.

  Yes, the end was wickedly sharp, but that wasn’t the real power of the weapon. The real strength was that it extended my reach. I had way more power with it because of the momentum.

  I brought the dull end up sharply, clocking my imaginary foe under the chin. Then I swung in a circle, using the tip to eviscerate my enemy. He garbled a curse as his guts fell to the sea floor.

  I had won.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  But he hadn’t come alone!

  Two more opponents were racing toward me.

  I fought them off as briskly as I could, praying that I wouldn’t face anyone so ferocious in the arena. I tried to make them as evil and underhanded as I could, but I’d never been in an actual fight so it was pure imagination.

  I was small and inexperienced. No one would see me as a real challenge. I had to be better than I looked.

  Then again, that might be my only real advantage other than my speed.

  I was a shark in fish’s clothing.

  I didn’t look threatening, especially without the slightest bit of armor. Anyone who entered the ring with me in hand-to-hand combat would be expecting an easy win.

  They would get lazy. Arrogant. Their guard would be down. That would make it easier for me to avoid total annihilation.

  I might even have a chance to beat them.

  I put my weapons back into place behind a rock that covered a small indent in the wall. I covered it with seaweed and sat on the shelf with Beazil. He watched me closely as I pulled the oysters I’d gathered earl
ier out of my net bag.

  Beazil perked up, lifting his head. His tail fin wagged entreatingly. I smiled and pried open the first oyster with a small knife I kept tied to a braided rope around my waist for eating.

  He opened his mouth and waited for me to toss the still squirming oyster inside. I took one and then fed him another. We did this until only a handful remained. A handful that I’d promised to my friend Lila. Then I gathered some of the seaweed from the sea bed just outside.

  We had a fine snack, including a few small crabs that had been hiding in the green and gold fronds. One bit my finger and I fed it to Beazil in retaliation.

  But the tiny crabs made me think. I heard a familiar voice inside me. The voice of reason, I called it. It sounded smarter and more mature than I was, but it was me all the same. It had to be.

  Though sometimes . . . sometimes, I thought it was my mother’s voice.

  Let that be a lesson to you, Tri. Hiding is not the best way to survive, let alone win. To win, you have to put yourself out there.

  You have to be willing to lose.

  “Ready?”

  Beazil rolled over and gave me a baleful look. I knew he didn’t want to leave the cave. But he would never let me swim all the way home alone.

  “I’ll be fine. You can stay if you like. I need to get back anyway. I have chores.”

  He gave me a skeptical glance at the suggestion and I shrugged.

  “Suit yourself, then.”

  I looked back, double-checking that my precious weapons were hidden until tomorrow, and left the cave, Beazil’s dark form at my fins.

  Chapter 3

  “Goodnight, Beaz.”

  Beazil hovered, knowing he was not allowed past the wall of rocks that protected my stepmother’s home. They looked natural to the outside eye, but I knew it had taken hundreds of Mers to get them into place, along with a massive octopus who had eaten several of the workers as payment.