Authors: Naomi Fraser
A HEAVY GYM session for Mum gets me a few hours of peace.
She slumps onto the sofa; sweaty and thirsty. Exhaustion lines her face. Her
triple-layers of singlet, crop top and sports bar must cinch worse than a
strait jacket.
A tendril of jealousy snakes
around my heart. She looks deliciously numb.
Spent.
The sudden urge fills me to break free and go for a run. Her favourite show
blasts an annoying jingle on TV. I roll my eyes and head along the hall to my
bedroom. I can tell tonight will be a help-yourself-to-dinner kind of
deal—which means I’m not eating. Not that I care.
With a full day at work, then a
heavy gym class, Mum deserves a break. Anyway, after my toasted sandwiches at
the hospital cafeteria, I’m full. I finished off the sandwich Lakyn left
behind. Blame it on my inbuilt dislike of wasting money. I jump into the
shower, and then towel dry my hair ready for straightening tomorrow and quietly
shut my bedroom door behind me.
Though, I don’t need to be so
secretive. Mum isn’t likely to burst into my room when she’s so tired.
I have a chance to continue my
investigation into finfolk culture, and excitement ripples in my veins, but the
information inside the books has made for heavy reading since yesterday. The
information is dense. I sit on my comfy desk chair and study each word. Some
have different meanings than what I’m familiar with, and I try to form the
message from the whole sentence, then paragraph and correlate it with the
sub-heading.
Lakyn’s scribbles dominate the
corners of the pages in all sorts of styles. Some boast strange dates and
mysterious lines, which I gather are meant to emphasise something—I just can’t
figure out what.
He’s circled text and written
other words in capitals, plus what looks like a to-do list at the top of the
page. Words appear that I’ve never seen before, which must be something to do
with finfolk dialect.
Wait—I recognise one word—but
it’s from the list of affirmations
Dr.
Farrow
insisted I use. I flip open the sheet of paper she gave me, and the same word
is written in the Norn statements. Since I have no idea what it means, it
probably won’t help much. I turn on my laptop and then type the word into an
Internet search engine. A few hits come up, but mostly they describe how Norn
is the language of the Orkney Islands at the edge of the North Sea and Atlantic
Ocean.
He’s drawn arrows, circling the
start of words, and I grab a pen to group the notes into categories. Family
member names—Dad, Mum and Sister are recorded, plus others as well. How does
his family relate to my transformation?
The king is listed.
Strange.
I write down the names and figure out what the
chicken scratch word at the top of the page, ‘hurt’ means. The word after that
is ‘wake up’, ‘risky’, and then ‘belonging’.
Can it be the general idea of how
the process to human or mermaid happens? I raise my eyebrows at the ‘hurt’.
That’s dead on, at least.
One date seems to connect to a
capitalised term for someone.
Then the word ‘move’ and
another date.
I can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed as I flick
through the chapters. A flow chart covers the bottom half of a page after the
text ends.
Transform amphibious–>
Naptunus
–>Lana–>Sorcerer–>undersea,
human–>separate–>strength through magic–>
Finman
,
Finwife
—>exploits of magicians.
Then at the start of the next
page before the heading is one word.
Cursed.
I blink, thinking through what he
can mean.
Someone has strength through magic,
but they’re cursed? Well, the strongest is the king, Lakyn’s uncle. He might be
a part of the original sorcerer’s family, and maybe that’s why Lakyn could
perform the transformation on me?
I groan and rub my forehead,
resting my elbow on the desk. If the word
cursed
is what Lakyn means,
his family could have been cursed by a sorcerer. But why would a sorcerer curse
his own family? I type in ‘finfolk and magic’ into the search engine on my
computer.
Again Orkney Folklore and finfolk
appear as hits, describing sorcerous shape shifters making journeys across
oceans to abduct humans. I know about the abductions, but the mention of magic
makes me hesitate. I glance at the page open in front of me and blow out a
breath. Deciding to narrow all my searches into the transformation aspect, I
flip through the pages of the book again and try not to get caught up on the
why, but focus on the how.
I plug my headphones into my
computer and then let everything else go to the back of my brain as I listen
and read. Finally, I rewrite the text from
Finfolk Lore &
Transformations
on a word processing document on my computer and then add
in Lakyn’s notes where I think they fit.
What I’m left with after an hour
of intense study and concentration is a disjointed text with steps to turn a
human into finfolk. There are things on the list I would never have dreamed of:
vibration, supernatural words like dimensions and alternate realities. The word
‘love’ features prominently in the text, but Lakyn’s written only one note relating
to this:
Too many have died.
Does he mean love is not likely
to be the key in transformations or something else? Ralph loved his wife—and
she died. A nagging feeling digs into my chest, an idea so elusive it skates at
the edge of my consciousness.
Lakyn has known this; he’s
figured it out after a thousand years by the dates on the pages. I sit back and
consider how smart he must be to do that.
Brilliant, really.
My mind goes through all the times I’ve met with him, how he’s talked to me,
the way he infiltrates barriers and hides who he is with others. I’ve never
needed to be told he’s more than he appears. Now, even that seems to be a
drastic understatement.
I’ve underestimated someone
before and been caught out, but never like this. His cleverness makes perfect
sense. He’s the first to achieve change by transforming a human being into a
mermaid in one thousand years. Everyone thinks I’m the reason—that the magic
works because of me.
It’s because of him.
The
reasons in the pages spell this out after some decoding. I just have to figure
out exactly how he did it. Then I can help him return home and stop the sirens
from killing people.
I should feel guilty about
working behind his back, and in a way I do. But I refuse to accept the
possibility he can never return home, that he’s stuck here without hope or fins
because of me. Under the sea is where he comes from, where his family
originates, and that world belongs to him just as much as this one belongs to
me.
I save the document on my
computer, exit out and then shut it down. Sliding my arms into my warm hoodie,
I wonder if Mum will let me go for a quick walk to clear my thoughts. My head
feels too full.
Nowhere near the water, but along the road.
She’s talking on the phone while
lying on the sofa, so I wait until she’s finished her conversation before I
ask, “Can I go for a quick walk? I’ve got a lot on my mind and want to do some
exercise.”
She nods, but frowns. “Sure. Are
you all right, El?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” I shift
and push up the sleeves of my hoodie, then tighten my ponytail.
Silence falls between us, and she
shrugs. “No reason. How long are you planning to be?”
“Thirty minutes
or so.”
She checks her watch.
“All right.
It’s getting late, though. Take your phone with
you and let me know when you’re coming back.”
I tilt my head and look at her
out the side of my eyes. She doesn’t normally request I call her on the way
back. I can understand if the phone call is a cautionary measure against me
getting into trouble.
She sits up, leans back into the
sofa and props her feet onto a footstool. “Just so I know you’re safe,” she
explains at my quizzical expression.
“OK,” I promise. “I won’t be
long. I need some air. Be back soon.”
“Take your time. Enjoy the walk.”
I hesitate on the stairs. My mum
just gave me free rein to take as long as I like when there are people dying
near the sea. Of course, she believes they’ve caught the killer. I blink and
shake my head. The heat outside the house is stifling and sticky. No breeze
floats in from the waves I can hear crashing against the rocks.
The green field next to my house
stretches toward the cliff, and the sky is a cloudless blue. I start out with a
brisk walk, then jog, noting with idle curiosity all the different houses,
gardens and cars. My body reverberates with a thump, thump, thump.
Legs,
this is what it feels like to be free. There’s still plenty of daylight left,
although it’s late afternoon. It’s summer and darkness doesn’t come till about
seven o’clock at night.
I pass street after street,
breathing in a steady rhythm. The sound of the road beneath my shoes
infiltrates my mind and combines with the whistle of wind in my ears.
The contraction and flex of my muscles.
A pain rips through my stomach,
so I stop, panting and bend over, sweat running down my face and torso. I’m too
unfit for this, but I need the distraction to clear my thoughts. I continue on
with a brisk walk and try to thrust everything else out of my mind except for
what Lakyn told me about Ralph’s death.
His body washing up
on the shore.
Pain hits my heart again, and I break into a run. My shoes
fly. Blood pumps in my ears and heat travels out from my core, suffusing my
skin with warmth. Muscles strain in my arms and legs, but I only go faster,
pushing through the approaching barrier.
Ralph, how did they get you?
A thought fills my mind. Him,
looking toward the bay as he said he’d be catching something big. They were
hunting him.
Terror saturates my skin at the
idea he knew he was about to be taken and wanted to help Lakyn first. Plus all
the others were watching out for me rather than Ralph. I slow to a stop, my
lungs screaming for oxygen. The taste of vomit coats my tongue, and I forcibly
stop myself from being sick. He gave me the books and then died that morning. I
control the urge to rip off my hoodie; the thought makes me burn so badly.
I haven’t been paying close
attention to the last houses I’ve run past, but I certainly notice when a dark
shadow hovers over me. It’s only a cloud drifting near a cliff along the Manly foreshore.
I keep running, evading speeding cyclists and other joggers.
The trees perch high on the
cliff. Driveways wind up to houses that must have magnificent views of Moreton
Bay. I doubt I can even walk up the driveways, they’re that steep. The pounding
of my shoes centres my rhythm into a discernible beat. My breath matches and
pain throbs in tandem. Breathe in, out. The wind is incredible this close to
the harbour, assaulting in its ferocity. The burning ache in my chest grows
with every step, but I let my mind drift.
Then the mangroves come into
view, roots deep in the rotten-egg scented mud, deep green leaves shining like
coins in the sunlight. I breathe shallow. Everything in my body protests at the
lower oxygen level, so I slow, wiping my brow while in the shade of the smelly
mangroves. The silence is creepy. Two more steps and I’ll be at the gate
leading toward the hostel. I stop and stand there, uncertain, sweat streaming
down my spine
I slip through the chain link
fence, pull up my hood and make my way around to the back. I catch my breath at
the sight of two police cars parked by the door and step toward the vehicles,
but angry voices closer to the water make me quickly turn around to the rocks.
I crouch behind the safety of the stones.
Uniformed police officers climb
inside their cars and drive away.
Lakyn hunches at the water’s
edge, his chin between his knees, hands around his feet. The closer I get, the
more I realise he can’t hear me and I’m not trying to be quiet.
“Lakyn.”
He reacts like I’ve fired a gun
next to his ear and shoots up to his feet, his back ramrod straight. He spins,
perfectly balanced on the rocks that would send me tumbling down and breaking
my neck in an instant.
“Ellie.”
His nostrils flare, and the word is so icy, I’m afraid. “What are you doing
here?”
“I . . . I’m . . .”
Thinking I
shouldn’t have bothered.
“I just went for a run and ended up here. How are
you coping? Do you need help?”
The blue wavers in his eyes, and
the colour is so impossibly rich it eddies in a liquid pulse. He blinks and the
fading light falls upon his cheeks. His lashes appear to be dipped in gold.
I stand there like an idiot, just
staring at him. He’s so perfect.
His jaw firms and he leaps from
the rocks onto the grass,
then
stalks toward me. He
grabs my arm in a punishing grip.
My mouth does an imitation of a
beached fish, opening and closing. “
Ow
. Lakyn, you’re
hurting me.” I tug my arm away from him grasp. “What are you doing?”
“You need to leave,” he growls and
jerks me back toward the gate.
“Right now.
They’re
watching, Ellie. You need to leave.”
I struggle against his hold but
can’t wrench free. “What is going on? What’s wrong?”
“You don’t get it do you?” He
looms over me, blocking out any light that might’ve wanted to shine on me. I
lean back a little from the fury in his face, but a darker hue sweeps across
his eyes, and the flawlessness of his face makes me stare. His hair is skewed
to one side, blonde-brown strands sticking up from the force of the wind at the
water’s edge. He could’ve walked straight on to a photo shoot and made
millions.