Heart of the Kraken (Tales from Darjee) (6 page)

There was still something that didn't make sense to Fenton, a remaining inconsistency between the two versions of the story. "Did the men drown because the mermaids pulled them beneath the water or because they couldn't swim?"

The captain dropped his hand back to his side. "My brother could swim, he never made it back to the ship. Captain refused to let me avenge him but by the time we sailed up the Darjee channel, I was in command of the Razor's Edge."

Fenton frowned, piecing together the story. If the mermaids didn't pull the men under, then they had either drowned because the other sailors abandoned them or the merman had protected the females. He opened his mouth but Reis silenced him with a wave of his hand. "I think you ask too many questions. Best get about your duties Mr Fenton and stop listening to the siren's song."

"Yes, Cap'n." He nodded his head and left the helm but in his mind he compared the two tales. Ailin was right, perspective completely changed a story.

The next day followed the same routine. He rose early and fished off the bow. Today he caught a snapper and he trod lightly on the steps to the hold, eager to see Ailin. He stopped himself on the stair, half in shadow and half in the light. What was he doing? In just a couple of days, the creature had tunnelled into his soul in ways he didn't understand. His need to see and talk to her becoming as vital as oxygen. He slowed his pace the rest of the way and busied himself pulling aside the porthole covers before he opened the crate.

She stretched like a sleeper. Arms over her head, a pose that made her breasts more prominent and he averted his gaze. From the corner of his eye, he watched her take her wet hair in both hands and she twisted it over one shoulder before reaching out for him, waiting for his embrace.

He slipped his arms around her and placed her on the crate. This time he watched as her sharp teeth tore at the fish. "I asked the captain about the fourth mermaid."

She sucked in a breath and froze for a moment. Then she cocked her head to stare at him, before she resumed eating.

"They sold her body in Darjee." Which version did he believe? Which perspective was narrated with a true eye? Either the sailors violated and murdered a mermaid, and then drowned because they couldn't swim or her kind were heartless killers that lured the men to their deaths.

Or was there a third option, perhaps the truth lay somewhere in the middle. What would females and their mates do to protect their young?

She licked her fingers and kept her gaze on him. "You still don't know which of us to believe."

"No." It bothered him. If he believed her so easily, did it prove Reis' point, that the siren's lure took control of his mind? Or did it validate his gut instinct, that there was an inherent gentleness about her, the opposite of the captain's harshness?

"Perhaps it no longer matters, but thank you for asking," she said.

"The captain says you would do anything to be free, that you would fill my head with promises your body would never deliver." He couldn't help it, his gaze roamed her form, from the high breasts to the swoop of her waist. Even the sensuous length of her tail appealed to him on a primal level. For the man who controlled the kraken, she seemed a purpose-made distraction.

Her gaze held his. "I am stuck in a box on my way to be sold and eaten. Of course I want to escape death, wouldn't you?"

"Death is an escape," he whispered. One he longed for, to free him from his prison sentence. He laboured every day for the captain, his movements controlled. Inside he was a mess of discordant notes, nothing felt right as though he were contorted into a shape not his own. Outwardly, he looked like the rest of the crew but the monster that shadowed the ship in the ocean, dwelt inside him too. He would never be free, only death would severe his bond. He ran a hand through shaggy hair, pushing the curl from his nape.

"Death is an end, a void of nothingness." She frowned.

He wrung his hands together. How to make her understand and why had it become important that he explain it to her? A tentative bond of trust extended between them, forged over the story of her past. "Your prison is tangible, like your predicament. You are in a steel crate. With your hands you can feel for any weakness, caress the bolts and hinges holding down the lid. Once open, your path lies before you. You need to lever yourself out of the crate to the floor, then across to those stairs."

He pointed behind him where a swaying light cast movement over the rough steps. "Up there is the deck and beyond that the ocean. You know the obstacles you face, which means you can plan and plot your way around them. What if you were kept in a prison you could not see or feel? How would you plan an escape if you don't even understand what contains you?" He paced back and forth in long strides across the planks. The words sought to be free, words he never spoke to another soul. Until now. As though her captivity allowed his words to escape.

Ailin gestured at him. "You roam this ship freely, how can you be trapped?"

Fenton stopped his pacing and looked down. "Just because you cannot see my chains does not mean I am free. I have no idea how to release my shackles. Death offers me the only key."

Chapter Six

Ailin stared at Fenton. The damp shirt clung to his body where she touched him and revealed the tattoo underneath the fabric. A kraken covered his back, its tentacles wrapped around his arms and torso as though it embraced him. She suppressed a shiver. Why would anyone permanently etch the terrible creature into their skin? This landwalker confused her, his appearance and words clashed and made no sense. Not that she had any dealings with men and had to rely on the stories told by the elders of a cruel race interested only in gold and defiling women.

Yet this man spoke about freedom as though it was some precious thing all the while he played the role of her captor. Even more confusing, he treated her like a fellow creature with intelligence and emotions while the other men saw her as a cold fish to be gutted and filleted for dinner. What game did he play and which of the two images she glimpsed was the real Fenton? And more perplexing, why did her heart beat faster whenever she raised her arms for his embrace?

"Why do you treat me like this?" she asked.

The pacing stopped and he turned to face her. Lines scoured his brow. "Like what?"

"You brought me fresh water, food and allow me to stretch. You show me kindness and speak to me like an equal. And yet you are my captor. Why?" She couldn't stop the tear that rolled down her face. With all her heart, she wanted to return to the ocean, to find her people. Most of all, she wanted to forget. This man brought her the smell of the ocean but she couldn't touch it. He awoke something in her heart that unfurled and reached for more.

"I cannot change our destination but I can make the journey tolerable for you and perhaps distract your mind a little." He shook his head. "I wish I could release you."

"Did it not occur to you that kindness is a greater cruelty? For you slice my heart open with your words and actions," she said.

His eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath. "I couldn't hurt you, Ailin. I only wish to know you a little better."

A short laugh burst from her throat. "At least you don't use a knife to understand me."

"What did the others do to you, the men who captured you?" His frown deepened as he stood in front of her and then dropped to his knees.

She shook her head and raised one hand to touch her throat. The memories bubbled to the surface of her mind. "I want to forget," she whispered.

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to meet his serious gaze. "Tell me, Ailin, please."

This landwalker with his compassion would strip her bare faster than a fillet knife. Her heart tightened, remembering hurt. "They said they pursued knowledge. They wrapped a cloth tight around my gills and held me under water to see if I would drown." She swallowed and fought the panic that threatened to rear up with the memory. She had struggled and clawed at them, unable to open her gills to filter the water and it forced its way down her throat instead.

She screwed up her eyes, trying to erase the images that flashed through her mind. Fenton's hand moved to stroke her cheek as she spoke.

"Then they slid a knife blade under my gills to hold them open in the air, to see what would happen." You could drown a fish on dry land, her body had gasped for oxygen but a large man pressed a cloth to her face so she couldn't draw breath like a landwalker. "Then they did other things, to my body, trying to learn how we mate."

She dropped her head and blinked back more tears. Those men bombarded her with questions about how her kind procreated and bore young. She refused to answer so they laid her on a table. They poked and prodded every inch of skin and hide as they sought to discover the secrets her form held.

He took her hands in his larger ones. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Not all men are like them."

"No, you are not like them." Fenton showed her kindness where before she found only pain and suffering. Plus there was something in his gaze, so lost. She wanted to find whatever he was missing. But was her curiosity real? Or simply that in her captivity she clung to the small kindness she found in Fenton? Did her mind twist him from captor to protector? Or worse, did her siren nature target him and try to bend him to her will and escape?

No, her soul whispered. I would know this man whether I lay here as a prisoner or swim free. He is different. His presence lulled her like the sway of the ocean. When he wrapped his arms around her, it thrilled her and set her nerves alight in ways she had never experienced before.

He stroked her hands for a silent minute, his head bowed close to hers. Through hooded eyes, she watched the tentacles wrapped around his arms and inhaled the fresh salt breeze caught in his hair. For a moment, she thought he was like her, a creature of the ocean. Perhaps there was a deeper undercurrent to their connection, more than them both being prisoners.

Then he stood and took a step backward, as though needing to put physical distance between them. "I must attend to my duties, but I could bring you some books to pass the time?"

She couldn't help it, she laughed, the idea of a mermaid reading a book so ludicrous quite apart from the obvious problem. "We do not have books, your markings mean nothing to me."

The frown returned to his too serious face. "Then how do you learn history, pass on stories or poetry?"

Do landwalkers not talk to one another she wondered, that they need to scratch everything down? "Stories are passed mouth to ear."

He made a noise and scratched his chin. "Chess then? I could bring a board."

She tapped her tail against the floor. She wanted to escape, not have some landwalker distraction. What she would give to swim, to power through the water. Her heart ached and struggled with each beat. Yet he seemed to be trying. "What is chess?"

"A game of strategy between two players."

Games. He offered her games. Lethargy took hold of her body, what was the point? It would be easier to lay down and die now, rather than be carved open by a laughing audience.

"Hey," Fenton's whisper drew her gaze. "Don't give up yet."

The tears sprung to her eyes again and she wiped them away. "You will not help me escape."

"I can't. The other men—" he choked the words out.

She waved a hand and cut him off, he was just as powerless. She was a pile of gold, they would never let her go. Better to concentrate on the small acts and perhaps distract herself. "I like games." She tried to smile.

He nodded and swallowed. "I'll send Timmy when he has a break. He has a sharp mind and he can start walking you through the moves."

She drew back at mention of another landwalker. "Not another man."

"Timmy is a youngster and he will treat you with respect." He withdrew as he spoke, physically by stepping backward and a wall seemed to drop between them. His openness of a few moments before, disappeared just as he did.

She wanted to scream with frustration. Above her head came the noise of men, the creak of timbers and the occasional call of a circling seagull. Fenton dissected her prison in easy strokes. She had only to drag herself up to the deck and freedom would be within reach. An expanse of flooring stretched between her perch and the bottom step. The slats were worn smooth by years of feet and cargo dragged along the surface. There would be few splinters to stick her on the way past. How hard would it be to haul herself up the steps?

A sigh rose in her chest. The crew worked above, how could they miss the sight of a mermaid crawling across the deck, hoping to reach the railing?

A light tread on the stairs interrupted her failed escape plans, and made her look up. Small feet in equally small boots appeared followed by a short, slender frame. Sun bleached blond hair curled around a chubby face that still carried puppy fat, although the hint of the man to come showed in the square jaw. The boy had one eye, the other covered up. He stopped on the last step.

"Hello, miss," he spoke softly.

"Hello, Timmy," she replied. She smiled since given the child's hesitance, he seemed to need encouragement to approach. Whatever the species, all young were the same, reluctant and curious at the same time.

He carried an object tucked under one arm and he swapped it to hold in both hands as he took slow steps toward her. "Mr Fenton asked if I would teach you chess."