Aurabel Page 11

  A Mer, once surfaced with legs, can never come back down. We all know that. Otherwise the greedy things would be up and down for ever. But Lorali is no ordinary Mer. Half and half. One of a kind. It happened when her body immersed, reaching the tip of the Whirl. That was where the true magic happened. (I may have pushed her along slightly, but that’s by the by. It was inevitable, and what did you expect me to do, reader, leave the girl a dead raft? Don’t be ridiculous. I owed it to this brave girl to make it down, at least.) And so it was: her tapestry formed. The legs gone immediately. Just a simple slip of a tail for now – she never was fully resolved, was she?

  So she remains silver. Still natural. A newly formed tapestry that reminds me of whale blubber in texture but it’s a little more translucent, like skin. Though it’s a misty fog, like trapped smoke in a jar, almost yellow, like fingernails, like shells, like candle wax. After the resolution you can see the spirits of a personality dancing about, fluttering like coloured smoke, like feathers, like seaweed. The older the tapestry, the more these illusions begin to stain, impressionable marks like tattoos or birthmarks that become for ever.

  And here she is, a new thing once again. And the movement of the tail, it startles, rousing … begins to flip and spasm awake and is swimming and thrashing. Like the lost control of a speedboat engine. Clapping my body, wanting to dart all over.

  But why her soul is not where her tail is I do not know.

  Live, little fish. You have come too far, hurt too hard, loved too sweet to lose now.

  But she is not there. Lorali is dead.

  There is nothing that I can do except take the girl and her tail to the bottom of the bed.

  It is a sad ending. Her head fills with air. Her eyes close. Her chest collapses. Her lungs fill with water. Her ribcage snaps. Her heart stops. Blue in colour all over. Just like me. The tail eventually falters, spasms, stops wriggling.

  Half Mer, half Walker. Half alive, half dead.

  The Selkies, who have been forced to watch Lorali’s movements, holler when they spy the drowning. They call her with their song. Sienna watches with a telescope, high in her tower, her snooping third eye of interference. And then she flees to the scene to ensure the job is done. Hiding behind a snag of rock, she watches her friend’s daughter losing her breath.

  Fuck.

  She wasn’t meant to grow a tail. That is the last thing Sienna expected. Nor is this sinking to the bottom of me wanted, the smashing of a head and bleeding, unconscious, coffin bones and flesh for fish food.

  And it is so graceful, Lorali’s death, like a paper lantern. Sienna twitches with a pang of bitterness. Perhaps Lorali is more of a miracle that even she anticipated.

  But wait … their eyes lock.

  ‘Help me, Sienna. Sienna … it’s me, Lorali.’

  For one small crumb of a second it happens …

  But Sienna ignores the begging. She tucks herself in, back against the wet rock. Be silent. Do not move.

  And when she can bring herself to look round again.

  It is done.

  MUDDY WATERS

  Naturally, Marcia snarls at Sienna when she bells the gates of the palace.

  ‘Do NOT let her in!’ Zar roars at his mate. ‘Do not let that traitor in our home.’

  ‘She has urgent news for us, Zar.’

  ‘It’s a trap.’ Zar rips at his scalp with blunt nails. Knotting his frazzled grey beard into rope-like twists.

  It is Keppel who releases the guards and grants Sienna entry.

  A snake is Sienna, worming her way back inside the hearts of old friends by the doors of their home, carrying the cruel gift of bad news.

  Now, as Bingo fixes them a smoke and sea-nettle tea, Sienna speaks as genuinely as her voice can tremble.

  ‘My darling friends,’ she begins, ignorant in believing she can begin where she left off – but she is wrong.

  ‘You are not our friend, Sienna,’ Zar’s voice booms in reminder. Little Kai jumps at the power of his voice – this tone does not belong to Zar. Terribly out of character.

  ‘Zar!’ Keppel throws him a glance, also surprised at his rage.

  ‘I am sorry you feel that way, Zar, but this is why I’ve come.’ Sienna does not flinch. Back straight. Poised.

  ‘I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,’ Zar rips. ‘One moment you are our friend, the next you are shoving a trident of betrayal into my spine to get me off the throne. That speech you gave outside my gates was lies and you know it. Yet you still want to come into our home and call us friends. I don’t think so, Sienna,’ he bites. ‘Now get out!’

  Rattling chinaware, the palace quivers. Keppel rakes her hair with her hand, bringing it over to her mouth to stop herself from telling her mate to calm down. Why isn’t Sienna reacting? Normally she’d be firing her tongue right back at Zar …

  But today Sienna holds hard, difficult to tremor, relaxes and says quite frankly: ‘I want to let you both know that I am stepping down.’ This is a lie, her personality a cream already curdled sour. ‘I don’t want to fight you for your crown, Zar.’

  Keppel looks saddened still that the crown is a loss to her; her mother would’ve been disappointed. ‘You don’t have to step down, Sienna,’ she says softly.

  ‘Yes I do. I want to talk openly with you. Putting the Whirl and the council on ice, can we just be ourselves? I have something I need to tell you,’ Sienna whispers, very convincingly. The tea enters but Zar won’t have any of it.

  ‘No tea. NO! Get out!’ Zar snaps. He paces the room, his face a messy map of tangled roads and misleading veins. ‘Sienna, the damage is done. You’re toxic. I don’t want you near my family, do you hear?’

  ‘It’s about Lorali.’

  And they sit. Even at her name they weaken. And they try to listen. Of their lost baby daughter who is now lost for good. The frayed edges of hope they had tattered together splatter into torn scraps.

  Keppel’s cries ring through the palace. Such a weary, frail thing she has already become, and this terrible news blitzes her brain to sand. For the first time in what seems like ever, she throws herself into the arms of her mate, Zar. He holds her tight, their wails in waves, their embrace laced in the fuzzy music of broken sobbing, rippling like my waters on a calm day. Peace of mind is always a light at the end of any tunnel.

  ‘At least she died a Mer.’ Keppel strokes her lover’s beard and wraps her small hands inside his. ‘She was trying to come back to us. She knew it was an impossible feat, but did it all the same.’

  Red eyed, Zar nods. ‘I shall retrieve her body myself –’ he wipes away his tears – ‘and bring her home. Where she wanted to be.’

  Sienna hadn’t anticipated that he might suggest this, but of course he would want to retrieve his dead daughter’s body – why didn’t she factor that in? She is too deep inside a lie now. She shakes her head. ‘I already went out with my monsters, myself, so you didn’t have to go through the pain, and I’m afraid … she’s … not there.’ Sienna clasps her slim hands to her chest.

  ‘Oh, Zar, my heart, no!’ Keppel throws herself into Zar’s lap and sobs.

  ‘No, it’s OK, Keppel. It is fine. It is better this way; it would hurt too much to see her still.’ Zar weeps. ‘This must have been very hard news for you to break, Sienna. We are grateful.’

  Sienna darts her eyes to her tapestry, which flashes a violet, deep, hideous purple, immediately exposing her darkness.

  Oh, Sienna. You lie.

  Kai watches Zar and Keppel. Why are they crying? Who is lost? Who is the painting of the girl on the palace wall? Has she died?

  And now they are so close, these two isolated shapes that drifted the palace like strangers. The fog of tension that kept them apart suddenly seems lifted in a moment. And now as they cling together, it seems every part of their bodies has to be touching or else they will stop breathing. What are Walkers? Who is that? Aren’t they all Mer?

  The palace, even with the bad news, manages to fi
nd relief in the closing of a painful chapter. And as sea leaves turn, old lovers become new again inside the palace walls; the lights come on. Twinkling splatters of mirror that make the palace shine up the Whirl, as though they have stolen the moon itself and harvested its fat beacon in my waters. It seems Lorali is no longer lost; she has been let go of.

  … Leaving Kai with the scrambled clues. He can’t stop thinking about Lorali.

  How much she is missed by the Mer in the Whirl only makes Kai wish he’d had the chance to meet her. Because she must have been very special.

  ONE MER AT WAR WITH THE WORLD

  I know I am ready.

  I’m done with my track running – looping around the nutty hoopy thing so hard I tasted blood in my gums and my veins popped out of my wrists.

  I am gonna kill them monsters that tried to kill me. And after that, I am gonna take down the biggest monster of them all. Si-fucking-enna.

  The actions I do are all planned. I’ve had weeks to think them through, lying in the silent stillness, going through every range of rage. Because, you know what? I am glad I’ve been gifted this challenge. I am grateful for it. Because there aren’t many of us who are strong enough to take a thing like this on and obviously something in my stars thinks I am. So THANK YOU. No more crying and punching and feeling sorry for myself. I can think straight now I’ve got used to it. Got stronger for it. Own it. I’ve taken this anger and now I’ve hard-boiled it down to a roaring fire pit in my gut and I’m using it, but it has to be monitored, drip-fed to me in doses. Like, I can’t just use all the fire in my belly at one time because firstly I’d explode and secondly because I don’t want to use it all up in one go. This fire, this bright flame of anger, is what’s kept me going. Now. I fight. I can roar. I am strong. I can fucking swim. And I ain’t just any old Mer from Tippi now – I’m half metal, mate. And ready for revenge.

  I shave my hair off with a razor blade I make from bruised and battered steel. Now, I know this seems extreme but I’m not the Aurabel I once was and I can think of far better uses for this barnet than it being on my head. Plus, it is proper recognisable and I don’t want to get seen once I’m ready to leave here. I use metal scraps from the same steel as a mirror. Hacking off the thick blue hair, which is so long, by the way, with the razor at a blunt angle. I make a little fringe. Just to see how I’d look.

  Too psycho bitch? Yeah, probably. I smile. I was known for my hair. But I’m not known any more. With each cut comes lightness. It is like I suddenly feel so light, I could float to the surface like a bubble. That hair went on for ever, heavy wet rags – how’d it grown so much? Can’t believe I carried that load with me so long.

  With the hair hacked short enough, I take the razor at a new slanted angle and cut close. I accidently cut my scalp a couple of times but they are only nips. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve seen every turquoise strand of hair off my head. Until my head is dotted grains. Smooth like a pebble. When I’m done comes the next bit.

  I take all the strands of hair I’ve chopped off and I sit and I don’t move, not until it’s done. Under the coloured mini lamps of the sea-bugs I am able to work. I knit all the strands together. I’m making a net you see. And it has to be big.

  THE SENSITIVE SOUL OF A SELKIE

  You remember the Selkie with the ragged flipper who visited Lorali in Iris’s shop? Ah, well …

  The sensitive soul of a Selkie sits like foam on my surface. That Selkie knew Lorali was a love-sickly girl only trying to start again in a Walker world without the one Walker she truly loved. This Selkie lied to Lorali. She watched her fall from her life to her death. She said she would be safe. This Selkie acted ugly for insurance. The promise of safety. That her babies and her kind would be protected from monsters. From storms. From icy waters. From poachers and hunters and those with the proddy sticks. But there was no protection from Sienna herself. You cannot trust somebody who mistrusts the rest of the world. Now, when this Selkie sees the palace ablaze with the crystal dazzling lights, this Selkie is sickened that Lorali trusted her enough to give herself back to me. And that it was her fault. She was plucking a death march on that young one’s heart strings.

  The guilt is too much. And the mistrust. And the doubt. And the struggle; the only thing this Selkie hates more than Sienna is herself. She cannot live with a guilt like this.

  This Selkie takes her pups and leaves them to sleep in the bed of a friend. Soon they will know that I am not the only place for them. That there is the whole world.

  With weeds, she makes a knot for a noose. Here she dangles, asleep, like a helpless fish at the end of a rod. Where the guilt cannot kill her the slow way.

  A FISH IN A NET

  Steering myself, I glide at rapid pace through the choppy waters. The turquoise veil made from my hair hangs like a bridal train behind me, streaming like liquid. I hurdle and duck and dive with the compass of my instinct. I am out in the cold open waters that offer me things. I almost seem to recognise where I am. Maybe? Dunno. I start to feel sick. Like the memory is coming back. Is my brain not ready? Doing all that over-thinking. I see the serpents again in my head, big things, teeth, reaching out, hurling me, so quickly. Every shadow is a blade aiming for my chest. Calm. Six, five, four …

  Wait. Wait. Wait. Who is that?

  A Mer. Female. Crashed against the rocks, she sleeps, so heavy and motionless. Hold on.

  I know this face.

  ‘Shit the seabed, it’s Lorali. The princess.’ I press my fingers to her chest, her heart: still. I look around for somebody to help … the palace is so far; my brain is so revved. I can’t just …

  And before I know it I am swimming back the way I came. To our isolated adventure land, with a princess over my shoulder whose heart has stopped beating.

  GUSH

  ‘And it gives me –’ hold the smile. Hold the plastic lip-gloss smile – ‘enormous pleasure to announce that GUSH, the first ever naturally salted, mermaid-themed water park, is officially OPEN to the public!’ A rainbow ribbon is cut. People applaud. Press take photographs. Snap. Snap. Bright, brilliant, blinding light. Blah, blah, blah and more blah. Champagne corks and YAY. OMG. CONGRATS. LOLZ.

  Does Shoreditch really need a water park?

  Apparently so.

  A rapper spits aggressively into a microphone on a free-standing faux island about ‘her money’; electric currents hiss through the wires, keeping her voice alive. Water and sparks don’t mix, if you ask me. Nobody ever asks me. This should be fun.

  What can only be described as ‘buffoons’ rush into the tarted-up leisure centre. A gaggle of screaming … youngsters leaping and being OMG excited. A mirror ball spins, chucking twinkling diamonds on my body below. A new sea of dry ice hangs over in a mist and makes me heavy. I appear moody, swampy, but that’s what they like, these big kids in their vintage swimming costumes, their platform boots (at the swimming pool?), their sunglasses (we are indoors), their wings and wigs and caps and fake Mer-tails and glitter and sequins and lipsticks. It’s comical. I have seen nothing like it. I wish she’d gone with chlorine. Then I wouldn’t have to be here watching this mess. Spilling bodies, rolling out of ill-fitting neon numbers, brightly coloured two-pieces made for anything but swimming, which is fortunate as nobody is doing any swimming.

  ‘THIS IS SICK!’ Marco screams over the music as he and Opal watch from the glass viewing box. One hand on his child-sized bony hip, the other balled into a fist, thrusting into the sky like he’s cheering on a fight, a ballerina lightfoot attempting an out-of-tune stomp to the beat. His fake tan streaking brown smudges on the toes. ‘I can’t believe we actually got her to come. Look, the press are lovin’ it!’ Opal nods whilst she watches the big adults take selfies and dance to the music. She is watching their legs. Their ankles. Their toes. Their shoes. Their hips. Their knees. Their calves. Their thighs. Their thigh gaps. Is she really going to do this?

  ‘FYI!’ Marco squeals. ‘They’ve opened up the slides! It’s almost time!’


  A tangle of brightly coloured slides hangs in the air, shooting off into all directions in the vast building and curving out of it too, so that riders can watch the envious media folk charge to work.

  There is the Big Drop, an almost vertical slide that plunges its victims from a great height into a deathly freezing pool of ice water (I mean, they don’t know the meaning of ice cold water but I don’t want to patronise). The plunging pool has been designed like the Arctic, so you can enjoy being roared at by a glittery robotic polar bear, and growled at by a mechanical snow leopard.

  There is another ride called the Mermaid’s Kiss, a smooth trip into the open mouth of a model mermaid, where riders wriggle into a mermaid’s-tail foam mat, dangerous for foot cramp but wow are they popular. Inside, strawberry- and champagne-flavoured bubbles float, hideous music plonky-tonks from speakers and there’s more of that dry ice. Riders can kiss the mouths of tacky models dressed as mermaids, receiving drink tokens for the bar, almost as reward for doing absolutely nothing.

  You could try the Fire Pit, a steamy sauna slide, which apparently detoxes your skin as you retox your gut on the tequila shot you neck before hurling yourself and your inhibitions into the throat of the slide.

  No, don’t fancy it – not for you? Why not try the Lost Lagoon, a soupy horror underwater slide of a ride that features quicksand and the snapping jaws and claws of ‘monsters’. ‘ARGH!’ they scream. Monsters? They don’t know the meaning of the word.

  The Mud Slide is exactly as it reads, and then there’s the Lazy Boy River where you can have a chocolate milkshake and play computer games whilst floating on the waterproof pads.

  But best is Opal’s Riviere Noir. A pitch-black chute, lit only by the UV paint that the users choose to splatter themselves and each other with beforehand. Naturally, left to these apes, you can imagine the acid-green handprints on breasts and bottoms. Lots of dipping fingers and wedgied bum cheeks. But that’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?