time I rode a wave, when I changed into my fins in the pool earlier,
or when Layla gave me CPR the day I washed up from the storm.
“Welcome, young Tristan,” Arion says. The ship bops in the still,
crystal-blue water. I stand on the ledge of the ship to jump off. I
fall on my ass in the water. The water is the Goldilocks kind of
perfect. I want to splash around in it.
Layla and Kurt are already on the beach. The sand is white with
black freckles. My flip-flops have come off, and they float on the
surface. I grab them and make my way to my friends. Layla is staring
at the golden specks on Arion’s shoulders. Or maybe she’s just staring
at his shoulders. Everything looks too vivid here. His skin is more
bronze than an hour ago, his hair slick and black, his onyx eyes like
inky pools. Under the live black ropes that wrap around his tail, the
scales glisten in black and white flecks.
“Holy-shitake mother-flower mushrooms,” she says.
I turn to Kurt and Thalia, who stand in their wet clothes holding
on to their shoes. They also look more radiant. This is what they look
without their glamours, like the raw colors of a prism. Thalia is
greener than before, her hair no longer a subtle black-green. She
spins on the sand, the bottom of her dress puffing out in a circle.
Kurt’s tanned skin has a slight golden tinge. His violet eyes look
more like crystal. I wonder if I look any different.
Layla’s still staring at Arion, who bows to her. “I apologize for
my crew. They’re a bit angry.”
“Are they also repaying sentences to the king?” I ask.
Arion laughs. “No, they’re just urchins.”
“Thank you, Arion,” Kurt says.
“Give my best to the king.”
“We shall.”
I give him one final wave. The human boy stands waiting with his
boots dug into the sand. He holds the cardboard box at his side.
“What’s in the box?”
“A gift to the Sea King from the Thorne Hill Betwixt Alliance.”
Kurt doesn’t seem too pleased with whatever that is. “You know
they’ll give it to the elders before they give it to the king.”
The guy pretends to ignore Kurt and holds out a hand to me. “Marty
McKay.” He looks at Layla. “First time on the ship, I take it?”
She nods, a sheer layer of sweat makes her glisten in the sun.
“Aren’t you boiling? It’s like a million degrees.”
Marty smiles. “I keep cool. You’re in for a treat. You know, if
the king doesn’t get all off-with-your-heady.” He traces his index
finger across with his neck.
“Don’t listen to him,” Thalia interjects. “Our court is more
civilized than whatever happens on land.”
“Tell that to the guy stuck to the ship with electric tape.”
Kurt points a finger at Marty. “I don’t know who you are. I assume
you’re part of the peace treaty, but I will not have you besmirch the
king on our own land.”
“Whoa, easy. I kid. I joke. I make funnies.”
He seems harmless enough. He has a good handshake, and as weird as
this sounds, he smells clean-like clear water.
“Sheesh. Mermen. Feisty as hell.”
“Hey!” I resent that.
Layla shakes her head, and her hair is wild around her shoulders,
like whatever is going on in her head is spreading like wildfire.
“Mermen?”
“Ta-da!” Marty puts the box on the sand and stretches his hands
toward me. Jazz hands.
She laughs. “Get the-”
“-mother-flower out of here?” He picks the box up again. “I most
definitely will not. Baby cakes, we’re on an island that is quite
literally stealing the sunshine out of our world with that misty
curtain over yonder. The tsunami wave last week, the disappearances on
the beach, the funny things you think you see from the corners of your
eyes when you’re out shopping for underwear?” He raises his eyebrows
at her, and I’m about to take back my approval rating. “All of it is
because the all-powerful, ancient-as-hell Sea King is having a
fantastic feast in honor of his grandson.” He stretches only one hand
at me. Jazz hand.
Layla looks at Kurt and Thalia, then back to Marty. She stares at
the white sand and the water stretching across the sand to wrap around
her ankles before retreating back into the ocean. Her eyes fall on
Arion’s ship. She looks up at me with those golden doe eyes.
Everything I’ve been keeping from her, from the moment I sprouted a
tail, boils down to Marty McKay and his jazz hands. Finally she says,
“I’m not speaking to you.”
She doesn’t have to whip her hair at me as she gives me her back.
The wind does that for her. She grabs Marty’s hand, and they walk
toward the inside of the island.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Kurt calls after them.
Marty turns around, way too happy for a human on a deserted island
full of supernatural creatures. But, hey, he seems like he’s used to
it. “Follow the yellow brick road, right?”
“He’s funny,” Thalia says. “I hope the guards don’t kill him.”
“If they don’t,” I go, “I think I will.” It feels nice making
empty threats. As king, I may not get that luxury.
The moment I turn away from the stormy horizon is the moment that
this is for real. Arion’s ship is a diminishing speck getting closer
to the wall that hides the Coney Island shore-the pier where I put my
hand under Catherine Valdorama’s bikini top when we were thirteen. The
pretty nurse who gave me my tetanus shot when I cut my arm on a broken
beer bottle after diving for a volleyball spike. All of that seems
like it happened to a different person.
Thalia tugs on the strap of my backpack, because I keep stopping
to stare-at the violet flowers that bloom like stars and the sparkling
white sand. I grab a handful of it and let it slip through my fingers.
Tall, slender trees form a path into the island. Their leaves are
a raw green. I pull on one and rub the leafy skin between my fingers.
There’s a thin layer of water on them, and when I let it go, the other
leaves spray me with a thin mist.
Thalia sings a wordless melody, and soon enough we all march to
her rhythm as though she’s our pied piper.
The trail leads us to the mouth of a river. There’s an archway
with pillars that would better fit an ancient Greek temple. But
perhaps this is their temple, their church on the sea. I remember
asking my mom why we didn’t go to church like Layla and her parents,
and she’d say, “Because we have this,” lying out on the Coney Island
sand with her toes tucked under the surf.
Little things like that make more sense now.
The pillars themselves are majestic: each has a long trident
mounted on the front, like the tattoo that decorates my spine. I can
feel the magic pulsing through my being, the ink mingling in my blood
somehow.
Sea lions are sunbathing on stones the color of their skins, so
they blend into each other. They raise their heads, and when they see
us, their bodies shimmer and they become slender girls who dive right
into the river. They bop in and out of the water, joined by young
mermaids and iridescent fish and some things I don’t even have names
for. They simply follow us with their chimed laughter.
The ground beneath us glitters. The river ends in a waterfall that
falls like silk against the boulders. Somewhere inside me, this place
seems familiar, like something out of a dream that I can’t remember.
Layla and Marty have stopped here to wait for us. “I guess this is
where the yellow brick road ends.”
“At least we don’t have to cross a field of opiatic poppies.”