They met often that autumn, usually after sunset under the pilings of the Inn, sharing food. Sara reassured him that his conversation was payment enough, and he did his best to live up to that compliment. Thetus told her stories about life under the sea; near escapes, grand adventures, scary encounters and the idyllic days in realms far away.  Sara was a good listener, asking thoughtful questions when she didn’t understand something.

Thetus enjoyed her company, and appreciated her quick, restless mind. Clearly she was brighter than the average land walker, and constrained by youth and lack of opportunity for the moment. Sara didn’t offer much about her own life beyond the conversational basics, but Thetus put together impressions of parents with more cunning than common sense, a brother with a very limited future, and for Sara, a hard life that seemed more like indentured servitude than a true childhood.

Not that she ever complained, at least, not overtly. Thetus wondered if that was instinctive for her, or a learned reflex, developed after bad experiences. He noted bruises that she dismissed, and if he persisted in asking, she grew distant and uncomfortable, so he learned not to inquire, even as he kept careful, sorrowful note.

She fed him.

It was both thrilling and humbling, and like any other sweet addiction, he mulled over it afterwards in the dark depths of his kelp hammock. Cheeses of all sorts. Sandwiches. Something called pizza—all exotic, all intriguing, and very different from his usual diet of fish, shellfish and sea greens. Not everything agreed with him of course, and Thetus learned to avoid the ones that didn’t.

It was harder to avoid some of Sara’s questions. She was bright and quick at making connections, and despite his wish to keep his exile private, he found himself telling her the entire story one evening when she’d introduced him to cream sherry. She’d brought a half-empty bottle from the kitchen of the inn, and they sipped it from paper cups; Thetus savored the sweet tang of it.

“So—who put that brand on your arm?” Sara asked softly. “I know you’re kind of sensitive about it, but I was curious.”

Caught with a mouthful of sherry, Thetus swallowed, letting it burn down to his stomach, and sighed. He glanced down at his left shoulder and fingered the pale welts that formed a band around his upper arm. “The Triad did that, with stingray barbs. They rubbed boiled sand into them so that I would wear the mark for all time. It doesn’t hurt—“ he hastened to add, seeing Sara’s alarmed expression. “—and it’s justified by the terms of my offence and the laws of the Wave Born.

“I,” Thetus began slowly, “Murdered someone. Not with any deliberate or planned intention but nonetheless it was my hand that took the life of a friend.”

Sara looked at him keenly and shook her head after a moment. “I don’t believe it. You’re not a killer, Thetus—you don’t have it in you to do something like that.”

“Land-girl, you’ve known me but a short time—hardly enough to divine my every mood,” Thetus replied dryly. “And the society I come from is very different than that of your own. We live in our herds and move nomadically as the seasons change; we depend on each other in a way your people have long forgotten. Wave Born are fewer now, but the customs and legends and structure are all the same, handed down through the ages, unchanged and for good reason.”

Sara was silent for a moment, scowling; Thetus watched her face, willing her to understand. He felt both defiant and slightly frustrated; this wasn’t a subject he had wanted to share, but clearly, the mark on his arm intrigued her, and Thetus knew by now of her persistent nature. Sara sought answers; it was as much a part of her as breathing or eating, and in the search for those answers, she could be ruthless.

“So you say you murdered someone—sometimes there are . . . justifiable reasons. Self-defense, and uh, carelessness,” Sara offered quietly. Thetus gave a sorrowful half-smile. He sat next to her on the little platform, his long green-grey tail draping down into the water, sweeping casually and making lovely ripples against the waves.

“You have a loyal nature, Sara and I appreciate you thinking the best of me, but those were not the circumstances.”

“So what WERE the circumstances?”

Thetus scowled at the clever trap of her question but she held her gaze on him until he drew in a deep breath. “Very well—clearly the tale must be told, else you keep at me about it. The truth does me no honor, Earth Princess, but the facts are these.

“Two seasons ago, I was an urchin shepherd along a distant coral reef bordering a remote atoll. You may think sea urchins slow and uninteresting, but the breed I was given to watch are unknown by you topdwellers. My charges were as large as sea turtles and endowed with personalities nearly as cantankerous. I had an even dozen to care for, and the job was not made any easier by their determination to graze along the tide slope of the atoll, where most of the prey fish lived. Out of water a sea urchin is ungainly and slow, but along the coral or sea floor, an urchin marches speedily at times, and with the tide assisting them, they can cover a good distance very quickly.”

“Why did you raise them?” Sara asked as Thetus paused for a moment. He cocked his head thoughtfully.

“The roe and meat of the giant urchin are excellent to eat, and the spines have many, many uses—medicine, building mortar, quills for writing, needles for knitting, sewing, and weapons of course. The average quill is three feet long and as thick as half my wrist—a useful commodity under the waves.”

Sara nodded; Thetus continued. “As I said, I was watching over the dozen in my charge and wondering who would come relieve me when I noticed that the midwater had emptied out. No fish where in sight, and even the eels and hole dwellers had ducked deep. That means only one thing—“

“—a shark,” Sara filled in. Thetus nodded grimly.

“A LARGE shark. Lesser ones are tolerated among the population as an acceptable risk, but once a roving predator reaches a certain size, the reef dwellers hide until the danger disappears. Only a few sea creatures move freely in the face of such a danger—the rays, with their barbs, a few of the more venomous fish, and my stubborn, bristly flock.”

“Would a shark eat . . . you?” came the hushed question.
 
Thetus nodded. “My kind? Certainly. Sharks are not known for a discriminating palate, and while the Wave Born can move swiftly, we are large and not as adept at quick shifts in deep water. Our best defense is to go low and stay well under the midwater where the sharks move.”

“Did you?” she asked, caught up in his story. Thetus gave a nod, his gaze off in the distant horizon, out beyond the waves the rippled under the Inn.

“Yes. I knew the urchins would be left alone, and with any luck, the shark would move on swiftly once he had found no prey—that was the way it might have gone, if the fates permitted it. But the one thing I had not taken to mind was Silas.”

“Silas was your replacement.”

“He was,” Thetus nodded. “Older than I, but not by much, and destined to be a netman when his season with the urchins was up. He and I had more than a few lively discussions, and I admired him a great deal. In any event, Silas came over the coral ridge and into the awful stillness of the empty reef, momentarily unaware of his danger. I sought to alert him by flicker—“

“—Flicker?” Sara interrupted. Thetus nodded.

“Flicker is fish language of sorts—it’s all visual; a simple set of moves and twists that fish make to each other with their fins and scales. The drawback is that you need to see it for it to be effective.”

“And he wasn’t looking at you,” Sara deduced with a wince. “He was looking for the shark.”

“Yes,” Thetus murmured, his voice softer. “But the shark saw him first. The beast struck a glancing blow, taking a huge bite out of Silas’s flank in an explosion of blood. He—the shark-- was too big to turn quickly, so I darted up and grabbed Silas by the tail and pulled him down, hoping to get him low and out of range if I could. I-I didn’t . . . couldn’t quite do it fast enough.  The shark struck again, this time taking off the better part of a shoulder. I can still see the clouds of blood sometimes in my dreams, with little bits of flesh and muscle drifting in the water . . . “

Wordlessly Sara shifted closer, and slipped an arm across his shoulders; Thetus closed his eyes, his words huskier now.  “ . . . it was a mortal wound. I kept my grip on his tail and swam hard, as hard as I could. I pulled us under a coral ledge in one of the deeper ravines, the billows of blood diluting in the water around us. Silas—his eyes were open and he grabbed me with his good arm. He knew the situation, and he-he begged me . . . “

Sara nodded; there was no need to finish the sentence. Thetus leaned against her, accepting her comfort for a long moment, breathing slowly. He stirred finally and looked at her, blue eyes very bleak. “The Triad sympathized, but the law of Poseidon has no . . . mercy clause. For one of the Wave Born to kill another is against our way, always. Had there not been evidence of the shark, I would have been executed, but because there clearly was, I was sentenced to a banishment of ten seasons, and marked for my transgression. When my exile is through, I will receive a band above and below this scar to show I have served my time.”

Sara’s arm tightened around him, and she quietly poured more sherry for them both.

Her questions never stopped, and they amused, intrigued, stymied and at times exasperated Thetus. He answered what he could truthfully, and tried to ask as many as she did, but the Lander always seemed to be one question ahead of him.

For her part, Sara felt a burning desire to know everything that Thetus could tell her. His entire world was fascinating, and even though they met nearly every evening, she still found herself wanting to touch him, just to prove to herself that he was real. From the coolness of his skin to the rumble of his voice; from the curl of his hair to the scent of salt brine, he DID exist, even through her doubts.

She’d studied him thoroughly, and made a few trips to the public library in preparation, nevertheless, when she asked him her most curiosity-driven question, Sara tensed hard, her mouth dry.

“So, how do you . . . um . . . procreate?” she stammered as they sat along the little beach near the pier. It was after sunset, and cloudy; no one was out on the pier, and even the windows of the Inn were closed against the chill coming off the water. Thetus flinched, and gave Sara a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“What?”

“I was just . . . sort of . . .  wondering how your kind . . . gets it on. I’m not all perverted or anything,” she rushed on, feeling her face flame in the darkness, “but you ARE half man half fish, with two different physiognomies and that’s not . . . uh . . . usual.”

The silence between them would have been awkward if the soft sounds of the waves and the call of a lone gull hadn’t filled it. Thetus shifted a little on the low rock in the tidepool, not meeting Sara’s eyes.

“True,” he agreed slowly, reluctantly. “but I don’t think it’s an . . . appropriate topic.”

“Oh come ON—we had a burping contest yesterday, and I explained knock-knock jokes, and you told me that really rude joke about the barnacle and the two cuttlefish!” Sara protested with a twisted grin. “And I told YOU the one about the two tapeworms!”

Thetus fought a grin and gave up, his face pink, his expression slightly mortified. “That one WAS exceedingly crass, I grant you—it took . . . guts to tell it.”

Sara burst into a little spasm of giggles, and pressed her palm to her nose to stop them, feeling giddy and relieved of some of the twisting tension in her stomach. Next to her, Thetus chuckled, shaking his head, then squared his shoulders. “All right, I’ll share the process with you Land Girl, but only on your solemn promise not to . . . belittle it.”

“Never,” Sara agreed, feeling her blush return. She glanced at him for a moment and looked away again, towards the rumpled surface of the water, breathing in the cold briny scent. For a few moments neither of them spoke.

Thetus stroked his bearded chin. “When the time comes and after the proscribed courtship, paired Mer folk find a home site—a cave, a secure place under a ledge, a spot deep within the coral away from predators. They prepare a nest there of soft sand and sea grass; sometimes they line it with stones to hold the shape. Within a few days the female of the pair will produce an egg—sometimes two-- from her cloaca.”

“Oh,” Sara murmured.

Thetus continued, his voice calm. “The egg is soft, and about the size of a sea urchin. The color of the casing is usually a green or gray. Then the female and the male entwine tails and hold the egg between their stomachs . . .  and the male . . . milts.”

This time Sara nodded, not sure what to say; this sounded a bit like what the books in the library had said about fish reproduction, but more . . . romantic. She risked a glance at Thetus; he was red in the face even in the dim light.

“Okay.”

“The parents stroke and rub the egg, coating it completely, and once it is fertilized, the casing of the egg hardens into a strong shell. They carry it to the nest and rest it there, taking turns through the next season in guarding it and keeping it company.”

“Company?” Sara asked.

“Certainly. It’s said that the Unborn are always listening, so we sing to them, and tell them the legends and stories of the Wave Born. We talk and share and when the time comes, a little cooing response alerts the parents when the egg is going to hatch.”

Sara imagined a small merbaby; she looked at Thetus and tried to picture him as a tiny, tailed cherub. He shot a sidelong glance at her, and as if reading her thoughts added wryly, “I have been told that I was a . . . cute
. . . infant.”

She laughed. “I bet you were. So you were an only egg?”

“I was,” he nodded. “My father died in my eighth season, a victim of a sea snake bite while harvesting fish in the South Seas. My mother and I stayed with his herd when it melded with the one I now have allegiance to.”

“Cool,” Sara murmured. “So you grew up with just your mom, huh?”

Thetus nodded. “I did. My mother chose not to take another mate in her lifetime, and the herd accepted that. We moved from the Southern seas and followed the whales on their route along the coasts for many seasons—“

“Sa-RA!!!” came a loud and angry bellow from the direction of the pier; Thetus shifted and slid into the water; Sara stood up quickly, moving up towards the pier and gritting her teeth. A moment later, a jacketed figure looked over the side at her. “There you are, Doofus. Get your butt home before dad knows you’re out here.”

“I don’t want to—I did the dishes AND the vacuuming already!” Sara yelled back in frustration. Her brother shrugged indifferently.

“Yeah, well the people up in the Shell room told mom that there was broken glass in their carpet and they want some sort of refund. Me, I’m out of here. Later, Doofus—“

When he had sauntered off into the gloom, Sara waited a few moments, then looked anxiously back towards the sea. She lightly ran back to the water’s edge and bent, dipping her fingers into the chilly brine. “Thetus?”

“Still about—“ he assured her gently, his head and shoulders rising up from beyond the surfline. “You should go, before there is trouble.”

“There’s trouble already, but yeah---before it gets worse,” Sara agreed glumly. She glanced out towards the dark horizon, sighing deeply. “Still going to get me that pearl, right?”

“I have vowed to,” Thetus reminded her solemnly, “I have been searching diligently.”

Sara managed a crooked smile and hunched her shoulders a bit. “Yeah? Well . . . let’s hope it’s soon.” She gave him a wave of her hand and turned, setting off at a reluctant pace towards the pier. Thetus watched her go, a nagging sense of worry in his belly.

The feeling wouldn’t leave him, and even though he made himself as comfortable as possible in the fluttering kelp forest deep along the drop off of the bay, Thetus couldn’t sleep. He kept hearing faint echoes within his mind; the ghosts of accusations and anger, and knew they were coming from the girl.

It had happened before—Thetus was aware that his Link to her let him experience some of her emotional responses. That was as it should be between the Linked; the deepest way of sharing. The girl seemed unaware of their bond, or if she was, she hadn’t mentioned it at all, and that saddened him a bit.

Maybe the bond didn’t work with Land Dwellers the same way it did for the Wave Born, he mused uneasily.

In any case, he gave up on sleep for the night, and swam slowly through the dark water, heading back towards the pier and beyond it, the Inn on its pilings. The waters were calm, and had it been an ordinary night Thetus might have spent it drifting on his back, looking up at the stars, as he often did when he couldn’t sleep.

But not tonight. Instead, he kept well under the waves and moved to circle the westernmost piling, brushing away the territorial little crabs who waved defiant claws at him before scuttling off. He pressed his palms to the crusted cement, dimly aware that there were small oysters here too, among the barnacles and anchored worms. Thetus felt the vibrations along the piling.

Shouting and the thrum of feet. Quiet for a moment, then a renewed bout of harsh voices. More footfalls, and the ‘thump’ of a body falling . . . a long low wailing cry, full of rage and wild disbelief—

Jerking his hands from the piling, Thetus shook, his tail flailing in quick agitation. The pain had radiated hard and deep into him; a shocking lance of raw emotion as furious and unavoidable as the strike of a barracuda. He shot up to the surface, rising so quickly that he broke the waves with a resounding splash. Above him he saw the underside of the Inn, and swam to the little ramp where the trap door was dimly visible. Closed of course—Thetus reached and pulled himself up onto the ledge, fighting the insane urge to pull the door open and yell Sara’s name up into the dark hole.

He tried to calm the frantic pounding of his heart; clearly, Sara, wherever she was, was terrified, and his very powerlessness left him in despair. Thetus listened, trying to hear what was going on above him, but the few sounds that managed to filter down made no sense. The most frightening was a bizarre wailing that cut through the night, a mechanical noise growing louder and approaching fast. It abruptly stopped and Thetus heard voices after that.

None of them was Sara’s.

He waited, poised to slip back into the water at any second, tense and wary at the sounds of people moving in and out of the Inn above him. Carefully he concentrated, focusing on the Link to her, and tried to send a sense of his presence, some inner calmness to soothe Sara and let her know he was there.

Hours went by.

Gradually the noises above stopped, and he felt one last pang of something akin to longing echo back to him. Exhausted, Thetus slipped back into the water and rested his back against one of the pilings, letting himself sway with the tide for a bit. Without realizing it, he dozed. When Thetus awoke again, grainy dawn had come, and he didn’t risk rising out of the water into sight.

Despair filled him; he hadn’t realized how close he’d become to the girl, nor how strong the Link to her had become. Their daily meetings had reinforced it so subtly that Thetus had never realized how much she took the loneliness from him in the last few months. Moving carefully, he swam along the shore, stretching his cramped muscles and trying to relax. The water was murky and the sky overcast; a raw day, and cooler.

At their usual meeting time, Sara didn’t come. Thetus waited patiently, giving up only after three hours, slipping back into the deeper water, barely aware of his gnawing hunger. He idly pried open oysters and ate them, probing them for pearls beforehand, and brooded.

Numb. She felt numb and cold, but common sense had her holding things together with her usual quiet. They photographed her bruises and black eye, they interviewed her and let her shower. Throughout all of it—from the police to the social worker to the terrible long hours of dawn she kept quiet, lost deep within herself, and wishing  . . . wishing for she didn’t know what, not really.

Maybe just a chance to go back and change it all.

But the ashtray was broken and the glass was in the carpet, and the yelling started, along with the accusations, and while the guests either pretended not to hear or left, things got bad, and then Bad, and then BAD, building more than they every had before.

Sara knew their patterns—bad wasn’t too, really. Bad was get out of the Inn time for her and her brother, and BAD—well BAD meant calling for help. Sometimes the police, usually a cab to get to the Emergency room.

This time though—

She slept a little, and woke in the late afternoon, feeling grimy and tired. The room in the social services office was old and beige; the sheets on the twin bed smelled of disinfectant. Sara thought of Thetus, and a prickle of tears stung before she wiped them away.

It took a little work, but eventually the social worker, Sid, agreed to let her go pick up a few things and sit on the beach a while. He talked about needing time to process events, and how important it was to face facts. Sara suspected he didn’t handle teenagers too often. She was polite, and spoke enough to demonstrate she appreciated the favor.

They parked down the street, and Sara climbed under the police tape, Sid behind her. Both of them avoided the blocked off main living room; Sara made a beeline for her little garret off the kitchen and methodically stuffed a backpack full of clothes. She closed her eyes and picked it up, feeling the weight of it against her shoulder.

Sid put it in the car for her. He pulled out a briefcase and settled in behind the driver’s seat with his paperwork telling her to take all the time she needed while Sara made her way down to the little beach beside the pier; she knew he could see her, but she wasn’t too worried. It was a rocky beach after all. She walked to the waterline, took off her shoes and let the small cold waves wash over her feet.

Carefully, Sara bent down and let her fingers touch the sea. In a low voice she whispered, “Thetus?”

The waves lapped and the cool breeze felt good on her face. She picked up a rock from the water and turned it over in her hand, waiting. When a feeling of warmth and concern washed over her, Sara smiled and looked up, around the rocks along the edge of the shore; by peeping between two of the largest ones, saw the worried face of the merman between them. Casually she moved, and leaned her back against one, looking out over the bay, the water nearly to her knees.

“Sara . . I felt what happened—“ Thetus spoke, his voice thick with concern. The sound of it nearly choked her up, but she kept her gaze forward, even though she wanted desperately to look at him. Blindly she shifted her arm back along the side of the rock, and when Thetus slipped his hand in hers, a sense of comfort flooded through her, warming her right down to her icy toes.

“I’m sorry. My mom . . . well, I guess it was just too much this time,” she murmured, not letting herself actually think about the night before. There would be time for that later, in the dark by herself. Cool fingers squeezed hers, and Sara squeezed back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and then Thetus cleared his throat.

“How will you live? Where will you go?” He asked with an undertone of urgency. Sara clung to his fingers and shifted, half-turning towards him and blocking him from sight. Finally looking at his worried face was enough to bring her to tears, and Sara blinked rapidly, trying to control the flow.

Thetus let go of her fingers reluctantly and pulled himself up on an outcropping of rock, not caring if he was seen; far more concerned with Sara’s pain. She risked a glance back at the car and noted that Sid was sleeping, his balding head back, his glasses parked along his forehead. It was enough, and she squatted down, slipping her arms around Thetus as he pulled her close, hugging her tightly.

They clung to each other and Sara cried, smothering her sobs against the side of his neck, feeling the hard knot within her soften. The strong cradle of Thetus’s arms soothed her frantic pain, and it was with true regret that she pulled away, sniffling and rubbing her nose with the back of one hand. “Sorry. I . . . I’m not like this.”

Thetus sighed and pressed one hand down her back, his stroke gentle. “You are suffering, Sara, and it’s all right. If I can give you peace doing so, then take it, I give it freely.”

She managed one of her endearing crooked smiles; the one that pierced his heart. “I don’t know where I’m going, Thetus. The authorities are looking for some place for me to stay while my mom’s . . . being examined. They’re trying to find a local family to take me in, but I heard Sid saying that they might have to take me to Petaluma. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave . . . you.”

It was the most heartbreaking thing she could have said, more powerful than a declaration of love, and Thetus hugged her tightly again, feeling rising despair wash through him. There wasn’t a choice, not really; the land girl thought there was, but it was clear to him what needed to be done.

“I don’t want you to leave either, but you must, Sara—hear me out,” he murmured when she began to protest, “Between us is a bond, a powerful one that began the day you saved me. You have a part of me within you now and it grows more powerful the closer you are to the waves and to me. I am loathe to break it; you have been a great joy to me, Sara.”

“Thetus . . . “ she murmured helplessly. He shook his head, long curls wetly glinting in the thin sunlight.

“Sara. Go where your elders think is best for you. I will wait. I CAN wait however long it takes you to return to these waters. My exile has seven years yet. I will be here until then.”

Sara swallowed back a sob and nodded, then looked back at the car; Sid was still snoring. “This isn’t fair! I’m losing EVERYTHING!”

“No,” Thetus told her firmly, and he took her hands, kissing them front and back, his beard tickling her skin. She managed a teary giggle, and when he lifted his head, she bent to kiss him.

It was a soft, desperate kiss, innocently begun, but fused with longing and desperation between them; a first true kiss.

Slowly they pulled apart, wide-eyed and slightly breathless, neither saying a word as overhead a gull cried and the soft churn of the waves rolled on. Sara brought a hand up and stroked his cheek, letting it follow the smooth curve into his beard.

“A-all right. I’ll be back as soon as I can manage it, Thetus. Wait for me.”

He nodded, and in a smooth gesture pulled up a little wet linen bag from a niche in the rock, handing the thing to her. She looked at it curiously and Thetus managed a crooked smile of his own. “Not right, but too pretty to discard. Remember, a hand in the water and call my name—you’ll know how close or how far I am, and I will know the same of you. Sara---“

She clutched the heavy little bag in one hand and looked at him once more. Thetus reached up and copied her earlier gesture, stroking her cheek. Then with a quick turn and dive he was gone, the ripples of his dive rolling away from the rock just as a voice from the top of the bluff called out, “Sara? You okay?”

Reluctantly she turned, hiding the little bag and blinked away tears, seeing Sid standing up there, his tie blowing in the wind. She nodded. “I’m okay. I’ll be right up, sir.”

It was later, after she was back in her room at the social services office that she dared to open the heavy linen bag and tip the contents out in her palm.

Pearls. Little grey ones, bigger gold ones, two with a tinge of pink on their smooth glowing surfaces.

And she cried.