Dreaded Creatures Glide

Chapter 6 is up and running!

Since this is a first draft, I occasionally go back and edit stuff. I felt that was necessary before I posted this chapter, which is why it took such a long time. I added an introduction for Terry, rewrote the rape scene, and made a few references to Far Seer's previous life. If you feel like a reread, you'll notice new details and changes. If you don't want to go back and slog through everything again, that's fine. I didn't add any necessary details. Just a heads up. :-)

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…” -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

He was surrounded by heat, by dryness. He had long since closed his eyes against the sun, and it beat down on him relentlessly, tormenting him even through the nights. The rock beneath him was dry and burning. He didn’t know what time it was or where he was. He burned even through the nights, smelling the water everywhere, too hurt and hating and helpless to move. He was seaweed left on the sand, limp and leathery.

He felt as though his body was not his own. His limbs were heavy and distant from him, and the rock below him seemed to cut into him in a way it never had before. He felt scraped, raw, bled out. He felt as though his mind had melted, boiled in the sun. He shifted through memories deliriously, falling from one to the other.

He remembered his last midsummer festival. He had been home only a few weeks, filled with stories of his trip to the far end of the earth, where it had been so cold the water had frozen. No one had believed him when he had told them he found birds that swam, and black and white dolphins that had nearly torn him apart. He hadn’t cared. Everyone had been happy, filled with the bliss of summer, when the food was plentiful and the water was warm. They had laughed and leapt and sunned themselves endlessly on the rocks, thanking the sun for its warmth and the sea for its bounty and the beautiful, protected beaches for the comfort they offered.

He did not come home often, and when he did he usually found himself itching to leave very soon. But the festival had been different. Everyone had been so pleased to see him. His aging mother had cooed at how strong his travels had made him. The pups, their skin only beginning to lighten from blue to white, had raced around him in circles and begged him to tell more about his adventures.

He had been hot under the summer sun, especially after spending so much time in the cool waters of the south, but the heat had felt like a welcome, like the embraces of his old playmates, Racer and Blue Arms and Song Heart, who had welcomed him back into their fold as though he had never left. It had been endlessly pleasing to lie on the rocks, waving his fins every so often to catch the breeze, letting his mind be cleansed by the sun.

The heat was unbearable now, as he lay on the rock. He was so scorched he could not quite remember where he was. Sometimes he was in the pool with Kee-Kee, scratching out words in the sand and laughing at his friend’s antics. Perhaps he was out in the most beautiful reef he had ever seen, surrounded by a riot of color and life.

His hunger had long since dulled, and he no longer felt any thirst. He drifted in and out of consciousness, assaulted by memories, snippets and flashes that were always far more vivid than the dry, baked reality around him.

He remembered challenging Racer to see who could go deepest before turning back. They had swum out to the dark sea, where the water ran deep, accompanied by Blue Arms and Song Heart, who had agreed to judge. He had taken a deep breath and one last look at the clear blue sky ahead and then had turned down to the depths.

Racer, who was hailed as the fastest merman in the pride, had taken off like a sailfish, his glittering scales winking as he sped into the depths. Far Seer had followed more slowly, feeling the pressure close in on him as he went down, down to where the light did not reach. He hungered for what lay down there, for the creatures that swam and sang and hunted down there.

He had surpassed Racer soon enough, but that had not mattered to him. He had needed to find the secrets in the depths of the ocean. He had heard a song down there, low and haunting, beckoning him.

It had been Blue Arms who caught him in the end. She had pulled on his hair to get his attention, and he had reluctantly followed her back to the surface, where Racer was regaining his breath next to Song Heart.

“Show off,” Racer has said with a grin, fully aware that he was one to talk about showing off.

“Idiot,” Blue Arms had added, cuffing him over the head. “You don’t know what’s down there. The point is to win, not get yourself killed.”

“I know,” Far Seer had said, feeling frustrated. “I just… needed to see.” The race had seemed a little fuzzy then, like recalling a dream. He had hadn’t quite remembered what it had been that he had needed so badly.

Song Heart, always the least talkative of the group, had only clicked in agreement.

His memories shifted, blurring into each other. He was wracked with pain, as though all his dry skin was splitting apart. He smelled salt and metal and the sea. It tormented him, and he could not escape. Trapped on the rock under the sun in the heart of the human lands, dreaming of bright lights.

It had been the first human boat he had seen, when Blue Arms had taken him on a patrol. She was the youngest mermaid to ever take up the guard, and took her duties so seriously that Far Seer had had to beg for weeks before she took him along. Even then, she had lectured him for days on what to do and what not to do in the event of an attack.

“Stay close,” she had hissed as they had set out. Far Seer had obeyed. With her dark blue hair, and the unusually blue arms that had given her her name, Blue Arms was adept at camouflage, and he had been hard put to keep track of her.

And then the ship had come.

They had heard it first, a mess of human noise carried through the water, and they had gone as close as they had dared. He had seen the humans on the ship, surrounded by fire to challenge the darkness of the night. They had been dancing, and laughing, and Far Seer would have given anything to be there with them, twirling and laughing and singing.

He remembered another boat, pain and confusion and desperate loneliness. He had been unable to speak, filled with anger and frustration and fear. They had lashed at him and cursed and he had been so heartbroken that they had not been at all like the humans he had once seen. They had hurt him and starved him and left him alone in the dark.

He did not want to think about that. He did not want to think anymore.

He slept.

A raucous cry woke him in the end. He cracked open his eyes painfully, looking around in confusion. He had forgotten why he was there, and what his name was. The smell of the water filled him, torturing him, but he could not remember why he hated it so much. He needed to leave the smell of the water, wanted to so desperately.

There was a sudden flapping noise, at once strange and familiar, and then there was a weight on his stomach. The caw sounded again, and it was so sudden and sharp that he blinked despite the pain and swelling and tried to understand what was around him.

His vision had gone blurry for some reason, but he could make out a black bird stood on his stomach, shining in the sun. The bird turned in a little circle on his stomach, as though it were surveying its property, and then bent down and tore neatly at his skin.

He cried out then, his voice rasping and painful in his throat, and jerked. The bird squawked and flew off, its wings flapping noisily.

With the bird gone, there was only him and the heat once more, and now his eyes were open. He blinked painfully at the bright blue sky, and turned his gaze downward, towards his body.

Something wasn’t right.

Pricked with unease, he lifted his head a little. It seemed unbearably heavy, but he had to see. His body was a mass of tan, too much of the wrong color. Fear ran through him. Something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t figure out what it was. He turned a little, every part of his body protesting, and as he shifted the sense of fundamental *wrongness* increased dramatically.

Then he got a good look at the bottom half of his body, and began to scream.

888888

Charles aimed his bow and tried to ignore the low conversations of the nobility around him. He could not help but wonder what they were saying: were they admiring his skill, or criticizing it, or perhaps wondering why it was that the prince shot arrows while his father discussed matters of importance? Or were they speaking about something else entirely, perhaps one of the other archers, not moved at all by the sight of their crown prince?

“Message for the prince!” came a servant’s cry, and Charles nearly missed his shot. He turned with irritation at the servant who had run past a few other aristocratic archers and collapsed near Magnus’ feet.

“Highness!” said the servant dramatically. Magnus looked back at Charles for orders.

“If this is another of father’s urgent meetings it will have to wait,” Charles drawled, mindful of his audience. “He was the one who told me to practice my archery in the first place.” Charles felt a petty satisfaction that he had a reason to refuse a summons.

The servant shook his head vehemently. “No, Highness. It was the chamberlain what sent me. He said that the creature – that is, the merman – is in the royal guest chambers, and he thought you ought to be told.”

“In the guest chambers? Whatever for?” Charles could not help but picture the merman on one of the guest beds, his great tail thrashing wildly, his blue braids spilled around his head as he roared and flicked water everywhere.

“The chamberlain said he’s got legs now, Highness.”

Charles was aware that the noise around him had died completely. The other archers had stopped and turned to stare, and the people seated nearby were watching just as avidly.

Charles could think of nothing to say but: “Come again?”

The servant grew more distressed. “Legs, Highness. No one can explain it. They told me the guards heard him making a ruckus, and they found him with legs.”

“Take me to him then.” He was too stunned to make any other comment. He followed the servant into the castle, and heard conversation start up immediately after his departure.

Legs! He couldn’t picture it, try as he might, and as he strode through the castle he started to feel giddy with anticipation. Could it be true? How had it happened? The merfolk were always considered half magic, creatures too strange to be wholly of this world. But he had seen the merman. He had been strange, certainly, but clearly an animal subject to the laws of nature, however much he had first resembled a creature from nightmares. Had he been wrong? Was the merman magic after all? What strange powers might he have? He remembered the merman’s haunting gaze, how trapped he had felt by it. Was that a power of his?

Doctor Harcourt, who often tended his father and had known Charles since he was an infant, was standing outside the door, speaking with a servant. He turned as he heard Charles’ approach and sent the servant off. He gave Charles a bow and a smile, and then said in his usual gentle tones, “I’m glad you’ve come, Highness. I apologize that I interrupted you, but I thought you ought to be informed.”

“What’s going on here?” Charles asked, wishing he could sound less nonplussed.

“I wish I knew. The guards have told me that they found him lying on a rock, nearly dead from dehydration, screaming at the sight of his legs.”

“He really has them?”

“Yes. I haven’t been able to examine them closely, as he has been somewhat volatile, but they seem to be perfectly regular human legs.” Harcourt’s words were punctuated by a muffled shriek from the other side of the door. Magnus started at the sound, his hand going to the pommel of his sword.

“That’s the merman,” Harcourt explained. “He’s been roaring at anyone who tries to touch him. He was very weak when they carried him in, they told me, but apparently his agitation is overcoming his weakness. Highness, you saw him before – it pains me to burden you with this matter, but is there anything you would suggest?”

“I want to see him.”

Harcourt looked surprised at his answer, and then frowned. “If I may be so bold, Highness, I’m not sure that’s wise. The merman no longer has a tail or the sharp teeth I was told he had earlier, but he’s been quite aggressive so far and –”

“I survived him before,” Charles said with more confidence than he felt. “I will see him now.”

Magnus was right behind him as he entered the room, and Charles was prepared for attack despite his appearance of calm. But the action seemed to be restrained to the bed, where three of the doctor’s servants were fussing about a writhing figure. The servants were all holding long swathes of cotton, with which they were clearly attempting to restrain the merman. They were also clearly failing.

“Beg pardon, Lordship,” said one of the servants as he wrestled with the snarling merman, “But you might want to keep your distance.”

As the servant addressed him the merman turned and looked at him, and Charles saw at once that he had changed. Charles had been trapped the first time he saw the merman, hypnotized by the alien intelligence in those flat eyes. The merman’s hair had hung about him in heavy, wet braids, and sharp teeth had lurked behind deceptively soft lips. Now, the merman’s blue hair was dry, fanning around him messily, and his eyes and mouth looked… vulnerable. His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth was cracked and bleeding. He looked parched and worn out; the skin under his eyes seemed almost bruised.

Charles had stopped as the merman had looked at him, and the merman had frozen as well. The one of the servants attempted to take the opportunity to tie him down, and the merman jerked around and bellowed at him, the sound similar to the noises he had made the first two times Charles had encountered him, but the tone was more familiar now. The merman sounded almost human.

“Leave him,” Charles ordered, and the servants backed up with only a moment’s hesitation. The merman turned to him again, sitting on the bed naked and looking more vulnerable than ever. His eyes were almost all pupil, and his mouth was slightly open. His nostrils were flared, and his breath came quickly. His muscular body, so impressive even when the merman was far from his element, was hunched over.

He was frightened, Charles realized.

Charles felt unabashedly triumphant. This was the creature of his nightmares, whom it had cost him so much to face, who had arrested him so easily with just a glance. And now he was cowering before Charles, all of his attention on him.

The merman made a noise, then, some gibberish, high pitched thing. He frowned, concentrating, and tried again, making the same noise. He shook his head as if to clear himself of something, making the shells in his parched hair rattle and click against each other, and tried a third time, clearly just as dissatisfied with his efforts. He gestured rapidly and then looked at Charles, clearly begging for some sort of understanding. Charles could only shrug to show he had not understood.

The merman made a low, despairing sort of sound, and then looked shocked that he made such a noise. He looked at Charles and rubbed at his throat.

Charles finally understood. More than his teeth, the merman’s whole throat had become human. He was attempting to use the same language he had as a merman, and his body could no longer comply. He couldn’t even communicate in his own language, even if no one else understood it.

The realization put something of a damper on his sense of victory. This was not the creature who had called to him irresistibly, who had so effortlessly flaunted his every effort at control. This was just a mute animal begging for help.

He nodded, aware that all eyes were on him. He scrambled for a course of action. The boy had spoken to him, had he not? Charles had resolved to put the boy, as well as the entire incident, out of his head, and so naturally it had remained in painful detail. The merman had responded to the boy’s words, although perhaps it had only been his tone.

“Easy now,” he said, as though he were calming Ginger. “No one wants to hurt you.”

The merman blinked at him, not showing any particular understanding, but his pose relaxed a little. Charles took a few steps toward the bed, and the merman grew agitated, darting his glance around at the servants surrounding the bed, and beyond Charles’ shoulder at Magnus. He bared his teeth, as though he’d forgotten that they had become dull.

“Leave us,” Charles commanded, keeping his tone low and soothing. The servants seemed relieved to go, but Magnus was reluctant. “I’d not desert you, Highness.”

Charles struggled not to snap. “Don’t be foolish. He’s not going to attack me.”

There was a silence as Magnus did not point out that Charles had said that before, with disastrous results.

“He’s lost his tail and teeth, and he can’t even speak, now. He knows I can help him. He won’t attack me unless he feels threatened, and you’re threatening him. Stand at the door.”

Magnus gave his usual nod and retreated, but added, “Until the first sign of danger, my lord.”

Charles did not bother to reply, all his focus on the merman as he approached the bed. The merman fidgeted, shifting his weight as he sat and moving his hands aimlessly, although he did not move his legs. He seemed divorced from them, and did not look at them.

Charles sat down on the bed slowly, wary for any sign of attack. But the merman just watched him from beneath lowered lashes, and Charles saw for the first time that those were blue as well. Before he thought about it his gaze flicked down to the merman’s crotch, wondering if the hair there would be blue as well. But there was none: the merman’s groin was completely hairless, like that of a prostitute. The thought made him blush deeply, and he busied himself with the rest of the merman’s body, realizing that there was only hair on his head, eyes, and eyebrows. His hands still had their inky stain, although his feet did not.

The merman’s skin was terribly dry, chafed and even bleeding at places. What had happened to him?

The merman, who had bore Charles’ scrutiny with tense silence, jerked and hissed as the door opened and Harcourt appeared at the threshold. Harcourt looked alarmed at first, and then surprised. “How did you calm him, Highness?”

“He’s just frightened. I thought perhaps he might recognize me.”

“You weren’t afraid of an attack?”

Charles shared a moment’s look with Magnus, who did not change his expression. “He is less imposing than he was before.”

Harcourt nodded. “If I might beg your indulgence, Highness, does he seem injured to you? I wondered if he might have harmed himself and thus trapped himself on land. There is some blood on his stomach I had wished to examine.”

Charles turned back to the merman, who was looking at him with that same need for understanding. Did he think Charles would be able to translate somehow? “Could you lie back a bit?” he asked, feeling somewhat foolish now that he actually had to communicate something to the merman.

The merman cocked his head, a now familiar gesture.

“Lie back,” Charles repeated, doing the action himself to explain. The merman narrowed his eyes for a moment, but then complied, leaning back on his elbows. He held his head up, and seemed tense, but he stayed still as Charles put his hands on his stomach. Charles felt around for signs of internal damage, but felt only a slight trembling under the merman’s skin. The cut seemed shallow, nothing serious. The only things that the merman seemed harmed by were thirst, for he was terribly dried out, and fear. “It’s merely a scratch. Have you called for water?”

“Yes, it should be here any moment. Do you see any signs of damage in his legs? He seems unable to move them.”

Charles turned back to the merman, who was still lying back. Charles made a gesture as though to pull the merman towards him, and the merman sat back up. Charles reached out towards the merman’s legs then, and looked at the merman questioningly. The merman stared for a moment and then moved his head forward a bit, gesturing for him to go on. Charles ran his hand along the merman’s thigh, noticing despite himself that they were long and lean, as perfectly muscled and proportioned as the rest of him. The muscle twitched as he touched it, and when Charles’ hand came to the merman’s knee the merman jerked his leg away, and then gasped, as though he had not expected that to happen. It would have been amusing if the merman had not looked so frightened and dismayed. He seemed more human than ever, despite his blue hair and hands.

“He doesn’t seem to understand his limbs yet,” Charles said to Harcourt now, “But they seem perfectly healthy.”

“Indeed. Ah, here is the water.”

The servant came in, and the merman watched with narrowed eyes as the servant poured a cup for the prince, set it on the table, and left with a hurried bow. Charles barely sat down with the chalice before the merman was grasping at it, weak but determined. Charles realized the merman would not be able to hold the cup on his own, as much as he seemed to want to, and held it for him as the merman sipped water as fast as his tortured throat would allow.

Charles had never helped anyone drink before. He had never helped anyone do anything before, although he could remember many times when people aided him. It was a new experience, to see this creature get what he so desperately needed and know that it was Charles who had helped him do it. When the merman had drained the cup he refilled it, and did so once more before the merman seemed sated.

The merman lay back against the pillows, giving a small sigh of satisfaction. Then he nodded at the cup. “Wah?” he asked. His look of alarm that he had made such a noise nearly made Charles burst out laughing.

“Wahdah?” the merman asked again.

Charles did laugh then, even as he finally understood what the merman wanted. “Water,” he enunciated, when he had finally calmed himself. “It’s called water.”

“Wahtah,” said the merman carefully. He frowned. “Wahtah, wahtah.” He sounded like a witch testing an incantation, so engrossed was he in his own sound.

“Waterrrr,” Charles stressed.

“Watahhrrr,” the merman repeated dutifully.

“Yes!” Charles felt foolish for his outburst as soon as he said it, but the merman seemed as elated as he was. He beamed at him, and Charles realized that when his teeth weren’t so frightfully sharp, the merman had an enchanting smile. He grinned back.

Doctor Harcourt’s polite “hem” brought him back. He turned, and the sight of his father at the door wiped the smile from his face.

“So it’s true.” His father seemed genuinely surprised. “He’s human.”

“So it would seem, Majesty,” said Harcourt. “My lord the prince has been most helpful in diagnosing him.”

“Is this some sort of illness, then?” His father’s royal tone had returned.

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea, Majesty. It could be quite normal, for all we know. The lore on the merfolk is scanty and contradictory. I’ve sent for Doctor Suterno, since his time treating the merman upon his arrival at His Grace Duke Horace’s has made him the most knowledgeable man on the subject of merfolk in the kingdom.”

“If you think it’s necessary,” said his father placidly, approaching the bed. His bodyguard hovered nearby, looking surprisingly twitchy for a man who must have weighed more than Charles.

The merman did not hiss at his father’s approach, as Charles had expected, but instead leaned forward and took Charles’ arm, as though he might move to hide behind him.

The movement made his father finally turn to look at Charles. “Finally enjoying your gift, are you?”

Charles had not been expecting that question. “He certainly demands more attention now.”

“Can he speak?”

“I don’t know. He said ‘water’ a moment ago.”

“Wahtar,” said the merman, as if on cue.

“Indeed,” said his father, looking amused. “What do you intend to do with him?”

Charles blinked. “Do?”

“Yes, Charles. No man has ever spoken even one word with a merman, and you have him clinging to you. What do you intend to do?”

Charles immediately thought of the boy. *He* had certainly conversed with the merman, far more than Charles ever had. He banished that thought. His father’s light tone belied his motives: this was a test of some sort, he was sure of it. “I will learn what he knows,” he said carefully. “If he proves intelligent enough for civil discourse, perhaps we can even hope for extended relations between Tierney and merfolk.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you will prove yourself a diplomat after all. I expect to hear regular reports of his progress.” He turned back to the door, and gave a polite nod to Harcourt. “Send Suterno to me once he has made his diagnosis.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

And then he was gone.

“What now, doctor?” Charles asked after a moment.

Harcourt signaled to a few servants, who entered the room reluctantly. The merman tensed, his grip on Charles’ arm tightening. “I have a few soothing balms for the merman’s skin. If Your Highness Pleases, I’m certain the servants can handle it from here.”

Charles thought about returning to the archery field, testing his skill in front of dozens of staring eyes, and then thought about rubbing the merman’s dry, chapped skin with lotion. “No, he’s my responsibility now. I can do it.”

“Oh, I’m certain you could, Highness. But a man of your station can hardly be expected to tend to a pet.”

“He is mine, and I shall do with him as I please.” Charles felt foolish as soon as he said it. Harcourt had known him far too long to accept such an excuse.

But Harcourt only looked mildly amused. “Very well, highness. This is the balm I would recommend. I shall leave instructions for the servants for the future, and trust your man will take care of any possible incidents.” He gave a small nod to Magnus, and left as quietly as he had come.

Charles looked back at the merman, who appeared much more animated now that he had drunk some. He cocked his head at Charles and made a strangled chirping sound. Charles guessed it was the best he could approximate his language now. “I need to rub this on you,” he said, still feeling stupid as he tried to communicate to a creature who clearly didn’t understand him. He pantomimed scooping out the ointment and rubbing it on, and even rubbed some on himself so the merman would realize it wouldn’t harm him.

The merman looked at him for a moment, his blue eyes unblinking, and then tentatively reached out to Charles’ arm where he had put on the balm. Charles sat very still, and felt the merman’s dry, chapped fingertips run along his forearm, barely rustling the blonde hairs there. Charles’ breath caught in his chest.

The merman made another noise, and then lay back entirely, his arms resting passively at his side. He watched Charles through lidded eyes.

Charles didn’t trust himself to speak, and applied the balm as quickly and efficiently as he could. He knew he was nothing like the royal masseuses; he had never been taught to run his hands gently along someone, to feel for tense and tired muscles or tender skin. He worried that he agitated the merman’s burnt skin as much as he helped it.

But the merman did not seem at all displeased with his touch. On the contrary, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though he had been waiting for this for a long time. His legs twitched from time to time, and Charles wondered what he would have done if he had still had his tail. Would he still be twitching, flicking his fins in pleasure as Charles’ hand ran all over his body, seeking out every inch of him?

Charles felt as though Magnus were scrutinizing his every move, even though he knew Marcus would never be so crass as to stare at his lord outright. He even fancied he could sense the servants outside, tittering over the prince’s new obsession with his pet. Perhaps they wondered at the cause of their lord’s newfound affection, or even dared to guess at the reason themselves…

“I’m done,” Charles said abruptly, nearly dropping the ointment in his haste to stand up. The merman opened his eyes slowly, as though he had fallen asleep. “Magnus, send the servants in. They will help you now,” Charles explained, and gestured to the balm and then to the three women Magnus had let in. They approached slowly, with much more grace than the previous ones had, and the merman did not seem afraid of them. He didn’t look at them at all, in fact. He stared at Charles with a frown on his face, saying nothing.

“I’ve got to go,” said Charles. He had to leave before the merman hypnotizing him again, before he could not stop himself. “You’ll be all right.” He turned to leave, and the merman grabbed at his arm, pulling him back forcefully.

Magnus leapt forward, sword half drawn, but Charles held him off with a hand. “It’s all right,” Charles repeated. He was suddenly sharply reminded of the last time he had seen the merman. The boy had said nearly the exact same thing, and the merman had stared at him in nearly the exact same way, as though the boy was the only thing that mattered.

“It will be all right,” Charles repeated, not knowing what else to say. He thought about his horse, of all things, and what he did when she got testy, and without thinking about it brought a hand up to the merman’s hair.

That seemed to do the trick, oddly enough. The merman slowly let go of him, and didn’t shrink away when the servant girls took the balm and stood behind Charles, waiting for his permission.

Charles was about to leave before he thought of one last thing. He touched his own chest. “Charles,” he said.

The merman cocked his head.

“Charles,” he repeated, hoping the merman would understand. They had a language. Surely they had names as well.

“Callz,” the merman tried, and only smiled bashfully when the servant girls giggled. “Carrrrls,” he tried again.

“Chuh,” Charles emphasized.

“Huh. Kuh. Kuuuh.” The merman was once again as engrossed as he had been with “water.”

“Charles,” he said one more time, and then pointed at the merman. The merman realized and looked up. “Kharls?”

Charles shook his head. “Charles,” he said, pointing to himself once more. Then he pointed at the merman. “Who are you?”

The merman opened his mouth, but stopped before any sound came out. He seemed like a man who had had the breath knocked out of him, and as he looked at Charles and shook his head his face was helpless.

Charles turned then, and heard the merman practice his name as he walked to the door. “Kharls. Sarls. Ksarls. Sharls.”

The sound followed him all the way down the hall.