The Sunless City

Four

Kendra Selke

Translucent water shifts as I glide past, tendrils of overgrown seaweed combing my naked arms. The leather satchel I foraged from a long ago sunken ship bumps into my hip, where my torso gives way into the long, aegean blue tail that my people are born with.

A school of overzealous flounders flurry by, and I have to dodge their fins to avoid the cloud of sand they scuff up in their wake.

Typical hatchlings.

Cautious not to get too close to the surface, I press myself to the ocean floor, slipping a small conch shell out of my petite bag, looping the string I handmade from kelp to secure it tightly around my throat.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait as a swarm of bubbles coil around my lower body before popping my head above the water, gulping a large breath of oxygen.

Legs wobbling, I haul myself out onto the shore, quickly adapting to life without a tail. Darting as rapidly as I can across the beach to the line of trees waiting for me.

Crouching, I sweep my hands across a surface of dried leaves and crumbling twigs until my fingers find the groove beneath the large tree I kneel in front of.

Squatting, I reach up to my elbow until I locate the soft texture of the sleek black bodysuit I hid there after my last trip to mainland. Yanking it out, I shake off the dirt before tugging it over my bare legs, grappling for the zipper on the back.

It still fits perfectly.

Next comes the combat boots, which the laces take me a little longer to figure out. I haven't had to tie any shoes in over two years.

Then again, times have gotten more desperate the past few moons.

Wringing out my blue hair, I twist it into some sort of fashionable knot in an attempt to help me blend in. It's not that Sea witches are shunned, I just prefer to go unnoticed.

Before I go, I glance at the horizon, raising my hand to block the sun as I try to calculate how many hours I have before dusk. The tide is still relatively low, so I should have a respective amount of time.

It is never enough though, so I know better to waste the day dilly dallying. Instead, I begin my hike to town, following the invisible path that has become engraved in my mind.

I remember it like a favored memory, a precious part of my history locked away, safe inside the vault that is my mind.

I intend to keep it there.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　𖤓　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

When I arrive, I have to pick my way through the streets with attentiveness, bouncing on the balls of my feet to avoid getting trampled by wagons pulled by unusual looking goats.

I am only partially unsuccessful, which can be fact checked by the bruise that is undoubtedly blooming across my foot right now, inflicted by the harsh wheel of a cart.

I suppose if I want the reward I will have to take the risks.

After an agonizingly long journey weaving my wave around market stalls, I eventually find the shop I'm looking for. It is a rickety old thing, with floorboards that I have the inclination to believe have been enchanted to creak to fabricate a homely atmosphere.