Sea Spell

Chapter Fourteen

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Now that things had begun to gain momentum, spindling forwards like a boulder tumbling from a cliff, it was expected that Lanakila would have a general idea as to what she needed to do, and that she would have a bucketload of inspirational ideas.
That, of course, was what her favorite book heroine would do, although seemingly unrealistic.
This is the part, she told herself, where I'm supposed to completely receive a confirmation of what exactly is going on here, and everything should be left sharply clear.
Her haziness, however, remained stubborn, stirring up a floundering lot of foggy questions that left her lost. Both metaphorically and literally, she decided as an underwater geyser almost spawned before her for the hundredth time, taunting her with its shivering bubbles. It was determined to leave her hanging in an array of overlapped tracks and chopped leads, strung with no means of a purpose.
Her arms quaked and trembled under the pearl, tensing to the rise and fall of her underarm veins. She readjusted her grip every so often, balancing it for a few uneasy seconds on one hand to disperse sweat from the other's palm.
Where am I even going?
The fact that she had happened upon the Widower's cave and the nymph's' garden by no means upheld promise for a reoccurrence of her eerily newfound luck. Her worn methods of untangling the Spell were not only unreliable, but also head-locked her underwater in a polluted pool of doubting her sickening luck. If it had never shown it's face before, why suddenly fabricate itself now? She couldn't thrust the reins at some invisible, worshipped hope that would only steer her off the road, as it had in the past. Life's control was meant to be managed by one's own hard, disciplined will. This phrase had been hammered into her mind by multiple influences and was rather keen on ripening there, till it was plumply dominant.
That was why she'd gotten a job, had shoved her failingly empty self out of bed at the orange, sun-drenched rays that tugged open her blinds and peeked into her shrinking pupils. Had bit her lip to stay alert, watching families parade down the street in a swooshing of vibrant clothes adorned with unharvested price tags. Had dug for squirming, cold bait under the mid-day glare, patting sand into her fingernails, into every crevice until no amount of cheap detergent could erase the dampened stench of sand and sweat.
That was why she'd grown up.
She'd hardened, she could never return to the arms of faith or hope or anything even remotely associated with the sappy word reliance. No matter how comforting it once felt to bury her nose in the smells of dandelion and margarita, then exhale on the her breath of sugar-coated teeth, she could never return.
Being spontaneous went against her very being. She needed a plan, a schedule strictly run- which was a rather ludicrous observation at the moment, taking into consideration how she was utterly alone with no clue of where she could be.
The decaying, slanted brick house on 71463 Lucifer Street appeared to be very far off in her mind, shrouded by layer after layer of mist. As much as she wanted to envision it to be perfectly aligned, not a dreamcatcher or woven rug out of place, images of shattered wooden cups and a collapsed roof replayed themselves continuously.
Certainly one who refused to clasp their palms at overused themes wouldn't do so at the idea of a higher ruler- she'd never tipped her compass point of interest towards the idolization of Gods. Part of her guzzled doses of guilt every time she dazed off during a worship, curling her head under and swishing her lips against the fabric of her lent muumuu. Praying at the makeshift temple concealed between layers of pinned-up sheets felt relaxing, restful not by way of religion but by the easily sloped child's pose that she could dream in whilst awake. It wouldn't do a thing to beg for mercy on what remained of her family, for any self-respecting God would scoff at her withdrawal from Them, and ignore the tiny shrieks entirely. That, at least, was what she'd been cautioned by elders in the streets, sucking in their wrinkled cheeks and speaking with their ring-clad fingers.
So what was she supposed to do?
A voice cut across her pacing, tugging her abruptly around.
"Excuse me!"
Lana watched the globe-shaped inclusions of her vision rotate on their axis as she spun her neck around, searching for the voice's originality.
Raising to an offended octave, it came again.
"Down here, you fiend."
Wriggling itself upward to face her was a strange, slightly humanoid being wearing a permanently robotic, solemn expression. An unhealthily angled jawline bulged downwards towards plump lips that stretched widely across the tip of it's chin. Instead of a natural, declining nose bridge, the one at level with hers caved in like a collapsed roof. This gave the creature's already nosy, intimidating eyes seem to lurch towards her even more. An overshadowing there made it's face appear red, irritated, as if it had pressing matters to discuss with no time to waste.
Diagonally pulled, lemon-shaped eyes with rapidly darting slits for pupils attempted to look easygoing and welcoming as it grinned halfheartedly at her. The result was a sickening, rotten smile that churned her insides counterclockwise.
Spanning about one to two feet, it's fin-covered tail flicked side to side, mimicking a metronome with it's end that resembled a dinosaur foot, the narrowing three fins rolling up like toes. It's earthen green colors contrasted with the dorsal fin perched atop it's head of black hair. The dorsal's color could merely be described as that of dried, flaking blood.
Gliding even closer, too close, it raised it's thin, crooked eyebrows and extended a muddled limb with no separated digits, stating simply:
"Silvinus is the name, trading's the game. But please, call me Silv."
Limply shaking the slimy palm and enclosing it with her shriveled one, she pulled away before the greeting seemed over. She gulped noticeably and hesitated before opening her mouth.
"I'm... Jennifer."
Nodding curtly, Silvanus swam forwards another few paces, as if he suspected her plan to halt the conversation before it took her anywhere seriously. As much as every second spent confronted by him made her squirm, curiosity cropped up when she noticed his giant fins fanning from the sides of his head. They were shaped like delicate butterfly wings, but stayed molded firmly into place, shielding his slashed ears. She couldn't contain her fascination.
"May I ask, what are you?"
He wrinkled his nose, and appeared to say what followed naturally as if it was a routine, as if it had been retold thousands of times.
"I am a merrow, though very far from home. A traveling sort, who lives by his own whims and belongs anywhere."
Pressing further into impolite boundaries, she inquired incredulously, "Aren't merrows supposed to travel on rafts? With their entire family?"
Silvanis scoffed, an effort to conceal the flash of pain in his face that she read into thoroughly. Crossing his arms tightly, he shot her a threatening look and spat, "It doesn't matter."
Desperate to regain composure, the small creature released it's raveled forehead and dropped it's shoulders. "Enough about me," he babbled. "What brings you here, Jennifer?"
Lanakila didn't trust the eager stranger enough to toss out personal scraps of information like they were peppermint candies. Sloppily stringing words together to form a lie, she slurred, "Well, I'm headed with a message, to deliver to, um, Poseidon's palace. Yet I seem to have lost my way."
Throwing his hands in the air, he humored himself, chortling as his ribs shook up and down.
"You didn't take me for the messenger type! Today's your lucky day, however, for I am just the merrow you need. Know this sea like the back of m' hand- er, fin. I can guide you to wherever it is that you need to be."
Staring at him with disbelief, she pondered the offer. The tinily intimidating merrow appeared convinced at her backstory, so perhaps Poseidon's palace truly did exist. If it did, and she was escorted there, it would hopefully be a hotspot with bucketloads of citizens to derive Spell-related information from.
Maybe, there'd be someone that could help her...
Before she could grab the words by their necks and yank them back into her throat, she was listening to the sound of her own decided voice say monotonously, "What's the price?"
Skeptically, she watched him greedily eye up the pearl, which was propped on her hip.
Greed appeared in his eyes as she cradled it closer to her midsection, causing streaks of light to curve across it's surface.
"That pearl of yours would serve perfectly," he whispered off-key, more focused on his trading addition than on the owner herself.
Clutching it protectively, she dragged into her response. There wasn't anything else she had to trade- at least, not anything but her dignity.
"Can I pay you in the future? With currency, or an errand?"
Snapping back into his purposeful mood, Silvinus barked slightly, "No. The pearl is all I will accept."
It wasn't exactly a rude encounter, more clipped and business-like, with neither party willing to compromise.
As far as Lanakila was aware of, however, he didn't need the pearl as horribly as she needed to travel to somewhere, anywhere populated. Which, defeatedly enough, meant her giving in.
His character was foxy to say the least, but the fact that he was less than half her size brought no physical threat. Using her thumb as a measuring tool, flipping it in different directions to size him up as an artist would, she came to the conclusion that the odds were in her favor for a brawled situation.
Although she'd lay far outside a circle of creators (even Anadia's stick figures could put hers to shame), it was a technique she'd thrilled in experimenting with, a desperate cry to fit in the world of geniuses. She would never fail to be enthralled at the sight of a graffiti artist pressing their stomach to a cold brick wall as they decorated the streets of Eastern Guadeloupe. Because she wasn't one of them, it excited her to see them at work, to wonder how on earth they dreamt up the universes that were captured in their art.
Now, the merrow cocked his head at her, ostracizing her with a confused look as she dropped her hand, embarrassed.
Silvinus blinked his eyes, held them shut for a moment and flashed them open widely, looking impatient.
"Well," he taunted, clearly influenced by his upper hand, "do we have a deal or not?" He flicked his tail again and rubbed his palms together, smirking in anticipation as he watched the pearl.
"Deal."