Predator Lurking in the Waters

Chapter 2: Mer on Board

He was dragged down faster than before—but still not too far from the raft. The creature was angry— pissed even—that he had tried to escape. Its claws bore into his skin, gaining a gasp from the man. Richard looked back at the thing, its menacing, purple eyes glaring back at him. It snarled, dragging its nails around his calf. He struggled, kicking his leg a bit so the thing would let go, and when it didn't, he used the pole in his hand, vigorously hitting it a couple times on its tail. He whacked with all his strength until a sudden snap of bones cracking was heard.

That was when Richard made his move, and started propelling his arms back to the surface—accidentally letting go of  his only weapon in the process.

It tried to bolt  back up and chase after him, but it halted, and wailed miserably  instead.

Richard made his way back up the beaten up raft, coughing up blood and excess sea water. On his hands and knees, he crawled himself back into the same spot in the middle of the pile of wood. He winced, and bit his lips. Large yet weakened hands made their way to compress his wounds. They throbed; the puncture wounds were deep, and bleed profusely; the smell of the sordid iron invaded his nostrils and he inwardly cringed; but the horrid scent was the least of his troubles.  He had to cover them or else he would bleed out.

His hands gripped at his tattered shirt, and he ripped the dirty fabric into uneven strips. Richard the wrapped his lesions tightly, wincing from the tenderness. He was tired, more exhausted than before. The moments he fought with that thing—it was unbelievable.

What was it, anyway? He asked himself. It looked like—Richard didn't even want to think of such possibilities. It was ridiculous, completely insane---but--- he couldn't deny what he saw down there.  It was something straight out of the Lore. Straight out of one of his grandfather's fairy tales.

He reminisced about the old man. His grandfather, Constantine of Verhan, the 50th king,  was a tall burly man, who had a long, white cotton beard that dangled to the bottom of his collar bone. He smelled slightly of peppermint and cigars--mainly because he always drank peppermint tea habitually and then would smoke right after. The former king hardly smiled or laughed, his lips always seemed pursed in the same position daily, and there even were times Richard had pondered if the old man was capable of doing so, but the few times he did, belied this to be false.  By day, the man acted more of an instructor than anything else.  He would teach him how spar, remind him of his princely duties, and tutor him in various diplomatic approaches that were key in running a kingdom; during these hours he was strict, and disciplined, however at night, he was a loving grandfather.

He missed him dearly.

"Richard?" He heard his grandfather's throaty, deep voice say. The man held a book, Fables and Legends of the World,  in his hand, and stopped his reading momentarily. His light blue eyes turned his attention towards his grandson.

"Yes, grandpa?"

"Do you believe?" The man had unexpectedly asked the boy, and Richard gave him a bemused look.

"Do I believe in what, grandpa?"

"Mermaids."

"Do you?" The boy asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. The man smiled genuinely. One of the rarest things he saw the wizened man do. His grandfather reached out, and combed his hand through the mop of dark locks.

In many ways, Richard resembled his grandfather; he was tall like the man, strong, was skilled in combat, intelligent, but he was also different. He didn't like to hunt, didn't like to swim, didn't share the same golden hair the man once had, and he definitely didn't believe in fairytales like the man—well, until now.