A Thousand Salt Kisses Later (Book 2 of Salt Kiss series)

What Lies Beneath?

During the first few moments after I appeared, I thought I caught some warmth in his eyes, but now he looked at me with about as much affection as you might show a plank of wood.

I stood stunned at the end of the jetty.

WTF?

"Good morning," said Spirit flatly.

"Why you?" I managed to squeak.

"Hmm, nice to see you too," he said dryly.

I looked at him cautiously. Spirit had had some kind of a problem with me. He used to always make sure he got a snide remark in whenever he saw me, and he also liked to mimic me in front of the other mers. One day I had had enough and asked him if he had something lodged up his backside, much to his humiliation.

Half of me wanted to turn on my heel, but the other half needed to know what this was all about.

Just go back to bed, Crystal, I told myself. Look, it's already gone wrong.

"I need to take you somewhere," he said, gesticulating towards the empty bench in the rowing boat.

I stood at the end of the jetty for a moment my brow creased, as though deliberating what I should do next. But in truth, I knew exactly what was going to happen.

I was going to get in the boat. I was going to get in it no matter what and I may as well just do so with as little fuss as possible. If there was one thing I had learned about the mers, it was not to ask too many questions.

I sighed and gave a tight smile before lowering myself down from the jetty and into the boat.

"This is George's boat," I said, once seated, running my hand over the egg shell blue rim.

"Yes," replied Spirit, drawing back the oars.

Once again, I felt a pang of nostalgia. This was the little boat that Llyr used to take me on our many fantastical romantic trips. How I wish it was him sitting opposite me, and not this cold, nasty jerk.

We rowed out into the open waters in silence, the dawn breaking on the horizon ahead. I was still in shock contemplating what on earth was going on. I watched him momentarily as he rowed. His blonde hair was tied back, but some of it came loose and fell over his face, which was bathed in the golden morning sun.

He took a hand away from the oar and pushed it aside. He was slightly unshaven, but he wasn't gross and unkempt, it was more of a rugged look. Quite hot really.

I shuddered and looked away. You just checked him out. You're insane.

"Cold?" he asked, now watching me.

"Er, no, not really," I responded.

"I understand you humans can't tolerate lower climes," he said.

I couldn't help but let out a very small laugh. I had forgotten the quaint manner in which the mers spoke our tongue. It was always quite surprising because they had this primitive tribal thing going on at the same time.

When talking to one another, the mers used an ancient Celtic language, which their ancestors would have spoken when they dwelled on land. I wondered if their ancestors might also have learned a little English before they were turned. It was definitely possible the Anglo-Saxons would have come to the British shores at that time, bringing with them the foundations of our dialect. Well, it was either that or the mer had eavesdropped on ships – or coming to think of it, fisherhuts - from the waters, becoming fluent over the centuries.

"Yeah, I don't suppose we can," I replied eventually before we fell back into silence.

I looked at him again. His body was covered in tattoos, like Llyr and the other mermen. There were small markings on his neck and dark blue dots on his earlobes, while a large circular shape covered half of his bare torso. The circle started just under his arm and, as I looked closer, I realized its rim was made up of words. I found myself curious to know what they said. These tattoos were, after all, markings of the colony's beliefs.

My eyes moved down past his toned upper half and I raised my eyebrows. He was wearing some kind of man-sarong, and it was fashioned out of an old worn-looking piece of cloth. Gross. My eyes shot to the side and then back again, my gaze moving down further. By his feet lay his trusty spear, a long thin weapon decorated with rows of shark teeth. He never seemed to be without it.

We traveled for another half an hour across the seas, moving further from the already distant fishing boats, and into a more isolated stretch of sea.

"So where are we going then?" I asked eventually. The water around us was now a silvery blue as the sun rose up past the horizon and into the sky.

"To see him," said Spirit, expressionless.

I felt a smile spread across my face as a surge of endorphins rushed through me. I couldn't help it.

"Things are a little different, you understand," he said, watching my face carefully.

I felt my mood slump. "No," I said sadly. "I don't. I don't understand."

Spirit frowned. "Well, I suppose he will tell you," he said, pulling the oars into the boat and leaning back.

"We're here?" I asked.

"Yes," said Spirit. "This is gairden ban-dearg."

"The pink garden," I murmured, remembering how Llyr used to speak of this place, and in particular, the sea-tree that bore five types of pink fruit. He had taken me to this spot, above the pink garden before but of course, like now, I had not been able to go below the waters and see it.

"The pink garden," said Spirit slowly. "Yes, I suppose that's what it means in human."

I rolled my eyes. "We speak other languages asides from English, you know?"

"Hmm, yes. Other human languages," he said snidely.

"Your language is human," I said irritably, leaning back in the boat and crossing my arms. "Do you not understand that?"

He did not respond and instead scoured the surface. I too looked away out to sea for signs of Llyr.

"He needs to come now," he said, somewhat tensely. He leaned over the boat and dunked his head under the water.

I felt a little frightened. Here I was miles out at sea, my life in Spirit's hands, and it seemed like something with the mers was just not quite right.

Suddenly Spirit was back in the boat, his head soaking wet. He collapsed onto the floor, and once the water flowed over his head, I realized that there was a spark of panic in his eyes.

"Get down," he hissed at me.

"Huh?" I said.

He reached over and grabbed me, pulling me into his arms. I yelped, and then grimaced.

"Silence" he whispered, as we lay in the bottom of the boat. I didn't quite know what was worse, having to lie here in Spirit's arms or the prospect of what was making him so scared.

Suddenly I became aware the boat was rocking. It all started off gently, as the waves became taller, more pronounced but then it all became more vigorous, and the waves splashed over the rim of the boat and onto us.

"It's coming," muttered Spirit.