Marty laughs curtly, then adds nervously, “Right?”
“Is there a shortcut?” Layla shields the sun from her eyes as she
looks up to the top of the waterfall. The wall keeps going up even
past the source of the water.
“Court is behind this wall,” Kurt answers stiffly. “Just-stop
asking so many questions.”
She’s about to argue, but she catches my eye, and I give her my
most pleading look to let it go.
“The other way is through the tunnels underwater,” Thalia adds.
“But those are not for foot-fins. The only way is up.”
Marty looks to Layla and mouths, Foot-fins? She shakes her head
and shrugs.
I place a hand on the rough rock wall. Carved steps in the rock
slope up to the top, as though whoever was sculpting the stairs wanted
to keep them hidden. From this angle, it looks like they lead right up
to the sun.
“At least you know there’s only one way up or down.” Marty
swallows hard, tapping his fingers nervously on his box.
“I’ll lead the way,” Kurt grumbles.
“You okay?” I whisper to him.
He holds on to a root protruding from the earth and uses it to
pull himself up, three steps at a time. His violet eyes glance at
Layla, who looks as at home behind me as she does on the rock-climbing
wall at the Y. “I have a lot of explaining to do,” Kurt says.
“She’s not your responsibility,” I go. “She’s mine.”
“Still, I should know better.”
I think if I pat him on the back sympathetically, he’ll push me
right back down the steps. I wonder what it feels like to always be so
wound up. If Kurt is this way and he’s doing all he can, what am I
going to do with an entire civilization on my shoulders? For an
ancient being, my grandfather sure has a lot riding on a teenage
nothing from Brooklyn.
I stop to catch my breath and wriggle out the cramp in my fingers.
I wonder if Kurt resents me for being such a pain in the ass and
having to play baby-sitter not just to Thalia but to me too. And for
real this time, I’m going to make an effort to be nicer to him.
“Surely you can keep up,” he says when he notices I’ve slowed down
behind him.
Maybe I’ll start being nicer to him tomorrow.
•••
The sun beats hard on the ground, which has thin cracks running
all through it. From up here I can see the way the thin river snakes
through the forest of misty-leaved trees, the pillars that mark the
entrance, the shore where the tide has already erased our footprints
from the shore, the horizon, the wall, the point where the clouds turn
dark-and behind that, Coney Island.
“Quite a sight for someone who’s never seen it before,” Kurt says,
pulling me up first, then Layla. She teeters with the newness of this
height and grabs onto Kurt’s shoulders, digging into his skin with her
yellow nails. Her eyes focus on the pitfall, the way the dark green of
the forest melts into the waterfall so it looks like a cloud of mist.
I can hear her gasp, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s scared of
falling, or because she’s looking into Kurt’s eyes and is surprised by
their color. She looked at me that way once.
“Hot damn!” Marty holds the cardboard box over his head in a
triumphant pose. “I’m the ultimate king of the world.”
Thalia pokes him in the stomach, and he tenses up completely.
“No tickling unless we want me to plummet to certain doom.”
And it is a most certain doom. Below us is a sight I have no name
for-grotto, oasis, mermaid paradise? It’s like someone took an
ice-cream scoop and hollowed out the back side of a mountain and left
this. A lake the size of two Olympic-sized pools is nestled in the
ground. It’s light blue at the top, and the bottom fades into black.
Smooth boulders line the sandy lake that sparkles in the direct
sunlight. When the shiny things move, I realize it’s not the rocks
that are glittering but the mermaids curled and napping in the sun.
I knock some loose rocks with my foot. They fall over the ledge,
bouncing off the side of the cliff rock wall until they hit the
ground. Heads snap up, one by one, like piano keys picking themselves
up after a finger slides all along the keyboard. There’s a section at
the other end of the lake where the leaves are the size of car doors
and hung with sheer draping like the sails on Arion’s ship.
The mermaids below sigh and gasp. There aren’t any OMGs or WTFs or
Can-you-believe-its? These sounds are the highest notes on a violin, a
melody that is so pleasant I never want it to stop. And for the first
time, I wonder if this is what I sound like when I talk, even if it’s
just a fraction of this?
Kurt leads the way down. Along the side of the cliff is a narrow
ledge that zigzags all the way down so we have to press our backs to
the wall and walk sideways. The entire court is watching our descent,
and suddenly I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling like a sideshow
attraction.
I’ve grown up with pictures of mermaids in my mother’s books, and
I’ve been to the Mermaid Parade every year since I can remember. Lots
of fishnets and seashell bras. Nothing like the girls clustered down
there like handfuls of Skittles. They perch on flat rocks with their
fins dipped in the water. Seal girls stand on the shore in their
nakedness, hair flowing over their breasts. They wave at us and blow
kisses. They push their hair away from their faces and gather it over
one shoulder. They wink and let loose with their beautiful voices
again. They shine like stars floating on the sea, tails licking at the
water from their perches.
I wonder if anyone else’s tongue feels as dry as mine.
When we hit the ground, Marty holds on to his box for dear life.
“Remind me to bring a snorkel for the tunnels next time around.”
We walk along the water. Groups of mermaids gather under the
fan-like leaves of tall trees. I try not to stare, but this kind of
weird is different than seeing a guy in drag on the subway: these are
mermaids. Some have slender pixie faces with long ears that point out
through their hair. Their fins fan wide and outward, elegant and in a
burst of scales that vary from subtle yellows to pinks. There is a
girl so small and purple that when she smiles her black teeth are
jolting. There is a woman with long blond curls holding a baby mermaid
in her arms. It wriggles-well, like a fish-and points at us.
I nudge at Layla and point out the baby. “That’s how I was born.”
And she stares at the family too, wonder and confusion blurring her
hazel eyes. She takes my hand because maybe she feels how freaked out
I am, and maybe she is too, but at least we’re together. At least I
can share this with her. She points at the guards. “How come the
gladiators are on feet too?”
“Something about a squid tattoo,” I joke. “I promise I’ll tell you
later.” She squeezes my hand in reply.
The soldiers wear metal shields that cover their chest and a
chain-link skirt sort of thing that covers their junk, which I guess
makes for an easy shift. They wear gold cuffs on each wrist. Walking
past them is like casually walking past a line of armed marines. Don’t
mind us, we were personally invited by the king; pretty please keep
those sharp and deadly swords in their scabbards.
Past the guards are tent-like sections housing what must be the
court merfolk Kurt mentioned once, the ones who are allowed to have
feet. These princesses aren’t like the mergirls baking on the rocks.
These sit up tall. Their scales form around their breasts. Their long