mermaid-woven dress. The rosy silk clings to her body like a second
skin, and it’s so translucent that I can see her muscles flex beneath
it. Somehow she looks like she belongs here more than I do.
When my grandfather snaps his fingers, the little green boy with
the golden conch comes running. He blows into the conch until the
whispers die out and all you can hear is the breeze in the trees and
the trickle of the waterfall behind the wall. The Sea King stands to
his full height. He’s quite spectacular to look at, with his mane of
white hair and turquoise eyes. His voice is amplified in the silence.
“Today is a day like no other,” the king announces. “Today I welcome
home a lost son, Tristan Hart, my grandson .”
There’s polite applause and some overly enthusiastic cheering that
I bet comes from Marty’s section of the crowd.
The king looks around at the crowd, one by one. He licks the salty
wind off his lips and says, “We are the keepers of the deep, ancient
as the belly of the sea, a remnant of every era of this world. And yet
our numbers fall to others who will have us drown in our own waters,
our magics all but lost as we war among ourselves. We are forgotten.
But we are not gone, and we are not going just yet.”
At the last bit, the heralds stare sheepishly at their scaly toes.
“I presume some of you wonder why we’ve returned to these shores
eighteen years too early. I have no living sons. My reign is ending,
like the remnants of a storm, and soon I will return to the waves that
created me.”
Across from me, the grizzly silver merman Elias whispers something
into his girl’s ear. I want to throw something at them to make them
shut up and pay attention.
“I give you my trident.” He holds up the spectacular golden shaft.
It crackles and sparks and radiates its own light from the quartz. “He
who holds the trident is the King of the Seas. For millennia, there
hasn’t been a championship for the throne. The last one to win it was
my great-great-grandfather, Pelagios. In my time, a champion will win
my throne. Each champion will be selected by his regional herald. With
one exception. I will select my own.”
The green boy with the conch scuttles back out, his webbed feet
slapping on the ground. His voice is high pitched and amplified for
someone his size. “From the West Sea, Dylan, son of Ammon.” A tall,
broad man steps forward. His hair is like raw gold with streaks of
silver. His skin is slick with a golden tan, and he has patches of
scales along his ribs. He wears a small gold band across his forehead
with carved symbols I have no name for. He holds a young guy’s arm up
in the air. The guy is a younger version of the herald. Ammon and his
son. Their tent roars with applause as they walk before the throne,
beating their chests like something out of Clash of the Titans .
If there were ever a time for me to shit my pants, it would
probably be now.
“From the South, Adaro, son of Leomaris.” Father and son strut out
with their fists in the air. They have long black hair and skin like
sienna chalk. Their scales are a cluster of reds and oranges. Adaro
bows and presses his fist to his chest like an oath.
I hate the way Layla whistles for him, as she did with the guy
before that. I know she’s just having fun. But she should only be
whistling and cheering for me.
Adaro bows to the king before standing beside Dylan, two warriors
with their arms behind their backs and chests puffed out with pride.
“From the North, Brendan, son of Finbar.” The loudest cheer erupts
as this guy walks out with his father. They’re the tallest of the
bunch and not as abrasively muscular as the other champions. They at
least smile instead of roar at the crowd. The father has cropped gray
hair, more GI Joe than the other gladiator-like heralds. His son,
Brendan, has a shock of bright red hair that reminds me of my mom. A
woman with the same red hair, piled in a sophisticated bun and
decorated with starfish and pearls, walks behind Finbar. The slope of
her nose and her sharp cheekbones are so much like my mom’s that a
pang of nostalgia hits me like a shock. She waves at her son, who
shakes one fist in the air. He could be one of my friends, and I can
already tell he’s not taking this as seriously as the rest.
I motion toward the red-haired woman. “Is she-?”
My grandfather nods once. “Mm-hmm. She is my daughter Maristella.”
The green boy then announces, “From the East, the herald competes
as his own representative, Elias, son of Ellion.” Elias and his
fiancйe stride out of their tent. They remind me of Jerry’s parents
during parent-teacher conferences, the way they walk side by side but
look in opposite directions. Elias is all roaring chest-pumping, and
his Snow White mermaid stands there barely holding his hand like if he
were going over a cliff she’d definitely let go. I sort of like her.
Despite getting the fewest cheers, Elias takes the most time walking
back and forth in front of my grandfather, who frowns at the display.
The boy with the conch blows on it lightly and clears his throat.
Oh, shit. I’m up . But-I don’t have an entourage. I don’t have my dad
or a fiancйe to walk me in front of the court and show off my goods.
Compared to everyone else, I’m actually wearing too many clothes.
Maybe I should’ve worn the metal skirt after all.
“The Sea King’s champion for the High Court.” Somehow, people are
already cheering. “Tristan Hart, son of David Hart.”
Am I supposed to prance around beating my chest like a chimp in
front of my grandfather? Right now what I’m least prepared for is the
cheering. They’re actually cheering at me. Granted, I can make out
Thalia and Layla and Marty, and if I listen hard enough, I can even
hear Kurt hollering. But then there’s Hannah, and the boy with the
turtle shell and his mom, and even my mother’s sister is clapping with
a smile on her face. I find Layla’s face in the crowd, her skin
glowing in the light. She cocks her head to the side and blows me a
kiss the way she always does before a meet, and deep in my heart this
all feels right.
My grandfather grabs my hand and holds it in the air, just as the
heralds did for their kids, and suddenly I wish my dad were here to
see. I haven’t won anything yet; I’ve just been introduced to a court
of sea creatures, but they’re not booing. At least not yet. Maybe I
can do this. I pull off my shirt and strap the dagger to my bare
chest. I’m not rippling with the muscles of the other bros, but I’ve
got a pretty hot body.
Finally, the boy with the conch steps forward and blows the horn.
I take my place beside Elias, who isn’t shy about the way he snarls at
me.
The Sea King stands again. “The five champions of the High Court,”
he says for a final round of applause. It dawns on me that if I have
to fight any of these guys, I’m done for. I can hold my own in a fight
against some asshole after school, but I’m not at Thorne Hill anymore,
and Elias could crack my skull open and use it as a serving bowl if he
wanted to.
“The challenges that await our champions will try their strength,
their minds, and their hearts. They will come face-to-face with the
darkest parts of their souls as they go in search of the power of the
Sea King.” The king holds the crackling trident over his head. When he
releases it, it levitates and spins slowly over his outstretched
palms. “This is the power of the Sea King, a gift from the gods.”
The trident breaks cleanly into three pieces and sounds like