The blade still embedded, the shark turned in a wide arc and rushed back toward Greylin. I kicked off instantly but knew the shark would close the distance before I could reach Greylin.
Greylin hovered, his green tail looking brown through the bloody water. I was still a few feet away when the shark reached him. In that slow-motion moment when the shark’s jaw began to close, Greylin thrust himself below the shark’s belly in an elegant spin, curved up behind the pectoral fin, and slammed his fist onto the stone handle of his blade, sinking it into the shark so far that the point of the blade exited the shark’s belly. Greylin gave a thrust and jerked the blade through the shark in an adjacent angle and pulled it free once more. He was like watching music. Just like the twin, Greylin was lost in the plume of blood that geysered forth.
I was enraptured by the beauty of the blood around me. Fiery fists slamming into shark after shark after shark, I lost count. It was an ecstasy I’d never known. The visions of centuries, millennia, of hunting the White Spirit flashed over my eyes as a new shark barreled down on me. The fire within me soared in bliss at being set free, at the blood, at the chaos. All parts of me came together, and I reveled in the sensations.
I saw the others killing their prey around me, but none took specific form as I continued my own hunt. In the height of it, our surroundings truly did turn black as blood choked every ounce of light from the water.
Slowly, the slaughter gave way, and the water began to clear. Only lessening tendrils flowed from mortal wounds on the various shark cadavers that were scattered around and a few from minor cuts and punctures on the mers’ arms and tails.
Turning slowly, looking for one last Spirit to cut down, I felt the euphoria begin to fade as no other rival arose. All around, I saw the discarded weapons littering the battlefield. Only random assortments of fish gathered round, already beginning to tear at the predators’ bodies.
Letting my eyes follow the one remaining crimson trail, I found Zef hovering over Syleen’s curved form, her tail tucked under her. Wrell’s long body was stretched out in front of her, his head resting on her black scales. Blood was pouring from jagged wounds over the left side of his chest and shoulder.
The rest of the mers arrived at the small group the same time I did. As I watched, the others gathered around Wrell. They lowered themselves until they were all sitting around him, then stretched out their hands, their palms covering his body.
Syleen’s voice took on the hypnotic tone she used every time she spoke about Moheetla.“The Spirit has given much offering unto this day, and great sacrifice is required.”She laid one hand gently over Wrell’s forehead. The other she lowered to cover his heart, blood from his wounds leaking through her fingers.“Wrell, we give you over to the Spirit. May Moheetla keep you until we join unto you once more.”
Wrell’s skin was ashen from blood loss, but from what I could see, the blood he was losing was still bright red, not dark as it would be if from a mortal organ puncture—at least that’s what I assumed.“We could just stitch him up. I think he’ll be fine if we can stop the bleeding.”Not that I had any idea where I was going to get stitches. Or if I could sew him up fast enough, even if I had them.
All eyes turned on me, some in confusion, others in disgust.
“Do not disrupt his passage, demon.”I thought I’d seen Syleen’s hatred before, but the look she gave me now let me know I’d not even experienced a modicum of what she felt for me.“You dishonor him.”
Wrell’s clouded eyes passed over me. I couldn’t tell if he saw me or not, much less understand what he was thinking.“Seriously, I think if we stop the bleeding, we can save him.”
Syleen looked back to Wrell and gave him a sad, tender smile.“We are not in charge of our life. It is the choice of Moheetla who retains their immortality.”
“Whatever!”I swam past Greylin and bent over Wrell.
Syleen thrust her arm out to separate us.“Leave him be. Let him pass in honor.”
“I think I can help him. Let me!”She glared up at me once more, but I cut her off before she could say anything.“If I can save him, it would be Moheetla’s will. If I can’t, then that is what he wants.”
Indecision crossed her face, and I took advantage.
“Ask him. Ask Wrell what he wants.”
Syleen looked down at him, turning his face tenderly to meet her gaze. After a moment of silence, Wrell nodded. Syleen slid out from beneath him and slowly lowered his head to the sand. She made a gesture that I assumed meant he agreed.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I had no idea what I was doing. The only thing that pushed me on was knowing I couldn’t make the situation any worse.
Placing my hands over the swirling violet tattoos on his chest, I looked him in the eye.“This is going to hurt.”
He made no response.
I took that as more of his assent. I closed my eyes and once again found the fire in my chest and pushed it forth. Wrell’s back arched, but he made no sound. I kept my hands on him. The water began to boil around my hands, and Wrell’s skin began to blacken. Quickly, I jerked my hands away. Where my hands had been, Wrell’s skin was black and melted-looking, but the blood flow stopped. Encouraged, I did it again.
In all, I had to lay my hands on him five times in order to close all the wounds and stop the bleeding. Wrell never made a sound, but by the third time, he passed out.
We waitedaround him. Waiting to see if Moheetla chose offering or sacrifice. Despite myself, I offered up prayers of my own, begging for Wrell to live and that I hadn’t ushered in his death.
I’m unclear how much time passed, but not all that much, judging from the light. When his eyes finally opened, they seemed clear. In pain, but clear. I leaned forward once more.“How are you feeling?”
Wrell gave a cringe, which I hoped was meant to be a smile.
Greylin stretched out his hand and placed it on my shoulder.“Wrell doesn’t speak.”
I noticed the choice of doesn’t, as opposed to can’t. However, I realized it wasn’t the time to ask for clarification. Besides, it could just be a mer communication thing.“Well, at least he’s alive.”
