“Aww!”
Lysi gave me an exasperated look.
The cubs pounced on each other, bringing to mind a young Nilus and me, while the mother watched us between gory bites. Her white legs, chest, and snout became soaked in blood. I wondered how she would ever wash it off.
Lysi led us in a wide, careful arc to the hole. The bear’s eyes followed us, but she showed no interest in pursuing two bony, blubber-less mermaids.
At long last, we reached the opening and plunged into the waves. I groaned at the blissful feeling of the water against my dry skin, like rubbing oil on chapped hands.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“It’s okay,” said Lysi, calmer now. “But you need to have patience around here, all right?”
I pursed my lips, knowing she was right. At the same time, I hoped she wasn’t going to get mad at me for every mistake I made.
“Well, we made it up the Bering Strait,” she said, more defeat than victory in her voice. “Now we just have the Arctic Circle to cross.”
I looked around. Sheets of ice and deep icebergs formed a maze in front of us.
“That was terrible! And we have to do that again coming home.”
“At least then it’ll be with the help of Medusa’s army,” said Lysi.
I hoped that was true.
The narwhals, who had submerged in a hurry at the polar bear’s arrival, went back to breaching. There were ten adults and two babies, all black and white with long, lumpy bodies. I watched them with interest, trying to figure out how they didn’t all stab each other with their horns. Then I wondered why only some had horns, and decided those must have been the males. I tried to feel the difference in their auras.
“They’re gentle,” said Lysi. “Not like orcas.”
We watched them pass us as they headed northwards.
My excitement from what felt like a lifetime ago flooded back. “Can we swim with them?”
To my surprise, she considered. “I guess they’d help camouflage us. But if they get aggressive or if anything feels off, we’re jetting out of there, all right?”
“Deal.”
The pod watched us curiously as we approached, but showed no signs of annoyance. We swam alongside them, and soon they seemed content to ignore us.
Icebergs rolled and cracked, melting in the sun and drifting with the tides. It dawned on me that I was unable to sense what waited in the distance. The ice interfered with the currents.
I would have been nervous about being unable to sense oncoming threats, but the surrounding pod gave me a sense of security.
“Why can I be killed by a predator but not a human?” I said. “And why can I kill a merman now with wood and stone, but I needed iron to do it when I was a human? Are humans just weak?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. It’s one of those laws of nature.”
I considered this, but found the answer too vague. “But look at the force of a wooden crossbow compared to—”
“You’re thinking of numbers and calculations,” said Lysi. “It’s more like, why do fish lay eggs but we have live young? Why do salmon only live a few years but turtles get to live to be a hundred?”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“It’s the way nature is. You’re talking about an ancient law of fae.”
“Law of fae?”
“We learn about them in school. This one says fae can kill other fae, but humans can only kill us with iron.”
