RATED G | 3,300 WORDS
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CONTENT WARNING
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THIS CONTENT IS RATED
GENERAL ⓘ
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This content is approved for general audiences of all ages, though may contain material that may still be sensitive/challenging to some. Please note the Content Warning in the above section to help make decisions on your content consumption as informed as possible. |
MAXWELL ERIKKOS AND THE NERITE
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Now Maxwell Erikkos was the Daring King. He’d sailed his fleets through storms and swells. He’d fought all manner of sea beasts. Once, memorably, he’d taken on an armada in a single sloop, but that morning he set out alone in a little oil-stained dinghy.
He’d rented it from a small marina twenty miles from the Capital Island. He wore a sun-bleached bandana and a batter coat to hide his tattoos. If the dock master thought he had a passing resemblance to the king — well, most middle-aged men wished they were Maxwell Erikkos, anyway. She didn’t think to question him. “That’s a lot of gear,” remarked the owner, as she handed over the keys and a tank of gas. The nets were shiny and new, and the spearguns were old and weathered. “What you out for? Lionfish? Baby kraken?” “Nereids,” said Maxwell, scarred lips twisted in a grin. The old dockmaster gave a beleaguered sigh. “Well, in that case don’t you haul your catch back here. I don’t want those gals giving us trouble.” Nereids kept to themselves, so long as you didn’t disturb one of their wrecks. Heaven help the traveller who poached from a nereid’s hunting ground. The one near the isles was well marked on most maps, it was a large pod, brightly colored and aggressive when challenged. “Aye, m’am. If there’s danger, I plan to keep it for myself,” laughed Maxwell. “We’re not liable if you kill or maim yourself,” said the dock master. It was clear in her eyes: ‘If this old coot wanted to play at being the Daring King himself — he wasn’t the first.’ But he’d paid in full and signed the waiver, so she didn’t ask any more questions as Maxwell loaded up and shoved out. When the harbor was all but a garden of masts behind him, he shrugged out of his coat and his shirt, tied his hair back properly, and set out in the direction of the morning sun. He ate his pickled fish and took a swig of his energy drink. Maxwell Erikkos had been king of the Eliki Isles for twenty years and counting, but he’d been a sailor first, and he refused to stop being one on account of bureaucracy. He kept the boat level and his blood sugar up, and he passed no one else as he left the main channel, cutting north towards the reef waters where few who were smart had business, and few who were mad as hell found fortune or death. When he reached the warning breakwaters, he cut the engine. The water frothed against the rocks. Rusty chains squealed and rocked with the water, leading bopping buoys with signs that advertised: ‘No further.’ And: ‘Maidens Be.’ And: ‘Sailors Beware.’ All repeated in every language the coastal authority could think to write it. The water here was green and rich, with fish and crabs enough to pay off a fisherman’s next five seasons. It stayed untapped, and for good reason. The reefs rose like teeth below. The wreck of the Iphegenia lay beyond, her old hull rose from the water like the ribs of a dead sea beast. Netting filled with shells and bottles and coins rattled against the rusted panels. Maxwell cocked the engine and mounted the mast. By the time the sail was fully raised, a decent enough breeze sent the old rental forward. By then, he could hear the squall of the seagulls and the louder wail of the nereids of the wreck. When at last he could see the ship’s brow far beneath the waves, Maxwell set the sail to luff. He searched the pockets of the coat balled around his feet, pulled out a fistful of freshly pressed drachma, and dumped the coins overboard. He watched the winking silver sink. He waited for the shadows to seethe around them before he dumped the net. The sea exploded with screaming. Maxwell braced himself against the gunwale and hauled. Age had not yet withered him, his arms corded powerfully. Within ten minutes, the furious nereid was dumped across the floor of his boat, her blue-gold tail thrashing. Wasting no time lest she break the mast, Maxwell threw a leg over her and held the tip of the speargun between her rolling eyes. “Now, m’lady, don’t you go making me use this,” he said. “I’ve not been enemies with your kin for some time.” She gnashed her teeth and pretended not to understand him. With a sigh, Maxwell brought his boot down more firmly against the gills over her flank and gave a whistle and a click through his teeth. The nereid paused, too startled to play dumb to that. Her dark blue head crest stuck to her face. “You heard me the first time, I’m sure,” said Maxwell. He popped his lips for good measure. “But my accent’s nothing to be proud of, so if the lady would be so obliging, I’d like to have this parlay in my tongue if you mind.” The nereid hissed and spat through her teeth, but she coughed up the rest of the water in her throat and rasped. “Dare thee, true?” Which meant she agreed, if grudgingly. Maxwell moved the speargun away, but he kept his thigh over the mermaid's tail. He didn’t much like the idea of a broken neck, and he knew from her coloring she probably had quills somewhere there. “I dare,” he said. “I dare a thousand times over. The name Maxwell Erikkos mean anything to you, lass?” The nereid’s cheeks puffed with contempt. “No.” “Fine, be a bint about it, but maybe this’ll hasten things along, eh?” Maxwell grabbed the chain around his neck and held it up. The tiny bottle glinted in the late morning sun. The nereid’s eyes flicked up at it, drawn reflexively to the light — but when she saw the little silver specs inside, preserved in clear liquid, she gaped. “You!” she gasped, but she ran out of breath before she remembered to say more, so she drew in another hard gulp of air and added in a rush: “Who be ye! Why be ye! Why with that, why—” “Recognize it, eh?” Maxwell grinned, and uncrossed his leg. The nereid pulled herself out from under him, but she didn’t spike him or drag him over. He knew she wouldn’t, now. “Good. I don’t like being ungentlemanly, especially to a sea sister. Now, I went and dumped some high value drachma down there. There’s a cask with more of it. It’ll go over once you tell me the one thing I need. Drown me, and I make enough noise you’ll be splitting it with the whole pod, so best I live and we keep it between us. That work for you?” The nereid’s nails dug into the cork mat. The spines along her back shivered at the thought of all that silver. She’d be speckling her shack in the finest. “Fine, fine. Ask and ye shall know. Ask fast. Hate the sun.” He hissed in thanks, before adding in the surface tongue: “Lady of class, I see. You seen a sister pass through this way? Your length and half more. Red fins, red crest, and silver underbelly? Scar on her left fluke?” The nereid gaped in thought, before popping her lips and flapping her gills. She pointed with one webbed hand to the wreck, before signing the symbol for ‘north’ and ‘chamber.’ “Aye, obliged, m’lady,” said Maxwell, before taking his whole coat and unfurling it with a crack over the rail. The coins fell like winking stars. The nereid shrieked in joy and plunged after them, leaving the boat to rock. “Man of my word,” said Maxwell, to no one, before he grabbed the mainsheet and the tiller. The wind had shifted. He shifted with it, jibing against the wind and letting it fill the sails, carrying the boat northward in a full run. The rental creaked alarmingly, but it held, leaving a pleasantly frothing wake as he cut past the main bulk of the Iphegenia. The nereid with whom he’d had the parlay with didn’t go far — he saw her dorsal fins cut in and out of the waves beside him. Soon she was joined by another — this one black and orange. A third, blue and silver. By the time he found the heap of what was once the Iphegenia’s scorched upper gun deck, wedged like a fortress on the sandbar two miles out from the reef, he must have had at least half the pod following him, weaving in and out around and under the boat. A few of them met his eyes, some accusing, some simply confused. They cut away as the sand came up. Only his blue and gold friend was brave enough to drag her belly along the sand. She pulled her way up the bar, beating her tail in the water and screaming. Her sisters popped their heads out further back. Maxwell dropped his mooring, stood up, and waved. “Ahoy,” he called to the fortress. “Someone be about?” And a great voice answered from the gun deck's half-sunken side: “Yes. Me.” A proper bull nereid — a nerite — pulled himself full from the chamber. He was a massive specimen, oldest of the lot. He was easily two lengths larger than Lady Gold and Blue — almost as long as the boat, truth be told. He was red down his back and sides, but it was a deep, bloody hue. His crest was a full mane, flowing dark around his broad shoulders. His whiskers dangled from his chin, braided with shells and pierced coins. His chest was barrel-shaped, giving way to an equally thick tail, yet his massive gray arms allowed him to pull himself out onto the sandbar like a king himself. He arranged his tail behind himself, drew his top section upright, folded his arms, and eyed Maxwell, unimpressed. “Oh,” whistled Maxwell. “You’re quite the lad, aren’t you?” The rest of the nereids began muttering and chittering in their language. The nerite clattered his spines together. They went silent. “I am no lad,” said the nerite, his voice deep as a war horn, but he knew how to breathe and speak at the same time, which meant he knew the surface folk well. “Nor are you. Yet you come speaking our language and jingling our tears. Who are you, Maxwell Erikkos, to do this thing?” “A rogue and a scoundrel,” admitted Maxwell. “A thief and a fool,” snorted the nerite, his eyes dropped to the chain around Maxwell’s neck. “You think parading your trophies makes you family? Come to gloat?” “You haven’t drowned me yet,” said Maxwell. He put his hand over the little bottle and his heart. “And I take issue with you calling this a trophy. T’was a token. Of the most precious kind.” “What kind is that to you?” “A marriage gift,” said Maxwell, proudly. “From the finest lady I ever did know.” From the way the nerite’s gills flared at his flanks, it was clear he understood what that meant. It didn’t much please him. “One of our sisters, your wife?” “Indeed!” Maxwell couldn’t help but grin at the memory. It was one he shared often to his crews over the years. “An accident, it’s true. Got herself wounded fighting off some poachers down round the southern islands. Was marooned there myself after the Gull Mutiny of ‘84. Had a bit of a scrap when she mistook me for more of the same, but once we sorted each other out she helped me out proper, she did. But, if you must know, it was a remarkable battle! We retook my fleet with just a rowboat, and—” The nerite spat out a stream of water to show his impatience. “Heard it all. Your point?” “Point is, she went for a swim one morning, and I don’t know why she didn’t come back.” This earned a bit of laughter among the assembled nereids. Silly human. Of course she left! Who would bother with one island, when they could have the whole sea? The nerite grimaced, showing his sharp shark’s teeth. Like most males of his species, he had a pronounced underbite. “Sisters love their freedom,” he said, as if that answered it all. “So do I,” said Maxwell, “but I didn’t consider marriage to be a particular chore. Know what might’ve done it?” The blue and gold nereid couldn’t resist. She popped out of the water and waved one striped arm. “Feet hurt,” she said. “Hate it, she did?” Maxwell scratched the side of his nose. “She walked sometimes, but I didn’t much ask it of her. I’m a man of the sea, myself, why should I impose it? She might’ve stood with me now and again for those formal things, but only if she volunteered. Never stole her tail, if that’s what you’re thinking. And if I had, it’d be well her right to drown me here and now.” The nereids looked at each other, surprised and impressed. They’d never known surface folk to not steal their tails, if given half the chance. They squealed and clacked their spines, debating the matter intensely. Only the nerite said nothing, and showed no surprise. He showed nothing at all, in fact, just stared at Maxwell long and hard. A plump brown nereid with black speckles over her forehead and nose bridge pushed herself up along the boat. “No prey? No prey?” “Nay,” said Maxwell. “She could hunt all she liked. Hell, I’d pick the best of the fish markets some mornings. If she wanted it from the sea itself, we’d go at the crack of dawn. She loved a good hunt, she did. Why else would I have this gear? That an issue?” The nereid snorted water and slid backwards back into the water. A gray and white nereid wove under the boat, letting only her mouth and nose clear the surface. She gasped out old salty air, and her own query: “Keep her in a tank, did you?” Maxwell shook his head. “Nay. Had a private beach put in for her to come and go. Would you ladies object to that?” The nereids clicked and cackled back and forth, but none could volunteer a disagreement. No, that didn’t sound too bad, really. Finally, the nerite moved. He held up his arm, and slammed it down into the sand in front of him. The slap quieted the sisters. They sank half back into the water, cowed. “Enough,” said the nerite. “Not here to counsel you. You came for want of something. What is it?” Maxwell’s eyes had gone misty with his memories. He had to wipe his face before he finally asked: “You’ve seen her ‘round these parts, haven’t you? You’d not be treating with me if you hadn’t.” “Perhaps a sister did come this way,” said the nerite. “Perhaps, once. Perhaps not at all. What is it to you if she had?” “Everything,” proclaimed Maxwell, throwing his foot up onto the bow. The nerite’s black eyes remained flat and unmoved. “She does not wish to see you,” he said. “Return to your people.” “If that’s how she feels, I’ll respect the lady's wishes,” said Maxwell, “but I’d like to hear it from her.” “Hm.” The nerite’s lips pressed tight. “No.” Maxwell’s eyes darkened. He reached back to fix his ponytail, piling his long, graying hair into a proper bun. “Ah, now, that’s a shame isn’t it?” He sighed, took his foot from the bow, and threw himself off the boat with the forward rush a man applied to boarding an enemy ship. The nerite roared in surprise. The nereids popped above the water, chittering and screeching in excitement as they rolled over each other to get a better look. It’d been a long time since they’d watched a proper fight. And a proper fight it was: Maxwell Erikkos had fought sea serpents with his bare hands. He’d wrestled with pirate kings. An angry nerite had the slippery tail of the first, and the bulging arms of the second, so all told Maxwell made do with what was familiar to him. They rolled and thrashed along the sand bar, banging into the beams of the wreck and splashing in the shallows. The nerite was massive, it should’ve been a near thing — but Maxwell was nimble, despite his age. Soon enough he had the nerite in a neck hold, one hand fisted in the crest over his head. “I could break your neck with my tail!” gasped the nerite. “Aye, but you haven’t,” Maxwell gasped back, straining to keep from being flung back into the water. The nerite rolled. Maxwell rolled with him, reaching over to grab the offending tail as it attempted to pin him on his back to keep him still. “I could smother you with my body,” hissed the nerite. “Haven’t done that, either,” Maxwell hissed back. He brought his boot down on the nerite’s fluke, holding the rattling spines still. He took one look down, then faltered. His arms went slack. In that split second, the nerite surged under him, sweeping his tail sideways to pin him against one of the Iphegenia’s old guns. “I win,” said the nerite. “Korone,” said Maxwell. The nerite made a strange squishy sound in his gills. It was a name. The nerite knew it. He reacted too fast to hide it. Maxwell settled one scarred hand over the fluke holding him down and laughed. He laughed and laughed until the salt water stung his throat. His fingers settled on the scar tissue knotted over the left side. “Aye, you are quite the lad!” The nerite growled and attempted to drag himself back into the sea, but found himself unable to. Maxwell had not jumped on him entirely empty handed. Somehow, during their tussling, he’d managed to lash a rope around the nerite’s midsection. The other end of it was now lashed firmly around the rusty cannon barrel. It held the sea brother tight. “Damn you, Max!” howled his erstwhile wife, lashing his tail in a fruitless struggle. “Could you not leave well enough alone?!” Maxwell caught his breath and pulled himself up, rubbing his now thoroughly bruised shoulder. “Ever known me to give up that easily, love?” The nerite threw his face into the sandbar in pure frustration. Maxwell walked around the length of him and crouched by his head. “Korone,” he said. “What did I do to hurt ye so?” “Nothing, fool of a man,” grumbled Korone. “But you know t’was impossible to stay!” “And why’s that?” “You know damn well.” “The kids are asking after you.” “They’re grown. Tell them their mother is dead.” “Sea hasn’t claimed you yet.” “You, human,” sighed Korone, “are ignoring one very important thing.” “And you, love,” said Maxwell, “are ignoring a more important one.” The nerite shoved his head to the side, eyeing him with one shark-black eye. A wave pushed past them both. Korone blew a few bubbles out into the froth around him. “And that is?” he asked, wearily. And Maxwell Erikkos, the Daring King, sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “A true man of the sea abandons neither his love nor his mates,” said Maxwell. “How lucky I am, I just so happen to have both in one.” It was silly for the red nerite to have forgotten Maxwell Erikkos knew all manner of things about the sea, and how could a man not remember the little facts of biology? Like how some fish are born lasses and age up into lads, and how could a man not understand that some people change with age? As one’s hair turns gray, as one’s teeth turn to tusks — if his husband could be fond of his growing gut, Maxwell Errikos could certainly enjoy the whiskers. They were quite impressive, after all. |
The End.
NOTES
Published June, 2023.
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Maxwell Erikkos and the Nerite © 2023.
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