Silas entered the tavern, ducking his 6’6’’ frame to avoid banging his head on the weather-worn doorway. The movement was second nature, as none of the entrances in the port city were built for someone of his stature. He clutched a book to his side, having taken care to wash his hands to avoid staining the old pages after a long, hot day of unloading shipping containers at the docks. He wore baggy trousers, his least dirty pair, and a linen shirt made from enough fabric to make a sail. Scanning the tavern’s interior, already bustling with activity as evening approached, his eyes fell on a familiar face behind the well-stocked bar.

“Good evening, Miss Sandra,” he called out, his voice a cheery, rumbling bass. A few of the patrons seated at the bar, sailors on shore leave for the night, turned around and did double-takes, unashamedly staring at his height and musculature. He pretended not to notice, used to the looks from strangers.

Sandra, a middle-aged matronly woman, offered a big smile that deepened the lines on her leathery, time-worn face. “And a good evening to you as well, dearie. Another Triple P tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

“Always so polite. You’ll make a fine husband to a lucky girl one of these days, Silas. I’ll have it brought to your table soon.”

Silas awkwardly chuckled, thanking Sandra before making his way to a table in the corner, to the spot furthest from the din of conversation and the accumulated smoking of the patrons, which always bothered his nose. He cracked open a grimy window, glancing down the cobblestone street to the wharfs where he spent most of his days. Unloading cargo was mindless, routine work, but his physique was well-suited for the task, and ship owners practically tripped over themselves to seek his employment.

Silas was off work the next two days due to a lull in the shipping season so, with extra coins to spend, he took up residence at his favorite spot in the tavern, always reserved for him, for his old reliable Triple P: a paperback book, a pint, and potatoes, fried and cheesy. He opened his book, a volume of fairytales he had read more times than he could count, the stories no less rich from repetition. If any other tavern patrons, feeling bold after a few drinks, thought a grown man was silly for reading such things, none ever expressed it to his face. Tonight, perhaps the story about the unicorn and the maiden who wanted nothing more than to see her beauty and grace up close. Meeting a unicorn was no small feat, requiring a pure heart, pure intentions, and vi-

“A pint and potato platter for Silas,” Katherine said, setting them on the uneven wooden table. He hadn’t noticed her approach, already lost in the story. Steam rose from the potatoes, lathered in cheese and cream, and the pint was fresh and chilled. “Everything look okay?”

Silas inhaled deeply and nodded. “Perfect as always. Thank you, Katherine.”

She lingered at the table, alternating between brushing at her apron and clasping her hands behind her back. “Is there, um, anything else I can get you?” she asked, stumbling over her words.

“I think I’m alright,” he answered politely, setting his book to the side and rubbing a hand over his short brown hair. “I, uh, like your headband. It matches your dress very well.”

Katherine traced a finger across the accessory, smiling. “Oh, thank you! Sandra is such a stickler for dress code, but I thought it might be a good personal touch. It keeps my hair out of my eyes, which is good when I’m carrying a big platter around during a lunch rush.” She gingerly reached out and touched Silas’s bicep, quickly drawing her hand back as though she had been stung. “I swear, your arms are rounder every time I see them- I mean you. They shouldn’t work you so hard at the docks. Either that or Sandra should stop giving you such big portions.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Silas replied with a weak chuckle.

After a long, awkward moment, Katherine walked away, muttering under her breath. Silas glanced after her, catching Sandra quickly turning around as he did so. He took a sip of his pint then returned to his book, cheeks burning. He owed a lot to Sandra, bless her, but she could be overbearing at times. When he aged out of the orphanage, she offered him a job cleaning the tavern and acting as impromptu bouncer with his sheer physicality. He had gotten free meals and a place to sleep when he had nowhere else to turn before starting to work at the docks. She had also tried to set him up with several of the young women who waited tables, many of whom showed interest in him, but each attempt had fizzled out after a few awkward exchanges.

Silas was always polite and kind, helping with cleanup or the heavier platters when he could, but he had never felt a spark of attraction. Not to say that the young women weren’t attractive. He was enamored of their beauty despite the grimy conditions, the grace with which they moved, of their long flowing locks and soft features, in the same way he would find a statue a work of art but not a source of affection. Even at the orphanage, as he and his peers were assaulted with puberty and their bodies changed, his most of all, as the boys in his bunkroom became interested in girls no longer as objects of derision but desire, he waited for the day that he might feel similarly. At twenty, he still hadn’t. On the other side of things, he knew his share of men who were fond of men and didn’t feel that way either.

Taking a bite of a cheesy potato, Silas returned to his book, but the words seemed to meld together, his concentration lost. His eyes fell on the hand propping open the book, thick and hairy. Maybe his academic appreciation for women came from the contrast with himself. He had never met anyone taller than himself, or stronger. He moved with plodding, heavy steps, and bore his share of cuts and bruises from bumping into objects in a world not made for his size. But he could make do, carving out a living with a body that had its uses.

The front door opened with a loud thud as half a dozen sailors staggered in, most equipped with cutlasses and flintlock pistols. Judging by their staggering gaits and drawn expressions, the tavern wasn’t their first stop of the night. They stumbled against the bar, pounding the surface and chanting for alcohol. Sandra eyed the weaponry, tending to the sailors without complaint but giving Silas a knowing look. Sailors swept into town on shore leave all the time. Most were well-behaved, just happy to be on solid ground again and in mixed company, but others went too far, celebrating too hard and causing trouble that the town constables didn’t bother addressing for fear of pissing off ship owners in port. As the sailors began slamming down shots, Silas took a closer look at their apparel. They wore uniforms, similar to the sailors seated, but the clothing was dirty and full of patches. Were they pirates? The shipping routes were typically well-protected, meaning most pirates never dared encroach on those waters or risk being blown out of the water.

But that didn’t mean no pirate tried.

Two of the sailors stumbled away from the bar, past Silas’s table. One did a double-take, tugging on the other’s collar. “Look at the size of this big bastard,” he slurred.

Silas bristled at the word but did his best to ignore the comment, returning to his meal. The sailor, breath thick with alcohol, clawed at Silas’s book, examining the cover.

“The oaf can read, how about that?” he said with a laugh.

“Fairytales?” the other scoffed. “Which are you: slow or fruity?”

The pair guffawed, made bold by their inebriation and arms. Silas rose to his full height, towering over them. “It looks like you fellows are bar hopping. There’s a nice place two blocks east of here if you haven’t stopped by there yet.” The establishment required a walk past the constable station, but the pirates didn’t need to know that. As rowdy as the group was growing, surely the authorities would step in, despite the weaponry involved.

One of the pair squinted hard at Silas, growing serious. “Is he trying to make us leave? Oy, fellas, we just showed up and the bastard wants us out.”

As Silas tried to stammer a response, the four other pirates approached, surrounding his table. One pirate, wearing a bandana and an eye patch, swept the pint off the table, where it shattered on the wooden floor. Staring up at Silas, he tapped a finger on the pistol at his side. “We’re here for drinks and a good time, laddie, same as you. Might even pay for them before the night is over. You’re only one man, despite your size, and unarmed. Mind your business and maybe we won’t burn this place to the ground when we’re done.” Turning to the rest of the room, he said, louder, “The captain is anchored in port aboard a galleon with dozens of men, and is expecting us back come sunrise. If we aren’t back, he is prepared to lay waste to this trash heap for its temerity.” Staring back at Silas, he said, “I hope that gives any would-be ‘heroes’ some pause. Now, bar bitch: more grog.”

Silas sat down hard and the pirates returned to the bar, resuming their hollering and drinking. A few patrons left, others staring quietly down at their pints and avoiding eye contact. Sandra continued serving drinks, appearing unflappable. From his seat, Silas had a brief glimpse into the kitchen; Katherine paced about nervously, arms hugged tightly against her body. Swallowing hard, she exited, an attempt at a smile on her face. Some of his dinner remained, but Silas had lost his appetite. He could seemingly leave, following the other patrons, but such an action was unthinkable. There was no way he would leave Sandra and Katherine at the mercy of those pirates.

Instead, he sat and glowered as the evening sun faded and night fell. More drinks led to more drunken revelry. Two pirates engaged in playful fisticuffs over some perceived slight. One pirate fell asleep at the counter, snoring and drooling on the bar top. The pirate with the bandana and eye patch took up all of Katherine’s time, forcing her into the seat next to him and caressing her arm, regaling her with some tale or other that Silas couldn’t hear. She was shaking, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened. The pirate’s hand moved up her shoulder, playing with the collar of her dress. Hooking a finger under the fabric, the pirate started to pull the top down.

Silas shot to his feet, marched across the tavern, and slammed the pirate’s face onto the bar top. A crack of bone as the pirate’s nose broke, then all hell broke loose. Katherine stumbled away, screaming. The nearest pirate threw a drunken fist that glanced off Silas’s forearm. Silas turned and threw him to the floor. Sandra gasped, throwing a half-filled pitcher over Silas’s shoulder, resulting in a grunt of pain and the flash of pistol fire into the smoke-tarred ceiling. He turned to see a pirate near the doorway covered in broken glass, pistol clattering to the floor. His heart raced; despite his size, he had never been in a fight before. Pure strength took him pretty far.

As his gaze shot around the room, alert for more action, a warning from Sandra came too late.

Hard metal clubbed the back of his head, sending him collapsing to the floor and into unconsciousness.

***

A splash of cold water roused Silas from sleep, earning a chorus of laughter. He immediately grimaced in pain, lying supine on a wooden surface, the salt water smarting the cuts and bruises that covered his body. He attempted to open his eyes, but the sun was too bright, his head aching. The surface rocked slowly up and down. When his vision cleared enough to see more clearly, he looked up at the host of pirates staring down at him, smirking as one, a cloudless blue sky above their heads.

“The big bastard returns to the land of the living,” a gruff tenor voice called out. “Extra grog for the lot who brought back such a prize.” The owner of the voice, a bearded, middle-aged man, crouched to Silas’s eye level. “Welcome to the crew, lad. I’m Captain Whittingham.”

Silas shot to his feet, earning a punch to the gut that doubled him over.

“I’d recommend not doing anything rash,” Whittingham continued. “These are your crewmates now, understand? Do as you’re told and this life may even be a decent one for you. Besides, where are you going to go, lad?”

Silas returned to his feet, more slowly this time, scanning his immediate surroundings. He was on the deck of a ship. Sails billowed in the wind, the deck occupied by an array of crates and supplies. A glance in any direction revealed open sea with not a spit of land in sight. His heart raced, skin becoming clammy with sweat.

He couldn’t swim.

As a child at the orphanage, he had always been quiet and bookish. His size made him a frequent target for other boys, and one-sided games of ‘fell the giant’ were a regular occurrence. One day, while he was enthralled in a book of fairytales, one of his most ardent bullies approached, a group of other boys not far behind, and peered over his shoulder. “Whatcha reading, Silas?” he had asked innocently enough.

Treating the question as a friendly show of interest, Silas had picked up the book, pointing excitedly at the illustration of a mermaid swimming along the ocean floor, surrounded by cartoonish animal friends. “It’s a story about mermaids!” he happily answered. “I want to do that!”

The laughter was instantaneous. “Ooo, Silas wants to be a frilly, fishy girl! What a pansy!” The boys had hurled every insult they could muster at the blushing Silas. He had tried to stammer a response, eyes dotted with tears, that he only meant that he wished he could breathe underwater and swim like that, not that he wanted to be exactly what the illustration showed, but it was a wasted effort. The response was so visceral, so negative, that even the briefest glances at the ocean made him embarrassed. While other orphans happily played in the shallow waters on trips to the nearby shores, Silas sat in the sand, collecting twigs and seashells. He never learned how to swim. The negative feelings lasted well into adulthood, leaving him queasy even as he worked at the docks, as though one of his childhood bullies might jump out and make fun of him if he so much as glanced at the water.

And now he had been kidnapped, stuck on a floating vessel miles from land with a crew of pirates, some of whom he had attacked the night before.

“Is your situation clear enough?” Whittingham asked. “Now, your new crewmates did a hell of a job procuring what you see on deck. All of that needs to go below deck in the holds. Show me those muscles aren’t just for show, and be quick about it.”

“Sandra. Katherine. Are they… did your men hurt them?” Silas asked, stomach churning.

Whittingham grinned, flashing a golden tooth. “Would that be the tavern wenches? Not a hair on their pretty heads out of place, my men said. Provided their assortment of liquors made its way onboard as payment for your misplaced bravado, of course.”

Silas grimaced, hanging his head low and cursing himself. He had only tried to help, and now Sandra would be hurting financially because of him. The flat of a cutlass tapped the top of his head, drawing his gaze upward.

“I’m sure you’re well aware of your situation by now, but let me make this clear: if you make any attempt to escape or try to waylay your fellow crewmates, none onboard will hesitate to put lead through your skull or cut your throat. You’re outnumbered, lad. Now, attend to your duties, and there might even be a portion of the evening meal set aside for you.”

The crew dispersed, the captain returning to his quarters. One pirate remained, arms crossed, a black eye marking his severe face. “I’m quartermaster, so you report to me. Call me Jed. Anything I tell you, you obey immediately like it’s the word of God. There’s always something to organize, pack, or unpack. First order of business-”

Jed backhanded Silas across the face, sending him tumbling to the deck. He slowly rose, rubbing his sore cheek. Just another injury to add to the others.

“That’s for last night, you big bastard. Now get to work!”

The day was long and hot, the top deck nearly filled to the brim with all manner of boxes, crates, and barrels to deliver to the holds below. Silas grimaced through the pain, shouldering sacks stuffed with flour, barrels filled with pickled meat, crates packed with Sandra’s pilfered liquor. Trip after trip down multiple floors on slick, salt-eaten steps, into cargo holds so deep that hardly any sunlight entered. He was below deck long enough for his eyes to adjust to the low lighting, only to lose that vision when he made his way back under the piercing sun, the contrast immediate and painful. It was a miracle he never lost his footing, perhaps the only silver lining of the day. With each armful of cargo, he wondered who it had been stolen from, whose livelihoods had been upturned by the motley crew of pirates.

At dusk, limbs shaking from the hours of effort, Silas collapsed onto the deck, his body a wreckage of bruises. The deck had been cleared of cargo, entirely through his efforts. His reward was being led into a prison cell on the deck below, its bars thick and cold. A rotted wooden bench sat inside, a tray of bread and watered-down ale situated on the floor. A narrow slit in the outer wall let in the fading sunlight. After eating a meal that hardly quelled his hunger, he sat upright on the bench and tried to sleep, too tall to lie down.

His waking moments followed a similar routine for weeks on end: perform menial labor, seemingly the tasks no one else wanted to do, eat a spot of grub, get back to work, then maybe have a moment’s reprieve on deck in the fresh air before being led to his cell again. He picked up on a few names as the days progressed, though no one ever bothered to speak with him if it wasn’t an order, and he wasn’t inclined to keep their company anyway. From his cell at night, he could hear drunken revels that felt like aged-up antics of the boys at the orphanage. Not-so-subtle jabs at another’s manhood, pranks that bordered on assault, all-out brawls based on perceived slights.

Whenever the ship made landfall, Silas was locked away for the duration of the trip, only being let out again when there was more cargo to load. Late at night, the thick darkness filled with the creaking of the ship and a chorus of snores, Silas often stared at the ceiling, picturing the fairytales from his book, imagining himself as the protagonist. He pictured himself as a bird, soaring high above towns that looked like building blocks, as a fox, swift and lithe on the prowl in a grassy field, even as a fish, propelling himself along pure blue tropical waters.

Anything to be out of his prison, where he was reduced to purely his body and judged by how much he could carry or clean in a day. His back bore lashes as punishment for a handful of broken crates, dropped while losing his footing. If all he was good for was moving heavy things, why couldn’t he do that right? During the day, the ship’s railing was never too far away. It would only take a few moments to bound over and leap over the sides, propelling his body into the waiting waters below. He wouldn’t live long, but at least his final moments would be free.

One night, Silas awoke to shouts, the crack of explosions, and flashes of light.

The ship shook, blasts of light seeping into the cracks in the woodwork. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air, overpowering the stench of sweat and mold. It was like a tornado had descended on the ship. Gunshots rang out, the firing of the cannons turning his hearing into muffled ringing. Was it the royal navy? A rival band of pirates? He had no way of knowing, and no one came for him. For minutes that stretched into seeming eternity, he huddled on the bench, heart racing, unable to catch his breath. If the ship was sunk, his cell would become his coffin and his inability to swim would be a moot point. Hands pressed against his ears, he recited stories to himself, jumping from one to another when he made it to the end of one, as though stopping would mean his death.

The first light of morning arrived and Silas was still alive. Scattered murmuring wafted down from the top deck, the sound muffled in his ringing ears. Eventually, Jed descended the steps and came into view, his expression a thousand-yard stare. Mechanically, he unlocked the cell without a word, the key clattering to the floor. He turned and leaned against the nearby wall, sighing deeply. Silas opened the cage and exited, pocketing the key in the tattered remains of his trousers before ascending the steps.

He gasped when he reached the deck. The masts were a felled mess of splinters, half of their bulk hanging over a crushed rail. Pockmarks from cannon fire dotted the ship’s surface, and the captain’s quarters were a burned-out husk. Pirates milled about, some at work inspecting the damage, others lumbering in halfhearted circles. A score of bodies were lined up in the center of the deck, cloths covering their faces.

“Took everything of value and left us totally adrift,” Whittingham said, taking a swig directly from a bottle. He sat on the staircase leading to the helm, most steps obliterated by cannon fire. Giving Silas a groggy glance, he extended the bottle. Silas accepted, taking a quick drink before returning it. It tasted awful, but he hadn’t had anything to drink in so long. “Enjoy that while it lasts. They took the food, the water, the gold, everything of value. Tossed most of the liquor overboard, just for the hell of it. …We’re at open sea, lad. Do you understand me? At the mercy of whoever spots us next. If you’re a praying man, best make your peace with whoever it is you pray to. Don’t know if it’s a mercy or a curse that this vessel is still afloat. Would’ve been quicker to go with the rest of the men.”

“Captain, portside!” Jed called out, voice hoarse.

Whittingham grumbled, slowly standing up. “And who is on their way to see us hang, quartermaster? The French? The Spanish?”

“My eyes may be tricking me, but neither, captain.”

Silas walked to the portside as well, stepping over a hole in the deck. There were shapes in the water on the horizon, but the rising sun’s reflection on the water made them hazy, indistinct. Jed pointed a shaky finger, eyes alight. “I know a shark fin when I see one, and those ain’t it. Do you see them? Women in the water!”

Whittingham furrowed his brows, withdrawing a grimy telescope from his pocket. Extending the scope, he looked out at the water, taking a moment to settle on a location. Swallowing hard, he lowered it, pressing it against Silas’s chest. “I’ll be damned. It’s mermaids. Here to finish us off.”

Fumbling with the telescope, Silas squinted into the eyepiece and scanned the horizon. He gasped, just in time to see a human face dip below the water, a tail splashing moments later. “I saw one! But, that can only be good, right? Mermaids help people.”

Whittingham chuckled, patting Silas on the back as though he was an excitable child. “Maybe in bedtime stories for children, but any sailor worth his salt knows that mermaids bring only death. They circle a ship adrift, just as we are now, and beckon to men from below. They’re as beautiful as a rose, voices soft and fine; maddening to a man who hasn’t seen a woman in weeks or months. But any sailor who gets within arm’s reach is pulled below and drowned in the depths, a feast for a monster. No, lad, mermaids are man killers.”

Silas passed the telescope to Jed while Whittingham took a seat, returning to his bottle. The remaining pirates congregated along the railing, muttering to one another as the weight of their situation sank in. It felt strange walking the top deck unaccosted, earning not a jeer or an assault from the group which had put him through hell for weeks. He rummaged through the debris below deck, finding a canteen of water and a strip of jerky to sate his thirst and the aching hunger in his stomach.

Silas returned to the top deck, met by every remaining pirate staring him down, pistols drawn. He put up his hands, placating, feeling too tired to put up much of a fight.

“You’ve done us good, lad,” Whittingham said, wiping liquor from his bearded chin. “One final service will set things straight and you’ll be relieved of duty, slate wiped clean.” He gestured towards the starboard side of the ship, where a tiny rowboat was suspended above the water, somehow intact after the previous night’s barrage. “Get in and you’re free to go.”

“I don’t understand. We’re in the middle of nowhere. That’s a death sentence!”

“And you think staying here isn’t?”

“He’s still got plenty of meat on his bones,” Jed interjected. “If the mermaids have their fill, maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

“A fine plan I think, quartermaster,” Whittingham said, nodding.

Despite his fear of the ocean, despite the threat of death from all around, Silas was too exhausted, too beaten down to argue. There was seemingly no good option. At least he would finally be alone, away from such an awful crew. Outnumbered, he staggered over to the rowboat, placing a shaky leg inside. It rocked and swayed, forcing an iron grip on the sides. Taking a deep breath, he extended his other leg, falling onto the cramped wooden seat.

“Might get some use out of these,” Whittingham said, removing the paddles. He stared at Silas, seemingly pondering a final word, before shrugging and flipping a lever, sending the rowboat tumbling thirty feet onto the white-capped waves below.

Heart pounding, Silas fumbled with the ropes’ knots, eventually releasing the connection securing it to the ship. Distance between the two disparate vessels slowly grew, the pirate crew fading from view as they stepped away from the railings. The rowboat was hardly bigger than the prison cell, and Silas sat along the floor in the dead center, staring up at the sky. If he looked up, he wouldn’t have to think about the water mere inches away. He remained stock still, latched into place, as though the slightest move in either direction would immediately capsize the boat, sending him to his watery grave. He tried to think of his storybooks, of good memories at Sandra’s tavern before he had messed everything up.

But it was no use. As the morning sun beat down upon him, with miles of ocean in every direction, clinging to a rowboat, he could only think of how big he was in a vessel intended to seat eight to ten occupants. Yet, staring the cloudless sky, he could almost feel small in the face of its grand expanse. If he just kept staring up, over days and days, maybe he wouldn’t have to die as the big bastard he was consigned to be.

The boat rocked from side to side as something swam through the waters nearby. “You look like you could use a hand, big boy,” a husky, feminine voice purred. A soft, wet finger caressed the back of his hand.

Silas twitched, pulling his hand away. “With all due respect, miss, that’s not something on my mind right now,” he muttered through gritted teeth, still staring at the sky. “I don’t think it’s ever been, actually.”

The front of the boat dipped forward as something pressed on it. Droplets of water dripped onto the wood. A relieved sigh, followed by “thank the gods for that,” in a higher, more relaxed register. A moment of silence, then “Well? Don’t you want to know who you’re talking to in the middle of the ocean?”

“I have a guess, miss.” Swallowing hard, he continued, “But it would be polite to look at who I’m talking to.” Slowly, carefully, Silas sat up as though the boat was a wild animal easily startled. His gaze shifted from the sky to the horizon to a tan-skinned woman casually resting her bare arms on the front of the boat. Her wet brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she had purple seashells interwoven in her flowing locks. Her eyes were a blue as clear as the surrounding sea, her face as beautiful as any Silas had ever seen. She smiled, warm and inviting. The edges of a purple scaled tail floated in the water, reflecting the sunlight like scores of gemstones.

She was beauty, she was perfection, she was myth made real.

Silas couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, hot and heavy. Fairytales were real, this one at least. He felt like a child again, holding his storybook, page opened to the illustration of the mermaid, bearing the mockery of the other children. He cried for what he had lost and for what he had never known and for what he may have known in time if things had gone differently. He wept for how beautiful she was, and how much he paled in comparison, tall and awkward and gaunt from weeks of malnutrition.

Silas wiped the tears away, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “I’m sorry, I just… I liked stories about mermaids a long time ago. Sorry too for not introducing myself. My name is, well… Someone gave me the name Silas. I don’t know who. But it fit as well as any.”

Her smile was gone, replaced by a look of apprehension. If she was used to dragging men to the depths, he suspected this wasn’t how things usually went. “Liliana,” she replied. “No human has ever asked me that before. Are you… okay? Out in the sun too long, maybe?”

“Liliana. That’s a pretty name. It’s nice to meet you, even if you’re going to, well…”

She arched a brow, resting her chin on the side of the boat. “Oh? What is it you think that mermaids do, Silas?”

Hearing his name spoken aloud by a mythical creature was like a salve to his soul, albeit one applied long past the time the treatment would have meant anything. “I couldn’t say,” he replied honestly. “My storybooks as a child had tales of mermaids who were kind and courageous, helping sea creature and sailor alike. When I got older, mermaids became more dangerous in stories, luring men to their deaths. I don’t know what to think.”

“Both can be true, you know,” she said, an edge returning to her voice. “What if I’m here for the latter?”

“Well, everyone has to eat.”

“This isn’t how things usually go at all,” she muttered to herself.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Liliana made her way along the boat’s edge until she was close enough to reach out and rest her hand atop Silas’s. Her palm was soft and warm. Her face was only a few inches from Silas’s own, and she stared deeply into his eyes as though he was a riddle waiting to be solved. “Tell me about yourself. When you get to the end, I’ll return the favor and tell you which kind of mermaid I am.”

Silas nodded. “If this is going to be the end, or even if you’re just a hallucination from heat stroke, maybe I should be honest with myself for the first time in my life. You’re beautiful, miss; I’m sure I’m not the first to say that. So much so that it hurts to look at you. I don’t mean that in a desiring kind of way, like how a husband might want his wife, more so like, well…” Silas couldn’t meet her gaze. “Like I want to… be like you.” The words came out in a barely audible whisper, the first time he had ever admitted something held so deep inside.

She did not mock him or recoil in disgust. Instead, she simply nodded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t mean you specifically,” he explained, the words coming easier now. “Or even merfolk. I… All my life I’ve wondered if I was made wrong, like the wrong lever was flipped when my spirit entered my body or however that works. I look down at myself or see my reflection and it makes me think that, I don’t know, I’m inside a big block of marble and the real me, the me who would be happy, is waiting inside, if only I could chip myself out. But I don’t have the tools to do it. I… don’t think being a man suits me. But I wasn’t given a choice.”

Moments passed by in silence, the boat gently rocked by the sea, Liliana staring at Silas. She squeezed his hand. “I… think I understand. You’re not the first to feel what you are feeling. Some of my sisters were the same as you, and in your shoes.” She chuckled drily. “Well, not shoes anymore. Fins now.”

Silas blinked, confused. “I’m not sure I understand, miss.”

Liliana broke into a wide smile. “You want to know what kind of mermaid I am? Both, to you. I can help and destroy you at the same time. Every mermaid has magic, and I can use mine to make you like me. It’s killing a man, sure, as your stories might say, but replacing him with something more… fitting.”

Silas couldn’t believe it. After the torment of his imprisonment, the lifelong mockery, the body that betrayed: to be granted his heart’s deepest desire was unthinkable. “You can really do something like that?” he asked, voice betraying his excitement. “How?”

Liliana let go of his hand and moved a few inches back. Extending her own hand, palm up, she beckoned. “Join me in the water. That’s all it takes.”

She spoke as if that was a simple request. Silas eyed the surface of the water, everything beyond a few inches below cloudy and obscured. His already dried-out mouth grew even drier, his heart racing. It was the promise of a life-changing transformation, if only he could overcome years of hearing that mocking laughter, that fear of the ocean. He stopped himself from turning around, certain that a boat carrying the grown-up boys from his orphanage would be there, ready to mock him anew. Was she even telling the truth? He had never met a mermaid before. She might be tricking him, playing off his insecurities in order to score an easy meal.

Silas steeled himself, leaning on the edge of the boat. If he didn’t take a leap of faith, he would never find out what was on the other side, otherwise resigning himself to die alone in the heat, stuck in the body he had learned to tolerate.

Taking a deep breath, Silas tumbled into the ocean.

Salt water forced its way up his nose and into his eyes, filling his throat and blurring his vision. He floundered under the surface, sinking, arms flailing uselessly. The dark outline of the boat and the shimmering outline of the sun somersaulted as he spun through the water. His lungs tightened, head growing hazy. A pair of arms wrapped tightly around his torso, stopping his spinning then dragging him deeper underwater, where the growing pressure made his head ache and the fleeting sunlight turned everything in sight into hazy shadows.

Lungs aching, he involuntarily sucked in a mouthful of water. Silas could breathe, deep aching gasps at first, then regular, even breaths. The saltwater no longer hurt his eyes, his vision clearing to reveal a wide expanse of the underwater world. There was miles of open sea in every direction, populated by massive schools of fish, swordfish plowing through the waters, a pod of dolphins dancing and playing, so much variety that he could not identify. And, floating in front of him, Liliana. For the first time, he had a full look at her tail, an appendage attached to her body from the waist down that whipped front to back to keep her situated in place. It was a vibrant purple, with shimmering scales that caught and magnified the sun’s rays, even from that depth. The ends of her ponytail fanned out, dancing with her movements, not a hair out of place. Her human torso was topless, but so natural to the surroundings that Silas felt no inclination to avert his eyes in embarrassment or let his gaze linger.

She smiled brightly, hands clasped against her chest, her gaze slipping up and down Silas’s form.

He kicked his legs to tread water, an action he had never done before, before noticing with a start that two limbs were becoming one. His trousers slipped off his legs, sinking into the depths, useless. From his thighs on down, his skin joined together seamlessly, slowly becoming a uniform expanse of pink. Knees, shins, ankles, feet, toes stitched together by an unseen hand. Crisscrossing gouges of red broke out across his appendage, the skin in between hardening to become interlocking scales of ruby. Tufts of voluminous strands extended from where his toes used to be, swaying in the current. Despite its hard exterior, he could feel the warmth of the water against his tail and could control it as easily as he moved his fingers.

His transformation was far from done.

His upper body, still human, was being shaped as though molded by the unseen hands of a master sculptor. The hair dotting his cheeks, arms, chest, and hands thinned into barely perceptible peach-colored follicles, leaving smooth, uniform skin. His hands, thick and gnarled, lost their calluses, shrinking in size. The muscles of his torso lost definition, becoming lean and lithe. His vision obscured as his buzzed scalp exploded with hair, years of growth in moments cascading down his slim shoulders to float atop his chest. Said chest no longer resembled a barrel, as twin protrusions grew into teardrop shapes the size of his fists. Waist thinned, hips flaring outward into supple curves.

Silas gasped, taking in the changes, then gasped again at the voice exiting his throat. No, that pronoun was gone, just as useless and discarded as the torn trousers sinking to the obscured seafloor. She tore away the linen shirt, freed from the last article of humanity.

Liliana clasped her hands. “Welcome to the sisterhood.”

“Th-thank you!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her fellow mermaid in a hearty embrace. Her new voice was soft as a breeze, reaching new heights in pitch like gulls gliding through the air. Letting go, grinning ear to ear, she tested out her new tail, taking off in a burst of speed like she was born to it, somersaulting and spinning through the open, inviting waters, laughing all the while. She was grace and agility, in direct contrast to the body she had been stuck in for so long on the surface. For the first time ever, she felt at home in her body rather than its prisoner. Coming to a stop, she hugged her arms against her body and took a deep breath, hair covering her face.

A hand pulled her hair back with practiced precision, creating a ponytail and tying it back with a hair tie. “There we go, that should keep your vision clear.”

“I still can’t believe this is real,” Silas exclaimed. “I… had dreams about something like this happening. This would always be the point where I would wake up. What happens now?”

“Whatever you want. Most of the world is underwater, and it is bigger and more vibrant and more populated than you ever could have imagined. However, I think there is one important order of business to discuss first.”

“And what’s that?”

Liliana smiled. “Is your name something you want to keep?”

“I left everything else behind. That can go too. I… always had a name in mind, if I had been born differently. …Serenity. It’s what I feel now and what I always wanted to experience.”

“Then, Serenity, it’s a privilege to be the first to meet you.”

Serenity reached out and held Liliana’s hands. “There’s so much I want to see and do. I want to know how true the fairytales are. But, first, there’s something I need to do. Some cargo was thrown overboard around here. I have a destination in mind.”

***

Sandra stood on the docks in the fading sunlight and stared at the ocean, rolling a cigarette. She had started the habit again after her world had turned upside down more than a month ago. Her tavern trashed, her supplies stolen, that sweet young man Silas abducted by pirates. It was all she could do to keep herself and Katherine alive through the chaos. Katherine, the poor girl, had quit the job from the stress, not that there was much of a job to come back to. Sandra had had to take out new loans to cover repairs and purchase new supplies, closing the tavern in the meantime, and regulars had started going elsewhere, traumatized by the night’s events. The life she had built in her tavern was seemingly erased overnight. She thought about leaving town completely and starting fresh somewhere else but, at her age, the proposition was hardly enticing. Plus, she had already promised waitressing jobs to the girls in town once she reopened.

“Sandra!” a woman called out, point of origin indistinct.

Sandra looked around for the voice’s owner then her name was repeated, further down the docks closest to the water. She followed, curious. She didn’t recognize the voice, but there was something familiar about it, like trying to recall a detail from out of a dream. Descending to a lower dock, she walked to a floating platform, where the voice seemed to originate.

Sandra gasped, cigarette falling from between her fingers.

Crates of liquor sat on the platform, the wood soaked but the bottles seemingly intact. Beyond the crates, in the water, a dozen mermaids floated, out of breath. One mermaid rested her arms on the platform, wet hair clinging to her face.

“It’s so good to see you again, Sandra,” the mermaid said, a tired smile on her lips. “This is for you, ma’am, as repayment for what happened.”

“Oh my god,” Sandra said, shocked, falling to her knees. “Heavens above, mermaids.” She was caught in a mix of elation unlike anything she had ever known, and confusion. She crawled over to the crates, running her fingers along the wet, scratchy exteriors. It certainly felt real. “Repayment? What do you mean?” And why did the mermaid look so familiar? She had never met a mermaid in her life, never even known they were real.

“If I had been faster that night, maybe I could have stopped those pirates. I’m just thrilled that you and Katherine are safe, despite me messing up so badly.”

Sandra crept closer, staring at the mermaid’s face. The surroundings were different, but the eyes, the way she smiled, the way she held her hands, there was something there. Slowly reaching forward, eyes wide, she mouthed the name, as though saying it any louder would make the sight disappear like a dream.

The mermaid nodded, wiping away a tear. “Yes, but I go by Serenity these days.”

Sandra threw her arms around Serenity, pressing her fingers tightly against the warm, soft skin, not a dream or a vision but real life flesh and blood. Usually unflappable, she could not stop from crying. “Oh, dear, it’s you! I thought for sure those ruffians did the unthinkable. How are you- Is this- Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re safe!” Sniffling, she stroked her thumb across Serenity’s cheek. “Look at you now. You’re so pretty, dear. I don’t pretend to understand most things, but… are you happy? Like this?”

Serenity nodded, wiping her own tears. “More than I ever was on land. I hope you understand, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it up to the tavern anymore.”

“Psh, that’s no concern. I’ll whip up a pint and a potato platter and bring it right to you.”

Serenity looked back at the gathered mermaids. “I want that so badly, but we’re on a bit of a schedule, you see. But the next time I come back, I’d like that more than anything.”

“Oh, right,” Sandra said, taking in the mythological entourage. “My, you’ve made so many friends.” Standing up, hand over her heart, she continued, “Thank you, dear, from the bottom of my heart. You just saved my tavern.”

Serenity blushed. “I had to make things right. I hope this helps. Thank you, Sandra, for helping me for so long and giving me a place to stay. I… being human wasn’t right for me, but you made it not so bad.”

Waving farewell, Serenity submerged before leaping entirely out of the water in a graceful, twisting arc. She, along with the other mermaids, swam toward the setting sun, tail scales catching the light to cast a rainbow of vibrant colors.