The Fierce Reads Anthology
Anna Banks
Grom’s fin gives an occasional thrust, a reflex really, to maintain forward motion if only at the speed of driftwood. But comparing himself to driftwood would be unfair—to the driftwood. At least driftwood doesn’t have to mate with the hideous Poseidon heir.
He keeps his back to the abyss below and his face upturned to the ceiling of ice above him. A ceiling to the Syrena, a floor to the humans, but most important, a divider of the worlds. Even when the humans began to submerge their steel death ships—long, ugly things that breathed fire underwater and hurled chunks of metal at one another—none of them dared to venture as far north as the Big Ice. So far.
Which is lucky for him, since the Syrena hide all things of importance under the frozen shield, down in the depths of the Cave of Memories—Grom’s destination. Within the cave, he’ll find the Ceremony Chamber, and possibly a way out of his own impending ceremony—the one that seals him to the house of Poseidon for the rest of his miserable life. The punishment for being a firstborn, third-generation Triton Royal.
En route to the cave, Grom spots an occasional ice chunk bulging out more than the rest, so as to resemble a bulbous nose. If he lets his eyes relax enough, the crevices and icicles surrounding it could blur into the dour face of his father, the Triton king—or, at least, the face his father made when Grom told him he didn’t particularly want to mate with the Poseidon princess.
But to complete the king’s fury, Grom would need to somehow add ten shades of blotchy red to the ice—one shade for each time his father had said, “But you’re the firstborn, third-generation Triton. You must uphold the law of Gifts.” Or, on second thought, maybe one shade of red for each time Grom had said, “The law is outdated!”
Whether or not the law really is outdated, Grom can’t say. The law of Gifts was brought into effect long ago by the great generals, Triton and Poseidon, to ensure the survival of the Syrena. At least that’s what the Archives say. But the Gift of Poseidon hasn’t occurred in many generations. Not that the Syrena are starving, by any means. But as more and more humans invade the oceans, the more important the Gift of Poseidon will become, especially since they all share a common food source: fish. The humans have their nets. The Syrena have the Gift of Poseidon.
As for the Gift of Triton, not even the Archives can remember the last time anyone saw evidence of it. In fact, there is continual debate about what the Gift of Triton actually is. Even the Archives—the oldest of the Syrena entrusted to remember such things—continually debate about Triton’s Gift. Some say speed. Some say strength. But if the Archives can’t remember, who’s to say it actually still exists?
But one thing Grom is sure of is that the survival of the Gifts couldn’t possibly hinge on his mating with the ugly Poseidon princess. The Archives must surely be mistaken on that point.
Nalia, Nalia, Nalia. Just thinking her name makes him snarl.
He’s only ever met her once, years ago when her mother died. Etiquette had forced the Triton Royals to pay their respects to the mourning house of Poseidon. Well, etiquette, and the close friendship between Grom’s father and the Poseidon king, Antonis. But for Grom, it was strictly etiquette. Especially considering how Nalia had treated him. And I was just expressing my condolences!
Thirteen mating seasons old at the time, he was already being groomed to rule the Triton territory, already given the respect due to a future king. But Nalia was a haughty little mess, even at a mere nine seasons old. He remembers how careful he was in reciting each word of his mother’s comforting speech, saying noble things about death and loss and love, even as Nalia sneered up at him in apparent disgust. Most of all, he remembers how those swollen red eyes made her look like the result of what would happen if a puffer fish mated with a rock. She’d said, “How could you understand my loss? You didn’t even know my mother!”
Which wasn’t true at all, of course. Grom’s parents had been fast friends with the Poseidon Royals for many years. That is, before the precious princess came along. After giving birth to the spoiled bullshark, the Poseidon queen never fully recovered, and preferred to stay in the Royal caverns rather than venture out to any social functions.
To be fair—or at least, to pretend to be fair—Nalia couldn’t justly be blamed for the queen’s death, no matter how closely her sudden decline coincided with the birth of Puffer Fish Face. Or maybe she’s more like a hammerhead, since her eyes are set so far apart.
Grom smirks to himself as, at that moment, he passes a slab of ice with two deep-set holes spaced an arm’s length apart. “Nalia,” he says to the contorted, makeshift face, “still so icy after all these years?” He even allows himself a chuckle at her expense. Why not? After we’re mated, everything will be at my expense.
After a long stretch of brooding, Grom senses the two Trackers guarding the entrance to the Cave of Memories. No doubt they sensed him before he sensed them, possibly as soon as he set off on his journey. Which has always amazed him. All Syrena can sense each other within close proximity, but Trackers have a special sensing capacity. The ones who impress him the most are the elite Trackers, who can sense their kind even from opposite sides of the world. Only the elite can stand guard at the Cave of Memories. Only the elite can be trusted with such precious relics.
And to Grom, none of those relics are more valuable at this moment than the answers that lie in the Ceremony Chamber, the place where all of Syrena history is documented. Matings, births, annulments, deaths. With any shimmer of luck, Grom will find evidence that he’s not third generation. Or that he’s not firstborn. Or, better yet, he’s not even of Triton descent! He’d take any of those options over the last one: He is all of the above, and he will mate with Nalia and her hammerhead eyes.