The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(41)

Lights flashed across her fingertips. The creature’s entire body reacted, a rainbow erupting over his skin and scales.

“It speaks!” he cried. “It speaks the colors!”

The relief that flooded through her at being heard, at being understood . . . it was a joy so sharp it was almost painful.

“Where are we?” she demanded, her fingers lighting up in amber-jade-scarlet. “What is this place? Who are you?”

“Who am I? Why, I am a mertag, proud and cold and true. My name . . . my name is too long for land dwellers and old, very old, yes, bubbles and blowfish, but no one speaks to me here, no one understands. They call me Errol, over and over, Errol Errol Errol. Errol is my name here and as good as any, Sera Lighthaven.”

“Errol,” she whispered. The mertag seemed to be taking just as much pleasure in being heard as Sera was in being understood, and his lights flashed again and again.

“From the sea I came, yes, the dark cool waters of Pelago, but they took me, they took me from my home, nasty humans with nets and tricking lights, they stole me away and put me in this false sea, this tiny ocean.” He turned back and made a derisive sniff in the direction of the moss. Sera figured there must be water on the other side. “Long now have I been here, too long, too much light, no current to move by.” Errol shuddered and rubbed a webbed hand over his pocked skull.

“What do they want from us?” she asked. “Why are they keeping us here?”

“Who knows why humans do the things they do? They come, they go, they destroy, they take, by seaweed and starfish they care not for the homes of others, only for themselves. More fish they want, always more and more, and flowers too, and all the while Errol is so tired.”

Sera wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but she agreed humans were cruel and selfish. She remembered how intrigued she’d been about life on Kaolin and Pelago, wishing to visit them as the Cerulean had visited planets in days of old. Now she felt ashamed of that curiosity. She should have appreciated her beloved City more when she had the chance.

A thought occurred to her.

“Could you help me get out of this crate, Errol?” she asked.

The mertag cocked his head. “I can try,” he said. He pulled himself across the platform with his arms, his fish tail wriggling behind him. He got to the chain and inspected it. “I am afraid it is locked, Sera Lighthaven.” He yanked on a heavy iron padlock. Then he bit the chain. “And too thick for old Errol to bite through. I am sorry.”

“Oh.” Sera was unable to suppress her disappointment. She watched the mertag as he began to chew on one of the slats, then spit out splinters in disgust. “If you can leave your pond, then why don’t you run away?”

Errol made a croaking sound that Sera decided was a laugh. “Do not think I have not thought of that, Sera Lighthaven! Mertags are smart, smarter than humans, by fins and feelers. But there is no way out of this place that I can find, walls and walls and more walls and no way through them. You will see soon enough, the lights will come back. And I cannot be out of the water forever, no, not forever, just a little while.” He laughed again. “But they do not know that, oh no, humans think Errol needs water always. Humans are blind, no brains at all.”

Sera wasn’t sure if the humans she met were stupid—Agnes certainly did not seem to be. But at least for now, Sera was not alone. She could speak to someone, even a someone as strange as Errol. She pressed her glowing fingertips together and sent up a prayer of thanks to Mother Sun. Then she held her hands back up so that she could talk to her new friend.

The lights did come back, as Errol had said they would.

Sera did not realize she had fallen asleep until a loud bang woke her up with a start. A series of lights switched on and a cheerful voice called out, “Morning, Boris. Morning, Errol, old boy. Hope you all slept—”

Sera blinked in the bright light and saw a young male standing before her, with a pale face and a mop of sandy hair. He looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. She froze, not trusting what he might do to her.

“Hello,” he said. “I didn’t know there was anyone new coming.” He crouched in front of the crate. “Wow. You’re quite something. I’ve gotten too used to Errol, and Boris over there.” He nodded to indicate the tree. “You must be hungry.”

It took everything in her to keep still, not to nod and beg for food. She was starving, but she would not let this male know she understood him.

He inspected the crate and shook his head in disgust. “Not even a cup of water? Or a bucket to relieve yourself? Typical Branson,” he muttered. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Sera.

Why did he keep talking to her? Did he know she could understand his language? Her heart sank as she wondered if maybe Agnes had told.

Now that the lights were on, she could see the space she was being kept in more clearly. It was larger than a dwelling, with a vaulted ceiling like the temple, except there was some sort of dark cover over it. Three-quarters of the room was taken up with neat little rows of seats covered in red—they stretched all the way to the ceiling, three balconies mounted one on top of the other. There were objects carved into the walls, fruit and flowers painted gold, and a covering on the floor that matched the color of the seats.

The male came back with a bowl, a small bucket, and a saw—Sera scuttled away from its sharp teeth.