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Mazu smiles and nods. “Guardian, you of all people should understand that the power in an item is not always reflected in its appearance. And as for your other question, how familiar are you with the myths of King Arthur?”
I press the heels of my hands against my cheeks to keep me in the moment, instead of running off screaming into the oceanic oblivion. “I don’t know. Not very? I watched that cartoon movie a lot as a kid. But I mainly remember a heartbroken squirrel.”
She chuckles. “Before he would bring Arthur to the Nimue, Merlin the Magician tested the young king with a sword he himself set into a stone. As Arthur was the one true king, only he could pull the sword from the stone.” She adds with a smile, “Nimue always loved that bit.”
With my brain scrambled, I wonder if I’m looking at her with a cross-eyed expression.
She smiles at me expectantly, her eyes wide and brow halfway to her hairline. “As Arthur was the one true King, you are the one true Guardian. Only you can remove the blade.”
I furrow my brow and bring the book closer to my face so I can examine the cover more closely. The entire book is about a foot tall, and thick, probably three inches when including the leather cover. The sword is about ten inches long from top to bottom. I run my fingers along the flat once more, down to the handle, where the metal has been formed into an intricate basketweave pattern. Feeling foolish, I grasp the hilt between my thumb and forefinger as best I can, and I feel an almost imperceptible click as the weapon pops free from the cover. I hold it in front of me, feeling the bumpy hilt in my hand and noticing how much heavier it is than I expected. I see in my periphery that Mazu is as enthralled as I am.
“So, I just have to go stab Beatrice with this now?”
“Well, it’s not quite that simple.” For the first time since we have been together, she can’t look me in the eye, which means I most likely won’t like what she’s about to tell me. “There is one other small detail. It needs to be coated in the blood of one of the siren’s victims.”
I forget what I am holding and drop my arms to my sides, the knife almost slipping from my grip. “I’m sorry, what now?”
At this moment, as if on cue, Jake trudges past us on his way to Beatrice, still under her spell.
Mazu swallows hard, but to her credit, she doesn’t avoid the question. “You need to coat the blade with the blood from one of your friends before you stab her.”
I shake myself back to Mazu. “How much blood?” I close my eyes and swallow hard while I await Mazu’s answer.
“The blade needs to be well-coated. So, you will need to do some damage, unfortunately. And remember, we’re in the ocean. Blood expands, travels, and... attracts things. So, this is going to be tricky.”
“Fanfuckingtastic.” How am I supposed to just walk over and cut one of my friends? And how am I going to do this without kicking off a shark feeding frenzy?
With my thoughts a violent whirlpool in my brain, I also watch helplessly as Beatrice waves her hand and unlocks a small but ornate lock on end of the cage closest to where she earlier sat in front of that mirror. The door swings open to let Jake in.
“Welcome, Jake, mate of Miranda! There is plenty of room for you with her other friends.” She looks right at me as she closes the door softly behind him and re-locks it with a wave of her hand. Then she returns to her stool. Maybe it’s because looks have never been a big asset to me, but I wonder how much time one being can spend staring at herself.
I also can’t help but wonder why she’s playing with me like this. Did she really just bring me down here to play at some sick twisted cat and mouse game? But then something else pops into my mind and distracts me. I turn and look with squinted eyes at Mazu and ask, “Why are you helping me? Why save my friends? If Beatrice is your sister, why help us at all?”
She looks past me, to the psychotic siren she’s helping me to defeat, and speaks softly, “Mermaids and sirens are both sea spirits. We are two sides of the same coin. Sirens are mermaids, but dark mermaids. Beatrice and I are sisters, but we are not the same. She seduces men to their deaths; I give them the gift of breath under the sea. You are the Guardian of this world, but I am Protector in the sea.”
I look back at the knife in my hand. “I’m, I’m going to go try something, Mazu.” Without looking at the mermaid directly, I pass the Book of Nimue back to her and half walk, half float down the sandy hill, toward my friends.
Beatrice won’t allow me to get to the door of her prison. But I have to try. Joanna makes eye contact with me. She’s lucid. I guess you can’t really retire from being The Guardian after all. She glances at my wrist, where I’m pressing the knife against my skin and hoping it remains unnoticed by our captor. She flicks her eyebrows up, almost imperceptibly, then looks to the door. I think I understand her meaning and lower my head in one brief nod.
I have to do this if I’m doing it. I pull my shoulders high and bounce on the balls of my feet, which only has me sink into the wet sand a bit. Showtime, I guess.
I rush to the side of the cage closest to me and begin shaking it. “Jake! Snap out of it. I’m here, but I’m okay. I need to know that you are too.”
Sitting against the bars far opposite the door, he stares ahead with no emotion or animation. He doesn’t show a single sign that he can hear me. “Eliza, Rory, wake up! You can’t stay sleeping here forever.”
I feel Beatrice’s cold eyes on me, not sure what I’m trying to accomplish by my obviously fruitless gesture.
Joanna rushes to me, making a show of calming my actions with her hands on top of mine. “Stop it, Miranda! You’re going to damage the coral! Don’t you know how sensitive the ecosystems are down here? Damnit, woman, you’re a Guardian, not an eco-terrorist!”
I release the bars with my empty hands up, displaying my innocence. While Joanna tucks one arm behind her back, I swim a foot back from the cage and focus on distracting Beatrice. I walk over to where she sits. She is still watching at me with a raised eyebrow, not sure what the fuck I’m doing. Not that I am sure of that myself.
“Okay, Beatrice. How’d you get Jake down here?” As I talk, I pass her so that she pivots on her stool in order to keep her eyes plastered on me. Her fins swish in front of her like a dog wagging its tail, only slower.
“You realize it doesn’t matter what I promise in my songs. I don’t have to promise anything at all. I just have to sing, and they come to me.”
“Okay, so you didn’t promise him anything? What did you sing about then?” I need to think fast and keep her facing my direction if we are to have any luck whatsoever here. “Was it the song about me and Ludo?”
Her mouth tightens as she shudders. When she speaks, she grunts through a clenched jaw. “Yes.”
