"Inzai" by Elisabeth A. Wilhelm

Serenade swam towards the surface, her glittering lines a sharp contrast to the dark and churning world above. A school of silver fish flitted by, sending her face afire in white. The expression held within was of grim hope. How Serenade had wished for a better way than this.

He had promised her to fly, holding her in his warm arms, whispering of the oddities and fantastical things he had seen as he stretched his hand over the dry lands. Had mermaids in need of tears, Serenade would have been drowning in them. Her webbed hands pushed her to the surface, the dread growing within her heart.

The sky above roiled in colors of deep blue and threatening steel gray. It was of the same hue of the sword the human had used, before it had been drenched in mermaid’s blood. The winds screamed and bit cold into her skin, the spokes of ice carving into her face. Thunder brought the full fury of the winds upon Serenade, the inevitable flash of light imprinting themselves in her eyes. Dark lines that had never been there before creased under her eyelids. She found it naturally hard to breath, drowning on the air, but her eyes still searched.

Where was he?

In vain, she looked to the distant horizon, willing that he would appear and wrap her up within his arms and tell her he loved her. The horizon and the sea that had become her prison, had become one, black as the deepest parts of the sea. Serenade dove under as another strike of lightning crackled above her. She came upon her favorite silhouette, her rock, her domain, her place upon the world of the skies. The rocks were no longer the friendly forms she had known from before, but rough and sharp. She perched herself precariously upon the rock, the tousled mass of black hair billowing behind her. Her chest heaved painfully. She had lost nearly everything, but she could not lose him as well.

She closed her eyes as he had once taught her, laughing softly in her hair. He had told her that in all of his travels, he had never heard such an unearthly voice. She had stopped singing, she could not sing, after he was torn from her. She had once sung of the glories of the Sai’d, of the swift and deep currents of warmth that wrapped her in glorious happiness, and of him, her Inzai. Inzai, her sage of winds, had her heart within his possession, that magic satchel he carried. She pressed her hands firmly against the rocks, the screeching winds ripping and tearing at her. The rocks cut into her scaly flesh. Serenade turned to the dark roar of the tempest, determined her voice would carry, hoping with all her heart it would be heard. She wanted and loved him so badly. She paused, looking over the churning waves, her thoughts going back to a time of murmurs of stories, of laughter, and of sunlight. One last deep, sharp breath, the rocks dripping blood.

“Derlish parda ont feyaa, Inzai,” she sang, her voice rising above the storm’s.

Exhaustion filled her frame, the slivers of ice gathering in her hair. The breaths stabbed pain into her chest, as if hot water had been poured into her gills. She sank onto her elbows upon the rocks, her tail slipping beneath the waves. How badly she wanted the tears to come. “Inzai,” she whispered as she slid beneath the waves.