Chapter Text
Everything was weightless.
From Vertias’s cumbersome body to the limbs attached, there was nothing. No sound. No warmth or chill. No pressures he could feel, except for the distinct lack of gravity that usually tugged at his body. A feeling he vaguely experienced in a large enough bathtub or on the rare occasion he went swimming.
It was strange.
Yet he could move, his limbs unrestricted.
Considering his blood hadn’t boiled yet, the vacuum of space was out of the question. Impossible to think he could’ve made his way there in a single night, but the impossible has only proven itself relative in a world of endless possibilities. A frustrating thing, even within his profession of scholar and researcher. He knew he was limited by his own knowledge; it wasn’t as if he appreciated that fact being thrown in his face time and time again. It was why he sought out to stamp out his own ignorance. A mighty feat to accomplish within a single lifetime.
If he had any sense left within him, he would open his eyes. See what predicament he was in. Potentially begin the process of determining a way out of said predicament.
Except nothing within his body screamed at him to do so. Where panic and anxiety should have been found, there was only a serene calm waiting for him.
Nudging him to find ease within the unknown.
Urging him to proceed with only the gentlest of curiosities.
And lulling him with a secret song, like he was the key to an unwound music box.
A newfound purpose, its importance on par with his other aspirations.
Veritas opened his eyes.
And what filled his vision was anything but the cozy room he had been staying in. Rather, it was a scenery of dark, mottled stone. Holes of varying sizes bored into the stone walls that circled him, an eerie blue filtering through, casting craggy shadows that refused to reach each isolated corner. Barely revealing the entrances to tunnels that lead further into darkened caverns even he couldn’t see the ends to.
Everything completely submerged underwater.
Including him.
His lungs seized, suddenly aware of the threat of drowning. It took everything to calm the panic that threatened to flood his mind. Panic was inconducive to his situation. The last thing he needed was his body to realize he was limited to the air within his lungs.
Humans can only safely hold their breath for about a minute or two. Veritas had no clue how long he’s been down here, let alone how he’s survived thus far. But he was conscious, which means he still had a chance. He lunged for the closest exit, or what he thought was a close equivalent, a large gap in the stone which he spied open waters through. The seabed, a sandy expanse beyond the threshold rather than the collection of rock scattered below that must have broken loose from the ceiling above.
But the way his fingertips speared through the waters, propelling him forward at an unrecognizable pace, gave him pause. His hand, his arm, now shimmering like facets of sapphires up to his elbow in a beam of hazy blue from above.
Utterly unrecognizable.
To the point he drew back, studying his own body as he would an experiment.
Foreign. Detached.
Because what he saw was no longer his hand, let alone human.
Claws, sharp and pointed, stretched over his nailbeds. Their length nearly half the length of the finger itself. Poised for killing, shredding. Reducing flesh into mangled heaps of nothing. He lifted them higher, turning them around as they flickered with an opalescent sheen, his eyes drawn to the other novel features accompanying the change. Specifically, the slight webbing that connected each digit. A light membrane that stretched up to the first knuckle. It wasn’t enough to impede the use of the hand but still dragged within the water, especially when they fanned out to their full extent.
And then there were the scales, rows and rows of them – purple, reflecting an iridescent teal. He was covered in them, stretching the length of his forearm, up to the fin that sprouted from the scaly skin between wrist and elbow. It was a familiar anatomy, although he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why.
As if his memory were just as fleeting as the fish that darted around him, utilizing the grotto as safety from the open waters. And the predators that lurked there.
And before he realized it, his lungs were burning for relief.
He gasped for air, startling himself. Not by the fact that he wasn’t drowning, but rather by the flaps that flared on either side of his neck. He reflexively brought his hand up to brush over the openings – the gills.
His gills.
As soon as the realization hit him, he looked down to where his legs once were. From his midsection down, there was only a tail that stretched longer than he anticipated, coiling where the rocky floor crowded his fin. The rest of his body? Covered only by a white strip of fabric slung loosely over his shoulder and pinned with an amethyst broach, smooth and devoid of impurities, inlaid in gold. Ridiculous, considering it did little to cover him.
Veritas was effectively a mermaid.
This was becoming too much, even for him.
He wasn’t given much time to think, let alone process the implications before a shadow passed overhead, the grotto descending into darkness momentarily. He snapped his head towards the disruption, only to find he had already missed what caused it.
Another grotto window dimmed. Followed by another in quick succession. A path of darkness arcing overhead until it landed opposite from Veritas.
And there, a set of eyes peered in at him.
Dual-toned jewels of pink and teal, round and watching with abject wonder.
The shock was enough to wake Veritas with a start.
…
The bookstore keeper drummed her short nails against the countertop, studying the mermaid book in her other hand. She looked up and down the gold leafed pages, inspecting for any damage. Inspecting for any blights that had come across the property Veritas now beseeched her to reclaim. His own nerves wanted to mirror the fidget, drum his own fingers or even bounce his knee. But any stray movement from him could indicate there was something amiss.
It couldn’t be the small water stain on a few unlucky pages lost within one of the many tales the book spun. Nor could it have been the talking mermaid Veritas had shared a bath with that could have caused such a mishap.
No, there was nothing amiss. And so, he stood still.
But she persisted, contemplating the return as if there was a choice to be made. Or, a conclusion to be drawn about the nervous doctor that dared making such a request of her. Especially after she had to put her own book – a choose your own adventure book whose patchy cover suggest it was older than himself – to the side in order to help him.
Considering it a used book would’ve been a stretch by any means. Stretched any further and the binding would’ve been detached from the yellowed pages, the threads keeping it together far and few in between.
He was thankful he at least brought a book to exchange it with: an all-inclusive guide to the care and upkeep of saltwater fish. A hobbyist book, but the best resource he had until the twins managed to send his laptop along with a something, anything, that could get him internet this far off the proverbial grid.
After cross referencing the folded receipt Veritas had provided, the paper laid flat before her, she halted her fingers and lifted her wine-stained eyes, a diluted red, and regarded him from beneath her brow. Not even the stray bangs hanging over reduced its intensity, the rest of the crown pulled back in a half updo. It was a stare that cut right through him, sizing him up as if they were on a battlefield. Nothing about her appearance hinted towards the root of this intensity – her sleek black turtleneck and plaid brown skirt that cut off right below her knee, even as she sat with a knee crossed over the other on a tall metal stool – rather, she looked cozy.
Her outfit, perfectly smart and warm for a chilly day like today. The weather was enough for him to forgo his own light jackets and dig deeper into the old lighthouse keeper’s belongings, settling on a cream-colored cable knit sweater. And if it were crisp when he left, it turned downright frigid by the time he reached the town.
He only hoped Topaz was faring well. That watching the lighthouse, and Aventurine, wasn’t too much of a burden in weather like this.
Normally, a place like this would’ve been his terrain. His strength lies with books and the knowledge they keep. But, with her at the helm, he was merely an unwelcomed guest.
She set the book to the side, picking up a handheld scanner to read the barcode of the receipt and then punched in a few numbers onto the mechanical keyboard. She eyed the boxy monitor with distaste.
“The best I can do is in store credit,” she finally relayed.
Veritas exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding it in the first place.
“I’m more interested in an exchange.” He slid the book he’d been cradling across the counter, the bookshop keeper scrutinizing the cover with equal measure.
“Mermaids not good enough for a genius like you?” Her tone, dry as she didn’t spare him a glance.
“Not quite. More like I need something more tangible.”
A bald-faced lie.
She grunted, but whether it was in approval or disapproval, he couldn’t tell. She curled her fingers around the new receipt as it printed, tearing it sharply across the serrated teeth. At the bottom, she circled a number before tucking it into the new book and sliding it back to him. “Leftover in-store credit is circled at the bottom.”
“Duly noted,” he responded, taking the book and tucking it under his arm. “It’ll be used eventually, no doubt.”
She doesn’t humor a response.
“I have a penchant for books,” he added against his better judgement, feeling the need to explain himself over her silent dismissal. The need for positive interaction, beyond the scope of mermaids, much needed and much overdue. “Unfortunate I couldn’t bring along more from my personal collection.”
Unimpressed, she flicked her eyes in his direction before depositing the newly returned book on an overflowing cart staged to be put away.
“A lot of returns?”
“Books come and go,” she mused, picking up her own book again. She was careful not to tug the cover and rip it clean from the binding, her fingers wrapping around the edges gingerly.
“At that point, you’re more akin to a library.” The air hung between them. She turned the page. “A poor business practice, if you ask me.”
“No one was asking you.” She scanned over the yellowed page, eyes flitting from word to word. But to his surprise, she continued. “Hard to care about business when it’s impossible to go under.”
“A benefit attributed to the IPC’s involvement, unless I stand to be corrected?”
She lifts her gaze, finally seeing him as something other than annoyance.
Wariness surrounded her as she closed her book, setting it face down, hands folding overtop the cover. “’Benefit’ is a strong word. Preserved like a museum exhibit would be more fitting.”
Finally, a crack in her stony exterior.
Veritas kept prodding, fishing for the information that didn’t come easy in this town. “Is that so bad? Economic stability at the cost of growth?”
“And what if growth wasn’t the only cost?” She countered, ready and sprung by the time he had finished his own question. The interaction taking on the quality of a hot, but even, debate.
“Depends on what the cost entails.” A statement more than a question.
“An answer that I don’t have. Everyone’s answers are different, their thresholds naturally vary.” She levels a hard stare. “I suggest figuring out your own limits before it’s too late.”
The edge in her voice suggested Veritas rethink any further questioning.
“What’s your name?” Veritas finally asked, an easy change in topic.
“Jingliu.”
“I’d introduce myself, but it seems you already know all about me. It’s nice to meet you Jingliu.” He gives a curt nod and turns to leave.
“Wait,” Jingliu commanded, already rummaging around underneath the counter by the time he turned to look back. When she resurfaced, she dropped a standard rubber duck on the counter. It took a curious look from Veritas before she even thought to explain herself. “It’s national rubber ducky day.”
He creased his brow further.
“It was something my wife started. A way to ‘celebrate the small joys of life’ as she put it.”
He grabbed it hesitantly, the yellow toy small within the palm of his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as a parting sentiment, the bell chiming as he left.
Already resigning himself to the idea that he would return, one way or another.
Book or no book.