The Glimmering Sea

CHAPTER EIGHT

Red roses scented the entrance to Torquato's hut. He sat alone at a small table with his back to Armida. He called out for her to enter. It was not yet dawn; the birds and insects were still sleeping.

Her uncle had not yet cleared his room in preparation for the morning lessons. Armida turned over the conch shell being used as a paperweight. Its glossy interior, with shades of pink and coral, was like dawn on la Laguna. An easel stood near the large rear window and a smeared palette and jars of paint rested on the ledge. A portrait of a woman in partial profile stood on the easel.

Armida asked, "Who is she?"

"Someone I once loved a lifetime ago. But that is the past."

"A mermaid, then? Magister, are you the artist?" Her tone was formal, hiding her deeper interest as to whether the mermaid was actually in the past.

Torquato laughed. "I have attempted to finish her portrait for years. A Terran called da Vinci did a portion of the head. A brilliant mind and shrewd observer of the natural world."

Armida had a sudden urge to touch the canvas but its beauty froze her hand. The delicate headdress with pearls over auburn waves looked as real as the necklace Armida wore. The elegant gold embroidery of the dress was magnificent. "Your senses cannot be too dull. You knew it was me before I spoke."

"Smell and sound can be instructive."

"And can they explain why you want to talk to me?"

"I have heard more rumblings." Torquato pointed to a second chair. "The restraints of Marean custom still bind you tightly."

"From Delfina, of course. No matter. Why should I not doubt? Should it not be a larger concern when the others swallow everything whole, spending no time in careful digestion?"

"Do you believe no other merpup has asked these questions?"

"Merpup? I have completed the Rites. I deserve acknowledgment of that at least."

"And how does that make you special? Every merfolk morphs once—at the Rites—and often many times after."

Armida fell silent. Her terror over the risk of remaining in human form emptied her of rational thought. The searing pain of her Metamorphean Rites loomed heavy in her memory. How could anyone open themselves to repeating it? Her chest tightened, and her breath came in small gasps that she tried to hide.

As if sensing her fear, Torquato said, "It is not so very difficult after the first time in Terran form."

"I am not Terran. Whatever this body is, it is not Terran." Armida flung her hands in a sweeping gesture up and down her body.

Torquato blinked once, slowly. "It is who you are. After morphing, merfolk appear as Terrans and thus the name. This form is part of who you are. Both are necessary to make you whole. Fighting one's nature can stunt happiness."

"I do not like it, this body. I do not fathom the purpose. No one will explain why we transform. I miss the ability to move unencumbered. I feel so...heavy in my body."

"You might as well ask why merfolk have tails. Perhaps you feel the strangeness more than most because you agonize instead of accept. In time, it will belong to you. After all, when you return to mer form, you will not lose your legs entirely."

"What are you saying?" Armida wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Have you ever seen under the skin of a whale flipper? Let me show you."

Torquato retrieved a book from his shelves and thumbed to an illustration. "Notice the similarity. The rudimentary fingers beneath the skin. I've seen them in a live whale. I had to repair his wounds."