A Bone in His Teeth

by Kellen Graves

He wondered if they would consecrate a stone and jar of sea water in the back yard as an altar to a sailor lost at sea, just like his mother had; set for Alba’s father, starved to death on a northern ice-locked ship then eaten by crew mates who inevitably died right alongside him. Alba used to shudder at the thought; but since returning home years prior knowing what it was like to fear for one’s life on an ice-locked ship in the north, knowing what human flesh tasted like on his own tongue, he’d realized to die first was actually a blessing.

The fish and crab Alba gutted morning to night behind the counter of Maggie’s stall were lucky, he thought. Reminded with every slice of the knife through wriggling undersides.

Reaching what he assumed to be the conservatively small town center, he paused at the dry fountain in the middle, appreciating the stone carving of a mermaid perched within it. Rather than water spilling from the pitcher tucked between her breasts in webbed hands, she was caked with thick layers of salt and long-dried barnacles, not unlike the rest of the buildings.

“You seem a little young to have so much experience in lighthouses and doggers both, lad. If you don’t mind me sayin’.” Alba smiled like he was in on the joke. “I’ve been sailing since I was a teenager. Got shanghai’d when I was barely thirteen.” “Sorry to hear it.” “Taught me how to work,” Alba answered like a promise.

He knew some parts of him proved he didn’t lie about his time at sea, but there were other unavoidable ones that always drew unwanted curiosity when stopping for the night in random northern ports. His unlucky red hair, the narrowness of his shoulders, the shape of his brow, the indisputable lack of even a shadow on his jaw that he often worried betrayed his claim to manhood. He’d learned long ago that avoiding eyes was the simplest way to avoid those words he hated so much, but couldn’t blame in their curiosity. You sure you’re a sailor? Somethin’ about you looks more like a lass.

Instinctively, Alba wrung his fingers around his wrist where a white woven bracelet used to hang, decorated with pearls his mother once said would bless him to grow into the masculinity he wanted. They’re magic bits from the sea. They’ll make you as much a man as anyone else so long as you keep wearing it. Save sprouting a member, but a cock never made a man anyway. Should even keep your blood away if you’re consistent.

Throughout the barnacle nests, some flaking off with the movement, others encapsulated, grown into the thick shells—were chipped human fingernails.

He couldn’t help a little tune that tweeted between his lips, cracking a smile as the wind answered through the pipes as if complimenting him. He whistled further, and the wind responded, distracting him from the pit in his gut, harmonizing with the sound as if it knew exactly what notes he would offer before he did—until a third song joined them, and ice flooded his veins.

He’d never been enticed by the sea before. Not once. To finally know what so many sailors heard before giving in to the call that tempted them—and for it to happen to him while all alone, isolated, with hardly a soul knowing where he was⁠— It was nothing but beauty—and dread—and heartbreak, at forcing himself to ignore it. Gut-churning, soul-rocking heartbreak, distressing enough that Alba burst into tears with how badly he wished to turn and race back out to hear it again.

His mother used to scold him for always being in a rush, telling him ‘take that bone from your teeth; good things come to those who wait.’

Trapped. Stuck. Hopeless. No different than being isolated on a boat in the north, nothing but water and shelves of glacier ice in every direction, knowing there was nothing he could do but sit—and wait—and pray—and consider death as the only way out. He let out a long breath through his nose. Always in a hurry. Take that bone from your teeth. The townspeople wanted something from him. The merrow wanted something from him. Even Josiah’s dogs wanted something from him.

“You have no idea what will come if you make an enemy of me, so I suggest⁠—” Alba burst out laughing again. It took him a moment to gather his bearings back, shaking his head. “An enemy of you! The likes of you! Please—I’ve met arctic seals more frightening than you. Erk—” he wheezed when a hand found his throat, pressing down, but the smile never left his face. “This—doesn’t frighten me—either. You ever been—mast-headed? That’s how I—broke my hip in the—first place. What about salted—after a floggin’?”

“Lift your curse on me.” “No.”

I only—know anythin’ because my mother grew up here. Told me lots of things about the lot of you. God, you’re heavy⁠—” “And what sort of things were those?” the merrow’s eyes widened, a wicked, exasperated grin spreading over his face. “Clearly not enough, ‘else you wouldn’t be tempting me like this, wickie.” “Told me you were beautiful and stupid!” Alba snapped back. “Seems at least one of those things is right!”

“I’ll even keep the drowned from bothering you any longer if it means you won’t look so… wild the next time you go into town,” the merrow went on. “If it’ll help you earn the trust of the people there.” Alba should have argued the real reason he’d looked wild when last carried bleeding into the doctor’s office—but

Alba looked at him with tempered annoyance. Still trying to digest exactly everything that’d come to pass since being forced awake by a naked stranger in his house.

Eridanys was either so sure of himself that he felt completely safe closing his eyes and drifting off right there, naked, defenseless, in the home of someone whom he had no reason to trust—or, Alba realized as he picked out faint dark circles beneath the man’s eyes, perhaps he was simply as exhausted as Alba was. He’d mentioned traps set around the harbor, after all. He’d mentioned looking for his missing kin, which Alba knew from his own experience to be draining. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Alba pressed his lips together, exhaling a puff of breath to knock a clump of hair from his eyes. How ironic, for someone of the land and someone of the sea to meet in that same miserable place. Searching for those who were meant to be there waiting. Missing. Not a trace to be found. As if Moon Harbor had swallowed every one of them whole.

For a moment, he genuinely thought the merrow might be dead, finally reaching out to touch his shoulder. Then to shake him a little more aggressively, only to yelp when a pale hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed his wrist, nearly breaking it in half. “Easy!” Alba snapped, yanking his hand away as the man blinked away his disorientation. “You haven’t moved in some twelve hours, you know. Do you need to be watered? Like a beached whale?”

Oh—and killing me, in case you get bored.” “I wouldn’t wait for your permission to kill you.” “Christ,” Alba muttered,

Tired enough to not actually care if Eridanys decided to kill him. So long as he was deep enough asleep to not feel it, he wouldn’t even notice. There would be nothing to grieve.

He made a pot of coffee—with a dribble of whiskey, to settle his nerves—all the while checking over his shoulder to see if the mer-man would come back through the door demanding something to eat for himself. Alba didn’t know how he would answer, though it would probably sound something like “go fetch your own food from the sea, like a dog.”

To see the shadowed cuts of muscle down his back so distinctly, Alba's face burned. Just like it always had when his gaze lingered on some handsome crewmate drawing in pots alongside him on a boat, arms straining and jaw clenched in focus. Or when one would come up from behind and grab at a rope Alba clung to, arms encircling him, thinking nothing of it while Alba’s entire body lit up like a lantern. Watching handsome mouths move when they chatted away in a bar, how lips parted over the rims of glass mugs. How tongues curled around fishbone while repairing nets on deck, holding the needles in their mouths while strong hands tightened knots over their laps.

Christ—he really should find that man on the rocks some goddamned clothes.

“A siren’s song isn’t supposed to sound like anything,” the merrow argued with surprising conviction. “Sailors who hear it are meant to feel it, not hear any part enough to decide if it’s pretty. That’s what makes it so tempting.”

“You really don’t have to be such a prick all the time. You’ll get wrinkles on that pretty face of yours.” “Why would my face wrinkle?” Eridanys snapped back, animalistic, alarmed. “I’d never let you close enough to skin me in the first place⁠—” “Jesus Christ, what? Alright, I’m sorry, it was just a tease. I have no intention of skinnin’ you.”

“What the hell are you doing!” Alba shouted over the noise, finally able to yank Eridanys toward the hatch. “You’ll go blind in a minute! If it doesn’t cook you alive first, you walking fish…!”

“It took me back there, to that place where I… I thought all of this had been a dream, my finally coming back here… Boiled Neptune, what a relief, even to wake up to your ugly face…”

“And what do you want in return, then? Since humans always demand repayment.” Alba frowned, then scoffed, then shook his head. He got to his feet. “A ‘thank you’ would’ve been nice, but I see even that might be too much for a miserable creature like you. But you know what? The disdain you hold for the thought of me helpin’ you is sweet. The next time you do somethin’ stupid and need me to hold your hand and walk you out, I’ll even do it again. Bastard.”

“Tell me what you want in exchange. I will not owe a debt to the likes of you.” Alba stared at him in disbelief, before yanking himself free and hobbling to the stairs. “Pull your head out of your ass. That’s enough for me.” “My head is nowhere near my ass!”

“I would like to sleep in the house at night again!” “Alright.” “And I will earn my keep! Like you insisted the last time.” “Sure—” Eridanys dove back under, swirling around a few times before emerging again. “I will wait for you in the house while you’re away. Until sunset. I won’t argue about it.” “Alright.” “And I’ll do as I please while I’m in there.” Alba narrowed his eyes. “You will not.” “I’ll do as I please,” Eridanys snapped. “I’ll crawl out of the sea and rip your head clean from your shoulders if I wish to!” “Get a move on, then, if you really want an audience.”

Don’t get your hopes up. You better thank me later if I do, too.” “Then do as we agreed and learn what you can about my kin as well, will you? Unless you insist on being a useless⁠—” “Another word and I’ll fry you.”

“The mud, the seaweed, the fish, the rocks… this mixture will help heal your face in a few days.” “Why does it matter to you?” Alba couldn’t help it. Eridanys scowled. “A ‘thank you’ would be fine, too.” Alba almost punched him.

“Were your kin this generous back then, too?” “Oh, am I generous now?” Alba rolled his eyes. “First with ripping out Marco’s throat for me, and now smearing sea-shit on my face.”

“Are you still hungry?” he asked, instead. “Or did you eat Marco whole?” “I did,” Eridanys answered without flinching. “His meat was greasy and bitter. Like alcohol.”

Trying to decide how much he really cared to share. Wondering if it really mattered if he was honest. Wondering if merrow like Eridanys really cared about the politics of sailing as a lad or a lass. Or a lass who was a lad.

“Well—sailors really believe it. Some would even be so willin’ to throw the poor lady overboard to become a siren to sink another ship on their tail than risk their own misfortune.” “Not at all how sirens are made, but go on.”

“There was still another three months left on our contract, and I was not about to spend it havin’ to choose between lettin’ him do as he wished to me to keep my secret, or tellin’ the captain, which would get me stranded, or…” “Worse,” Eridanys finished for him.

“Albatross,” Eridanys reiterated. “The prince of the sea. Little prince. That’s what that man called you, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Alba sighed. “My mother used to call me that, too. He only did it because he knew that.” “I’m glad to have torn out his throat, then,” Eridanys responded with a little lick of his lips.

You say you’ve never been tempted by sirens while sailing though, so do you not…?” “I’m—I enjoy—physical desires of the flesh just fine, actually,” Alba said, speaking the words a little too fast. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t” “I enjoy them! At least—I think I would. I don’t know, I’ve never…”

“Perhaps you’ve simply never given in to the call of something you would risk it all for?” For him to say such a thing when Alba knew better than both of them exactly how that same mer-man’s song had reduced him to a flushed, tingling mess in private—Alba almost couldn’t keep the mortification off his face.

“Sirens are just merrow cursed to hunt for their own food and companionship,” Eridanys continued,

“I didn’t merely get lost like some green sailor on his first voyage. I was banished from my kinship, here in Moon Harbor. And yes—out there in the great sea—in the endless loneliness, the hunger, the exhaustion, even I succumbed to the depravity of a siren. My song changed, allowing me to lure sailors like you for something to feast on to survive. I’m still a siren now, even after returning. And I would stay a siren even if I’d found my kin alive and well, whether they invited me back into the fold or not. Satisfied?”

“I want to mate with you. To make you my caller of the shore, just like merrow once did with the humans of Moon Harbor. So that you are only ever made weak by my own song, and you allow me to cross onto the shore, uninhibited by the warding bonds and traps alike that they have in their waters. Is that clear enough?”

“You’re exactly the type of man most creatures would love to play with.”

“If I say yes, what happens? I mean—how do we do it?” “What do you mean, ‘how do we do it’?” Eridanys said sarcastically. “Do you not know what I mean by ‘mate with you’?”

“I expect more than that, especially after you just got done telling me all about how sirens eat whoever they call to⁠—” “I also said they pleasure them, first.”

“Then—you intend to fuck me? Before you eat me?” “I’m not going to eat you.” “Why should I believe that? For all I know, this is just some sort of game you like to play with your food⁠—” “I’m not going to eat you, sailor,” Eridanys insisted with frustration, spoken through his teeth and grasping the nape of Alba’s neck.

He wondered how he must have looked beneath a layer of sea-mud. Did he look frightened? Apprehensive? Could Eridanys see the hesitation, the uncertainty, the pure icy fear of having to admit out loud—he’d never fucked or been fucked by even a normal human man, before?

“I can’t eat all this by myself,” he said. “Don’t want it to go to waste. I want you to eat some so you owe me a debt, and I can make you do chores while I’m tendin’ the light.”

Despite his best efforts to put it out of his mind, though, Alba soon couldn’t help but ruminate endlessly over what it would be like to—inevitably—give in to a call to someone like him. To be pleasured by a siren—like him. Suddenly acutely aware of the strength of Eridanys’ arms, especially how they swelled beneath the weight of lifting and pushing a brick-laden wheelbarrow from the shed over the uneven, grassy terrain to the house.