Still, they swim well enough. I make my way toward the wildly thrashing net. “Calm down,” I tell her. “Let me help you.” To my relief, she stops fighting.

I take a minute to examine the net that hangs suspended around her like a holey parachute as she descends in slow motion. I pull and twist and tug. All the while, she watches me. Above us, two headless bodies weighed down with droopy overalls tread water and talk between themselves at the surface. They’re way too calm.

Don swims under and pokes his head up into the air bubble created by the toppled boat. I don’t know what he’s looking for but it can’t be good. As I disentangle the net piece by piece, I try to pull her deeper and deeper. “I think they’re up to something,” I tell her. “We need to go deeper, where they can’t get us. Humans can’t hold their breath very long.”

Don emerges from the upturned boat. With a harpoon. He surfaces briefly for air, then he dives toward us. All at once, the young Syrena grabs my wrist through the net and wrenches me down with her, faster than I could have pulled us alone.

Don takes aim. And it’s not at us.

“No!” But it’s all I can get out before the spear embeds into Goliath’s side. He makes a horrible sound, a sound that turns my heart into shrapnel. I tug to get free from the little Syrena pulling me away from the men, away from the surface. Away from Goliath.

“I have to go back,” I tell her. “The whale. He’s my friend. And he’s hurt.”

She nods and releases me.

“But you keep going,” I say. “If you can swim with the net, find others who can help you get loose. Don’t come back to the surface. Go!”

I turn from her in time to see Goliath plummet—instincts must be kicking in that deeper is safer. A thin, broken trail of blood chases after him, seeping from where the spear still pierces his flesh. Still, judging by how much of the harpoon still protrudes from his body, I think it’s only a shallow wound. I’m instantly relieved, and then instantly disgusted that I’m relieved. Who cares how shallow the wound is, idiot? He’s hurt.

I open my mouth to call for him, but close it again. It would be stupid—and selfish—for me to distract him from leaving, even if I just wanted to make sure he’ll be okay. After all, it’s my fault this happened to him in the first place. I want to tell him how sorry I am that this happened. That I got him into this when all he wanted to do was play. And how thankful I am that he helped. I decide that no matter what, I’ll find a way to make him understand how horrible I feel. How grateful I am.

I glance back to the surface where the two stupid fishermen struggle with the clasps of their newly donned life jackets. Life jackets that look much too small to keep those woolly mammoths afloat.

Deciding that I’ve done all the damage and good I can do, I swim deeper and away from the men. Hopefully someone knows where they are, or at least where to look, and will send the coast guard to help them after a while. Hopefully, after an extended while.

In the meantime, I’m hoping I come across a pod of dolphins to hitch a ride with. Otherwise, it’s a long swim home.

16

GALEN WATCHES hunters outside the Arena corral fish into a frenzy. Expertly, they throw traditional seaweed nets into the maelstrom of tuna. The nets, which have large rocks tied at each corner, drag the fish to the bottom, keeping them alive until they’re ready to be eaten. The waters around the Boundary are ideal for many types of fish to flourish. The reefs and atolls make for a variety of plant life and fish. Even giant clams can be found here—one tasty clam can feed at least twenty Syrena for the day.

But Galen didn’t come to the Arena to watch the hunters wrangle up the morning meal for the attendants of the tribunal. He came to find Toraf before today’s session starts. He’s had little time with his friend amid the recent turn of events, so Galen can only watch his reactions from afar, which doesn’t offer much hint.

Galen finds him where he’d expected to, poised just above the sand at the end of the Arena. Others may not notice it, because an angry Toraf is truly a rare thing to behold, but Galen can practically feel the animosity emanating from his friend. Which is why he casually bumps into him, taking care to be overly apologetic.

“Oh, sorry about that, minnow. I didn’t even see you there.” Galen mimics Toraf’s demeanor, crossing his arms and staring ahead of them. What they’re supposed to be staring at, he’s not sure.

His effort is rewarded with a slight upward curve of his friend’s mouth. “Oh, don’t think twice about it, tadpole. I know it must be difficult to swim straight with a whale’s tail.”

Galen scowls, taking care not to glance down at his fin. Ever since they went to retrieve Grom, he’s been sore all below the waist, but he’d just attributed it to tension from finding Nalia, and then the whole tribunal mess—not to mention, hovering in place for hours at a time. Still, he did examine his fin the evening before, hoping to massage out any knots he found, but was a bit shocked to see that his fin span seemed to have widened. He decided that he was letting his imagination get the better of him. Now he’s not so sure. “What do you mean?” he says lightly.

Toraf nods down toward the sand. “You know what I mean. Looks like you have the red fever.”

“The red fever bloats you all over, idiot. Right before it kills you. It doesn’t make your fin grow wider. Besides, the red tide hasn’t been bad for years now.” But Toraf already knows what the red fever looks like. Not long after he first became a Tracker, Toraf was commissioned to find an older Syrena who had gone off on his own to die after he’d been caught in what the humans call the red tide. Toraf was forced to tie seaweed around the old one’s fin and pull his body to the Cave of Memories.