A lost explorer discovers the world’s future, much to the consternation of its guardians.
tags: commission, mind control, technically not nsfw
The mermen attacked at the height of the storm, stepping out of the waves that crashed across the deck. There was no reason for it—La Rosa de la Reina trafficked in no gold, its hold held no slaves, it had observed all the appropriate rites that kept the soldiers of the sea at bay. And still they came to slay the crew.
Ginés Pérez de Cabrera e Hita fought them at the sterncastle, blessed saber in hand, until the mizzenmast snapped and took him into the sea. He clung to that same mast as the storm raged higher and the ship disappeared into the gray spray, clung to it for as long he could stay conscious.
He came to on a beach of black sand, its heat in the sun warming his chilled bones. Around him was jetsam from his ship, but there were no bodies. He chose to take this as a good sign; perhaps La Rosa yet lived, somewhere out on the sea.
He pulled himself to his feet, cut and aching and already suffering the early stages of dehydration. And yet he took solace in the fact that, as a sanctioned explorer of the Queen, he had been in a half-dozen worse spots. Despite everything, he drew breath without pain, his bones were unbroken, his skin only slightly parched.
In the distance, Ginés saw some sort of ruins—the ramparts of some ancient civilization, perhaps. This, too, was a good sign. It meant water and food were once here, and the decay suggested whoever was once here might no longer guard it.
Then he blinked and realized that, somehow, his initial observation was wildly wrong—that these were not ruins, but beautiful, living structures, blue and gold and red in the noonday sun.
And now he could see figures approaching through the beach’s heat mirage, a welcome party of some sort. He wished he still had his sword, but as they drew closer, he became convinced that they meant him no harm. They appeared unarmed themselves, almost like a noblewoman approaching with her retinue. Ginés racked his brain, trying to craft a politic welcome that would reflect well on both him and his Queen.
But the closer they drew, the less the explorer was able to formulate a clear though. He was, even at a distance, struck by the noblewoman’s beauty, an impression that only grew, until she was standing before him, filling his eyes and his thoughts, and he rendered speechless at her all-consuming beauty.
She stood a head taller than him, a difference that grew more pronounced as he knelt to one knee. Her face was strong, the stark lines of one accustomed to perfect obedience, yet unmarred by a touch of cruelty. Her eyes, too, were hard, a piercing brown with a touch of inner fire. But then she smiled, and it was as if the beach’s dark sand turned to iridescent glass, and her happiness became the font of all happiness in the world.
“Ginés Pérez de Cabrera e Hita,” she purred, her voice like the sea in storm. “How I have longed to meet you, my explorer.”
His lips moved but he could not speak, so she helped him by extending a perfect hand. “Greet me as you would your queen,” she told him, and he did, taking her hand in his and planting a gentle kiss on its back. But it wasn’t enough—not enough appreciation, not enough devotion. He tried again, and again, planting a kiss on each of her red nails, and then her knuckles, working his way up her hand and her arm. He admired how her unblemished skin blended perfectly into the cerulean of her dress, how it led his eyes to her shoulders, and to the teeth that framed her elegant neck, and how the hair that flowed like ink complemented the eyes that glowed like embers.
She spoke again, her tongues flitting across his thoughts. He gasped and shook as his lips were pulled away from Her perfect skin, but even as Her tendrils wrapped around him, lifted him, he understood. He understood that without Her restraints, he would destroy himself upon Her, that he would flounder upon Her as surely as a ship in shoals. That he must be pulled back, for his own sake.
That Her arms would pull tightly across him and shear away the trappings of his old life, his ranks and titles and insignia all offered up to Her.
That before Her, he would be stripped and bound, and that in that moment he would know true freedom.
His arms were pinned behind him now, and then his legs, the crushing pressure of Her gentle embrace focusing him, depriving him of any sensation that was not Her. She grew to fill all his senses, pushing out any thought that was not of Her and Her beauty and Her power.
“Tell me now about your queen,” She asked of him.
“She is the sky and the storm,” he gasped, overcome by the opportunity to express his love of Her, “and the sea in all its seasons. Her red eyes are the coals of Hell, and her tendrils will choke the world. She is Xolotzil! She will—she will—”
She laughed again, and Ginés felt his bones bend under the weight of Her joy. “My lovely Ginés! But I do not mean me, my love. I mean the one that is across the sea. The one that commands an armada. The one I have yet to meet. Tell me of her.”
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
On any other day, at any other point in his life, Lorvos would would have cut her tongue out for the mockery she made of the First.
But there was more at stake than his pride. The People’s assault on the human vessel had failed and he had been captured, but those humiliations paled in comparison to the threat that loomed over them all. Now all of their fates depended on this human woman understanding his warning. He hung on her every misspeak and fumble, trying to will the words into her mind.
“She… a chain? A binding. A… wall? A prisoner. An exile. An exile?”
His lips pulled back in something like a grin, and he bobbed his head eagerly.
“An exile!” the simpleton exclaimed, and then chittered to her compatriots. A commotion on the deck above distracted them for a moment—something about a lost crewman returning. Lorvos grimaced, hoping against hope that this did not mean what he feared it meant.
The translator turned back to him. “You… guard?”
Another enthusiastic response.
“You… guarded… island exile? A warning?”
The commotion was growing louder now, but Lorvos held her gaze, keeping her focus on him, and risked speaking again. “Yes! I was the leader of a cohort, sworn to prevent anyone from landing on—”
The door to the makeshift holding cell swung open, and Lorvos knew then that he had truly, completely failed.
“My lord!” one human exclaimed.
“The empress, here?” another cried, falling to his knees.
“Xolotzil,” he hissed.
It hurt to look on Her, and Lorvos knew it would only grow worse. The humans could still not see Xolotzil for what She was, but already Her tendrils were reaching out, tasting the world. Under Her touch, the planks of the ship were twisting, growing into something more like Her, and the air stank of Her beauty. Freed from Her island, She would not be contained.
“Leave us,” She spoke into their minds, and Lorvos felt himself pull at his chains, trying to obey Her compulsion. The others began to leave the room immediately, not seeing all of Her but still filtering out along the walls, stepping around Her great and writhing mass.
She stopped the translator at the door, Her hands cupping the woman’s chin and bringing their eyes together. “And you learned Our language, my girl?”
“I’m just—just an anatomist, ma’am,” the poor human stuttered in perfect First, Xolotzil already slipping into her mind, making it more like Hers. Unseen but to Lorvos, Her other tendrils were reaching out, caressing the woman’s flesh. The mortal trembled under the invisible touch, not knowing why.
“A doctor and a linguist. Skilled with your hands and your tongue. You will present yourself to me in my chambers, when I am done here.” The woman nodded and bent at the waist, still facing Her as she backed out of the cabin.
Two of Xolotzil’s red eyes now turned on Lorvos. “My former jailer, in chains before me. My new servants are very industrious.”
“We will stop you,” Lorvos said, but even he could not muster a bite to his words.
“You couldn’t even stop one ship of humans,” Xolotzil countered, amused. For a moment, she looked contemplatively at the now empty cabin door. “They see that which they most want to serve. What do you see, Lorvos?”
He knew what he should see. And he knew that what he did see was a lie, but it took all his willpower to look away from that beautiful deception.
“The end of the world,” he muttered, defeated.
She laughed, and the planks of the ship groaned with Her power. “Please. I don’t want the world. I want a small kingdom, and a large fleet to keep you merfolk away. I think these humans’ peninsula and their Grand Armada will fill my ambitions quite nicely.”
Now Her tendrils were reaching out for him, wrapping around his wrists and ankles, binding him tighter than any chains ever could. “Don’t worry, my lovely Lorvos. No harm will come to you. I’ll need one of your kind to carry word of my coronation to the Deeps—and by the time I’m done with you, you’ll do that because you want to.”
With a mixture of terror and anticipation, Lorvos knew She was right.
Author’s Note: This story was a commission from Zyzzyza, who told me to write a story “like that one music video.”