The Artist and the Merman

Tamlin was such an inept swimmer that the ocean terrified him. But with his sister Tammie’s latest invention—a pair of slippers that enhanced swimming ability—he found himself actually enjoying the water. The surf no longer seemed bent on dragging him to his doom, and beneath the waves was a marvelous new world to explore.

Reveling in his newfound element, he pretended not to hear Tammie’s calls from the beach. When he finally surfaced, his sister was gone. Though alarmed by her sudden departure, part of him welcomed the respite from Tammie’s hawk-like gaze. Whatever he did, she seemed to be watching for the inevitable moment when he’d founder and need rescuing.

Wistfully removing the slippers, Tamlin made his way back to the rocky beach. He was gingerly testing his footing on a stepping-stone when a boisterous wave broke, throwing him off balance. In his panic, he flung the slippers wildly into the air, collecting himself just in time to see the pair borne by the tide into one of the sea caves along the shores of Telaga Tujuh. Wading half-heartedly toward the cave, he skidded clumsily and stubbed his big toe.

He stumbled back to the beach, ready to give up. Then he saw his sister’s note stuck to his beach bag: “Don’t ruin slippers—or else.” “Don’t” was heavily underscored.

Somehow he clambered over the treacherous rocks at the cave’s mouth and managed to retrieve one slipper. But the other had been swept deep inside. He glimpsed a translucent strap waving like seaweed at the bottom of a trench but the incoming tide created swirls and eddies that obscured the slipper from sight. By the time he pinpointed its location, the water was too deep for him to reach it. Turning to leave, he saw—no! How had he not noticed? The mouth of the cave was almost submerged.

Retreating to an elevated rock, Tamlin considered his options. He could make a desperate bid to swim out, but even if he managed to exit the cave against the current, he’d almost certainly get dashed on the jagged rocks at its entrance. Perhaps the tide wouldn’t completely engulf his raised seat? He’d made up his mind to stay put when he saw a boy standing in the water below him. In his right hand, he held the missing slipper. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked.

From his stature, he looked about ten or eleven; he hadn’t entirely lost the plumpness of childhood but his shoulders were sturdy and his limbs robust. His features were regular but otherwise unremarkable, with the exception of his oval eyes: bright aquamarine sea glass in which were suspended drops of amber! In spite of being drenched, locks of his cropped silver hair stood up defiantly, and his sarong, tied high over his waist, was covered in large blue and silver sequins. Fisherfolk on Telaga Tujuh often wore the versatile garment when plying their trade, but the boy’s sarong seemed oddly ornate, its long flaring hem billowing underwater like the tentacles of a gigantic purple anemone. “You should leave,” he announced with remarkable composure. “The whole cave will be underwater soon.”

“T-t-thanks! I r-r-really want to, but I c-c-c-can’t!” Tamlin stammered. In his anxiety, he’d hardly registered how chilly it was in the cave.

The boy appeared to assess the situation. “I can get you out,” he said, motioning Tamlin to get into the water. “Hold on to me. Like this,” he instructed, firmly embracing Tamlin. Letting go, he added, “Now wrap your legs around me. Tightly. Without choking me.”

Uncertain but having no better plan, Tamlin complied. As his calves brushed the boy’s sarong, he felt no floating fabric but something cool, slick, and rigid. He looked down into the water and gasped.

“You have a tail!”

The boy ignored him and continued, “On the count of three, close your eyes, pinch your nose, and hold your breath. Count to five. Don’t struggle, don’t let go. Trust me. Take a deep breath now. One, two, three!”

With that, he expertly flipped backward into the water with his terrified passenger. Excruciating images of impact and drowning flashed through Tamlin’s mind. He tried not to shudder at the cold, slimy tail and focused instead on the comforting warmth of the boy’s torso. A strong, steady heartbeat and the sense of a powerful rhythmic motion warded off panic as they shot through the mouth of the cave.

One… two… three ... He was still counting blindly when the boy deposited him on the rocky shore. “Under five seconds!” he said with a cocky grin. Then he dived under, his wine-colored fluke breaching the surface in a dramatic flourish.

“Wait!” cried Tamlin. The urgency in his own voice surprised him.

To his delight, the boy splashed to the surface again. “I’m here. Do you need anything else?”

He told Tamlin he was named after a good djinn in his father’s favorite play, but everyone called him Ari. He wasn’t supposed to visit the surface until he was eighteen, but wasn’t it lucky he happened to be exploring that cave today?

Tamlin wholeheartedly agreed. After further thanks and introductions, he said, “Will I see you again? Maybe we could hang out sometime.”

The boy thought for a moment. “Same day next week, three hours before sunset,” he said decisively. “But not here. About half a mile that way”—pointing east—“There’s a sheltered cove. Better for swimming.”

________________

So their weekly meetings at Pasir Hitam Beach began. Ari helped Tamlin become a tolerable swimmer, buoying him up when he struggled and surreptitiously letting go when he was moving confidently. With illustrations and other props, Tamlin expanded Ari’s vocabulary in the standard dialect, which he spoke fluently albeit with a slight gurgle when he was excited.

Naturally, they were curious about each other—especially their most obvious anatomical differences. Tamlin felt he could marvel indefinitely at the intricate patterns on Ari’s tail, and for

a while, watching his friend walk seemed an endless source of entertainment for Ari. Tamlin was impressed by the versality of a merman’s sexual organ—how it could swivel, grasp, and be tucked away when not in use. For his part, Ari expressed shock at how exposed the genitalia of male air-breathers were under their clothing.

Tamlin told Ari everything that came to mind: about his parents’ magitechnical innovations, his sister’s constant teasing, the fragrant forests girdling Yelor, the little kampong where their family lived when not at their summer home on Telaga Tujuh Island. Ari was more guarded. It was a few weeks before he told Tamlin the name of his underwater town—Liri—and a month before he revealed that he was the eldest of four siblings. Only toward the end of the summer did Tamlin find out he was the son of Liri’s chief.

Yet if Ari was reticent about certain topics, he was generous in other ways. Well versed in Liri’s rich musical tradition, he happily regaled his friend with songs about merfolk and the coral arches, crystal domes, and pearl-strewn pavements of their fantastical town. He took pleasure in introducing Tamlin to the wonders of the seashore. Their favorite haunt was a bay

that harbored a multitude of tidal pools teeming with marine life.

One fine morning, they discovered a particularly impressive pool, the size of a small crater, thick with sea stars of various shapes and colors. There were tiny lemon-yellow stars with broad disks and comically short arms, and larger blood-red ones whose arms were covered with conspicuous, thornlike spikes. Others had straplike arms studded with purple conical spines.

Tamlin was enchanted. “Oh, Ari! If a handful of stars fell in, they could scarcely be more beautiful!”

“They taste good, too! Especially the purple ones.” Ari smiled slyly.

Tamlin made a face, then his expression abruptly changed to one of excitement. “Actually, I know a pool with real stars in it, and next week is the perfect time to visit!”

“Where?”

“It’s up in the hills—”

“Even if I could crawl there, I told you: I can’t be seen by anyone. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“Trust me.”

That was how the following week, shortly after the mauve and violet morning glories folded their petals for the night, Tamlin came to be pushing a red wheelbarrow with some unusual cargo along the little path winding from the beach to the island’s forested uplands. He was badly winded and unsure how much farther he could go, for the wheelbarrow was lined with clay and half-filled with seawater. In it sat Ari, the lower half of his body concealed with one of Tamlin’s homespun blankets. To complete the disguise, Tamlin had fastened a pair of boots to the front of the barrow so they stuck out from under the fabric. “Geez, Ari, you’d better cut back on that starfish sushi,” he panted.

Ari retorted that the makeshift tank was excessive, so they stopped outside the gates of Tamlin’s villa to jettison the clay and seawater before continuing up the path into the hills of Telaga Tujuh.

The island was named for seven springs fed by waterfalls originating in its hilly interior. Tamlin breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted the trail leading to their intended destination: the

quietest pool, and lowest in elevation. According to popular lore, seven lovely water fairies came to bathe in the springs on nights when the twin moons were both full; they would depart at dawn, after harvesting some sago from the nearby fields. Tamlin was not expecting to encounter fairies, but he did know that the full moons would induce a perfect stillness in the waters of the spring, transforming it into an ideal screen for stargazing.

As they trundled through the trees, Tamlin concluded his account of the legend. “And when they saw the prince, the fairies vanished and were never seen again. But some people

believe that the waters of Telaga Tujuh retain mystical healing properties even today.”

“That’s not the version I know. In our stories, a farmer steals one of the princesses’ magic fins, so she couldn’t swim away. She had to …”

Ari’s voice trailed off as they entered the hushed clearing around the spring. Tamlin pushed him to the edge of the pool and he slid out of the barrow, blanket still wrapped around his tail.

Leaning over, Ari was immediately captivated by the vision that greeted him. It was as if a circle of the night sky had been cut out and spread out on the ground. The scintillating points of light recalled wondrous memories from early childhood, the mass spawning of corals in the great reef.

“You haven’t seen anything yet!” Tamlin said, handing him a pair of telescopic glasses.

The instant he put them on, Ari felt as if he were being forcefully yanked toward the spring’s surface, his face abruptly pressed against a window opening directly onto the heavens.

In reality, he’d moved not an inch, but he planted his hands on the clammy rocks for fear of toppling in. The stars floating in the water burst into color, taking on a startling vividness. There was the Forest Queen, a blazing blue star surrounded by smaller luminaries defining her lithe figure and outstretched bow. To the east, her mauve-eyed unicorn reared up majestically on its hind legs, its eye and the tip of its horn like two amethysts. Together they traced these and other glowing shapes: the Dawn King on his fiery steed, the Sorceress’s circlet, the dark rune, and the war hammer.

For a few minutes, they sat quietly, the silence broken only by the whisperings of a night breeze. Then Ari began to sing. The song had a comic lilt and his boy’s soprano cracked on several high notes, but he sang sweetly and with feeling. By the time he repeated the refrain, Tamlin’s eyes were glistening:

“Flighty, head in the clouds white and creamy,

You float unmoored through fancy’s open door:

Never mind if they say you’re too dreamy,

On earth they walk, to the stars you boldly soar.”

On the downhill journey—thankfully a much easier one—no further words were spoken; none needed.

________________

Their secret friendship settled into a seasonal rhythm of its own: during the months when Tamlin lived on Telaga Tujuh, they met weekly; throughout the rest of the year, they exchanged intermittent messages by way of a bottle crammed into the crevice of a large boulder on Áratarlan Beach. And so the summers slipped by. One sultry evening late in the season, Tamlin was waiting for Ari at their latest rendezvous of choice, a rocky islet close to shore yet obscured by series of basalt outcroppings from public view. It was almost the end of the sixth summer since their first meeting.

Tamlin’s awkward adolescence was behind him. Even Tammie admired his graceful stature and his mother often said his clear gray eyes were beautiful—but oh, so serious! This evening, a variety of painting equipment lay methodically on the ground around him. As he studied his canvas, he felt a sense of unease occasioned by no discernible flaw nor the oppressive warmth of the evening. He was still sore about his parents’ insistence that he further his studies at the Anorrweyn Academy in Faerûnëar instead of continuing in Yelor with his old art teacher, Madam Miaolin. Though the whole family acknowledged his artistic gifts, his father firmly maintained that Tamlin would benefit from the intellectual discipline of the Academy. Besides, added his mother, wouldn’t he enjoy making new friends his age in the city?

In fact, Tamlin disliked change and dreaded the idea of moving to Faerûnëar. Other than summers on Telaga Tujuh, he’d lived in Yelor all his life. He was already mourning the loss of his familiar world, the burbling brooks threading through the kampong and the aromatic trails of the juniper forests surrounding it.

So he took refuge in art. Since his arrival on Telaga Tujuh in late spring, Tamlin spent nearly every waking hour on a project that united his love of painting with his knack for fashioning clever magical novelties. During the winter, he synthesized a kind of gesso that could absorb and emit natural light; in the spring, he developed a set of light-sensitive pigments that revealed their color only within predefined ranges of wavelengths and intensities, and would otherwise remain virtually invisible. Using the enchanted pigments and paste, he refined a layering technique over the summer to create a dynamic triptych that would reveal a different scene depending on the quality of light falling on it. Two of the three panels were complete and he had almost finished the third. The subject of this trio of paintings, one superimposed upon the other, was none other than Ari.

A distinctive splash announced his model’s arrival. Leaping clear out of the water, the merman maneuvered himself onto the edge of a crag overhanging the crashing surf below, surprisingly dexterous in spite of his bulk. Ari had grown immensely since the early days of their friendship: there was so much tail, so much more Ari, he would never fit in a wheelbarrow now! At seventeen, he was well over eight feet long from head to tail. Cerulean and silver, his powerful tail shaded into richer hues of indigo and Prussian blue, terminating in a magnificent fluke that spanned almost three feet from tip to tip. The human parts of his body, too, had

lengthened. While as a boy, scales had covered most of his abdomen, they now started to recede low at his sinewy hips, revealing a wondrously sculpted, sunkissed torso. In more whimsical moments, Tamlin imagined his friend as a monstrous species of flower, the splendid V-shaped torso bursting triumphantly out of its thick, shiny stem.

Gone was the short, spiky hair: Ari’s dripping locks fell in soft waves till they almost touched his broad shoulders. His hair had darkened from bright silver to the palest of blues, the color of a deep, frozen lake on a cloudless day. But his face retained a boyish charm, and his intense opal eyes were unchanged. “Same spot?” he asked.

Tamlin contemplated his friend with a mixture of pride, envy, and desire. Amused by the characteristically terse greeting, he grinned and nodded in response. No, Ari had not become more talkative with the passage of time. Indeed, Tamlin felt he had learned more about Liri from Ari’s singing than from their conversations over the last five years. Only once had the merman seemed close to revealing more in spite of himself. A week earlier, while they were idling at the edge of the surf, a dead fish, its tail in tatters, washed onto the shore. No uncommon sight, but Ari paled and retched violently into the swash. Although he insisted he was okay—just out of the water too long—Tamlin noticed his eyes were red and teary as he slipped into the waves.

If, however, Ari was reluctant to talk about his life under the sea, of late he showed a particular interest in a slew of topics related to technological developments on land: how did gunpowder work? Who supplied the Acheron Navy with their firearms and cannons? What was the basic principle underlying airship design? Such were the questions he posed with quiet persistence during their weekly meetings. Some of these questions grated on Tamlin—he found it hard, for example, to conceal his aversion to weapons technology. Besides, he felt it was almost profane that his friend, so marvelous a being, should concern himself with such mundane matters. Still, entertaining such inquiries was a small price to pay for Ari’s company, and he was an excellent sitter, patient and attentive. Tamlin could hardly wait to put the final touches on his current project—and to show Ari the completed visual palimpsest.

Bright morning sunshine evoked the first painting, “Tide Pool Treasure,” which portrayed his friend reclining in a shallow pocket of seawater amidst a riot of seaweed, barnacles, anemones, sea stars, and tiny crustaceans. His hair is completely slick from the ocean, and his muscular torso glistens tantalizingly in the morning light, hardly less dazzling than the flashing blue and silver scales. But brightest of all are the unmistakable opal eyes, intense turquoise flecked with gold, gazing directly out at the viewer. Tamlin could never quite decide whether the expression was one of surprise or seduction—perhaps a mixture of both?

The second scene, “Stranded,” shimmered into view in the light of the midday sun. In it, Ari was sprawled full-length across an obsidian boulder on the islet’s rocky shore, an aquatic Endymion. The merman’s indigo fluke is half-erect, massy and drooping like a bough overladen with blossoms. His eyes are closed and his left arm hangs loosely by his side, the right arm draped languidly over his forehead, a flimsy screen against the unrelenting glare of noon. His lips, tinged a bluish hue, are parted ever so slightly: is he asleep, unconscious, or an exquisite corpse?

Set on the jagged overhang where Ari was now seated, the final panel of the enchanted triptych depicted him playing a golden harp against the backdrop of a brilliant sunset, fierce vermilions blending into mellow shades of pink and deep purple. Once again, the merman is looking straight out of the portrait with the piercing blue stare that Tamlin finds so intriguing. He strums the harp with his right hand, supporting it against his body with his left. Through the gleaming array of metal strings, the dark aureole of a nipple and a swollen bicep tease the spectator. He sits precariously at the cliff’s edge—indeed most of his hefty tail is suspended over the water—yet the effort required to maintain this pose is suggested only by the hint of tension in his chiseled abdominal muscles.

Tamlin allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the painting, then returned his expert gaze to his model. “I’m almost done,” he said with satisfaction. “I just need to touch up your eyes so they reflect the sky’s crimson glow. And also the pillar of the harp. It’ll be perfect, Ari. I think I’ll call this one “Siren’s Sunset.”

Between the wind, which had picked up, and the crashing of the waves below, he could not hear his friend’s response, but he divined it was something in the way of a quiet compliment, and nodded appreciatively. He saw that Ari’s lips were moving again. “Sorry, what did you say?” he asked.

“Should I start singing?”

For a second, Tamlin wondered what he was talking about. Then it dawned on him that he hadn’t gotten round to adding to the panel a charm he mentioned to Ari a while ago. “Ahhh, nope. No need. I just didn’t have time to figure out how to enchant this layer with aural memory. Not to worry—the visual effect of the panel is stunning on its own. The dynamic quality of the light surpasses anything I’ve created with this technique before, even if I do say so myself!”

“In Liri, we never use the harp for purely instrumental pieces always to accompany the voice.”

“Aww, it’ll be just fine as it is, Ari. More than fine, perfect! If there were ever a sight for sore eyes … I’m sure the good merfolk of Liri won’t mind if I take some artistic license.”

“So much for verisimilitude. Better not tell your art instructors at the Academy!”

Though he knew Ari was teasing, Tamlin winced at the mention of the prestigious college where his parents and sister had won countless accolades and were recognized as distinguished alumni.

“Very funny. Like I’d debase my art by showing it to those philistines at the college of applied magical engineering,” Tamlin replied disdainfully.

“Is it wrong to make useful things? And speaking of useful things, you say you found the name and location of the chief munitions factory in Faerûnëar?”

For the second time, Tamlin was confused. “Wha … did I really say that? Oh, damn! I forgot again. Sorry, Ari.”

“But you nodded when I asked you earlier,” came the puzzled reply.

“I didn’t hear what you were saying. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Look, Ari, I’ve had a lot on my mind, lately, with my upcoming move. All my parents talk about nowadays is how much I’m going to enjoy their old college and the big city. I’d have to ask Dad about something like this and … honestly I don’t want to! The last thing I want is for him to assume I’m finally taking an interest in the city and practical engineering problems.

“Besides, it’s all the same whether I get your answer tonight or next month, right? It’s not as if you or your people can stroll out of Áratarlan Bay and visit the factory anytime soon! For me, Liri’s coral arches and crystal domes are the stuff of fantasy; the munitions factory might as well be make-believe to you.”

He knew he was going too far, but he could not stop himself. “I wish arms-making were make-believe! Look, I don’t understand your fascination with all the “progress” people on land have made. Things are changing, yes, but are they changing for the better? Gunpowder and the ugly, mechanical weapons it’s spawned have only increased our destructive capabilities. We’re losing the creative part of our souls, our connection to magic and the wellsprings of our civilization. Can’t you see, Ari? You’re perfect just as you are. You merfolk shouldn’t join us in our relentless pursuit of change; we need you to help us rediscover the mystery of nature and the wonders of the imagination!”

Ari’s iridescent eyes burned wild and blue. “Are you done?” the merman asked, his tone calm but cold. With quiet intensity he continued, “We’re not mythical creatures, suspended in some timeless realm outside of history. Like other communities in this archipelago, merfolk need to adapt to the changing environment—physical, social, and political. Even if it were possible to stay ‘as we are,’ is it in our interests to do so? We don’t exist to gratify the fantasies of surface-dwellers, Tamlin.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. The humidity had become unbearable, and the clouds flushed a livid crimson. Tamlin busied himself with the painting, but he could not long endure his friend’s stony regard. Searching for some sort of a conciliatory gesture, he said, “You promised me a song.”

Ari did not reply, but he played a few liquid chords on the harp and began to sing a ballad that Tamlin knew—and disliked:

“When merfolk misplace their hearts on land,

Sirens or selchies gray,

Don’t count on happy endings:

They always slip away.

A man contrived charmed scales to hide

A mermaid as wife to keep;

Her scales she found, her babes she left

To return to the ocean deep.

The loveliest voice a siren sold

A prince’s love to gain;

As she was dumb, he knew her not:

Her tail she cleft in vain.

A bonnie lad his gray pelt doffed

On shore a lass to wed;

But he loved as a seal the sea to swim,

And a hunter shot him dead.

So ere you bestow your heart on land,

Know there’s a price to pay;

If your fins you trade for feet, beware!

You’ll be lucky to slip away.”

As the final verse drew to a close, Ari allowed his resonant tenor voice to blend and fade into the wind until at last only the crescendi of its intermittent gusts could be heard. Tamlin was packing up his equipment when the squall broke. The wind whipped the whitecaps into a frenzy and stung the two young men with large, warm pellets of rain. Tamlin hurriedly set about

wrapping the palimpsest with its waterproof oilskin cover and looked around just in time to see the merman diving off the overhang. “Wait!” he cried, but Ari had already plunged into the

waves and did not surface again.

As it happened, the sudden tempest heralded a spate of bad weather on Telaga Tujuh. Late-summer storms battered the island for days and prevented Tamlin from keeping his appointment with Ari the following week. The next day, the family departed a week earlier than usual, for there was much to do in preparation for Tamlin’s move to Faerûnëar.

________________

His first year at the Academy was at once more hectic and pleasurable than he had expected. Although classes were demanding, most of his instructors were gifted teachers, capable of engaging his vigorous, wayward imagination. And while there were competitive, driven students like Tammie, he met many like-minded people as well—sensitive, thoughtful, and open-minded. By the end of the academic year, he had established a small circle of friends who shared his passion for integrating aesthetics and engineering, and was even casually dating a smart, attractive second-year student named Siti Mahsuri.

Yet he could not forget Ari. The merman’s image and voice lingered in his imagination, as did Tamlin’s regret at having, somehow, let his friend down.

So the following summer, when his parents asked if he would oversee some repairs to the villa on Telaga Tujuh while they visited Tammie in Arklan, he agreed without hesitation.

The very first Friday after arriving on the island, Tamlin rowed his little sampan out to the rocky islet where he had met Ari the previous summer. He waited until the sun sank slowly into the ocean, and a dozen times imagined he heard the familiar splash, but Ari did not appear. Neither did he come the next week, nor the following one. And so the summer rolled on. In

many ways, Tamlin enjoyed island life as he always had: swimming, paddling, and indulging in long, mead-fueled conversations with friends on the patio. Still, he was at times overtaken by a wistful feeling that without his knowing it, a magical chapter of his life had closed forever. He said nothing to explain these sudden moods of reflectiveness, but developed a custom of waking up at cock’s crow to paddle out to the islet, where he spent many hours drawing and painting.

Early one morning, he heard three loud raps on the heavy wooden gates of the courtyard walls. Who was calling before daybreak? Delivery people would occasionally knock to announce a package, but they never came till later in the day. Softly, he approached the gates and carefully opened the viewing shutter. In the light of the luminous lotuses blooming in the moat, he saw a tall, strapping youth dressed in a white blouse with sailor collar, a blue scarf, and navy trousers. His hair was neatly tied in a short ponytail. Then their eyes met and Tamlin recognized those aquamarine gems, ablaze with amber. He took in the entire person again, and for a second, his

heart sank to see Ari so well appointed, handsome, and … ordinary. But the very next instant he was hastily unlocking the gate and pulling his old friend into a violent embrace.

He felt as if he were dreaming as he led his companion to a comfortable bench in the courtyard. He kept looking at Ari’s smiling face and then down at his sandaled feet, half expecting to see a fish tail instead. In his quiet way, Ari seemed genuinely happy to see him as well. He calmly related the circumstances surrounding his transformation. In a nutshell, the Liri council had assigned him to gather information about new technological and cultural developments on land. For that purpose, he’d received an enchanted pendant—he fingered a

small turquoise sand dollar around his neck—that enabled him temporarily to assume human form. He was to apprentice as a deckhand in Faerûnëar, and legs would be useful for blending in.

“I wanted to tell you sooner but there wasn’t time between the intensive studying and training to use these,” he said, gesturing to his well-proportioned limbs. “You made it look so

easy! Anyway, I had to see you before I left. We parted coldly last year and I didn’t want you to remember me like that. I was annoyed by your assumptions about merfolk, but how could I expect you to understand when I told you so little about Liri?”

He sighed. “Life under the sea is no idyll—vicious sea creatures prey on us, and competition for resources is as fierce as it is on land. There’s more variety among the aquatic races than you might imagine—the sharkfolk, for example, are a powerful, warlike nation that poses a growing threat to Liri. Remember the day I threw up on the beach? That morning, I saw what those savage shark-people had done to my cousin. Max was the captain of our elite Mermidon Guard, so he knew the risks, but O Tam! They shredded his tail so badly that his fluke had to be amputated.”

“Why didn’t you …”

“I couldn’t say anything last year because it was all classified at the time. I only knew about Max because of my father’s position. What’s more, as an underage merman, my meetings with you were illegal. The chances of discovery were slim, but I couldn’t risk bringing double disgrace upon my family. The tense security situation is also why I kept asking you about weapons tech.”

Ari took a deep breath. “Now I’m eighteen, I’m free to visit the surface—and to be more open with you. We won’t be able to meet as we used to, so I wanted you to know how much your friendship meant—means—to me. And—why should I hide it?— most of the time, I enjoyed all the attention!”

As if startled by his unusual effusiveness, he added shyly, “Well, I’d better be going. It’s quite a distance to the mainland.”

At that, Tamlin, who’d never received such a torrent of speech from Ari, stirred from his amazement. “Wait,” he said, noticing that the buttons of his friend’s blouse were misaligned. “Here, let me help you with that.” Leaning in, he gently unbuttoned the starched shirt. He was close enough to smell the salty scent of the sea and to hear the strong, steady heartbeat that soothed him during their escape from the submerged cave six years ago. As he carefully re- buttoned the blouse and corrected the knot of the neckerchief, he said, “I hope you won’t leave right away. I’d like you to see something before you go.”

Tamlin eagerly ushered Ari into his studio. Through the bay windows, they could see the dawn tiptoeing along the dirt path where mauve and violet morning glories were beginning to unfurl. The enchanted palimpsest on which Tamlin had worked so hard shimmered in the pale light, gradually revealing a scene Ari had never seen before.

“You know,” said Tamlin, “for a long time your expression in the earlier panels puzzled me. I could never quite figure out that look in your eyes—whether it was surprise, defiance, or something else altogether. It struck me only later: it was the expression of someone who didn’t want to be seen—or perhaps didn’t just want to be seen—in the way I portrayed you. I flattered you, but I never really saw you: my vision was partial, ultimately reductive. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to apologize, so I created this fourth panel. As a way of making amends, in spirit.”

The painting depicted the two of them in the hills, standing beside the large rocky spring they visited together as boys. They are both smartly clad in traveling outfits; Tamlin wears a grey cloak and Ari’s is shadowy blue. Even in the faint golden glow of this early hour, the sheen of their polished leather boots is visible. Tamlin is gesturing toward the pool’s surface, his right hand on Ari’s left arm, beckoning him to head in that direction. The pool does not reflect a mirror image of the pair or their surroundings. Instead, its glimmering margins frame a

panoramic view of Faerûnëar. The sun is rising over the stately city, casting a soft rosy hue over its floating towers and ingeniously engineered waterfalls.

“I haven’t discovered a magical portal to Faerûnëar in the hills yet, but there’s always the ferry,” said Tamlin with a chastened smile. “Speaking of which, I really could use a hand with the painting on the ferry this afternoon. What do you say, Ari, want to make that last panel real?”

Ari’s lips were silent, but his eyes, twinkling with wonder and possibility, trilled a resounding “yes.”

Paul Yeoh (he/him) holds a Ph.D. in Literatures in English from Rutgers University, where he specialized in Romantic and Victorian literature. He works for an educational nonprofit and teaches part-time at the University of Nebraska. Originally from Singapore and Malaysia, Paul now lives in Omaha, NE, with his husband, Dario, maintaining close ties with family and friends in Southeast Asia. He identifies as Chindian—a portmanteau word that honors his Chinese and Indian heritage. Paul recently completed his first novel, Treasure of Talpin, a queer fantasy about a returning hero, his lover, and the magical secret that unsettles both their relationship and community. To learn more or explore original artwork inspired by his writing, visit paullyeoh.com or follow him on Instagram and Bluesky (@paullyeoh).

Copyright © 2025 by Paul Yeoh

Published by Orion's Beau