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Jim’s entire body ached.
He could barely see at this point—not that there was much to see anyway, just a long, dark, blue-gray expanse of deep water, unforgiving and ominous, with no end in sight.
Jim closed his eyes, tried to steady his ragged breathing, tried to focus on anything besides the burning in his back and his wings as they flapped frantically, but he wasn’t sure how long he could continue to fly like this, over the ocean, without the thermals that so often lifted him to the sky. He wasn’t built like this, for continuous flapping, but as of now he had no choice.
It had been this, or risk being strung up by the crew of the ship on which he had stowed away.
He had hoped to avoid the side-eyes that tended to be reserved for his kind—if he could have even found passage for someone with wings in the first place, given how superstitious sailors were—but that had backfired, and now…
Now he was stranded out in the middle of the ocean, who knew how many days away from land, and drowning was looking like a very real possibility.
He opened his eyes. The ocean was closer now, looming and ominous, the spray now starting to fleck his face and soak his wings. He was half-certain that he was about to fall to pieces—
And then something seemed to snap, a will and determination that could no longer simply power through the pain. He tried, he did, but they gave one last attempt at a flap, and then—
He was plummeting, the ocean flying towards him until it crashed into his face, the pain from the impact driving the breath from his lungs.
That was very bad. He needed that.
He struggled feebly, but the water had soaked his feathers. His head broke the surface for a moment, and he managed to gasp in a breath of air, but the weight of his wings dragged him under again.
Jim struggled, trying to get back to the surface, but he could barely move, let alone haul his entire body back up. He could see the bubbles escaping his mouth, floating to the surface where he could still see a blurry outline of the sun…
And then a shadow passed in front of it, and everything went dark.
—
When Jim awoke, it took him several long, painful moments to realize that it was happening. The most important thing—the only thing—on his mind was the burning in his lungs, the hacking coughing that he couldn’t stop but seemed to be making the problem slightly less awful. It was only when he saw water splatter to the ground in front of him that he pieced it together.
Ground. There was a ground. And he had air. Sweet, precious air—that he would like to enjoy if he could actually get around to breathing it in.
Eventually, however the coughing settled, and he lifted his head to take in his surroundings.
He was in a cove of sorts, a rocky outcropping that faded into a sandy beach further on. He didn’t see anyone or anything in sight, besides the foliage that began in the sand, stretching back and turning into trees as far back as he could see.
Which, admittedly, wasn’t very far, especially in the dim light of the evening. He didn’t even want to think about how long he had been out.
He groaned and tried to stand, but the aching shooting through his body quickly put a stop to that notion. He briefly debated trying to drag himself to the sand, but at this point, even the rocks didn’t seem too uncomfortable.
He pillowed his head on his arms, wrapped his damp wings around himself, and slept.
—
A noisy and painful slap to his head woke him. He struggled to sit up, aching considerably less. Squinting up at the sun, he calculated what he could: it was early morning, and he had managed to sleep through the night.
And he was starving.
His stomach grumbled and growled, and Jim—well, Jim couldn’t help but think that it would be completely ridiculous if he had survived nearly drowning just to starve to death on some beach. But knowing his luck, it would be a completely deserted island with no food sources whatsoever.
But then he saw the fish.
He reached over to pick it up. It was whole, or nearly, with the bones removed. And he could tell from the smell that it was quite fresh. He tilted his head back, searching the sky, but it was empty, just clear and blue. A bird might have dropped it, but that didn’t explain the missing bones…
Still, best not to turn his nose up at what might be his last meal for a while. Struggling to his feet, he lifted it to his mouth and took a bite. It wasn’t terrible. In fact, he might be able to get used to it. If he could catch more.
But first he needed to find out more about where he was trapped.
—
It was a deserted island.
He wasn’t terribly surprised, not given his luck lately, but it was still a point of frustration. It had taken him a few hours to circle the entire thing, and then another thirty or so to confirm that yes, it did at least have a supply of fresh water. He was fairly certain he had spotted some coconuts, too, but he had been more focused on creating a makeshift shelter out of leaves and wood. He supposed it was something, and being able to stretch his wings for the first time in days was a nice relief, but he had used a lot of energy, and now he was hungry again—
He heard a splash behind him, and then a thump, much nearer. Whirling, he saw that there was another fish lying near him, deboned as before. Bending down to pick it up, he lifted a hand to block out the sun and squinted out over the waves.
There was nothing there, just the unending rhythm of the tide. But Jim had heard something. He was sure of it.
—
The fish continued to arrive, regularly, several times a day. Jim never quite manage to see precisely what was throwing them, but once, when he turned quickly enough, he managed to catch sight of something there, something black and white, mottled almost like a cow. For a couple of days, that was enough, as he wanted to focus on staying alive if this food supply suddenly dried up, but once he had collected a sizeable collection of coconuts, he began to wonder.
That’s what found him sitting crosslegged at the small rocky cove, stretching his aching wings. They were still too sore for him to fly, but he couldn’t let them cramp, so he figured he’d multitask as he sat there, skipping rocks into the ocean. Maybe if he stayed there long enough, got hungry enough…
But nothing was happening, and time passed slower when you were alone on a deserted island. He groaned and flopped back, wings spread around him like a full-body halo of gold feathers.
Splash.
Jim sat bolt upright, and he caught another glance, clearer this time, of fins and a black and white patterned tail—but an orca wouldn’t come this close to land—and something brown. Tanned, almost. There was no fish—he had caught whoever it was before they had thrown it.
Tales of mermaids, of entrancing but deadly half-human, half-woman creatures, overheard from the superstitious sailors, flitted through his mind. But then again, these were the same men who had wanted to throw him overboard when they had discovered he was there and had wings, so…
“Please, I won’t hurt you,” he called. “I just… if you’re there, I want to thank you.”
Silence.
He groaned, dipping his foot in the water and splashing it. “Please? I’m going to go insane without someone to talk to. And I can promise you can get away faster than I can chase you.”
There was another long stretch of silence, and Jim was about to sigh and withdraw when he spotted a break in the water.
He sat up straighter, eyes widening, until a head broke the surface, dark hair plastered against a very humanoid—and male—head.
“Oh,” he said quietly, eyes widening, wings flexing as he sat forward. “You’re—a merman.”
The eyes, a dark color he couldn’t quite make out, watched him reproachfully, but after a moment, Jim heard a sigh, and the form moved closer. He held his breath, not moving, as the man—merman—lifted his head above water, then his arms, reaching out to place another fish—and a neat little pile of bones—on the rocks near him.
Jim’s face split into a grin, and he reached out slowly to pick them both up. “You’ve been leaving these for me?”
The merman nodded warily.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He placed the fish bones in his lap and picked up the fish. “So, uh, I’m Jim. What’s your name?”
“You probably couldn’t pronounce it.”
Jim jumped—he hadn’t really been expecting an answer.
“You don’t gotta keep those,” the merman continued, gesturing to the bones in Jim’s lap. “Unless you’re gonna use them.”
“What?” Jim asked, almost dazed, before glancing down. “Oh. No, I… here.” He set them back on the rocks, where the merman picked them up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you could speak my language.”
The merman shrugged. “Some of us have learned.”
Jim smiled faintly. He liked the accent—it was different, foreign, and something he hadn’t heard before. “Did you save me, the other day?”
The merman hesitated, but then nodded. “I saw you… flyin’,” he began, seeming to stumble on the last word. “But then you fell, and seemed a shame to let someone like you…” His eyes traveled over to the wings, and Jim smiled faintly, ruffling them.
“Well, thank you. For that, and for the food.”
“I thought you could use it.”
“I could.” Jim propped his chin on one of his hands, lifting the fish to take a bite with his other. The taste of raw fish was growing on him, though he might start trying to build a fire later. “I still need something to call you, though.”
The merman shrugged. “Whatever you like.” His eyes, a gorgeous, sparkling hazel color now that Jim could see them up close, hadn’t moved from Jim’s wings. “D’you mind if I…”
Jim blinked at the request, but after a moment, he shrugged, rustling the feathers. He extended one of the giant wings in the merman’s direction.
“Maybe I should call you Bones,” he teased, watching the merman’s hands reach out for the wing. They were webbed, almost like a frog, but the skin was tinged a blue color, as were other features, blending seamlessly into the tanned, freckled skin that was so like a human’s.
Those fingers ran through Jim’s feathers, sending a shiver through him. It had been ages since he had gotten a decent preening, and while this was nowhere close, it felt nice. He let his eyes travel down the merman’s—Bones’s—torso, pausing when they got to his waist. Along with certain other thoughts (apparently merpeople had hair elsewhere than their head, and belly buttons too), he stared for a few moments at the way the tanned skin faded into the black and white patterns that Jim could now definitely see were those of an Orca—even if the lower half of his body was much smaller.
“It’s beautiful,” he could hear Bones murmur, before making an alarmed gasping noise.
Jim glanced over to see that a couple of golden feathers had come off and were now lying in Bones’s hands. He laughed. “Don’t worry. They molt. I haven’t preened them in a while.” He sighed. “It’s a lot of work.”
“I could help.”
The words took Jim by surprise, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “I… I mean, if you want? We might have to… move somewhere, though, since I don’t think you could reach—hey!”
Bones flipped off into the water, leaving Jim staring after him and wondering what he had said, but moments later, he resurfaced near the beach in the distance.
“Could have said something,” Jim muttered, but he stood, rolling his shoulders, and jogged in the same direction.
—
Jim got his first full look at Bones when he reached the beach, splayed out on the sand as if he were almost lounging.
“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” He eyed the slits near Bones’s ribs, wondering what they were before realizing—gills. But he could obviously breathe air, too…
Bones shook his head. “Not right now. Can’t stay completely out too long, but…” He shrugged. “I’ll go back in before that happens.”
Jim just shrugged and sat again, back facing Bones, and unfurled his wings to their full length.
There was a gasp from behind him.
Jim… well, knew exactly how good his wings looked up close. They were enormous—they had to be, to carry his weight—and a soft, shining gold color. Colors, depending on the light; they ranged anywhere from a pale yellow to a deep bronze.
So he might have been showing off. Just a little.
He felt Bones’s fingers at his wings, tentative at first, but as they picked up confidence with Jim’s words of advice and encouragement, straightening the feathers and pulling out old ones, he couldn’t help but moan contentedly.
They talked while he worked—or, well, Jim did, mostly. He told him of life back on land, of bustling towns and markets, of magic peddlers and the sight of armor flashing in the sun as guards practiced their formations to perfection.
He wasn’t entirely sure Bones understood all of that, but he seemed to enjoy hearing Jim’s voice, and declined to talk much about what it was like living under the sea. That didn’t surprise Jim terribly; merpeople were notoriously reclusive and private. Still, he would like to know someday, but if it took a while for Bones to trust him, he would accept that.
When Bones finished, finally, Jim stretched, furling up his wings and lifting his hands, popping his spine. He heard a sigh from behind him, and when he turned, he saw a wistful expression on Bones’s face as he watched the wings.
“I really appreciate it.”
Bones’s eyes shifted to Jim’s face, but the wistful expression didn’t change as he studied it intently. Jim didn’t blush often, but the gaze was making it difficult not to.
“I gotta go,” Bones murmured. Jim’s eyes flicked away, and he saw that Bones held a couple of perfect feathers in his hand. “Gettin’ dry.”
“Will you come back tomorrow?” Jim couldn’t help how hopeful his voice was.
The corners of Bones’s lips tugged up in a smile. “Yeah. We’ll have a feast.”
Bones shimmied down into the water, and when he got far enough out, vanished beneath it with a flip of his tail.
Jim stared after him until it was dark, thinking, too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
When he slept, it was with excitement, the first time he had felt such a thing in years.