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The deep black of the northern Atlantic at night was cold any time of the year, but especially around now. The winter solstice only a few days back, the icebergs above ventured their farthest south of their cycle, the movements of the denizens of the deep in their wintry rituals.
~~~
The older mermaid had spent many months much farther south – off the Patagonian coasts, exploring the depths of lava caves, the veins of the earth itself. A darkness and solitude almost inconceivable by less practiced minds – even the whales would not and could not venture in such a way.
But the veins of the earth were far from lifeless.
Perhaps the strangest and most secret were the kin of the nautiluses – long gone from the surface seas and the sun, but flourishing anew in their silent, sunless world. In her months below the rock, the mermaid had started to learn their language: a light-based version of their distant relatives in the shallows, flashing spurts of color or undulating ripples down their long soft-suckered arms, glinting off their complex – and sometimes massive – spiraling shells in the darkness.
Seeing as she used her own glowing palms for light down there much of the time, it was natural that they had been curious.
~~~~~~~
But that was all well over a year ago now. Even for a mermaid, a journey to the other end of the earth takes time, especially when you have to dip down past the corner of the continent and back up.
Rather than follow the coasts, as her daughter and grandson usually did (though her daughter had not brought her young son out of their home ocean – yet), she preferred to traverse the Atlantic up the middle, following the crests of the mountains, feeding on stragglers out of the titanic schools of fish that coated those waters like clouds, resting in caves or on plateued parts of the peaks. An easy, months-long trek, nothing but time to appreciate the views and bounty of the open water and the massive valleys below.
She was closer to land now, though. The upper arch of the continent, between the larger islands, where the coasts towered in fjords and glaciers and the trees above stood in huge, dark-emerald swathes above.
But she was too deep to see such things right now.
At her age – well, for now, her interests could change like the tides or the winds – she rarely visited the surface.
~~~~~
A particular silvery speck caught her notice, then another, then a third, drifting along in a strange path that didn’t quite fit their shapes: three small silver fish, moving slowly in an odd sideways path a few fathoms above her.
The mermaid was wise enough to the creatures of the sea to know that they were dead, and to know why.
She stayed very careful, observing their direction, to parse where their captor-killer was headed.
To her left, from where she’d idled to look up, so she very, very carefully rose up toward them.
The tentacles of the massive jellyfish could stretch many times its body length – the sting didn’t hurt their kind, but no reason to injure its main feeding ones.
Especially given her new adventure at hand.
She smirked a little, pleased with finding such an unexpected treat.
Small fish – pierced by the venom and invisible stingers – retained some of that venom, those small spurs in their hides, as they were interminably dragged toward the bell of the jellyfish to be digested. They were dead long before they reached it, of course, but lived and struggled against the stings long enough for that venom to course through their arteries, saturating all the flesh within.
To a wise mermaid, quite a delicacy.
The way that venom prickled and stung one’s tongue was a poignant, savory spice, the burn on the throat invigorating and tasty.
Of course, one must respect one’s fellow large predators in the territory.
So she only stole one fish, the smallest, disentangling its slippery body from the farthest-out tentacles, careful to not damage any of them.
She happily stuck it in her teeth, chomping down to lock the scales in her incisors, running the tip of her tongue down its underside to sample the stingers in a tantalizing taste, before fluttering her tail to speed off toward her companion.
The jellyfish’s bell came in sight relatively soon – they swam much, much slower than a mermaid, so she traversed the length of its tentacles quite quickly.
Spicy treat still in her teeth, she smiled at seeing the orangey, pulsing bell, impressive in its diameter: almost her full length, head to fluke.
Its nervous system wasn’t quite advanced enough to understand affection, but she gently patted the top of the bell anyway, projecting a friendly pulse of thanks.
The lion’s mane jellyfish did not understand telepathy, but when one pilfers a catch, one still should be polite.
Even to a cnidarian.
She drifted to the side, lazily on her back, enjoying the silent company as she gripped the head and tail of the fish and tore into its belly with her teeth, the silver scales slick on her tongue.
That sharp, spicy prickle was fresh and extremely satisfying: the fish had been juicy and healthy when caught, plenty of white flesh to soak up that venom.
She fondly smiled at the jellyfish as she slowly savor-chewed her first bite.
Her friend apparently had very effective nematocysts.
Maybe she’d hang out with this jellyfish for the next few days – catch some krill, offer them them closer to the bell, an even trade for some more tasty, spicy treats.