A Contest Entry for MerMay 2024

Chosen Prompt Set: Prompt 1

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Sunsets before the sea arch are surreal. I doubt a painting or even a dream could be more inspiring, more mesmerising, more enchanting. The sun shimmers like a bronze coin dropped into a bowl of lentil soup, defying nature's laws as it somehow floated on the surface and glimmered at me.

My eyes fix on the ancient monument, tracing over the smooth edges of the bricks forming the pillars flaunting the carved arch to the land that has never before known such intricacy. In the meantime, my mind wanders back to its incredible past.

Legend says the sea arch once lay within the salty embrace of the depthless ocean, shaped by the pale, cold, ingenious hands of mermaids that have either gone extinct or know better than to reveal themselves to us.

Perhaps the sea took them with it when it receded. Perhaps they left the sea arch behind as a parting gift for the land they would never again lay their eyes or their clawed fingers upon. Or perhaps that hadn't been their intention at all. Perhaps it had been a mere accident that had forever left its mark on history.

Ever since, the arch belonged to the land. It was only a myth that tied it to its ocean roots, but I feel certain that if I was to go near enough to the rocky display of the power and might of the races of the sea, I would smell the salt that had dried inside every crevice. Perhaps I would see the seaweed stuck and rotted on its surface, perhaps even the marks of the mermaids' infamously pointed nails as they crafted this wonder in the dark ocean depths.

I'm convinced that the rocky arch is a portal to the world it came from, that the view framed by it is a glimpse into that mystical realm of legend.

For my big sister Sema, on the other hand, the only thing it is and has ever been is danger.

She drops down beside me on the wooden bench where I rest, her gömlek fluttering as she lets out a frustrated breath and shoves her dark, wavy hair behind her ears.
"I knew I'd find you here," she huffs.

"Good afternoon to you too, kızkardeş," I say without looking at her.

I can't drag my eyes from the view before me for anything, not for my sister, not even if it was Balian beside me even though the fisherman's son who lived two houses down from us had kind eyes and this crooked smile that made my heart flutter.

There was nothing as captivating as the sunset through the arch, as the stories sculpted into its surface and embedded in the rock it was made from.

"Cari, be serious." Sema elbows me in the ribs, and I swallow a yelp, still avoiding her eyes because I know without looking that there's accusation in them. "What have I told you about coming here, especially alone, especially at the edge of nightfall?"

I don't skip a beat. "You've told me that there's not a single person alive who has lost their voice to this arch."

I don't need to look at her to feel her gaze searing into my cheek even though it was indeed she who had told me that just a week ago.

I bend down to flick a grain of sand off my sandal strap. Sema is probably mad that I'm using her words against her, but she should know better than to expect anything different from me. I've been doing this for years, ever since she was old enough to reprimand me, ever since I was old enough to disobey her.

"Because not a single person alive has been stupid enough to walk under the arch while speaking," Sema snaps.

I scoff. "Then not a single person is smart enough to know that blindly believing an ancient old wives' tale is foolish."

Nobody I know has dared to walk under the arch even if they did it silently, so afraid were they of the legend. As for me, I've long dreamed of walking beneath it, of defying the myth.

The view beyond it would be incredible, I'm sure. Not to mention, I myself would become a legend by being the first person to cross under the arch in millennia.

Sometimes my feet itched to creep over the rocks towards it when I spied it from mine and Sema's bedroom window. I thought of all the stories I could tell.

Or perhaps there wouldn't be a story to tell. Perhaps the myth was just a myth.

The temptation to defy the legend has never been as strong as it is today, when I'm thirsting to prove Sema wrong once and for all. What must a girl do to get some peace and quiet around here? Even my free time is not my own. It seems there's nowhere in town for me to go without someone from my family bothering me.

There's no peace at home, with Baba and his new wife and their screaming baby. There's none in my thoughts, when everything reminds me of Anne dying, my mother withering away until her voice was just a rasp, until the sickness took her in her sleep. Baba wanted to give her bed away, but I altered the instructions to the movers so that they dropped it in the sea.

I didn't want that deathbed haunting the town. I didn't want it lingering where I might someday stumble across it again. I had wanted to distance myself from the pain, the powerlessness. I had been doing that since, and I tried to convince myself that it wasn't running away, that forgetting wasn't cowardly.

Even so, I feel it makes me brave to remember when all my memories are bittersweet.

There's only the sea arch that reminds me of better times, of Anne being strong and healthy, of her laughing as she recounted the dark, magical tale that Sema and I had already heard so many times.

It's said that while mermaids had singing voices of the divine, there was one who didn't. So, she cursed the arch to take the voices of those who spoke as they floated beneath it so that she too could entice sailors to their watery deaths.

Her original victims were mermaids, those who had those beautiful voices she so envied. Then, her enchanted arch began to hunt humans, when it stood in air only we could wander through instead of the water it had been built for.

Anne believed in the legend as much as I do. It seems I got my skepticism from my mother while Sema inherited Baba's superstitiousness, his penchant for believing stories that had no proof to back them up.

Sema sniffles, and I wonder if she's perhaps thinking about Anne as I am. We rarely spoke of it, not even to each other, but she knew as much as I did that thinking about our mother only caused heartache. Perhaps that was why we avoided any mention of her in conversation.

"You know, we have no evidence that the legend is real if nobody alive has been affected by it." I nudge Sema, trying to inject a playful lightness into my voice even though memories of Anne still clench my throat.

Sema's dark eyes soften, releasing as she lets out a breath. "How about we keep it like that?"

I have a better idea, one to end this once and for all. "How about we get evidence that it isn't real?"

I'm sick of Sema living in fear. Perhaps it's understandable that she fears that every cough puts me days away from following Anne into the paradise-like realm of Uçmag, where good souls go to rest, but she wasn't always like this. She never used to be afraid that she'd strain her voice by laughing too loudly when we were little girls skipping along the beach, that hopping on one leg would make her lose her balance and fall and paralyse her for life.

She used to be so brave and joyful, my big sister who made me feel safe, who made me believe that happiness and goodness would always prevail.

And that's why I stand, because I want my old sister back.

Sema gulps, visibly and audibly. "Cari, what are you doing?"

"Getting proof. Now, come on." I pull her up by her hand and tug her after me.

We hurry along, not running but not quite walking. The best way I can describe it is trotting, me with excitement, Sema less enthusiastically.

Still, she follows my lead, and it's like we're carefree children again, feet kicking up sand, beating against the rocky ground in our zest for life.

Then we arrive at the foot of the arch. This is probably the closest anyone has been to this marvel of history in hundreds of years. I can smell the sea as it writhes at the bottom of the cliff, the salty tang that flavours the cooling air.

Then Sema drags her heels into the ground, pulling us both to an abrupt stop. "Cari, we shouldn't do this."

"No, we should." I glance at my sister before gazing up at the rocky majesty of the arch. The sun peeks out from behind the top edge, refracting in my eyes until I'm squinting. "There are enough real things in life to fear. Fiction and fantasy shouldn't be one of them."

Sema blanches, her golden skin turning almost as white as those seashells scattered over the beach far below, too small to see if I didn't know it was there. "No." Sema rips her hand out of mine.

I try to ignore that sickening sinking of my heart.

Sema abandoned me when Anne passed away, just retreated into herself for weeks and left me to fend for myself until she was ready to face the world again. This feels like that, like she's deserting me when I need her most, when this is our chance to change the trajectory of our lives and stop being so scared.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. "I'm doing it with or without you." Before Sema can stop me, I run for the space beneath the crumbling arch.

"Cari, no!" she screams, panic distorting her voice.

I pass beneath the arch, laughing like a madwoman, like a mermaid who had just lured in her most impressive prey ever. "See? It was all a—"

My voice sputters in my throat. I try to speak again, but there's only a chest-clenching silence.

Something sickening rises in my throat, terror to replace the sound it is almost mockingly empty of. Just as quickly, frantic hope surges in to replace it. Perhaps if I turn back and pass under the arch again, I can undo what just happened.

But it's too late.

My momentum carries me forward. I dig in my heels, skidding to a stop at the edge of the cliff, wobbling as I look over at the certain death that nearly claimed me. Once my heartbeat stops being the onto sound I hear, back away.

I spin, my anxious eyes seeking Sema out. I expect to see her standing on the other side of the arch, staring at me in amazement at the wonder of my feat if she hasn't realised I've lost my voice or in horror if she has.

Instead, she has vanished.
The town in the background of where she had stood seems to have shrunk. With a start, I realise I can't see our house. It was a brown box like all the other homes with only a doorway blue like the sky to distinguish it.

I scan the town again, and then again, starting at the opposite side, but it's undeniable.

My house no longer exists. Or, perhaps it doesn't exist yet.

My mind spins, searching for an answer to make this make sense, grasping at any explanation... but only one makes sense.

I must've gone back in time when I passed beneath the arch, back to before Sema was born, so long ago that our humble home hadn't been erected yet.

I swallow. I can survive losing my voice. Being trapped in a different time with no idea where to go or who could help me? That's a hopeless situation if I ever saw one.

I only realise the depth of my hopelessness when tears prickle in my eyes.

I grind my teeth, my jaw shuddering in anger, in sadness.
I wish I had never crossed under the arch. It was just a moment, just one stupid, misguided decision... and now, I've lost everything.

Even the bench Sema and I were sitting on. We had always joked about it seeming more ancient than the Earth itself with its peeling surface, but apparently it wasn't. It wasn't even as old as the time the arch belonged to. After all, that must be where it had transported me to.

But I haven't lost everything.
Because I hear my voice. I freeze, ears pricking. I must listen closely to make sure I'm not mistaken, that my wishful thinking is not deceiving me.

It's definitely my voice, but it's not coming from my mouth or my head. It's coming from a cave opening a short distance from where I stand.

I squint at it. I remember it being collapsed, just a heap of rock obstructing the entry of anyone who might want to explore the cave or hunt down their voice. I guess that makes me lucky even though I feel unfortunate, because I see no obstacle to my entrance.

I stomp towards it. If my voice is within reach, which it sounds like it is, I will get it back. Even the grains of sand scattered over the rocky ground make way for me at the force of my feet tramping down on them.

I step into the cave. The sunset abandons me, and the darkness inside welcomes me, embraces me with its perfume of sea sand and salty water. I take a moment to adjust to the heaviness of the smell and give my eyes time to become accustomed to the dark.
Now, I can barely see in front of me, but that's enough.

I take the winding path pressed between the rocky walls into the darkness, keeping my fists clenched and my eyes peeled for anything jumping out at me from the unknown.

But all I see is darkness and rock. All I hear is my voice echoing through the cold, dank chambers. It begins as a whisper before escalating into an ethereal song I've never even heard in my life.

It's surreal, like looking at your reflection while wearing your best outfit, with your hair freshly styled and your makeup impeccable, and wondering if that's really you.

I sense I'm nearing the heart of this cavernous chamber when my voice gets louder. Soon, it's all around me, drowning me, a maelstrom of melody with countless other voices stolen over centuries.

The song is strange, haunting, a mermaid lullaby. Perhaps that's why my voice was stolen, why the others were too. Perhaps they were destined to be part of this illicit tune together.

But if that was destined, I must also have been destined to pursue them.

I find myself at a dead end, a room round like a bubble in the rock. At the centre of it is a man, tall and slim in a way that makes him look long, like fabric stretched until it had distorted, almost to breaking point.

He waves. his long-fingered hands. Bright, coloured wisps float to his fingertips as he chants in a strange language, flowing into each other with sounds of the harmony that had led me here. 

I glare even though it's beautiful because they're all stolen voices. Even so, I stifle my temper. I can feel that this is a pivotal moment. I sense it in the way the air goes still, like someone holding their breath.

What I do now determines if I get my voice back or if my soul gets taken with it.

I tiptoe into the room, muting my footsteps so that they're nearly silent. But not silent enough, because the long man turns, his face as striking as a sculpture carved from beach sand, his eyes like the endless ocean, his black cloak like the night sky, minus the stars that made it seem less cold and empty.

I freeze, uncertain what to say. Not that it matters because I can't say anything anyway, not even if I wanted to, not even if I tried.

"Eyes like the endless ocean," the man muses, cocking his head, amusement flicking across his mouth. "I can't say I've never heard that one before."

My eyes widen. Can he hear my thoughts?

"Yes, I can." He smirks, his eyes glimmering with interest as he lowers his hands. The glowing threads of voice slow, drifting through the air like souls who've forgotten their purpose. Even so, they cast languourous rainbows into the long man's eyes. "And if I can hear your thoughts, that must mean I've already taken your voice for my collection."

I glare at him, the blazing look in my eyes enough of an answer.

He shrugs, turning his focus back to his voices as he raised his hands. "It's nothing personal."

I see that his palms are scarred, old wounds crisscrossing over his skin like a fisherman's net.

I want to ask him how he can steal voices but not heal himself, but a more pressing question races to my mind.

Why do you do it? I ask in my mind. Why do you steal voices?

He answers just like I've spoken aloud. "To lure in unsuspecting sailors."

I shift on my feet, no less certain of his motives than I was before he answered me but uncertain on how to ask him more about it, this stranger who could strip me of my voice and probably everything else that was precious in my life. Just like the stories say.

"Just like the stories say." The man sends a quick smile my way.

It sends a jolt through me, and I hope that I didn't visibly start. I force a smile to hide my growing discomfort and uncertainty.

My reaction must be an activation of the potent hatred for this sea sorcerer building inside me. There can be no other explanation for it.
But I don't care that he's pretty, probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen. I care that he has stolen my voice and countless others over centuries.

"You think I'm pretty?" He smirks.

I want to smack the look off his face as much as I want to run my hands through his night-black hair.

Instead, I focus on my smile, forcing it until it hurt. Did you not hear the second part of my thoughts, where I was angry about all the voices you've stolen?

"A man's has to do what he has to do." The sorcerer looks away, busying himself with his stolen voices once again.

He throws his hands to either side of his body then draws them slowly towards him. The coloured threads of the voices follow suit as if hypnotised.

But I will not be, and I won't be distracted from my purpose by any extraordinary sight.

The stories all say you're a woman, stealing voices out of spite.

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" The sea sorcerer half turns towards me, and I fully have to clench my fists at my sides to keep them from flying at him.

He smiles because he knows. Of course he knows. Since he stole my voice, none of my thoughts must be a secret to him.

"It's the price I pay for taking your voice." He touches a luminous orange thread that darts away from him, as repulsed as I wish I could be. "I may have stolen your song, but now I'm the only one who can hear your voice. Your blame. Your complaints."

A punishment for us both.

He cocks his head. "I suppose so."

I want to collect a handful of shells from the beach and fling it at him, hoping the sharp edges catch his sand-smooth skin.

I'm the one who can't speak out loud. He speaks of my thoughts being my only voice as punishment for us both, but it's not, and it isn't equal.

I wish I had known that this strange, spiteful, selfish sorcerer was the only person I'd ever be able to talk to before I walked beneath the arch. I might've thought twice if I had.

I don't understand him, and I shouldn't want to, but I do. I'm intrigued, even though I know that curiosity can sometimes be a dangerous thing.

My question is, if you don't rob people of their voices out of spite, why do you do it?

The sorcerer studies me with his intense ocean eyes, and I wonder whether he's thinking of telling me the truth or lying to me. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference anyway.

"Sailors have more than flesh to offer, you know." The sorcerer casts his eyes downwards, stroking a bright pink voice strand that nudges him playfully. "They have maps and secrets, treasure and trinkets...how else do you think I've remained the wealthiest sorcerer this side of the Black Sea for centuries?"

I blink. Every part of what he says goes over my head except for one. You've lived for centuries?

"I have." He has the audacity to look pleased at himself, as if robbing mortals and mermaids of voices and sailors of treasure was something to be proud of.

But his pride gives me leverage.

Then surely one voice is not too much to ask for? Surely you possess thousands more? I try to keep the hope out of my thought-voice, but the sorcerer doesn't miss a trick.

His eyes twinkle, and I'm not sure if it's in amusement or malice.
He studies me again, in that way that makes me more breathless than I'd like to admit. "Is that your way of asking me for your voice back?"

Yes. My first answer comes instantly, but for the second part, I hesitate. And to go back to my home and century.

The sorcerer chuckles before clapping his hands. The voices disappear, leaving the cavern in a darkness broken only by the glowing orb floating in front of him like a miniature sun. "The voice part is easy. I would've handed it back to you just out of admiration for you daring to walk in here and demand it from me. That has never happened in all the centuries I've been stealing voices." There's a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes, but it's quickly displaced by seriousness. "The time travel, on the other hand, is a bit tricky...and will require payment." He raises his dark eye brows, waiting for the question he knows my thoughts will fire his way.

Anything. Just ask for it, and it's yours. I regret the thought as soon as it passes through my mind. I may have just offered this sorcerer anything from my life to my soul to my entire family, the reason I'm making this deal with him in the first place.

I want to return to our little home in our little coastal town. I want to sit around the dinner table and listen to Baba's superstitions. I even want Sema to reprimand me. This time, perhaps I'd even let her hold me back from crossing under the arch.

Tears rush into my eyes. I would do anything to be back with her, even if it meant dealing with her fears and never challenging them. I just want to return to her, to Baba, even to his wife who never really seems to look at me and their baby who always cries when I touch him.

I banish the tears from my eyes. The sorcerer doesn't seem the sort of person to be moved by such.
I finally gather the strength to meet his eyes.

They gleam, and that gives me little reassurance as he speaks. "Relax, the price won't be as high as you fear."

Then what is it? My throat goes dry, and I realise it's best that I can't speak, or I'd have definitely betrayed my fear if my tears hadn't already.

A grin, flashing like dolphins arcing above the water as they crossed the seas. "Just joining me for dinner tonight."

The sorcerer's words echo across the chamber, unmistakable with no sounds to distract from it, but I still can't be sure that I heard correctly.

I'm sorry, what was that?

"I'd like you to join me for dinner tonight." The grin doesn't fade, merely morphs into a curve, a smirk, but softer.

Too many feelings pass through me. My stomach drops down a pit while my heart soars. My throat tightens while my cheeks heat and redden.

I find myself nodding in acceptance of his request, and I don't know if it's because I choose not to see another way to get my voice back or because there is really no other way.