The Unwanted Brothers Page 9

  Edmund chuckled. “You sound like my son.”

  “I’m not your son,” said Kellen. “He’s dead. Remember?”

  Bryant shifted. “Watch your mouth, you little—”

  “It’s okay,” said Edmund, shifting his attention. “He’s right. My son is dead.”

  Kellen smirked, glad to take his anger out on someone rather than stew in it. “Maybe you should’ve taught him to be a man and he’d be here instead of me.”

  “That what your daddy did for you?” asked Edmund. “Make you a man?”

  “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  “For now,” Edmund acknowledged. “Maybe I should’ve been harder on my Richie. ‘Course there’s always a tradeoff. If I had been, he might’ve turned into a little prick like you.” Edmund shrugged. “Guess then I wouldn’t miss him so much though. Think your daddy misses you, boy?”

  “I don’t care,” said Kellen.

  “Then I’m sorry for you.”

  Kellen sat up. “What’d you say?”

  “Your daddy wronged you,” said Edmund. “He might’ve made you into a survivor, but that don’t make you a man. You got hate in your heart? That’s fine. It’s what’s fueling me now too. My son meant everything to me. Only reason I’m still going is to avenge him. That’s what a man does, boy. He rights the wrongs in the world.”

  “Guess I should’ve had a dad like you,” said Kellen snidely. “Bet you would’ve bailed your son out of jail if he called, huh? I wouldn’t even be here if mine had.”

  “You’re bailed out now,” said Edmund. “That’s something, I guess.”

  Kellen snorted. “Yeah. I traded one jail cell for another. At least back home it didn’t smell as bad.”

  “Don’t get comfortable. We won’t be here long.”

  Marrero pulled away from Kellen. “So what happens next, old timer.” He asked Edmund. “You said you’ve been here before.”

  “Not here,” said Edmund. “Not this place. But if it’s anything like the others, you boys will be Salted soon.” Edmund lifted his hood for Kellen and Marrero to see. “Put on the last suit you’ll ever wear.”

  Kellen stared at the tannish hood. Imagined what it would be like to transform. I wonder if it hurts . . .

  Marrero had questions too. “And that’ll help us get out of here?” he asked Edmund.

  “Give you a better chance.”

  Marrero shook his head. “How’s that?”

  Kellen understood. “We’re too far underwater now to reach the surface on one breath.”

  “But we swam down the Gasping Hole . . .” said Marrero.

  “Pulled,” said Kellen. “We were pulled down the Gasping Hole by Tieran and his seals. And they stopped somewhere in the middle to let us get a breath too. We can’t do it on our own,” he looked to Edmund for confirmation. “Or can we?”

  “Doubt it.” The old Selkie yawned. “But if you pups wanna try swimming up the Gasping Hole without a suit, well, it was nice knowing—”

  “Quiet,” Bryant hissed. “Someone’s coming.”

  Kellen sat up straighter.

  A glimmer of torchlight made its way steadily through the tunnel. Its bearer whistled.

  “Guess what ol’ Tieran has, you sorry seadogs.”

  Kellen sneered as Tieran made for the cages, carrying several bundles of what looked like clothes in the crook of his arm.

  Tieran handed off his torch to a hooded guard. His eyes fell on Kellen. “It’s your lucky day, pup.” He motioned the guard ahead. “Bring ‘em out.”

  Kellen stood, along with his cellmates, as the guard unlocked the cage. He thought it funny he ever believed them willing to fight for their freedom not a few hours previous. None of his cellmates showed a whiff of struggle in them now.

  His conscience reminded nothing stopped him from fighting the guards as Kellen stepped out of the cage. Nearby him, Tieran kneeled and unfurled one of the bundles, a one-piece Selkie suit flecked with silver specks and a black hood. Nearby, the other guards were holding a pair of black metallic rods that resembled pokers kept around a fire to move the burning logs and stoke the flames anew.

  Tieran noticed Kellen shivering at the sight of the metallic rods and the artful designs attached to their ends. “Aye, I’d be shaking in me own boots if I was you. Shaking with excitement, that is.” He traced his fingers over the silvery and black-spotted Selkie suit lain before him. “It’s not everyone gets Salted with a Leper coat, special boy. Doing you a favor, I am. See you don’t forget it if the Lord Crayfish rewards you.” Tieran glanced at the guards. “Right, take his clothes off.”

  Kellen slapped a guard’s hand. “Get away—”

  A strong rap on the back of his head brought Kellen to his knees, his mind spinning black and red. Someone kicked him and he fell to the floor. A guard put their knee in his back, pinning him. Cold steel pressed against his skin and his clothes were shorn off.

  “Get off of me!” he yelled.

  Tieran knelt beside him. “Not yet. First I want to play me a lil’ game I learned on the mainland. Ever play something called ‘would you rather’, special boy?”

  Kellen sneered. “Screw you.”

  “Nah.” Tieran sucked his teeth. “This is how the game’s played, mate. I give you two options. You pick the one you like best. So if I asked you, would you rather have a Leper coat, or have me drag you down the Gasping Hole again, I’d figure you’d choose a coat, see?”

  “So give it to me,” said Kellen.

  “You’ll get that, sure. Earned it, you did, but that’s not the option in question. I’ve a different one for you . . .” Tieran smirked. “Hand or foot? Which would you rather?”

  Kellen shook. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Just what I asked,” said Tieran. “I’m feeling a mite generous today. Figure why not let you choose. So . . . will it be your hand, or your foot?”

  Kellen recalled with distinct clarity a video about slavery once shown in his history class. One of the few things he had stayed awake for. A slave had escaped and when the bounty hunters tracked him down, they gave the runaway such a choice—a means to keep him from fleeing ever again. Whatever I say, he’s going to chop it off. Kellen trembled, his breathing labored.

  Tieran was at him again. “Which will it be, lad?”

  Focus! Kellen tried to quell the fear in him. I can’t run without a foot. Can’t escape.

  “My hand,” he said finally.

  “Right, then,” said Tieran. “You heard the lad.”

  Kellen writhed and bucked as one hooded guard held him back. Another grabbed hold of Kellen’s left wrist and stretched his arm in front of him.

  Tieran stepped on his wrist, then waved the other guard away. “Quit moving, special boy.”

  Kellen saw a lit torch in Tieran’s hand. In the other, Tieran held one of the long, black rods to the flame. Its tip glowed orange as he took the rod away from the fire. Kellen discovered then he had more fight left in him. What is that thing?

  “I said, quit moving!” Tieran handed the torch to a guard. “Don’t want ol’ Tieran to make a mess of it now, do you?”

  “Get that thing away from me!”

  “Would you rather have it on your head?” Tieran lowered the end of the poker toward Kellen’s face, the hot metal shaped in the form of a crayfish.

  “No . . .” said Kellen.

  “Quit moving, then. Won’t tell you again.”

  Kellen fought back his fears, obliging. He opened his hand and placed his palm flat on the cavern floor.

  “No worries, lad. It’ll only tickle for a minute.”

  Tieran plunged the poker against the back of Kellen’s hand, branding him.

  Kellen howled at the fiery pain, the sound and scent of sizzling flesh. He opened his eyes, not wanting to see, but needing to. He looked on the bloody crayfish brand seared into his skin.

  Tieran took his foot off Kellen’s wrist. “Right! Douse him and see him dressed, lads.”

 
One of the guards threw a bucket of tepid salt water on Kellen’s hand. He winced at the new burning as the guards yanked him to his feet.

  “Next!” Tieran called.

  The cage door swung open and Kellen glimpsed the guards pull Marrero out before guiding him away. One of the hooded guards lifted the silver-speckled suit in front of Kellen, then threw it at him. “Put this on.”

  Kellen caught it with his unburned hand. It felt soft and fuzzy, almost like cotton, and not at all like he expected. Nearby, Marrero screamed. Kellen found his friend clutching his left hand as the guards lifted him.

  “Next!” Tieran yelled.

  Bryant walked out of the cage of his own accord.

  “Oi!” the guard called Kellen’s attention. “I said put it on.”

  Kellen looked down on the coat. The back of it had been cut, almost like someone had forgotten a zipper should be sewn in. He lowered the suit’s opening to his knees and slipped his leg inside. It feels like pajamas.

  He put his other leg through, then stood and ran his good hand through the right sleeve.

  Nearby, Bryant growled alongside the sizzle of burning skin.

  Kellen closed his eyes. He winced and groaned as he slipped his branded hand through the other sleeve, finding cool air at the opening. He sighed as he relaxed his grip. Again, he looked on his left hand, now forever ruined with a crayfish emblem.

  Kellen made a fist, wincing at the pain, drawing on the hate.

  Something tickled up his back.

  He spun, thinking to see a guard with a feather, but no one stood behind him.

  The nearest guard was ten feet away, aiding others to dress Marrero in a hooded suit of tannish-gold.

  Kellen tried looking over his shoulder to see his back as the warm tickle continued its slow and steady ascension. It stopped at his neck. Thermal heat pulsed through him and he moaned in ecstasy. Kellen almost laughed then, the memory of pain from his hand nothing compared to the strength, such glorious strength, seeping into his limbs.

  Hearing Marrero moan, Kellen glanced at his friend in time to see the opening on Marrero’s suit stitching itself together, almost like the suit had a mind of its own and meant to heal itself. Marrero groaned with the same pleasure Kellen experienced as the tickle finished near his neck.

  Kellen swung his arms back and forth, reveling in the warmth and freedom he had taken for granted before being locked in a cage.

  “Kell,” said Marrero. “This is awesome! Are you feeling this?”

  Kellen nodded, watching as Bryant was forced into a tannish-gold suit that resembled Marrero’s. Unlike the teens, however, Bryant wept as his suit sewed itself about his body. Kellen was wondering what was wrong with Bryant when he heard a scuffling near the branding area.

  The guards had the beefy gas station attendant by the arm to lead him from the cage.

  Tieran was shouting them down. “No, no, no! Put him back in!” He pushed the beefy man back into the cage and slammed the gate home. “He don’t belong to the Crayfish. He belongs to me. Does it look like I’ve the monies to buy me slaves a suit?”

  “No, boss.”

  “Right, and even if I did, this one hasn’t earned it. I oughta skin Henry for pawning this lug off on me. Leave him.” Tieran swung back to Kellen and the others now wearing suits. “All right, you sorry seadogs, time for another swim. Off to the pit with this lot.”

  A guard took Kellen roughly by the arm.

  Kellen shrugged him away. “I can walk.”

  He strode toward the testing pool with both Marrero and Bryant beside him.

  “Don your hoods,” said Tieran as they drew close to the edge.

  Kellen reached behind his shoulders and pulled the hood up to cover his ears and head. He heard the cage door swing open behind them and glanced back to see Edmund led out.

  Kellen thought the old marshal came willingly enough, but looked as though he too had been crying. Edmund stopped beside Bryant and touched the arm of his suit, running his fingers across the fabric like one lost in a memory.

  Tieran pointed at Edmund. “You! You been here before. Show these pups how it’s done then.”

  Edmund nodded and donned his hood. Then his body changed.

  Marrero gasped as Edmund fell to all fours, the sleeves extending over his hands and feet, then transforming into sea lion flippers. “What the . . .”

  Kellen’s nose wrinkled when Edmund’s hood closed over his face and bulged outward, sprouting whiskers. The shifting changes completed in a matter of seconds and a Sea Lion looked on them all sadly.

  Kellen clenched his fists, strength pulsing through him in equal to the branded pain from his hand. I’m going to do that too. He thought of Edmund’s transformation. I’m going to change. He looked at the guards and Tieran. Then I’m going to swim back out the Gasping Hole.

  Marrero was hyperventilating. “Wha . . . how did he . . . how did he do that?”

  “He’s a Selkie, lad,” said Tieran. “Like the lot of you are now. So get a good look at him cause the pair of you”—Tieran pointed at Marrero and Bryant—“are just like him. Sea Lions. And there’s worse suits, believe you me. Now, close your eyes, lads, and think about the animal. Picture him in your head and keep it there. You’ll feel something funny in you, sure, but don’t lose the thought, see?”

  Bryant’s hood drifted over his face. His body transformed the same as Edmund, though not as quickly. Marrero’s changes came slower too, his eyes widening and stopping the transition nearly as soon as it had begun.

  “Keep the picture in your head,” Tieran reprimanded. “No good being some sort of halfsie.”

  Kellen watched as Marrero finished the metamorphosis; a trio of Sea Lions where his cellmates had stood. The one who had been Marrero barked.

  Kellen closed his eyes and pictured the Sea Lion in his mind’s eye. He felt nothing.

  “Nah, nah,” said Tieran. “Won’t do you no good, special boy.”

  Kellen opened his eyes. “What do you mean? It worked for them.”

  “They’re Sea Lions. You're not.”

  “What?”

  Tieran grinned. “Your suit’s far and away better than theirs. You ever see a Leopard Seal, special boy?”

  Kellen shook his head.

  Tieran frowned. “Did you meet Henry? A no good Frenchman who—”

  “Yeah,” said Kellen. “Yeah, I remember that guy.”

  “Good,” said Tieran. “Cause your suit's like his.”

  Kellen closed his eyes and thought back to the jail, remembered the silvery seal with a snake-like head. He recalled the seal’s bloodstained teeth and its cold, black eyes. A killer. That’s what I am. Kellen thought, his newly branded left hand shaking. That’s what I’m going to do to you, Tieran.

  The cold air on his face vanished entirely, warmed as his hood lengthened past his nose and sewed itself shut. He kept the thought of the Leopard Seal in mind and was pulled to earth, dropped to his knees as the tickle sped through his body. Kellen swore his tongue felt looser, longer, and he ran it over his teeth, now pointed and wicked sharp.

  A primal voice whispered to him. Yes. We’re Lepers . . . that’s what we are. Fear us.

  Power surged through him and Kellen whipped his seal head back. His satisfied moan became a hiss and his tongue licked the air. Kellen opened his eyes, looking out at the world for the first time in the Salted form assigned to him.

  The smallest Sea Lion backed away from him.

  Kellen snorted at it. That’s right. Stay away. He thought, looking at all three Sea Lions and the guards with newfound confidence. None of you have what I do.

  “Right,” said Tieran. “The games are tomorrow and you lot need all the practice in these new bodies you can get. Into the pit with you.”

  Kellen hissed. Come and make me.

  Tieran chuckled. “Been at this a long time, I have. Don’t let that seal mind convince you to try and pull one over on ol’ Tieran, special boy.”

  Kellen showe
d Tieran his jaws. Roared.

  A wire noose wrapped around Kellen’s neck and tightened. He gurgled as the guards dragged him toward the pit and dumped him over the side.

  Kellen hit the water on his back and felt the wire release. His seal mind reminded him to flip, swim for the surface. His body instinctually responded and did it for him.

  Whoa. Kellen thought as he peeked his seal head above the water line.

  Tieran looked down on him from the edge. He motioned to the guards. “Get the others in.”

  The three Sea Lions joined Kellen in the pit, splashing beside him. He growled at Tieran.

  “Now, now, I’ll have none of that, special boy,” said Tieran. “Told you I did you a favor, I did. Now do me one. Get used to that new Salt body of yours. The games will be here before you know it, come morning. Best be ready to earn your keep, else I’ll pluck that pretty suit off your back.” Tieran backed away from the edge. “Right, lock ‘em in for the night, lads.”

  Kellen saw the guards walk the edge of the pit, dragging a thick rope net over the top. He barked them to stop.

  The guards continued their work until the rope net covered the pit entirely. Then, they left and took their torches with them, leaving the sea lions and Kellen to the dark of Crayfish Cavern.

  Want to read more?

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  Appendix

  - Humans -

  ALLAMBEE OMONDI, a Kenyan teenager with ties to Marisa Bourgeois, last seen fleeing from Henry Boucher alongside Zymon Gorski

  BENNETT, deceased, a former student at Tiber High School and friend of Kellen Winstel, murdered by Henry Boucher

  BOONE MERCHANT, deceased, former Lavere town drunk and cellmate of Kellen Winstel’s, murdered by Tieran Chelly

  BRYANT, a shady U.S. marshal, rumored Silkstealer, and current property of August ‘Crayfish’ Collins

  KELLEN WINSTEL, a former convict and high school senior who attempted to drown Garrett Weaver, current property of August ‘Crayfish’ Collins