Tide

by Alydia Rackham

  I have met Prince James, who is amenable, and open. He accepted what I told him without any pretense, and seems willing to listen, even if he is naïve. He has personally installed me in a house near the palace, and it is comfortable, and well-stocked with many of Clanahan’s books—as I have learned from the prince that the former king and Clanahan were close friends.

  I plan to ride to the palace tomorrow morning and speak to the prince again, and ask him for a guide to take me round the island so I may better navigate on my own. I must work quickly. As we discussed, I have every expectation of finding the guardian of this seal to be dead. I will waste no time in discovering how he died, and why. If you hear of anything, send it on.

  Give my regards to Effrain and Clanahan.

  Your servant,

  G. Stormcrane

  Galahad set his quill aside, folded the letter, and sealed it with the red wax he had pulled from his writing kit—stamped it with his family crest: a hammer and anvil. Then, he left the study, strode out through the sitting room, into the entryway, and out the front door. His boots crunched on the gravel.

  Scraw trotted through the front yard with the chickens, pecking at the corn meal. Galahad took a breath and whistled sharply.

  Scraw’s head came up, then he took to flight. He blazed straight toward Galahad, Galahad held the letter out to the side—

  Scraw snatched it in his beak and shot up into the sky. As Galahad watched, the bird gained a sweeping height—

  And with a blinding flash like lightning, he shot off and disappeared. He would arrive at the Fortress of Maith within the hour.

  The soft evening light swam across the waves as Galahad and Thondorfax walked down the beach. Galahad moved ahead of his horse, who followed him without saddle or bridle. The waves rushed over the sand, foaming around the rocks, as the ocean breathed and sighed and muttered. The wind had calmed, and the sky had cleared. Galahad’s booted feet made shallow prints on the high, smooth sand as he gazed out across the channel to the rolling green mainland of Mhuirlan. White sails dotted the faraway water, and seagulls followed the boats.

  Galahad paused, taking a deep breath of the cool, salty air, letting the absent wind rustle through his clothes and hair. Thondorfax pressed up next to him, and both regarded the west, where the sun dipped below the horizon.

  Sensing a soft light behind him, Galahad turned and caught sight of a full moon, faint and pearly in the pale blue of the sky, but even as he gazed up at her, her light brightened.

  Thondorfax made a noise. A high, quiet whinny.

  Galahad’s head came around, his attention flashing to his horse.

  Thondorfax’s ears had perked up high, his attention fixed on something near the point where the beach met the feet of the cliffs. The horse drew in deep breaths, his nostrils flaring, his eyes unblinking.

  Staying still, Galahad followed the horse’s captivated gaze. For a long moment, though he scoured the edges of the rocks, he saw nothing.

  Then.

  A figure. Huddled back against a large rock.

  Galahad started forward.

  Thondorfax made another plaintive sound, and eagerly followed him. Galahad’s pace quickened. He maneuvered around a group of tall rocks coated in lichen, then stopped.

  A young woman. Sitting curled up with her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her middle. Her bare arms and legs were white as the moon, as was her face. She wore nothing. She had long, knotted dark hair that hung down all around her, covering her chest. She stared at him. She had large eyes, grey as the winter sea; long lashes, and black eyebrows. She had delicate, elegant features—a perfect nose and full lips, but they were colorless.

  “Hello,” Galahad said carefully.

  She twitched, and then started to shiver. Her wide gaze flickered past him, to Thondorfax.

  Galahad turned his head slightly, and exchanged a glance with his horse. Thondorfax whuffled, lowered his head, and let his lips go slack as he shuffled toward her. He kept nickering softly, his nose almost on the ground, and nuzzled her knee.

  Suddenly, she smiled.

  Though her face remained deathly white, the expression lit her features with unexpected beauty. Shakily, she reached out and touched the horse’s muzzle. Her smile faded.

  Galahad slowly pulled off his cape. He held it out in front of him, but did not move forward. She looked up at him again. He gazed back at her, and lifted his eyebrows.

  Her lips parted. But she didn’t speak.

  Galahad took one step forward. Her breathing picked up, but she didn’t move. He took another step forward. She slid her hand up, and tightly wound her fingers through Thondorfax’s forelock. Cautiously, Galahad knelt down before her, and just held the cape up. She breathed quickly, like a rabbit, her attention flicking between him and the garment. Galahad waited.

  Finally, her attention stopped flashing back and forth, and found him again. Her brow furrowed. He leaned forward, and draped the cape over her knees. Then, he let go, and sat back.

  She blinked, and released Thondorfax. Gingerly, she stretched out a hand and grasped the edge of the cape, and drew it closer to her chest. She pulled the hem up to her face, and pressed it to her lips, all the while, watching him.

  Galahad sat back on his haunches, studying her. As he did, he tugged off his gloves, and pushed them into a side pocket of his trousers. The girl focused on his long, bare hands, now, as he rested his wrists on his knees.

  Then, Galahad held out his right hand—his sword hand—to her, palm up.

  Thondorfax whuffled again, leaned out and lipped his hand, mistakenly searching for a sugar cube.

  The girl chuckled.

  The sound reminded Galahad of the waves upon the sand.

  Galahad’s own lips parted as he looked at her, but he didn’t say anything. Thondorfax realized that there was nothing in Galahad’s palm, and shuffled back, but not before nosing him in the shoulder. Galahad kept his hand where it was.

  After a moment, the girl leaned forward slightly, frowning down at his palm. Then, she risked her own right hand, and brushed his fingers. Her touch was cold. He didn’t withdraw.

  Her interest sharpened, and her left hand joined her right. She lightly grasped his hand, and turned it to reveal the deep scar on the back of his hand between his thumb and his forefinger. Her fingertips wandered over it, and then found the scar on his smallest knuckle. Galahad just watched, chills washing up his arm.

  Her hands stopped moving, and she lifted her face. He met her eyes. Her eyebrows drew together, and something like decision marked her features. Then, carefully, she turned her own right hand over, palm up. Galahad looked down…

  To see a black rune upon the palm of her hand.

  He instantly snatched her hand, his eyes going wide, and stared down at it. Then, his attention flew to her face.

  Her breathing hitched. She swallowed.

  Galahad swooped over her. He swiftly took up his cape and bound it around her body, then scooped her up in his arms. She grunted, but she didn’t kick or hit him. He turned, and in three steps he mounted one of the tall rocks, then leaped off the peak. He landed astride Thondorfax, securing his hold on her. Thondorfax waited for him to settle her before starting forward at a smooth gait.

  The sky darkened all around them, and the moon shone bright in a purple sky as they swept back up the beach, and started up the steep and winding road to Euryor House.

  “Little Emblyn!” Galahad called, kicking the front door out of the way and striding into the house. The housemaid emerged from the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron, and gasped.

  “What—Who is this?”

  “I found her on the beach,” Galahad said, stepping past her and into the dining room. “She is cold, and wet, and I doubt if she’s had anything to eat for several days.”

  “I’ll make up a bath for her!” Little Emblyn cried, shoved back through the kitchen door, snatching it open so that Galahad could follow. He felt the strange girl shi
vering in his arms as she looked wildly all around her.

  “She’s terrified!” Little Emblyn realized. “Here, set her on this bench by the range—I’ll fetch the

  bathtub—”

  “Where is it?” Galahad interrupted.

  “In the pantry, there,” Little Emblyn pointed.

  “I will get it, you start warming the water.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Galahad bent down and set the girl lengthwise on the padded bench, and tucked his cape closer around her. Her frightened gaze caught his for an instant before he left her and crossed the stone kitchen floor to the back room and pulled open the door. There, against the far wall, beside the larder shelves, stood a small copper tub with claw feet. He bent over it, picked it up and hauled it back out the door. It was heavy. He set it down in between the girl and the range, even as Little Emblyn heaved a large crock of water onto the stove.

  “Do you have clothes that will fit her?” Galahad panted, straightening up.

  “Erm…no sir,” Little Emblyn glanced over the stranger’s form and then shook her head. “She’s a deal too tall for my clothes. But there are lady’s clothes in one of the upstairs bedrooms, sir. Some of those dresses are bound to fit.”

  “Which bedroom?” Galahad asked, swiping his hair out of his face.

  “The first door you come to, sir, straight ahead from the stairs,” Little Emblyn answered.

  Galahad didn’t answer, just left the kitchen, and headed up the stairs to dig through the trunks.

  Galahad stood over a table in the library, his hands braced on the wood. His head hung low, and he stared down at the large, open book before him. A glass oil lamp burned beside it, casting all the rest of the room into deep shadow—and light upon the ancient pages.

  A map of Mhuirlan, and the Teylu Crown Islands…

  And the great seal on the bottom of the Sira Channel.

  Its perfect ring stretched from the coast near Perlkastel all the way across the channel to the shores of the narrow part of Mhuirlan.

  And right in the center of it stood a single rune.

  And he had been staring at it ever since he opened to this page.

  “Sir?”

  Galahad straightened, turned and looked toward the open door of the study. He saw Little Emblyn silhouetted against the lamp in the sitting room.

  “Sir, I’ve dressed her and sat her down at table, but she doesn’t seem to know what to do with the soup or the bread…”

  Galahad didn’t answer, just shut the book and picked it up, and carried it toward the door. He stepped past Little Emblyn, his jaw tightening, moved through the sitting room and into the dining room, his heavy footsteps ringing on the floor.

  The girl sat on the other side of the table, in front of a steaming plate of food. She wore a plain maroon dress with fitted sleeves and scoop neck. Little Emblyn had somehow worked out all the tangles and knots in the girl’s dark, twisted hair—doubtlessly with a handful of olive-oil—and her tresses now hung in gentle waves down to her waist, shining in the candlelight. A little color had come into her cheeks, and her grey eyes had brightened.

  When she saw him, her mouth opened—but again, she said nothing.

  Galahad stopped, took a short breath, and inclined his head.

  And he spoke in an entirely different tongue.

  “Greetings Princess Meira—daughter of Strom, King Under the Water.”

  Chapter Four

  The girl—Princess Meira—blinked, and sat up straight. Confusion filled her eyes, and her brow furrowed.

  Galahad stepped forward and laid the book down on the table, never breaking her gaze.

  “I am Galahad Stormcrane, a Curse-Breaker,” he said, still speaking the foreign tongue. “I was sent here to discover what has happened to the guardian of the eastern seal.”

  Princess Meira’s mouth closed, and she swallowed. Galahad leaned toward her.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” he said quietly, searching her face. “You are the guardian of the seal.”

  Meira’s jaw tightened, and she nodded.

  “Can you not speak?” Galahad asked.

  She hesitated, then shook her head.

  “But you can understand Brimtung,” he said. “So you are, indeed, Merfolk.”

  She bit her lip. And she nodded.

  “And you are the princess,” he went on. “Eldest daughter of the king.”

  She nodded again.

  Galahad glanced to his left. Little Emblyn stood there near the kitchen door, eyes wide with bewilderment as she watched the exchange. Galahad turned back to Meira.

  “Someone put you under a spell to make you human,” he concluded. “To bind you to the land so you cannot protect the seal.”

  Meira opened her mouth once more, then tilted her head to the side and halfway shook it, then lifted her right shoulder. Galahad watched her a moment.

  “Is some of that true?”

  She nodded.

  “Which part?” he asked.

  She paused, then held up one finger.

  “The first part,” Galahad said slowly. “Someone has put a spell on you to make you human.”

  She nodded.

  “But it was not to gain access to the seal,” he finished. She shook her head.

  Galahad said nothing for a long moment, then straightened up and gave her a sideways look.

  “You asked for the spell.”

  Her face lit up, and she nodded quickly. Galahad’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why?”

  Meira looked around the room helplessly, lifting her hands—then pressed them both to her heart, giving him an imploring gaze.

  Galahad’s jaw tightened, and his hands closed.

  “Were you the one who saved Prince James from his shipwreck?”

  Meira jerked. She shot a glance at Little Emblyn, then turned back to Galahad.

  Then, she nodded.

  Galahad ground his teeth, turned to the side, and covered his mouth with his hand.

  Finally, he faced Meira again, and set his hands on the table.

  “You’ve fallen in love with the prince,” he said tightly. “And you want to be human, to be with him. Regardless of the danger it brings upon the entire realm of Edel and the surrounding seas.”

  Her eyes flashed—but something like fire blazed in them. Galahad didn’t move.

  “Why can you not speak?” he demanded. “Could you speak before you accepted the spell?”

  She nodded.

  He eyed her.

  “Who took your voice?”

  Her face flushed red, and her hands closed to fists on the table. She turned to stare resolutely at her soup.

  Galahad moved the bench and sat down on it, then flung the book open. He scanned through the pages swiftly, the light from the lamps glowing against the ancient runes and maps and monastic writing.

  And then, he finally fell upon a particular page—and all the lights in the room flickered.

  Little Emblyn whimpered.

  Galahad stared down at the open book.

  Upon the right-hand page stood an illustration of a lean form draped and hooded in shredded darkness. It was the figure of a bony woman, her white hands like claws, her face enshrouded. In her right hand, she held up an iron lamp that glowed with a blue flame. Her bare feet trod upon men’s bones and the cadavers of shipwrecks. Within her cape and skirts, toothy fishes tangled as within a net, and sharks swam in her wake.

  And upon the left-hand page, it read thusly:

  Myrkur

  Myrkur, the sea witch

  Ancient and Malevolent being of the undersea, Bringer Of squalls and hurricanes, shipwrecks and Doldrums. She feeds upon the dead

  That sink to the depths.

  She is not a Curse-Maker, but a Curse-breather. She was released from The under-earth by A splitting of the sea floor at the shattering of Atlantis,

  and she brought darkness andturmoil to the Heart of the seas.

  She taught many original Curse-Mak
ers, Including Gwiddon Baba Yaga.

  She is kept from flooding the land of Edel And throwing tempests down upon it Only by the power of the Mer-king, Strom, and The seven Seals of Edel, laid by The seven original curse-breakers.

  Galahad lifted his eyes, and looked directly across at Meira.

  “Is this her?” he asked quietly. “The one who gave you the spell?”

  Meira had lost all her color again, and stared fixedly at the illustration. Her jaw tightened.

  Galahad pushed the book away from him and sat back.

  “You asked Myrkur to give you a spell to make you human.” He watched her calmly. “Did you know what she was when you did this? Did you know that, above all, she would take delight in killing you and eating your bones?”

  Meira’s gaze flew to his, but her eyes burned again.

  “Oh, you don’t think she will,” Galahad realized, lowering his head but eyeing her. “You think she’ll keep her promises. And what were her promises, exactly? I doubt it was just an even exchange: your voice for her spell.”

  Her cheeks flushed once more. Galahad leaned forward.

  “What was it? Your life?”

  She swallowed again, and nodded. He frowned.

  “And yet you are still sitting here, alive. What is the catch? Is there something you hoped for? Something that would prevent her from taking your life?”

  Meira hesitated, then slowly lifted her left hand. And with her right, she pointed to the ring finger on her left hand.

  “Oh,” Galahad murmured. “You have to marry him. The prince. That’s it, isn’t it? If you marry him, you’ll be able to speak again, and you will live the rest of your life as a human.”

  Meira drew in a deep, shaking breath, and nodded yet again. Galahad tilted his head.

  “And what happens if, say, he marries someone else?”

  Meira didn’t move—but her lower lip trembled.

  Galahad rolled his eyes, and tossed the book shut.

  “You’ll die, won’t you? If he doesn’t marry you, and marries someone else, you will die.” Galahad pushed the bench back and stood up. “This has now become my problem. You will stay here in this house until I have solved it.” He grabbed the book, and turned swiftly toward Little Emblyn—who jumped.