Muireen nodded, her pulse racing like a high tide under the mysterious moon.
With a last, stern look, Ceilp swam up, her tail strokes leaving swirls in the current. After what felt an eon, she descended to where Muireen.
“It is safe,” she said. “A storm brews in the distance, but that will not concern us.”
She held out her hand, the webs between her fingers a pale orange that echoed the burnished hues of her tail. Muireen folded her fingers around Ceilp’s and, tails beating the water, they rose.
In her excitement, Muireen nearly forgot to suck in her seawater and let it out in three pulses. Still, she managed, releasing the last bit of liquid just before the top of her head touched that magical, permeable ceiling where water meets air.
Then her whole face emerged. Conscious of the change in her lungs, she held her breath. Her pulse thundered through her body. Once, twice, thrice. Then she opened her mouth and let the air come in, filling the places that had known only salt and the sea.
The world above the ocean was cool and bright. It felt strange to lose the comforting presence of the water against her skin. Her cheeks and lips and eyes felt bare in a way they never had before, as though something had been peeled away, leaving her exposed.
Her hair was stuck against her head, clinging to her shoulders instead of floating free. And the sounds! Everything was sharp and exciting: the hiss and rush of the water, a high whistling that must be the wind, a distant rumble of surf on stone. The cries of the gulls overhead cut through her.
“Ha!” She could not help her shout of laughter.
“Are you breathing correctly?” Ceilp asked, watching Muireen closely.
“Yes.” The word trembled on Muireen’s lips. Even her voice was different here, lower and husky-sounding.
“Good.” Ceilp released her hand. “Welcome to the world above.”
Muireen spun herself in a circle, taking it in. The birds overhead darted and wheeled like fish in the sky. Strange diaphanous whiteness floated higher in the blue. The sun was too strong to look at, the glossy, hard light on the waves enough to make her squint and blink.
“What is that?” She pointed in the direction the sun rose, where a long, dark shape lay low on the horizon.
“Land,” Ceilp’s said. “The place where humans dwell.”
Muireen’s new-found breath hitched in excitement. “Can we—”
“No.” The older mer’s tone was forbidding. “No good comes from anything mortal.”
“And what is over there?” Murieen nodded in the opposite direction, where a dark haze filled part of the sky.
“That is the look of a storm blowing in. Fear not; we will be safely below before it arrives.”
Muireen frowned. “But I want to see the stars, and the moon, without lengths of water between me and the sky. Surely that is not too much to ask?”
“My duty is to keep you safe, princess.” Ceilp emphasized the last word, reminding Muireen of her station, and responsibilities. “For now, you ought to practice changing from breathing air to water, so that your body may become used to the sensation. I will keep watch.”
With a sigh, Muireen dove beneath the surface. The water wrapped about her like a blanket, comforting, yet almost smothering. She longed to throw it off, to rise and feel the excitement of air about her once again.
What would it be like, to live as a human, wholly above the surface? To be unable to breathe water, to move about on two ungainly stalks, trapped against the ground?
She would never know.
Instead, she distracted herself with chasing a nearby school of porpoise in and out of the waves. Ceilp even joined in as they leaped and dove. Each time Murieen broke the barrier between water and air, she took in great breaths, tasting salt and cold and, once, a hint of something wild and green blown off the land.
“What is the land called?” she asked Celip, once the guard seemed in a better mood.
“I’ve heard it is called Eire,” Ceilp said.
“Air?” Muireen laughed. “It is a fitting name.”
Ceilp shook her head, but there was warmth in her eyes. “It has a different spelling, and a different nuance on the tongue. It is the name for an ancient goddess of the land, and the mortals have called their home accordingly.”
Once again, Muireen glanced at the dark length of the island and silently rolled the name on her tongue. Eire. It seemed a little closer than when she’d first glimpsed it upon the horizon, and she was determined to edge closer still.
After a time the porpoises tired of playing, but under pretext of the chase Muireen had managed to maneuver herself and Ceilp nearer to the land. She sculled idly in the waves, letting the breeze explore her face. Then something tickled the edge of her hearing—a bright, breathy fall of melody that tugged her soul. Music?
“Do you hear that?” She lifted her head. “Oh, Ceilp, might we go a bit closer?”
The older mer set her hands on the two forked daggers belted about her waist, as if to reassure herself of their presence. She glanced up at the sky.
“Music means humans,” she said. “It is too dangerous.”
“Please?” Muireen tried to keep her yearning from showing in her voice. “We’ll be careful. Just—can’t we see where it’s coming from?”
This was her chance to see a human! She could not turn away from the opportunity.
“No.” From Ceilp’s tone, there would be no changing her mind.
Muireen shot a regretful glance at the receding porpoises. They would not provide cover any long, which meant she must seize her opportunity now.
Before her guard could guess what she was about, Muireen dipped beneath the waves and sped in the direction the music had come from, using every trick of speed she knew. Behind her, Ceilp called for her to stop, but Muireen ignored the words.
Closer, closer, until she could hear the notes even beneath the waves, wavering and distorted, falling down like tarnished coins. She shivered with delight. Such a sound, made of breath and mystery, was never heard in the sea kingdom. Just ahead, she saw the curved bottom of a small boat, a promise of adventure riding the waves. Barely slowing, she shot up to the surface.
She rose above the waves long enough to glimpse a slender, dark-haired man leaning against the thin mast of his boat, a length of metal held to his lips.
Then Ceilp grabbed her tail and tugged her down with a splash.
“Foolish girl!” The guard glowered at her from the safety beneath the waves. “It’s time I took you back to the palace.”
“But—”
“No argument.”
Under Ceilp’s watchful eye, Muireen reluctantly turned her back on the bright glimmer of the world above. Her trick would not work a second time.
As they descended through the waters, the greeny-blue quality of the light seemed darker than before, the liquid murmur of the sea a poor echo of the dancing wind and calling gulls who owned the sky.
She closed her eyes, recalling the face and form of the human she’d seen. His cheeks were burnished bronze by the sun and wind, his dark hair worn short. He had seemed not much older than herself, and she wondered why he was all alone in a boat so far from shore.
“The storm’s coming in,” Ceilp said. “Feel it in the current? It’s best we left the surface when we did,”
Muireen did feel it, the first tremor of turmoil and churn, and her heart squeezed in fear for the fisherman playing his music far above. He was some distance from land, and his craft was so small. But there was no use in begging to return to the surface.
Too late, anyhow—the pearly turrets of the palace rose ahead, glowing with luminescence as the water darkened.
At the entrance to her tower, Muireen pulled a long strand of pearls from her hair and turned to Ceilp.
“Thank you for your escort,” she said, handing the guard the pearls. “I will always remember my first journey to the surface.”
“It was an honor.” Ceilp said. “I am glad no trou
ble came of it.”
“Of course not, with such a capable guard as yourself.” Muireen smiled. “I truly am grateful for your service today.” Most of all, she was glad of seeing the mortal man. But small fishes had big mouths, and she dared not speak of that encounter. Nothing but trouble would follow if the king knew of it.
“Muireen!” her sister Aila called from the near tower. “You’ve returned safely! Come and tell us about your first breath of air.”
Ceilp made Muireen a formal bow. “I will inform your father that your birthday journey is complete and you’ve returned safely. Good evening, princess.”
“Fine swimming to you,” Muireen replied.
As her her guard departed, she glanced up and up. Barely at the edge of her vision, a faint turbulence roiled. The storm.
Her heart clenched at the thought of the fisherman—but her sisters were expecting her. No matter how much she wanted to surge back to the surface, she could not.
At least, not yet.
Eiric ducked his head as another wave crashed against the side of the boat, the harsh spray coating his face and hands. The wind pummeled him, and he reefed the small sail close, trying to control his craft in the face of the raging elements.
Most of the afternoon he’d spent frustratingly becalmed. When he’d tired of playing his whistle he’d turned to mending the nets, though most of his supplies for such were back at his cottage. Still, it passed the time.
Finally, when the sun dipped low, racing its own reflection in the water, the breeze had sprung up. Brisk at first, then brisker still, until Eiric’s boat ran before a fierce storm. No matter how nimbly he sailed, his heart clenched within him as the shadow of the clouds overtook the last pewter light shimmering on the sea.
All too soon, he’d been engulfed. Dark gray clouds matched the waves, and he lost all sight of the setting sun. Navigating by instinct, he prayed he was still headed east, and not out over the open waters, where death awaited with outstretched arms.
It took all his skill to keep his boat running upon the backs of the waves, and not directly into their hungry mouths. He did not always succeed. Fingers numb with cold, he fought the storm for what felt like hours. His ears were deafened by the rasp of the wind, his eyes stung nearly blind with salt.
Then he heard it—the crack and smash of waves breaking against stone.
He was near land, but not the sweet cove of the bay beside the village. No, he must have come in to the south where mighty cliffs rose, uncaring that a mortal life would be dashed to nothing against the rocks.
Aye, he’d wanted land. But not like this.
Forcing his hands steady, Eiric wove his boat through the water and wind, fighting to turn aside from the implacable cliffs. Hope strained his lungs as the sound of wave on stone began to fade.
Then he was pitched forward as the boat struck something in the water. Crying out, he grabbed for the side. Missed. A glimpse of black rock, splintered wood, and then the sea closed over his head, cold and relentless.
Chapter 2
Muireen waited until indigo darkness filled the sea before slipping out of her tower room. The night guards were posted to keep watch for things coming into the palace, not sneaking out. Keeping to the shadows, she swam carefully until she was some distance from the pearly towers.
Then, with powerful sweeps of her tail, she drove herself up to the surface, angling for the place she’d seen the fisherman. The closer she rose to the ceiling of the sea, the more turbulent the water. The bottoms of the waves pulled at her hair and tried to unbalance her, the swirl of storm spinning her about.
Just before breaking into the air, she recalled her training, and prepared her lungs for the transition.
Harsh wind battered her face and shoulders, so much spray in the air that for a dizzying moment her body did not respond. She choked on salt, on the horrible emptiness above the waves. Shuddering, she thrashed her tail, lifting her high enough that her lungs finally responded.
Gasping, Muireen swept her sticky hair from her face and searched desperately for the fisherman’s boat. How could he survive such a rage of smacking water and tearing wind?
There was no sign of him.
Surely he’d made for land at the first sign of storm, and was even now safely at home, far from the grasp of the sea. But even as the sensible part of herself argued that she ought to dive down to safety, something else pulled her on, toward the memory of where the island of Eire lay.
At length a strange sound came to her ears, a rhythmic crash and crack. Before she understood it, the storm threw her forward, and she smacked against the side of a rock jutting from the water.
Pain flashed through her, and she ducked down, away from the greedy hands of the weather above. The power of the storm was blunted beneath the water, and she drew in a steadying gulp, searching for calm. She should not be here, where the rocks waited to tear her body.
A bit of wood brushed her arm, borne by the sucking current. Then another.
It took a moment to realize what it meant.
The debris was new and sharp-edged. Some craft had hit the rocks and wrecked. Panic flashing through her, she turned in a circle, every sense alert.
There! Overhead, she saw the remains of a boat smashing up against the stone. And there…
Time slowed.
Muireen’s blood beat stronger than the surge of the waves in her ears. She dove, hands outstretched, for the form of the man sinking to his death. It was the fisherman, and for an instant she saw a silver thread stretching from her heart to his, a path of starlight, of fate.
Then she reached him and wrapped her arms about him, pulling them both up, up, driving through the rough water until she reached the harsh air again. He was heavy against her, and cold, his head lolling. The waves beat at them like fists.
Desperately, she swam, steering away from the terrifying crash of sea on stone. Surely the land held more than the hungry rocks. Breath heaving, she scanned the shoreline. There! A bare crescent of sand beckoned, barely wide enough for a single body, framed by jagged black stone. She forced herself forward, her timing and agility slowed by the body in her arms. The tide threw her up against the side of a rock. She twisted, and the stone left a long, painful scrape down her tail.
Then she was through the worst of the surf, and felt the land rise up, pulling away from the sea. Teeth bared, she thrashed forward, for the first time cursing her tail. Ungainly against the rough grains of sand, she pushed the fisherman before her until he was out of reach of the waves.
He was not breathing.
Awkwardly, she turned him on his side and thumped his back.
“Come now, human,” she cried. “Spit out the sea and live. Please.”
As if hearing her, his body convulsed. A gush of water emitted from his mouth and he shuddered. Muireen laid her hand between his shoulders and willed him to breathe.
Another shiver wracked him. He coughed again, and then she felt the blessed pull of air into his body.
“Yes,” she sighed.
His dark hair hid his face and she carefully pushed the sodden strands aside so that she might see his features. His cheeks were pale, but regaining color even as she watched. His lips were too soft for the rest of his face—the sharp nose and stern forehead, the black slashes of his brows.
As she hovered over him, his eyes opened. They were a wild, stormy blue. Muireen stared into those depths, and felt the hook set deep inside her heart.
“You.” His voice was a whispered croak. “Saved me.”
“Shh,” she said. “Rest.”
He closed his eyes and lay his head back down on the sand, but still he breathed. Beneath her hand, Muireen could feel his heart beating. Her fisherman would live.
But she refused to leave him alone through the night.
As the water pulled and pushed in and out of the little cove, she held him close and sang him the songs of the sea people in her low, husky voice. The storm quieted, and as the sky cleared she
was amazed to see a shimmer of tiny lights overhead—the luminescence of the night that mortals called stars.
After a time, she realized the blackness was fading, nibbled away at one side of the sky by the approaching dawn. She could not stay, could not risk discovery, though it tore her in two to leave her fisherman.
“Farewell,” she whispered, bending to lay her lips against his.
Their breaths mingled, and a salty drop fell from her eye to splash against his cheek. He stirred, and in a sudden panic, Muireen thrashed herself back into the shelter of the sea. The water took her in, cool and welcoming, concealing the secret of her tail.
She hid behind one of the rocks that had battered her. Her body rocked up and down with the now-quiet waves as she peeked out and watched her fisherman lying upon the beach. Watched as he sat up and rubbed at his face, then looked about him like a man who had misplaced something important. Watched as he rose, and winced, and cast a regretful glance at the splintered boards that had washed ashore in the night.
Watched as he turned his back on the sea and trudged away from her into the light of dawn.
Currents of cold water wrapped about Muireen as she swam into the dusky waters of the Sea Witch’s domain.
She should not be there, venturing into the clammy kelp beds in pursuit of a vain hope, but for the past week she had been unable to think of anything except her fisherman. The sight of him walking away from her haunted her dreams, and her waking hours, until she could barely eat or carry on a conversation.
It will pass, Muireen told herself, but every day was worse than the one before. She could not help remembering the silver thread she’d glimpsed, tying them together. Was this the reason she could scarcely sleep?
A low moaning sound reached her ears, like the call of a whale, but full of menace, not melancholy. She shivered and swam on, toward a blot of darkness visible ahead.
The blackness resolved to a cave mouth. Muireen halted, her hair drifting about her. It was not too late to turn back.
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