Mermaidia: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  Oh, but it was. The moment she’d glimpsed the fisherman, it had been too late.

  With a steadying gulp, she dove forward, into the cave. It was even colder inside the black stone walls, and a faint greenish light emanated from the depths, a tunnel, leading her on. The sound grew louder, vibrating through Muireen’s scales, until she could hardly think, let alone swim.

  Then she emerged into a cavern, and the noise ceased. The green light illuminated pale fishes with bulbous eyes and a few sickly strands of waterweed growing from the cavern’s sides.

  But most of all, it showed the Sea Witch floating in the center of the space, her white eyes turned on Muireen. Hideous white eyes, white skin the color of dead things, suckered tentacles waving from her head, instead of hair. Where her tail should have been was only a swirl of blackness, as though a squid had ejected its ink and fled.

  I should not have come. Muireen’s chest tightened, and she turned to flee. Rough stone greeted her, slimed with the secretions of moon snails. The tunnel she’d traveled down was gone. Panic racing through her, she pivoted to face the witch.

  “Sea King’s daughter,” the witch said, her voice carrying the memory of a thousand shipwrecks, “I am so very pleased to see you. Tell me, why have you come?”

  For a fleeting moment, Muireen was tempted to say it was all a mistake. Tempted to plead that the Sea Witch release her, unharmed, that it had been nothing more than a foolish dare.

  But her heart ached where fate bound her to her mortal man. There could be no simple escape from that snare.

  “There is a fisherman,” she said.

  The witch opened her mouth and let out a keening cry of laughter. “Oh yes, yes. One of those. Delicious. Shall I tell you the terms of the bargain?”

  “But you don’t know what I want,” Muireen protested.

  The Sea Witch’s blank eyes stared at her. “Of course I do. You want to take on the semblance of a mortal girl, so that you might seek out the fisherman you are so foolishly in love with.”

  “I’m not in love.” Even as she spoke the words, though, a part of Muireen hummed in agreement. “How could I be in love with some ungainly human? I am a princess of the sea.”

  The witch held up a hand, black webs spread between her clawed fingers.

  “I can see the strands of fate wrapped about your heart,” she said. “You were wise to come to me, for I can give you what you desire. For a price.”

  “What is the price?” Muireen’s lips felt numb, as though she’d swum through the poisoned strands of a jellyfish.

  “You must give me your voice,” the witch says. “In return, I will be able to transform you into human form—but only for a year and a day. At the end of that time, you will turn back into a mer and re-enter the sea forever.”

  A year and a day. It was not long enough—yet it was far better than nothing at all.

  “I agr—”

  “Wait.” The Sea Witch smiled, showing rows of serrated teeth. “When you return to your form, you will come to me to reclaim your voice. And you will give me one more thing—the bitter tears of your desolation. For in such heart-wrenching sorrow lies great power.”

  Muireen glanced away from the witch’s horrifying countenance and thought desperately, but she could see no alternative. Distasteful as the bargain might be, she must take it.

  “It seems I have little choice,” she said.

  “That is truer than all the pearls in the sea,” the witch said. “Now, open your mouth and sing your favorite lullaby.”

  From somewhere, she conjured a glass bottle and held it over her head.

  “Sing,” she commanded.

  Muireen began, and she could almost see her voice disappearing into the bottle. Slowly, the glass turned a translucent silver-blue: the exact hue of her scales. When the song ended, she glanced down to see that her tail was leached to a sickly gray.

  Her gasp of dismay was only a breath. When she tried to form words, nothing came out but little bursts of warm water.

  “It is done.” The witch tucked the bottle away. “Go now, daughter of the Sea King. Rise to the land, and when you exit the sea, your tail will disappear and you will walk upon two legs. Or attempt to.” She let out a harsh cackle. “I will look forward to your visit a year and a day hence.”

  The Sea Witch raised her hands and pushed, and a sudden dark current swept Muireen up. It bore her quickly through the tunnel and past the wavering kelp, through indigo waters to turquoise, and then pale blue.

  With one final surge, it pushed her upon the shore—the same small beach where she’d taken her fisherman.

  Muireen gasped and coughed, her lungs unprepared for the transition. Then fierce pain gripped her from the waist down. She opened her mouth, but had no voice to scream. She could only watch in mute horror as her tail disappeared, leaving two spindly stalks in its place.

  Legs.

  That she must learn to walk upon.

  For five days, Eiric rested in the bed he’d inherited from his parents. The white walls of the cottage wrapped around him, the breeze rustled the thatch overhead, reassuring him that he was safe.

  The villagers brought him broth and helped him rise to use the chamber pot. Biddy was there more often than most, but Eiric did not have the energy to turn away. Fevers wrung him, and a thousand aches from being tumbled against the rocks below the cliffs.

  “It’s a miracle he survived,” the people whispered. “He is truly blessed by the gods.”

  He did not feel blessed, but cursed. Whenever he closed his eyes to rest, which was often, nightmares of the crashing sea sucked him under.

  Again and again he fought to turn his boat, heard the sickening crack of the hull on stone, felt the hungry cold grasp of the waves. The only thing that made his dreams bearable was the memory of a young woman’s face, looking down at him.

  Her eyes were the warm blue of the sea at midday. Her long hair held brightness and shadow, tangled with sea foam. Her skin was pale, her hands upon his brow cool and welcome.

  Each time he woke, Eiric was filled with a pang of loss. Had he imagined her, or had she rescued him from the storm’s hunger?

  A smaller, more urgent loss pained him as well, and that was the loss of his boat. He would have to go back to using the small leather coracle that had been his first vessel. No more venturing out into the deep deep waters, where the catch was best. No more room to stow his finest nets. He feared it would be a lean winter.

  Biddy would feed you, his thoughts offered up.

  He could not think of it—not when the pearl-skinned girl haunted his dreams. And his wakings.

  A week unspooled past, and Eiric finally woke feeling… not rested, exactly, but well enough to get out of bed and see if anything salvageable had washed ashore in the tiny cove that had saved him.

  He took a hunk of bread stuffed with cheese, a skin of water, and a stout walking stick that had belonged to his Da, and set out over the headland. The sun warmed his shoulders and the top of his head, and he felt as though his life might be worth living, after all.

  It took him some time to reach the narrow path cutting through the bracken that led to the tiny beach. He’d had to rest often, and twice refilled his water skin from the small stream that crisscrossed his path.

  His lunch called to him, but he’d be better off saving it for after he’d visited the shore. A reward for the hike back up the steep trail, which, in truth, he was not looking forward to.

  For now, though, gravity aided him and soon the crash of the waves against the cliffs filled the air. It took all his concentration to keep his feet under him as he made the last descent to the sliver of sand below.

  His boots hit the sand and he stood a moment catching his balance and his breath. Then lost them both when he saw he was not alone.

  She was there—the maiden who haunted his thoughts, sitting huddled against a rock, facing the sea. Her long hair covered her like a cloak, but she was naked, the pearly skin of her limbs shini
ng in the sun.

  Heartbeat thundering in his ears, Eiric glanced about the little cove, looking for her clothing, or her selkie skin, anything that would help him learn what kind of creature she was. For though she appeared mortal, he knew deep in his soul that she was a magical being.

  Sensing his presence, she spun awkwardly about and fixed him with her blue, blue eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I won’t harm you, I swear it.”

  He could not bear it if she fled back into the waves.

  To his relief, she gave him a tentative smile and made no move toward the shining water.

  “I’m Eiric,” he said, little caring that he might be giving his name to a faerie. Even if she were a fey maiden, he feared he’d already lost his heart to her. Anything more was a trifle. “Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, and the beauty in her face made him weak at the knees.

  “Have you a name you go by?” he asked.

  Again she nodded. Then, with a stricken look, she brought her hand up to her throat and shook her head.

  “You cannot speak?”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Well then.” Eiric settled on the sand. “Still, you and I might converse together in other ways.”

  A quick nod of her head.

  “Where have you come from?”

  She turned, hair slipping off one pale shoulder, and gestured at the sea. So, it was as he thought.

  “Might I call you Muireann? It means ‘sea fair’ in my language. And you are very fair.”

  She blushed slightly and dropped her gaze to the sand. Eiric was hard pressed not to stare openly at her nakedness. Instead, he pulled off his shirt and handed it to her.

  “You might put this on, if you like.”

  Giving him a smile as quick as a silver fish, she held the garment up, studying it a moment before pulling it over her head. She had difficulty with the arm holes, and he reached to help her, drawing one fine-boned hand through the sleeve, and then the other.

  “You’re not used to clothing, I take it.”

  He was rewarded with another of her darting smiles.

  “I think…” He stared at the waves gnashing upon the rocks. “I think you saved me, sea-fair maiden. Was that you?”

  In answer, she rose to her knees a bit unsteadily, then cupped his face between her hands. He held very still, as though she were a wild thing he did not want to frighten. Gods, but she was beautiful. And strong, and brave, by all indications.

  Softly, she kissed him on the forehead.

  Her touch was enough to undo him. Eiric gathered her into his arms and held her close. Her heart beat fast, and her skin was cool, but not cold.

  Gently, quietly, they kissed, and his heart, at last, felt as though it had come home.

  Muireen could scarce believe her luck. Her fisherman had come to seek her out! Joy surged through her in great waves, despite the awkward feel of her new body. And though she could not speak, they understood one another well enough.

  She sat, nestled against his side, and marveled at the warmth of his human body. Together, they watched the waves come in, until the tide nibbled at their toes. With a sigh, Eiric turned to look at her.

  “The sun’s soon to be setting. I suppose you must return to the sea now, fair maid, though my heart weeps at losing you.”

  She shook her head at him.

  “No?” His eyes widened. “Is it possible you might come live with me, and be my bride?”

  She hesitated, but there was no way to explain that she must return to the sea in a year’s time. That was a dim cloud on the horizon. After all, a year was a very long while.

  She answered him with a kiss.

  “Then, my love, we’d best away before dark. We can come another time to search for the wreckage of my boat—if any still remains.”

  She nodded, and let him pull her to her feet. For a moment she tottered, but with his help found her balance. Walking was more difficult, though, and she let out a little hiss of pain when she stubbed her toe on an outcropping.

  “Sit here a moment.” He guided her to a rock, then bent and took off his foot coverings.

  They came in two parts, she was interested to observe. Mortal clothing was very strange.

  “I fear my boots will be too large, and trip you further in any case. But my socks will give you some protection.”

  He held out the cloth wrappings, then helped her don them. They were warm from his body, and smelled rather strongly, but she was glad of the layer between her tender new skin and the ground.

  “Now, Muireann, we must climb to the top of the headland and walk a fair bit before reaching my village. Luckily, it will be dark, so we can avoid the worst of the questions until tomorrow. Are you ready?”

  She nodded. No matter what difficulties lay ahead, and she was certain there would be many, it would be worth it with her fisherman by her side.

  A moon passed, and though the villagers still treated Muireen with suspicion, they had come to accept she was there to stay. All except the flame-haired Biddy, who spat and made the sign of protection whenever their paths crossed.

  Together, Muireen and Eiric had managed to pull his wrecked boat from the rocks. Paired with another ruined craft, they’d cobbled together an ugly but seaworthy boat that could take the two of them over the waves.

  For though Eiric tried to protest, Muireen was determined to go out with him upon the sea. She’d let him fish alone in his small coracle, and helped him gut and salt the fish he returned with, but she refused to waste their precious time by pining on land, waiting for him.

  It was an advantage of not being able to speak, that she simply demonstrated her intent with actions. Though he pleaded, Muireen refused to leave her place at the prow of the boat, and so they set out together.

  They worked well together, plying the nets and taking in the fish, And if once or twice Muireen spotted the trailing hair of a mer warrior beneath their boat, she was not alarmed.

  No doubt her father had been full of wrath when he’d discovered her bargain with the Sea Witch—but such things could not be broken. Instead, it seemed he’d sent his guard to keep watch on her.

  In the evenings, Eiric played his whistle as they sat before the fire in their little cottage. Muireen learned how to cook, though she was ever wary of the flames. She learned to sew, and to knit ungainly socks and sweaters that, while not lovely to behold, kept them warm as the night darkened.

  After two moons, she was with child.

  “Please jump the broom with me,” Eiric said. “We should be handfasted. If not for your sake, then for the babe.”

  Muireen had refused each time he’d spoken of it before. She was far more comfortable going from cottage to sea and back, content in the simple life they’d woven for themselves. Putting herself on display before the villagers made the old fear rise, that they’d see her as a mer creature and kill her on the spot.

  But for him, and the little creature now swimming in her belly, she agreed.

  The day of the ceremony dawned bright and clear. Eiric and Muireen broke their fast, and then he turned to her, smiling.

  “My love, I’ll leave you now to make ready. Orla has kindly agreed to come help you prepare.”

  They kissed, and then a knock came at the cottage door. Shy, dark-haired Orla stepped in, carrying a dress the color of sea foam at sunrise.

  “I brought you this. It’s been in my family for two generations. I thought I might be wed in it, but…” She glanced at Eiric, regret in her eyes. “Anyhow, I’d like you to wear it, Muireann.”

  Muireen brought her hands together and bowed in thanks. It was very generous. Perhaps—the thought stabbed her heart—perhaps in ten months, when she was gone, Orla might take her place.

  Or perhaps not. The love between herself and Eiric was a strong, true bond. She feared he might go mad from losing her, which was part of why she’d refused to wed him. But now the
re was the babe.

  Smiling, she set her hand over her belly. At least there would be some part of her remaining when she returned to the sea.

  The ceremony was held on the headland, the bright ocean shining beneath. Eiric said the words, and Muireen emphatically nodded her agreement. Together they let the priestess tie a braided cord about their clasped hands, then jumped the broom while the villagers cheered.

  That night they feasted on mutton and ale, and Muireen felt, for a small time, part of the human world.

  Despite her insistence on going out in the boat with him, the time came when Muireen’s belly was too large for her to be of much use. Too, a melancholy had settled in her soul. Only three months remained until she must leave Eiric forever and return to the sea. Ah, and the Sea Witch would reap well her harvest of tears, for already the sorrow of parting felt unbearable.

  Eiric attributed her moods to the state of her body, and was ever patient and kind with her. If he feared that the babe growing within her was less than human, he never spoke a word.

  She worried, though, with thoughts that kept her awake and fretting into the cold nights. What if the child was born with fins, or a tail? What if she and the baby were cast out, or killed?

  Be well, she thought fiercely at the little life inside her. Be human.

  From one day to the next, spring came upon the land. The days grew longer and a warm wind blew over the sea.

  And Muireen bore a baby girl, with no fins or tail, and her father’s dark hair.

  “We shall call her Brea,” her father said, holding her up and smiling bright as the dawn.

  Caught between great joy and great sorrow, Muireen smiled at him through her tears, and nodded. Now that her baby, her daughter, was born, she knew the pain of leaving would be doubled.

  But for the month that remained to her upon the land, she could not let that shadow fall over her days. So, with great effort, she pushed it away. Instead, she concentrated on all the perfect moments: Eiric’s smile and the scent of him, the soft skin of her daughter, the warmth the three of them made, curled up together in their bed.