Mermaidia: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  Sareck turned to the warrior on his other side, then. Also a boy, but he was taller and thinner than the dead girl’s brother. His shaven head had those same odd scales on the side, that ran in swirls down his neck and bare back.

  “The gods have decided I should never have a proper heir,” the warrior said, his tone becoming bitter. “They mock me.”

  “You must move on, My Prince,” the brother said. “There are others that may fit your needs.”

  The young warrior—the prince—glared at the brother for a long moment and Sareck wondered if he would strike out at the boy.

  “Don’t mistake your place, Aram,” the prince finally said.

  The boy bowed his head in response. “Yes, Sire.”

  The young prince turned back to Sareck, apparently mollified. “You will be punished for what you tainted, mud man. That punishment may not be today, but it will come. If the gods don’t see to it, then I will return and make it so.” He then motioned to the boys holding me and they let go as he turned to walk away. And in less than a heartbeat, all three souls disappeared into the forest’s shadows as if they’d never been.

  Chapter 3

  It took Sareck several minutes to get his head straight. He remained kneeling in the underbrush, trying to decide what he’d just encountered. He felt he couldn’t rush back to his hut, to check on the dying girl, not yet. What if they still watched, what if they followed him? They had already gone to the cliff where he’d said he’d buried her, though. They seemed to believe him.

  He stayed in the wood anyway.

  Just for a few minutes.

  He stood on shaky legs and went to search out his bow. There was no use in sitting around. He may as well finish what he came into the trees for. If they watched him, that should solidify his denial.

  Who were they?

  What where they?

  He’d made one kill. He decided that would have to be enough. One man, one conie. She was half dead as it was. The girl couldn’t eat. Why he thought he’d somehow magically be able to wake her, he wasn’t sure. After that strange meeting he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it.

  Muninn swooped down, following him as he retraced his steps through the wood, returning home.

  “Not much of a warning, friend,” he muttered. “A lot of help you were.”

  The raven screeched as if it thought the whole thing was quite funny as it flew on ahead.

  When Sareck was back at the hut, he didn’t go straight inside. Instead he cleaned and dressed his small meal, readying it for the cookfire. He scrubbed his hands in the rain bucket, washing off the blood, and chopped a few stumps into pieces, tossing them into the woodpile. Then he pulled his pipe from his pocket and settled down on his rock to watch the horizon turn orange over the sea as the sun set.

  If the strange warriors still watched him, they’d think him quite boring. Which he was. But they wouldn’t imagine a dead girl would be laying inside his hut. At least, he hoped not.

  Why they hadn’t looked inside to begin with, he couldn’t guess at. They had seemed to have no lack of will to threaten his life, what had kept them from entering his home uninvited?

  Apparently, their sense of smell didn’t extend everywhere. Because the young woman had been many days in one spot, unwashed and covered in dirt, since he hadn’t been sure how to go about cleaning her. It hadn’t felt right or proper to touch her naked body without permission, even if it was needing to be done.

  Once the sun was nearly settled, Sareck rose from his sitting rock, picked up his kill and went inside.

  He stopped short, staring at the pallet.

  It was empty.

  His pelt was cast aside to the floor.

  His mind went through what could have happened—had the warriors found her? Had he imagined her altogether? What in the name of Danu was—

  Icy metal slid over the back of his neck. “If you move I’ll slice you open.”

  He went still.

  His hands went up, the carcass of the conie dangling from his finger. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or exhausted at the realization that the girl was well and truly alive. At least if she was well, she could leave him in peace. Of course, she might kill him first, by the feel of that insistent blade. He didn’t doubt her threat. “You’re awake, then,” he said, finally.

  “Why am I here?” she asked. “What do you want with me?”

  “I wanted you to rest in peace, but you didn’t seem inclined to die,” he said, dryly. “The request was, Help, please. I believe. And here we are six days later.”

  “I was dead . . .” she said. It was almost a question.

  “As dead as anyone I’ve seen. Washed up on the shore. After a brief awakening you slept for six days without stirring.”

  The pressure of the blade lifted from his neck. “He’ll come for me,” she whispered, terror in her voice.

  Sareck instantly knew who she meant. “The prince? He already did. Just now, in the woods while I hunted.” Whatever kind of prince that was, Sareck hoped he’d never see his face again.

  “What?” she said, breathless. She moved further away, backing towards the door. “He’s here?”

  Sareck stepped over to pick up once of the pelts and held it out to her. “I told him you were dead—indeed, I thought you were, or soon to be by the way you looked. He seemed to believe me—they left towards the southern side of the island.”

  She glanced from the pelt back to him, her brow furrowing in question. “They?”

  He wasn’t sure whether to tell her everything or not, she looked pained before the words had left his mouth. “One of them was spoken of as if he was your brother.”

  Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. “Aram was with him?”

  “Your husband wishes to have you back,” Sareck said, not sure what to say about the brother.

  Her head pulled back. “I’m not his to claim,” she said, her voice tight.

  “Indeed.” He stepped closer with the pelt. “But perhaps you should still cover yourself?”

  “I’m not his,” she said again.

  “Whatever your arrangement, I don’t want him to find you like this, here with . . . me.”

  She laughed sharply, taking his measure now. “Truly? My naked flesh is what you worry over? Are you truly such a human weakling? Why would the tide bring me to you?”

  He lowered his offering of the pelt and glared at her. “Feel free to float to some other shore, strange girl. I certainly didn’t ask for the gods to shove your troubles at me.”

  “Lyr is punishing me,” she muttered.

  “And me as well, it seems.”

  Muninn screeched, as if laughing.

  The girl jumped, scuttling away as she noticed the bird. “Death’s eyes,” she gasped, her breath stuttering, then she turned angrily back to Sareck, the blade rising to point at him. “How could you allow that thing into your home? Are you an imbecile?”

  Sareck glanced at the raven. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his chest. “It’s a bird, girl. Settle yourself. He only has a few lice.”

  “It’s the Morrigan’s eyes, you fool. She watches you.” She waved the blade towards Muninn.

  He studied the raven. Yes, Death followed him, it always had. He knew the Morrigan had her eyes on him, always. Whether it was through this bird or not … it didn’t matter.

  “And now the goddess has her eyes on you as well, it seemed,” he said, giving her a look, hoping the idea would send her running. Far away.

  Her eyes widened. “God’s bones. You belong to her?”

  “Better her than your husband, from the measure of the man.”

  She stepped back, fear surfacing in her eyes again. “I don’t belong to him,” she snapped. “I belong to no one but myself.”

  “And I claim the same.” He motioned to his raven. “Whatever the goddess wants with me, I could care less. The bird is my friend. You are well enough to leave. Good riddance. Do as you wish.” He tossed the pelt at her f
eet. “I’m hungry and I’m going to eat.” He turned away and walked across to the hearth, settling down to cook his supper.

  He rested his kill on one of the warming stones and began to liven up the dying fire, adding kindling to the embers. He picked up a larger piece but paused when he realized what it was.

  The carving from that first night. Of the half woman with the kelp in her hair. And the notch in her belly. The blood was gone. But it was still in his mind’s eye, dripping into the ashes.

  He tossed the carving into the emerging flames.

  It rolled to the back of the hearth.

  “Fools and curses,” he muttered as he shoved his kill onto his cooking skewer and placed it over the fire.

  Something scraped across the floor. The girl came from behind and sat beside him, watching the flames, the pelt wrapped over her shoulders.

  He glanced at her.

  Her chin went up a little as if she were daring him to comment. He wondered how he’d ever thought of her as delicate. She looked as if she carried iron in her veins. He suddenly wanted to ask her how she’d come so close to death. But he knew too much as it was.

  So, he remained quiet and roasted his meal, the scent of it filling the hut, making his stomach grumble.

  Hers echoed as they watched the carcass cool.

  He pulled off the first chunk of meat and held it out to her in offering.

  Her eyes met his before she took the piece and nodded a thank you.

  They ate the small meal in silence, watching the flames. It was several minutes before she spoke again, surprising him with her words. “If he approached you on your hunt,” she said, “that means he’s caught my scent. So, then why did he not find me here in this meager hut, hibernating and vulnerable? I think your threshold protected me somehow.”

  Sareck had wondered the same thing.

  “I just can’t think why. You’re only a simple human.”

  “What does that even mean? If I’m only a human, what in the name of the holy Danu are you?”

  She studied her hands. “I am nothing to you. It doesn’t matter.”

  “You know of the gods,” she said. “If you’re claimed by the Morrigan, then you know there are things beyond you—you are outside of such things. Best you not dig any deeper.”

  “You’re here at my hearth, aren’t you?” he said, frustration filling him. “I pulled a dead girl from those rocks. Her skin was marked with strange patterns and her body was peppered with barnacles, rooted with seagrass and kelp. Her ghost called to me in a storm that seemed to raise her from the dead. There’s very little that will cast off my sanity at this point. I’m well and truly lost.” He’d seen too much to believe any of this was less than Otherworldly.

  She looked at him with fear in her eyes. “What are the gods playing at that you would be allowed to see such things?”

  “I seem forever destined to be their toy.”

  Her fear shifted, becoming sadness. “Yes . . . we all are.” She released a heavy sigh. “How is it possible I’m tired after so much sleep?”

  “Perhaps being resurrected is taxing,” he said.

  She breathed out a small bubble of laughter. “Yes, it must be.” She paused, as if thinking of something. Her hand went to her middle, a haunted look filling her features, and she added, “Do you think I was truly dead?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. He could believe a lot was possible after everything he’d seen in his life. But cheating Death? He couldn’t allow himself to settle in to that being real. Not after Breanne . . .

  “I’ll sleep for the night and leave at dawn,” she said, rising from beside him. “It’s best if I go.”

  He stood with her, glancing at the raven who sounded disgruntled, ruffling its feathers and pecking at the eve above them. “Yes, that would be best.” He needed his lonely ways back.

  She returned to the pallet and tucked herself into the corner, falling asleep quickly.

  He watched her for a moment and then he turned back to the fire.

  The crone hunched in the misty shadows of the wood up ahead on the path, he could see her body like a crooked stump among the trees. She was waving him forward into the forest with boney fingers, motioning to something just beyond.

  He looked in that direction, squinting into the darkness. He didn’t want to go in. Not into the shadow.

  “Don’t let her go,” a voice said, its tone full of warning. “Tell her, the stones cannot hide what is within her forever.”

  Sareck began to step forward, straining to hear, to understand.

  But a raven burst from the trees, flying towards him, forcing him to stumble back as it flew past with a sharp caw.

  And the lament remained, lingering. Even once the raven was out of sight, he could hear the haunting squall.

  Insistent.

  It was coming from the woods now.

  But it wasn’t the raven anymore.

  It was the cry of a babe.

  Chapter 4

  He woke covered in soot, his back aching from a long night tossing and turning on the dirt floor. The Morrígan had come to him. Again. But why? Why now? And what did it mean?

  The questions kept him from settling. He considered waking the girl to tell her what he’d heard in the vision, to ask her if it made sense. Should he even speak to her of it at all, though?

  The goddess had said to tell her . . . something. The stones cannot . . . what? What can the stones not do? Hide! They can’t hide her forever. What was within her. Yes, that was it.

  Hide her from the prince, it would seem. Stones of some kind.

  He waited for her to wake, but when she didn’t stir and the sunlight began to seep from under the door, he couldn’t sit idol any longer.

  He rose and left the hut. He did his morning business and washed his face and hands in one of the rain buckets. But he still felt coated in grime. Grime and impatience.

  He grabbed his second tunic that was drying on the line and headed for the shoreline. After stripping down he tossed his clothes in a pile on the rocks and padded across the beach to the damp sand.

  Muninn hoped after him for a few yards but then stopped and began to screech, as if not liking his decision to get clean.

  He stood naked for a moment in the morning air. The horizon over the water looked ablaze, but it felt cold as ice.

  He walked out until the white foam began to wrap around his legs, then his waist.

  The breath was frozen in his lungs with the feel of the water coating his skin.

  But it was what he needed, what his mind needed to remind itself he was still alive.

  Even as Death seemed ever-present in his life.

  He washed quickly and forced himself to remain in the pushing tide even as his body grew numb. Once his teeth began chattering enough to crack his jaw he walked from the waves. In contrast to the sea, the air felt warm now.

  He shook his hair out and made his way back to his clothes. As he bent to pick up the clean tunic he realized he wasn’t alone.

  Perched on the rock above was the girl, the pelt over her shoulders again.

  She stared intently down at him, studying his body. As if she had no notion of propriety.

  He pulled his tunic over his head and tugged up his trousers.

  She slid off her perch. “You have so many scars,” she said, sounding confused. “And so much fur.”

  He frowned at her. “That’s not fur, it’s hair.”

  She reached out to touch his chest. “Hair that’s not on your head?”

  He moved back, his pulse faltering with the familiarity. “Don’t touch someone’s . . . fur . . . without permission.”

  Her eyes met his and pink spread across her cheeks. “Sorry.”

  Guilt filled him. She hadn’t meant anything by it. “We keep our clothes on when we’re in the same space, right?” he clarified, unsure why’d he’d have to explain any of it. “And we don’t touch without asking.”

  She nodded. But her heat tippe
d in curiosity again. “I’ve never seen a male like you. You’re as plush as a bear. Are all human men speckled with fur?” She seemed unable to help herself. She was completely baffling. “On your legs, your chest, between your legs—even a bit on your bum.” Her eyes widened at the notion.

  “It’s not something I worry over,” he muttered, quickly, “I need breakfast.” He walked past her, at a loss for words or sensible thoughts.

  Muninn followed, tittering.

  He tossed his dirty tunic in the wash bin he’d carved from an old tree stump, as he walked into the hut. He fiddled with the fading fire for a second, working to get it going again. It was something to do. It wasn’t as if he had a meal to cook on it. And it wasn’t all that cold anymore.

  Well, he wasn’t cold.

  Not now. He was hot as anything. His ears and neck were likely red as apples.

  He really wished she’d leave. He still needed to tell her about his dream, though.

  Or perhaps he wouldn’t.

  No, that wouldn’t do, there was a warning in it. He needed to tell her what the goddess had said.

  “The goddess?” the girl asked, coming into the hut. She was dripping all over his floor, now wearing his dirty tunic. She must’ve grabbed it and slipped it on, still dripping from the water in the wash bin. “What did she say?”

  “What?” he asked, watching his dirt floor turn to mud. “You’re all wet.” He shooed her out the door again.

  She stepped down into the yard, folding her arms across her chest. “The pelt was heavy. And you seem oddly uncomfortable with my body—what did the goddess say?”

  He squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “You said,” she began slowly, “you needed to tell me what the goddess said.” Her brow went up as if she thought he was dim.

  “I did?” Had he said that out loud?

  She rolled her eyes.

  Apparently, he had. And apparently, he was going to tell her everything. He sighed and pulled off his clean tunic, holding it out to her. “Put this on instead and toss that one over the line there.” He pointed to his small line. “Then come inside and I’ll tell you what I saw.” He turned away and went back in so she could change.