Bride of the Sea_A Little Mermaid Retelling

by Emma Hamm

  White pillars surrounded the small outcropping, the remains of a once great kingdom. A barrier held the ocean back between the pillars. Within that tiny space, her mother coaxed glowing coral to grow. She breathed life into the sapling, planted it in the center, and taught her daughter how to will the tree to stretch its roots and lift branches towards the sky.

  Now, the great oak reached the ceiling of the grotto and spread wide leaves almost as large as Saoirse’s head. Her mother kept saying she needed to tell the tree to slow down, but Saoirse couldn’t.

  It was an impossible thing growing at the bottom of the ocean. She would never tell it to change.

  She didn’t hesitate as she swam towards the grotto. Her shoulder slammed against the surface of the shield which made an audible pop and spat her to the ground. Landing hard on her arms, she blew out a relieved breath.

  Grace certainly wasn’t required to enter the grotto. She shook her head and winced as her legs tingled. Exposure to air caused an immediate reaction. The silver scales of her tail melted into a thick mucus that slid from her smooth skin.

  Legs were such strange things. Saoirse didn’t know how humans and merrow-men could stand having two appendages. They moved separately from each other, independent and infinitely difficult to control.

  She stumbled to her feet, groaning with frustration before finding her balance.

  The tree glowed in the dim light of the coral. She sighed in happiness and stepped towards the worn bark. She knew it as well as her own skin.

  Its rough texture abraded her palm as she slid her hand down it. Saoirse reached up and framed the branches with her arms. They were nearly as thick as her new legs.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  Sometimes, she thought she heard a whispered greeting from the old tree. It would bend just so, as if a wind blew past. It was, perhaps, a rather fanciful thought, but she liked to think the tree knew her as well as she knew it.

  She swayed side to side, getting used to her new body. Saoirse was fascinated by the changes merrows could undergo with little pain.

  Magic was a strange thing. It allowed her to become something new and allowed this grotto to exist. It was wonderful, and fanciful, and so bright.

  Saoirse closed her eyes and hummed under her breath. If she hit the right tone, faint and quiet, it almost sounded like there was wind. She could mimic birds as well.

  The tree liked that. She was certain he stretched his roots deeper into the earth when she made bird sounds.

  Pursing her lips, she trilled a few notes and stared up at the tree as if it were a man. She wouldn’t mind kidnapping a person and bringing them down here.

  Once in a great while, a ship would pass through their waters. She’d only seen a few men in her life, but they captivated her.

  Their bodies were so different from her own and from the merrow-men. Humans grew hair in the strangest of places. Their arms were far stronger than she would have expected, and their bodies trim and muscular. It was a shame their skin was so strange. Pale white and faintly blue, they swelled as soon as they touched the ocean.

  Granted, she’d only seen them after they were dead. The guardians wouldn’t let them get too close to any ship that carried harpoons.

  The great guardians, larger than most whales, traveled with the merrows when they left their homes. They escorted them from place to place, sometimes even just to stretch their tails.

  They were kind, sweet, and thoughtful in a way most things under the water weren’t. Saoirse loved them dearly. It was a shame her father didn’t.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the tree and saw instead a strong man with hair as dark as hers, reaching out his arms. Dark thoughts forgotten, she batted her eyelashes and asked, “Who? Me? Dance? Why I haven’t danced in years.”

  She didn’t really know what dancing was. A passing merrow, who had once shed her tail at the surface, spoke of humans tapping their feet to music.

  Dancing wasn’t the merrow way, and not likely something she would ever participate in.

  Instead, merrows listened.

  She had seen hundreds of females all gathering around a whale singing its haunting song. They floated, still as death with their hands pressed against their chests, listening as quietly as possible.

  Why would anyone stomp their feet and not hear the music?

  Still, it seemed rather interesting. She stamped her feet against the ground a few times, humming a tune that echoed the whale song. It was too slow, too simple, too quiet.

  Frustrated, she shook her head and looked back at the tree. “I can’t do it. You must have seen dances, even in your young life. What were they like?”

  The tree seemed to sway, bowing to her.

  “Oh! Were they all so polite? Did the men look at the women with their hearts in their eyes? Did the women sway?” Saoirse lifted her hands into the air and spun. “What do human women look like? Their men are quite handsome, so I cannot imagine what they must be. Are they ethereal creatures whose beauty burns?”

  It was the only life she knew. Merrows were painfully more attractive than their counterparts. Humans must be the same, otherwise, what kind of creatures were they?

  She bit her lip, looking the tree up and down. “Were you a handsome prince? If you were, tell me, right now. I simply must know!”

  She didn’t expect it to respond, not really. But there was always a bit of hope in her breast that someday she would meet a real prince. That he would sweep her off her feet, fall in love, and save her from marrying a merrow-man.

  The tree didn’t respond. Instead, all she heard was the sound of someone’s muffled laughter.

  Saoirse spun around so quickly her ankles tangled together. Tripping into a heap, she landed in the roots of the tree with her long hair wrapped around her body. She pushed the dark length away and stared between two of the closest columns.

  Her brother and father hovered just beyond the border. Their ugliness made her wince in pity. Her father was covered in warts, his froggish feet so large they were longer than her arm. Her brother was slightly more attractive, for a merrow-man, at least his nose wasn’t quite as bulbous as the others.

  He chuckled again, bubbles frothing from between his hands pressed against his mouth. “Saoirse, really?”

  “What?” she asked defensively. “Mother gave this to me to do as I wish.”

  Her father shook his head. “You are too old to be playing pretend.”

  “I am not that old.”

  “You are well beyond the age of marriage. I have been looking for you all day, and here I find you with this damned tree.”

  “It’s not a damned tree!” She pressed her hand against the bark. “It’s mine and it means something to me.”

  “I should have had your mother take these walls down a long time ago. They have made you fanciful.”

  “I am allowed to have something which is mine and mine alone.”

  “You won’t for long!” he thundered. “You are going to have to accept marriage sooner or later, Saoirse. Most girls your age are already married, and still you will not pick a husband!”

  She should have known that was why he was here. Her father wanted her to marry more than anyone else, although she couldn’t understand why. There were other sisters for him to focus on, seventeen to be precise.

  Her mother and father were prolific, desiring to be the family with the most children so they might have more bride prices. It wasn’t difficult as a merrow. They had the choice to carry their children within them, or within an egg sack which was anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

  Most tried to keep the babe within them. But, if one wanted many children, it was easier to place the eggs on the ground and forget until they hatched.

  Saoirse helped take care of the eggs when she could. The number of her siblings were ever growing.

  “I have no wish to marry,” she informed her father, tight lipped and angry. “I have already told you this.”

  “And I hav
e told you it is not acceptable. You will marry, and if you do not choose a husband soon, I will choose one for you.”

  Saoirse stumbled to her feet, cheeks flushed with anger. “You can’t do that!”

  “I can, and I will!”

  “Athair!”

  “Enough!” Her father held his webbed hand forward, treading water with an unreadable expression on his wart covered face. “Listen to me child and listen well. You will be married by the next turn of the tides, whether you wish it or not. I would suggest you choose a husband soon.”

  He swam away, frog-like legs kicking rapidly as he fled the sadness in her eyes.

  Saoirse pressed her fingers to her face, the remaining short webs glistening with her tears. She had never noticed the leak when she was underwater. Tears mixed with the sea until everything tasted like salt.

  Not so when she was in her little grotto. Her sorrows were all the greater when the ocean did not cradle her in its embrace.

  Her brother chuckled and floated closer to the grotto. “Little sister, when are you going to learn that arguing with Athair is a waste of time? He always gets what he wants.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “What are you going to do? Run away?” He gestured towards the surface. “Do you think life above the sea will be any better than it is down here?”

  She turned away from him, sniffing loudly. “How would we know?

  “The rumors aren’t true, you know. All those fanciful, romantic tales you whisper to yourself at night. Our sisters hear you, Saoirse. They listen to them and think you are foolish. Humans don’t care about us, and they certainly don’t care about the sea.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do!”

  She flinched as his heavy fists struck the magical bubble holding back the ocean. The sound echoed through her head, then stilled as he pushed hard and slid through the shield.

  The wet slap of his feet sent shivers down her spine. The merrow men were ugly in the water, but without the buoyancy of the salt water, they were monstrous.

  Saoirse steeled herself and glanced over her shoulder. Flesh sagged from his form, dripping down his body like the slimy glow worms she’d seen in caves. Grayish green skin did little to enhance his appearance.

  She swallowed hard. “What are you doing, bràthair?”

  “Enjoying your little haven. Mother built it for all of us, after all.”

  “You’ve never liked this grotto.”

  “I think anything from above is not worth our time.” Water dripped from his shoulders to land with wet plops on the moss she had carefully cultivated. He glanced slyly over his shoulder. “You know father will pick the worst of them.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. I’m his favorite.”

  “You like to think that, but he thinks you’re too wild. A husband with a heavy hand is needed to control you, we all think so.”

  “A heavy-handed man would break me. I am more delicate than Athair knows.”

  “Is that so?”

  Her brother padded around her, peering around the tree with unnaturally dark eyes. “Who do you think he’ll pick, piuthar? Craig? His hands are large enough to crush your skull.”

  “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “I always thought he would make a good match for you.”

  She liked Craig even less than the rest of them. He enjoyed the hunt too much. Saoirse couldn’t count the number of times she had caught him floating in a blood-stained current. He liked to inhale the metallic scent.

  “No, it won’t be him.”

  Her brother arched his brow. “That almost sounds as if you’re considering choosing.”

  She didn’t like the shrewd look in her brother’s gaze. He was too smart for his own good and read her too easily. He had no right to know her thoughts, but she was bound to tell him.

  As a faerie, she couldn’t lie. Her tongue twisted into knots the moment she tried. But, she could twist the truth. And she was fragile, she felt like the thinnest of shells beneath the weight of the ocean.

  This world wasn’t for her. She longed for the sun, for waves, for seagulls screeching above her head. The darkness and silence didn’t fit the glowing light of her soul.

  “You’ve made it perfectly clear I have no other choice.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing at all. I am trapped, though you didn’t say it in so many words. If I do not choose, I will be forced. And I will not submit to whatever brute father chooses for me.”

  “This is unlike you.”

  Saoirse sniffed. “Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think.”

  “No, I know you better than any of our siblings. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Saoirse. You won’t do anything foolish to compromise this family.”

  With a hard look, he stepped back through the bubble of magic and into the water. She waited until he disappeared into the murk before huddling against the tree. Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions.

  Married? To one of those disgusting creatures?

  Her mother would say that looks weren’t everything. Saoirse needed to set up her future so she would be happy and comfortable. A lone merrow in these waters didn’t have the protection they all required.

  She hated it. She hated them.

  The mere thought of a merrow man touching her skin made her shudder. Her scales weren’t thick enough to shield her from their warts and wrinkled skin. What was she to do?

  A few leaves floated down from the branches above her head and gently rested against her shoulders. She plucked one off and rotated it. The weak light from the coral shone through the fine leaf and made the veins glow.

  “You’re right,” she whispered. “There is always another way.”

  She stared through the bubble towards the surface. Darkness obscured her vision, but she knew it was up there. The sun would touch her skin again, and it didn’t matter that her brother thought her foolish.

  If they would force her to marry, then she would see the sunlight one more time.

  Of Seas And Storms

  The rocking waves lulled Manus deep into sleep. Dreams danced through his head, each wilder than the last.

  His mother’s voice whispered in his ear, “Manus! My boy, where have you been off to?”

  “The sea, mother!”

  “You visited her again?”

  “She told me stories.”

  “Stories?” his mother said with a laugh. “What stories did she tell you this time?”

  “She told me stories of merrow women with seaweed hair.”

  “Oh!” He heard the shifting sound of fabric and the trickle of water as she washed her hands after a long day of work. “Merrow women are a strange lot. They’re beautiful and kind, but their husbands are terrifying to behold.”

  “The merrow men can’t come out of the water, though.”

  “No, but you must be careful to never anger them. They will tear a ship apart with their bare hands just to take back their brides.”

  The dream shifted, swelling and cresting with the waves. His mother’s quiet voice shifted and warped, changing to a desperate cry.

  “Manus! Manus, wake up!”

  He jolted upright, sweat staining his brow and sticking his shirt to his chest. Nightmares weren’t frequent in his life, particularly about his mother. Her soul remained in the afterlife where it belonged.

  Manus blew out a sigh and wiped his forehead. It came away not sticky with sweat, but cold and gritty with dried salt.

  “What?”

  His groggy mind thought for a moment he was sweating seawater.

  Slowly, he pulled himself from the strange dream and glanced up at the planks above his head. Water leaked through, dripping down on his forehead in solid and heavy drips.

  He shook his head. “Arturo?”

  The man who shared his bunk snorted and turned over in his sleep.

  “Arturo,” he growled. “Wake up.”

  “Is it t
ime for our watch?”

  Manus watched as the drops became a steady stream, pouring through the cracks on the ceiling to the floor in a quiet trickle. “The deck is leaking.”

  “The deck doesn’t leak.”

  “It does now.”

  Arturo rolled over onto his back, stared up at the drips, and scrunched his face. “So it does.”

  “Doesn’t seem good, does it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Should we go topside?” Manus questioned.

  “I’m not sure that’s wise.” Arturo’s hand flopped over the side of the bunk and waved. “It’s probably just a bad storm, and if it isn’t, we’re safer down here.”

  Manus wanted to agree with him. The ship rolled over the heavy waves, but there was something strange about the way the hull moved. It shouldn’t be bouncing like this.

  He remembered the strange dream and his mother’s voice whispering in his ear.

  “Arturo?”

  “Aye?”

  “Where did the captain say we were headed?”

  “Out into the Great Ocean. A passing tale caught his attention, that if he turned the ship into the wind when the sea grew still, that he would see the land of plenty.”

  Manus swore. “Fools! The land of plenty? You mean Tir na nOg?”

  He watched as the sailor’s eyes grew wide with fear. “That’s another way to think of it.”

  “All you bastards should listen to the old tales,” he spat as he swung his legs out and leapt onto the deck. “I’ll see if I can fix this, or if we’re too far gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “We’re heading straight into faerie waters!” Manus shouted as he grabbed ahold of the ladder leading out of the belly of the ship. “They’ll sink the ship!”

  A sudden shift sent him toppling sideways. His strong hands grasped the rungs, preventing a nasty fall. He swung himself upright and made his way to the deck.

  The storm raged above them. Unnaturally colored lightning struck the mast, flaring bright and leaving bright spots in the center of his vision. Stumbling to the side, Manus caught himself on the stairs.

  “Captain!” he shouted. “Captain!”