On the Banks of the River of Heaven

by Richard Parks

  While the island itself was of little use, the waters around it were a favorite spawning ground and news of the yellowheads’ presence would not be a secret for long. Makan knew he needed to make his catch and head home before the fishing grounds became too crowded to work easily. Still, he had to check on the singer first.

  As he got closer to shore he finally saw her, perched up on the edge of one of the lower island cliffs, perhaps no more than ten feet above the crashing waves. The poor thing had apparently lost her clothes in the wreck and she was, so far as Makan could see, completely naked.

  He lost sight of her for a while then which, he thought, was probably for the best. The approach to shore was difficult, even for one who knew the way, and Makan concentrated on keeping his skiff off the rocks as he steered it through a crevice in the side of the island and into a very small, sheltered bay. Makan tied up his boat carefully and climbed up through a crack in the rock that was the only exit out of the landing.

  The woman was perched on the low cliff where he’d seen her last, her legs tucked beneath her as she sang. Her back was to him and Makan realized he had never seen so much bare female flesh in his life, including that of his mother and even the more adventurous village girls. For a moment all he could do was stare. Such was his preoccupation with the curve of her hip and the play of the light across her back that it was several seconds before he realized that she didn’t have legs tucked beneath her. She had a tail.

  “Mermaid!” he shouted.

  The creature jumped almost a foot into the air and landed a bit awkwardly. She tried to scrabble back toward the edge of the cliff but in a moment Makan had taken two long steps forward and grabbed her wrists.

  “Let me go, you oaf!” She tried to bite his hands but Makan pulled her wrists apart and held her at bay, her arms outstretched. It was difficult, though; she was much stronger than she looked.

  Now that she was facing him Jakan noticed what he hadn’t before—besides the obvious—that she was young. Probably, at least by appearances, no older than he was. And that she was very beautiful. Her hair was black and very long, and her eyes were a shade of green he was certain he had never seen before. It was hard not to stare at her, but he made the effort.

  “I don’t mean you any harm. I’ll let you go after I’ve asked you a question. I just want to know if you’ve seen my mother.”

  The question seemed to startle the mermaid nearly as much as his sudden appearance did. She stopped struggling and looked at him more closely. “Your . . . mother?”

  Makan nodded. “She’s a mermaid, too.”

  “Oh. I guess that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  She sighed. “Why you’re not dead, of course. When I saw you coming I expected you to steer your craft onto the rocks off shore trying to reach me, and drown.”

  Now Makan frowned. “I admit you’re very pretty, but why would I do something so foolish?”

  She shrugged then. “Human men do it all the time. We’re flattered, of course, but the drowning part seems rather self-defeating.”

  “It’s your song. Mermaid songs drive fishermen and sailors to their doom. Everyone knows that. Since my mother was a mermaid, maybe it doesn’t work on me.” He hastened to add, when he saw just a little fire in her eyes, “I mean it was a very beautiful song. I just didn’t feel inclined to kill myself over it.”

  She shrugged her small shoulders. “I’m not especially inclined to harm anyone. But I’m not going to stop singing.”

  “Even if people die?”

  “Now and then our folk get tangled in your nets. Are you going to stop fishing?” she said.

  “Fishing is how we live!”

  “And singing is how we live. It’s a peculiarity of our kind that we can’t sing under water like the whales do, though our singing does carry under the waves; it’s how we bedazzle the fish so that we can catch them. They’re faster than we are. Or did you think we ate human flesh?”

  “There were rumors,” Makan said frankly. “But Mother never seemed inclined.” He had to admit that the mermaid had a point about the singing, if what she said was true, and he rather believed it was.

  “Please let me go. I’ve been out of the water a long time and I’ve used almost all of my breath singing.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question—have you seen my mother? Do you know of her? Her name is Aserea.”

  The mermaid frowned. “It’s a very large ocean and my people are very scattered. I’m sorry.”

  Makan sighed and released the mermaid’s wrists. “Forgive me. I just miss her, that’s all. I wanted to know that she’s all right.”

  The mermaid looked suspicious. “You’re actually letting me go?”

  “I said I would.”

  She blushed slightly. “I know, but . . . .”

  Makan just shrugged. “I’m sorry if I frightened you and I certainly don’t blame you for doubting me. If our roles had been reversed I’d probably still be trying to bite you.”

  The mermaid smiled then. “If our roles had been reversed that would have been wise, but then when you looked into my eyes you would not see in me what I see in you. Farewell.”

  Makan thought of asking her to explain what she’d just said, but didn’t wish to delay her longer. “May I ask your name before you go?”

  “May I ask yours?” she returned.

  “Makan. Mind my nets, as I’ll be using them here later.”

  “Gaena. Warning taken.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Makan said, but Gaena had already dived into the sea, the splash of her leaving lost in the crash of waves against the island.

  That evening Goblec the tavern keeper sent for Makan to come fetch his father, and Makan walked straight into the village and came back stooped over, the burden of his drunken father heavy on his back. He propped Jal against the wall of his room long enough to get the older man’s boots off, then put him to bed.

  Jal opened an eye. “What’re you doin’ at the tavern?”

  “We’re not at the tavern. We’re home now. Go to sleep.”

  “I don’t ‘member walking home.”

  “You didn’t. I carried you.”

  A faint smile from his father. “There’s a good son.”

  “No more,” Makan said. “You’re done now. All right?”

  Jal just yawned. “How was the fishing off Snakepit?”

  “Good. I got a late start, but still managed to fill the boat. I was the first, so it fetched a good price.”

  “Why were you late?”

  Makan thought about not telling his father, but didn’t see much point. “There was a mermaid at Snakepit Island . . . ” Jal was struggling to sit up, but Makan pressed him down gently. “It wasn’t Mother. And I didn’t fall in love with her, don’t worry.”

  Jal looked relieved. “At least she didn’t sing. Could have lost you, boy.”

  “She was singing. It didn’t bother me. I mean, it was pleasant enough, but it didn’t bother me.”

  “Then you’re the first.”

  Makan shrugged. “I’ve got mer-blood in me, remember? We figure that’s why.”

  “We? You talked to her?!” This time Jal did sit up, despite Makan’s best efforts.

  “Of course. I wanted to know about Mother. Gaena didn’t know anything, though.”

  “Gaena. Heavens above . . . ” Jal’s manic energy seemed to desert him and his head fell back on the pillow. “You’re either the bravest man I know or the stupidest.”

  Man. It was the first time his father had called him that. Not “young man,” just “man.” Makan wasn’t entirely sure his father had meant that as a compliment.

  “If you want to grieve for Mother still,” Makan said. “Find a way other than Master Goblec’s wares. We can’t afford it and I’m not going to carry you home every night. You’re heavy.”

  “Whatever you say, Son,” Jal said, and drifted off to sleep.

  The next day Jal drydocked the new
boat he and Makan had spent so much time building together and began repairs on his former work boat, which he re-christened “Aserea.” Considering the condition of the old hulk, Makan thought it rather an insult to his mother’s memory even as he offered his help. This offer was cheerfully refused.

  “You’ve got your own fishing to do. Since you’re to inherit the Windhorse I don’t want to add any more wear and tear to it; this old boat will be quite good enough for me in my declining years.”

  Makan sighed. “If you’re in decline, then I’m a halibut. And I like the boat I’m using now. Stop this nonsense and take out the Windhorse.”

  Which was true enough. Makan had built his work boat himself, and while not as stable in rough seas as a larger craft, it was more than large enough for one person and all the fish he could manage. Jal insisted, however, and nothing else was said on the subject of mermaids or boats or, to be accurate, much of anything for the next several days as Jal made the old boat seaworthy.

  The yellowhead were still schooling off the shores of Snakepit Island and both Makan and the once again sober Jal cast their nets alongside most of the rest of the fisherfolk of the village as long as the catch was good. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the fish vanished and the impromptu fishing fleet dispersed to wherever gossip or instinct took them. Some went east to the Turtle Isles. Others turned south to work the coast.

  Makan lingered for a little while off Snakepit as he pondered what to do. He had just decided to sail north when he noticed a sinuous figure ride high up the cliffside on the ocean swell and then pull itself out of the water and climb up onto the ledge as nimbly as a snake. It was only when the figure turned and beckoned to him that he realized it was Gaena. He waved back and made his way to the island where the mermaid waited for him on the cliff.

  “There are elders of our folk who have met nearly everyone, at one time or another. One knew your mother.”

  “You asked for me? That was very kind of you.”

  Gaena blushed slightly. “Well, it was no great difficulty. And it seemed important to you. I didn’t learn very much, I’m afraid. Only that she had disappeared from our ken for some years; those who knew her suspected she’d died. Then she returned recently, only to vanish again.”

  “Vanish?” Makan felt a faint welling of hope. “You mean she might be returning?”

  Gaena shook her head. “I mean she left this part of the ocean. She told her friend that she was going but not where. I gather that she said she never planned to return. I’m sorry.”

  Makan sighed and released the last of his stubborn hope like a butterfly that didn’t wish to be free. “It’s all right. I’m done being angry at her. She was wise to leave as long as there was the chance, even very slight, that she would meet my father again.”

  “Would that have been so terrible?”

  “I don’t know what it would have done to her,” Makan said. “As for Father, I think it would have destroyed him.”

  Gaena seemed to consider this. “Sit down,” she said, finally. “My neck’s getting sore looking up at you.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Makan found a flat place on the cliff’s edge beside her and sat down. Gaena gave him an odd look.

  “You actually did it. That’s very trusting. It’s not wise to be so trusting. You hardly know me.”

  Makan looked down at the sea, and the rocks, and conceded that, if Gaena wished him harm, this was the perfect spot to arrange it. “No, but I knew my mother.”

  “I’m not your mother,” Gaena said primly.

  “No, and I never saw my Mother in her true mermaid form, but I have to think she would have looked a lot like you. It’s not just the tail, and not just the face, though she was beautiful, too.”

  Gaena rested her chin on her arms. “You shouldn’t throw those words around so casually,” she said. “Words have power. I hear that this word, spoken often enough, will make a human woman fall in love with you.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever made someone fall in love with me,” Makan said. “And certainly not on purpose. Odd thing, though, but I think it is the women who don’t really believe that they are beautiful are the ones who like to hear it the most. I wonder why, if they consider it a lie?”

  “Very few women really believe that they’re beautiful, deep down. Even the ones who know better,” Gaena said. “So it’s a nice sort of lie. No matter. Your flattery does not move me.”

  “It wasn’t flattery,” Makan said, frowning. “It was the truth.”

  She shrugged. “You believe in your own lie. All the more effective.”

  Makan scowled at Gaena for several long moments before it finally sank in that she was teasing him. He blushed.

  “That was unkind,” he said.

  “Perhaps a little,” she agreed. “I’m still mad at you about the song.”

  “Because I didn’t die?”

  “I said I didn’t want to harm anyone and I meant it, and our songs are for the purpose I stated and no other. That doesn’t mean that we’re not a little pleased when human men risk death to reach us; I said as much before. Who wouldn’t be?” She must have noticed the shocked look Makan gave her and she continued, defiant. “You seem to appreciate the truth, so I’m telling it. While the mirror and the comb legend is overblown, that doesn’t mean we’re without vanity.”

  Makan thought of many things to say, and thought better of each one until he was finally left with the one thing he did say: “We can meet here every three days and I can tell you how beautiful you are and how well you sing. Would that make up for it?”

  “I don’t know,” Gaena said, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps we should try it for a while and see.”

  Several weeks later, instead of setting out at his usual early time, Makan’s father was waiting for him at the docks. “You’re going out today,” Jal said.

  Makan shrugged. “Aren’t you? The weather is good.”

  “I mean you’re going to Snakepit Island. Oh, yes. I know about that. Lokan passes there on his way west and he’s seen you three times or more.”

  Makan shrugged again. “So? What business is that of his?”

  “Or of yours?” Jal asked pointedly. “The fishing is poor there now and will be at least until fall. Or have you developed a sudden fondness for snakes?”

  “I’m going to meet Gaena,” Makan said. “I assume that’s what you weren’t asking me.” He hadn’t realized he was going to say it before he did, but he didn’t regret the words once spoken.

  “You’re a fool,” Jal said.

  “Perhaps,” Makan agreed.

  “Perhaps? You know how this will end!”

  Makan shook his head. “That’s the thing, Father—I don’t know how this will end. I don’t know what this is, yet. I’m sorry, Father. I know you mean well and have my interests at heart, but whatever happens between myself and Gaena is something we’re going to have to sort out for ourselves.”

  Makan braced himself for a fight, but there wasn’t one. His father had simply sighed, called him a fool again, and mentioned that it wasn’t Makan’s fault, really, since the condition seemed to run in the family. He did ask that Makan pick up a length of rope that the chandler had set aside for him. Then Jal untied the Aserea from her moorings and sailed out of the small bay. After he’d run his father’s errand, Makan followed.

  It was a beautiful, clear day, with nothing but blue sky and a few wispy clouds visible. Makan steered toward Snakepit on a favorable wind. As he approached the island he saw another craft on the same course.

  It was the Aserea.

  “What is he . . . ”

  Gaena was singing. Her voice carried clearly over the water and, frankly, Makan didn’t think she’d ever sounded better.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Makan’s boat practically skipped across the water, but the Aserea was too far ahead. He’d never reach it in time. He shouted at his father to change course, but of course he didn’t. He shouted at Gaena to stop singing, not cer
tain if she would hear him or heed if she did. Jal was not half-mer; he was simply human, and Gaena’s song would be irresistible.

  Father’s going to die. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

  The realization left him numb for a moment but quickly led to panic. He thought of trying to steer in front of his father’s boat, but the Aserea was too far ahead. Perhaps he could get close enough to catch his father’s boat from behind with a grapple . . . and then what? Have the Aserea pull him onto the rocks too?

  If I drop my anchor as soon as the grapple hits . . .

  Makan didn’t really think it would work, but he had to try. He got the grapple ready. He was closing on the Aserea. Just a little more . . .

  In the rush he almost didn’t notice that Gaena had stopped singing. Now Makan could see his father clearly in the stern, his hand firm on the tiller. “Father! Turn starboard!” he shouted, almost giddy with relief. Without Gaena’s song, there was still time—

  The Aserea did not change course, and Makan never did get close enough to use the grapple. He threw it anyway, but missed the stern of his father’s boat by several yards. In another few moments the Aserea broke its back on the rocks. Makan would have followed, but his grapple snagged on something and his own boat shuddered to a halt so quickly that Makan was thrown overboard just a few feet from the rocks. When he broke the surface again he saw the Aserea slipping beneath the waves and no sign of his father. The only other thing he saw was Gaena’s lithe form, diving from the cliff into the sea before the waves pushed him against a rock and the world went dark.

  Makan regained consciousness to find Gaena leaning over him. “Not drowned?” she asked.

  “No. Al—almost,” he said. He spat out seawater and coughed. Gaena pounded his back until the fit passed.

  “Oh, no. Father . . . !”

  “He’s right here,” the mermaid said. “I don’t think he’s drowned, either. I pulled you both up but he hit his head too and he’s not awake yet.”