Princess of the Wild Swans

by Diane Zahler

  There was a splash, and Ennis plunged into the lake up to his knees. He waded through the freezing water toward the swans as the birds flapped their huge wings, trying to escape the pull of the current. Ennis was submerged up to his neck by the time he reached the swans, and I could see his lips turning blue with the cold. He reached out one arm to grab Aidan, then the other to hold Cullan. But he too was pulled by the Faerie stream, and his strength waned rapidly in the icy surge.

  As the other townspeople urged them on, the blacksmith and the cobbler ran into the lake, reaching for Ennis. Without thinking, I too leaped into the water, breathless with the shock of it. I held the last two shirts high over my head as I struggled toward my brothers. I could hear the queen howling in rage behind me. The lake seemed to hold me back, but I labored on until I was in the Faerie current. And then I was pulled toward the chasm as my feet left the lake bottom, for the water was over my head.

  As I floated past, Cullan, still in Ennis’s grasp, opened his great wing and caught me. I clung to him with one hand as with the other I tried to throw a shirt over his head, but he ducked and the shirt landed on Aidan. Aidan stuck his beak through the neckhole at the top, and the shirt settled over him. In a moment he was my brother again, splashing and gasping in Ennis’s arms.

  Now we were at the very edge of the chasm, and the water passed through it and down, a relentless waterfall to the lands below. I could see the lights and hear the music from Faerie over the rumble of the cataract. My face, the only part of me above water, was bathed in a warm breeze that came from beneath the earth. I smelled all the scents of spring in that gentle wind, and for an instant I longed to sail over the edge down to whatever waited at the bottom. I saw again the golden throne, the beautiful men and women who stood below, ready to wait on me and obey my every word. My hold on Cullan’s wing began to loosen. With a clack of his beak, he bent his long neck and gave me a sharp nip on the cheek, and I cried out in pain, awakened from my momentary dream.

  “The last shirt, Meriel!” Liam shouted from the shore, and I held it up, treading water frantically. It was the one-armed shirt, the only one left. I slipped it over Cullan’s head, and it drifted down over him. From his head down, my beloved brother emerged from his swan form—but for the wing that I held with all my might, for there was no sleeve to cover that wing, to change it back to a human arm.

  At that moment the pull of the current from Faerie stopped. All movement stopped, and all sound as well. The incantations that Riona, Mistress Tuileach, and Brigh had been chanting ceased, the people of Tiramore quieted. The silence was eerie.

  Then, from the crack in the earth, came a great thundering noise that dwarfed the roar the waterfall had made. Panicked, the blacksmith and cobbler grasped Ennis and pulled, and Aidan, Cullan, and I were pulled with him, away from the gap. The sound grew louder and louder, our attempts to escape more and more frantic.

  All at once, the crevice exploded with a jet of steaming water, and the torrent spewed out the most ghastly creature I had ever seen or imagined. It was like an enormous eel, but its head was flat and circular and all mouth, with teeth as long as kitchen knives and as sharp as needles. As the waterspout threw the beast upward and I could see that its tail was forked, it twisted its impossibly long body in an airborne dance that was at once graceful and unbearably terrifying. A flicker of flame darted out of the creature’s mouth.

  “It is an onchu!” Brigh cried. “Oh, children, flee!”

  As the onchu plunged into the lake with a great splash and disappeared below the surface, I screamed in fear, and I could hear the people of Tiramore crying out in alarm. Cullan scooped me up with his swan’s wing and slung me over his shoulder. We all scrambled desperately for the shore. We were certain that at any moment the beast’s vile mouth would close around us and its needle teeth would tear us to pieces.

  But we were not what the onchu wanted. As we reached the shore and Cullan placed me back on my feet, we saw the creature surface again from the depths and circle around, moving back toward the place where the Faerie current emerged. Speechless with dread, we watched as the great monster slowly rose up, and up and up, gyrating until only its tail was below the water. Towering above the lake’s surface, twisting and writhing, it turned its foul face to the lady Orianna. The creature breathed a tongue of fire at her and then spoke in a loathsome hiss.

  “You have not sssucceeded in your quessst. You have broken your promissse. Your sssson will not be king, and the door will clossse again. Your failure makesss you mine. Mine. Mine!”

  Lady Orianna gave a shriek of horror and scrabbled backward, forgetting that she stood on a moss-covered rock. Losing her footing, she slid into the Faerie stream. The onchu bent to her, its eel body swaying, and she covered her eyes with her arm. She shrieked again, her lips forming a terrified O that mirrored the onchu’s enormous fiery mouth as it opened and closed around her. And then she was gone.

  We stood on the water’s edge utterly stunned, unable to move or speak. The beast never looked at us or acknowledged our existence in any way. It suddenly dove into the Faerie stream, and we saw its long, twisting body ooze over the edge of the crevice to the lands below. Its forked tail flicked once in the air as it disappeared from sight.

  “Oh, look,” Cullan whispered, his good arm tight around me. As if following in the wake of the onchu, the Faerie current had reversed again, and it seemed to be pulling the whole lake with it. Wordlessly, the people of Tiramore joined us on the banks. I don’t know how long we stood there, shivering with cold and shock, as the water gushed and roared down the chasm. Rocks, logs, plants, everything that had been in the lake surged over the edge and away in a thundering rush. At last it all was gone. Then the crevice in the earth closed, just as a door closes, with a gentle click. All that was left was a muddy, heart-shaped depression in the ground. Heart Lake was no more.

  14

  The End:

  And What Was Celebrated

  Somehow we made our way up the hill to the castle, aided by the townspeople. Mistress Tuileach, Brigh, Riona, and Liam were exhausted from their battle with the queen. Still, they were stronger than Aidan, Cullan, Ennis, and I—and the cobbler and blacksmith—who were soaked through and half frozen. As we stumbled up the slope, Darrock lifted me up, as one would carry a baby. I struggled very halfheartedly to escape, but gave up quickly and rested in his arms.

  Halfway there, I heard a woman cry out, and I raised my head from Darrock’s chest to see Madame Eveleen, Master Declan, Davina, and Father running toward us. Darrock put me down and I found myself in Father’s embrace. Davina threw herself at Ennis, speaking nonstop.

  “We thought you were dead, Brother! We ran up to the castle when you left, for the shop was all destroyed and we needed suchor—soaker—such—”

  “Succor,” Ennis said gently, holding his sister tight.

  “We needed help! And the king met us, and he was ever so kind, and then we heard dreadful noises and saw fire on the lake—how could there be fire on water? And then—whoosh! The lake was all gone! What happened to it? And we didn’t know—we didn’t know if you . . .” And she burst into tears, sobbing too hard to continue speaking.

  “But you see I am alive and well, Davina,” Ennis reassured her. “We all are.”

  “Your brother was a hero, Davina,” Riona said. That stopped her tears immediately.

  “Really, a hero?” she said in amazement. “Did he fight with a sword? Did he kill anybody? He was very brave, I am sure, for he has always been brave. But a hero—!”

  “He saved my life,” Cullan said soberly. “Mine, and Aidan’s as well.” And he bowed to Ennis, who looked quite taken aback.

  Then my father spoke. “Oh, Sons,” he said in a voice just above a whisper. “Oh, Daughter. What have I done?” His face was a mask of anguish, and I noticed for the first time the streaks of gray in his brown beard. But his eyes were clear, no longer glassy with enchantment.

  I tightened my arms around him. �
��You did nothing wrong,” I said firmly, though my voice was still weak from disuse. “It was she—the lady Orianna. Not you. Never you!”

  “Where is she?” he asked me, and I hesitated.

  “Your Majesty, the queen is gone for good,” Mistress Tuileach told him. Her eyes were full of compassion.

  “It is for the best,” he said softly. “She was not who I thought. What she did to my children . . .” He shook his head angrily. “I should have been stronger. I should have known.”

  “Should have, could have, would have,” Mistress Tuileach said tartly, surprising us all. “Your Majesty, this is not the time for blame and sorrow. We are all alive and well, as Master Ennis said—and many of us are sopping wet. Let us go inside and dry off. We will catch our deaths standing here in the cold.”

  Father’s expression lost a little of its distress, and he looked at us, one by one, as if counting to make sure we were all there. And then he looked at his subjects, ranged around us, and his face cleared and filled with wonderment.

  “Yes, yes, of course!” he exclaimed. “Everyone—Master Quillan, Mistress Mealla, Master Ailin—come inside. Boys, Meriel, everyone, come in, come in.” I was amazed. He seemed to know every person there, and I realized he had spent time with them in his weekly audiences over the years and remembered them all. It was no wonder they loved him so, and had risked so much to help me!

  “Your Majesty,” the cobbler, Master Quillan said, “we shall leave you with your family. We only wanted to be sure all were safe.”

  Hoarsely, I said, “We are safe because of you, and all your neighbors. We could not have . . .” But my voice gave out, and I could only curtsy, as I had done to the cobbler once before. The townspeople, as one, bowed to us. Then they turned and set off back down the hill to their homes.

  We staggered into the castle, past the guards who were now only our own men. The queen’s guards had disappeared, never to be seen again. Ogan was there, his lance in hand, and he bowed as we passed. Mistress Tuileach and Brigh helped me up the stairs, dried me off, and clothed me in a warm woolen dress as Davina danced around us, chattering.

  “Is the witch gone, then?” she asked me as Mistress Tuileach tried to comb the tangles from my wet curls. I nodded.

  “But what happened to her? Did you see what she did to our shop? Oh, Papa was so angry! And Mama cried. Such a terrible mess, I couldn’t believe it. Do you know, every single bottle and jar was broken! Every last one! She was very bad, wasn’t she?”

  I felt much better, snug and dry, and I smiled at Davina’s endless stream of questions. “She was very bad indeed,” I replied, my voice sounding strange to me. I was so used to thinking my speech that speaking aloud was like an echo in my head, the thought first, and then the spoken words. I formed each word carefully, as if I were blowing bubbles. “But she is gone now, gone for good. And I am sure Father will have your shop rebuilt and all those jars replaced, for it was our fault that it was ruined.”

  “Goodness gracious, really?” Davina cried. “Oh, I must tell Papa!” And she sped out of my room as I laughed helplessly.

  Mistress Tuileach herded everyone into the old nursery, the coziest room in the castle, where there were toys and wonders aplenty for Davina to marvel over. My brothers all were there, and the apothecary’s family, and Brigh and Riona and Liam. Cullan sat on the settee, a cloak covering his swan wing, and beside him sat Riona, and next to her was Ennis. They made a rather uncomfortable threesome, I thought, glancing at them. Brigh, Master Declan, and Madame Eveleen sat on the worn old sofa across from them, my other brothers having insisted they take the comfortable seat. The rest of us sprawled on the floor, except for Mistress Tuileach, who sat very upright on a stool.

  I settled myself between Aidan and Druce, looking from brother to brother. They all seemed well, though a little thin and drawn. “Aidan,” I said, growing more used to speaking with every word, “what was it like to be a swan?”

  “Oh, did you fly?” Davina asked, flapping her arms like wings. “I’ve flown in my dreams, but then I try it when I wake up and I always fall down. Was it wonderful?”

  Aidan chuckled. “We did not master flying,” he admitted. “Swans are very big—it’s not easy to get into the air. I came close, toward the end. Something in us urged us to fly, to go to southern places. I wish I had flown.” His face was thoughtful, remembering.

  “It was not much fun being a swan,” Druce complained. “We had to eat weeds, and the water was cold. There was nothing much to do but swim. I shall never swim again!”

  “And I shall never eat wild greens again,” Baird added, making a face that caused Davina to giggle.

  “Nor fowl,” I said, recalling how the smell of roast chicken now turned my stomach.

  When Father entered the room, servants behind him carrying trays of cakes and steaming drinks, everyone but Davina stood.

  “No, no,” Father said, motioning us to sit. “Please, do not get up. None of you need ever rise in our presence again. I am so indebted to you—though I still do not know quite what has happened.”

  Father sat on a tufted hassock, and Brigh and Riona told him the whole story, from Riona’s first meeting with me to the discovery of my brothers in swan form, from the harvesting and spinning of the nettles to the weaving and sewing of the shirts, from the fire at Brigh’s house to our flight to the apothecary’s, from the destruction of the shop to the terrible confrontation at the lake.

  Father listened, his eyes wide, his brow darkening and furrowing at times with anger or concern. When Brigh described the creature that came up from Faerie and devoured Lady Orianna, he closed his eyes as if in pain. Even Davina was quiet as the tale was told. At its end, Father shook his head in wonder.

  “I knew some of it as it occurred,” he said. “I could sense that she was . . . wrong, somehow, and that something evil was happening. But it was as if I were watching from behind a pane of old glass, wavy and distorted. I could not see things clearly, no matter how I tried, and I could not reach through to help the ones I loved. I am so very sorry, my children.” His voice broke.

  Then Darrock spoke. “None of us faults you, Father. We were all under her spell—none of us could resist.”

  “Except me,” I pointed out. I could not help myself.

  All the heads in the room swiveled to stare at me, and there was a moment’s silence. Then Cullan snorted with laughter, and even Father’s lips twitched in a smile.

  “Modest as always, Sister!” Cullan observed. I scowled at him.

  “But it is true,” Darrock stated in his formal way. “Meriel completed tasks none of us guessed she could perform. Without her, all would have been lost.” He wriggled a little, a movement that in a bird might have been seen as wagging his tail feathers, and Cullan snorted again.

  “Missing your tail, Prince?” he asked, and we all started to laugh. Darrock flushed, his dignity wounded.

  “At least I am not still part bird,” he pointed out, speaking, as I once did, without thinking. The room fell quiet.

  Cullan shrugged off the cloak, exposing his wing. Father, who had not noticed it in the tumult of our reunion, drew in a sharp breath.

  “Yes, Brother,” Cullan said lightly. “I remain part swan, to remind us of our time enchanted. And a swan wing is not to be taken lightly!” He rose from the settee. “Did you know that a swan can break a man’s leg with the strength of its wing?” Casually, Cullan swept his wing across the floor where Darrock sat, and the force of the blow, as gentle as it seemed, sent Darrock sprawling. We all gasped, unsure of his reaction to such disrespect.

  Darrock picked himself up deliberately, brushing off his tunic and adjusting it with great decorum. “Well, Cullan,” he said at last, “it may be that your wing will make up for your deficiencies with a sword.” A joke—from Darrock! I was too surprised to laugh, but Davina giggled, and I saw Druce cover a grin.

  “I wish I had a wing!” Davina cried. “I could have knocked over the blacksmith’s son
when he tormented me, and I could use it to cool myself when it is hot, and I am sure it could fan a fire till it roared!”

  I stood and ran over to Cullan. “It is my fault,” I reminded him. “I couldn’t finish my task. If only I had sewn faster. . . .” I reached out and touched the soft white feathers.

  “You did an exceptional job, Meriel,” Cullan assured me. “Look at your hands! Their scars and calluses bear witness to your courage and determination. I am so very proud of you.”

  When I looked up at him I could see his smile through the tears on my lashes. But his eyes were sorrowful as he turned to Riona. He folded his wing carefully by his side and bowed to her, saying, “My love, you could not have foreseen this . . . this accident of nature when we made our vows these months ago. You should not be yoked to half a man, as I am now. I release you from your promise.”

  I gaped. Vows? They had plighted their troth, and told no one? My shock was reflected in Brigh’s and Liam’s expressions, and in Father’s. I looked at Ennis and saw a sudden look of hope in his eyes.

  Riona rose with a grace that belied her worn dress and wooden shoes. She went to Cullan and touched his folded wing with a gentle hand.

  “I have pledged myself to you, my dearest,” she said softly. “Your wing does not make you less of a man, but more. And it makes you more like me—as I am part witch, so you are part swan.”

  Cullan shook his head. “You deserve better,” he said simply.

  “I want nothing better,” Riona replied. “For me, there is nothing better. Your wing will be a reminder to us always of the bonds of love, for do swans not mate for life?”

  Cullan breathed a deep sigh of relief, unfolded his wing again, and wrapped it around Riona, hiding their faces from our sight, though we knew that behind the feathers they were kissing. I glanced again at Ennis and saw he had turned away, and my heart ached for him. He had known, when he leaped into the lake, that this would happen. Riona was right: he truly was a hero.