by Ren Curylo
That’s all right with me. It will give me time to get this cooked. Maybe he won’t notice it’s not a flounder if he’s drunk enough.
She let herself in Yann’s filthy shanty and leaned against the door in relief. She never liked that old biddy Mrs. Prisky and she surely hadn’t counted on seeing Yann’s child. She thought about how it made her feel and decided that it was all right after all. He belonged here on the land with these people. He was one of them. He certainly couldn’t make it in her world and she wasn’t about to sacrifice any more of her life for something she didn’t ask for and couldn’t love.
After a few minutes, she settled down enough to get to work. She set about preparing the fish. She cut it carefully for she didn’t want to lose a bit of its toxins. She hoped Yann would believe her when she told him it was flounder.
When the fish was fully cooked, she hastily wrapped it in a piece of discarded newspaper lying on the table. It looked slightly soiled but she didn’t think Yann would notice. Knowing that Yann couldn’t cook and was fairly lazy, she assumed he either ate with his brother’s family, Mrs. Prisky, or that he bought a piece of fish for his dinner. He had gotten fish numerous times from Old Man Merkle down the way and she knew this paper had wrapped something Yann had eaten before. She took her wrapped piece of puffer fish and slipped from the shanty, taking the bucket of fish guts with her. She didn’t want to leave anything behind to arouse Yann’s suspicions.
Muirgan hoped today would be an Old Man Merkle fish day instead of eating with someone else. Her chances of being right were pretty good, she reasoned, since he had gone off to the tavern with most of the crew. She hid among the reeds outside his cabin and waited until he came home. To her great relief, he was alone and carrying a nearly full bottle of booze. Even more to her relief, he hadn’t gone to get his son. She would have felt mildly guilty about killing Yann in front of his child. He staggered a little as he neared the cottage. He stumbled as he stepped into the room.
Shortly after the door closed behind Yann, Muirgan touched the charm and almost panicked. How do I activate this? I forgot to ask Chéile. She decided to do it the same way she had for the travel charm. She closed her eyes and rubbed the charm with her thumb and forefinger.
Within seconds, Muirgan felt an odd, nauseating sensation and her head swam dizzily. Suddenly, her body felt different. She looked down at herself and saw she was a plump, fair-skinned woman. Her breasts were much larger than Muirgan’s normally were. She had blonde hair now, she noted, picking up a clump of the straight strands that hung over her shoulder. The clothes she had worn, to her consternation, had stayed the same size, for they were stretched nearly to ripping over her now ample bosom. The skirt was shorter, too, which indicated to Muirgan that she was in a much taller form, now, as well. When she put this skirt on, she noted, it had come to her ankles. Now, it struck her mid-calf or higher which meant she would be much nearer Yann’s height. It gave her a feeling of confidence that she would be able to escape if things didn’t go according to her plans.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she wondered if the physical transformation had been an elaborate ruse on Chéile’s part to separate her from her skin. She slapped the bag dangling at her waist and her shoulders immediately sagged in relief. It was still there. She started to loosen the drawstring at the waistband of her skirt to make it fit more comfortably but thought better of it. What if I have to run to get away? I have no idea how long this disguise will last.
Muirgan took a deep breath and released it slowly to calm her nerves. She had to move fast, for time was growing short. She left the safety of her hiding place among the reeds and stepped into the path to knock on Yann’s door.
“Who is it?” Yann yelled.
Muirgan hesitated for only an instant. “It’s Ella,” she said.
“Who in Ifreann is Ella?” Yann said.
Muirgan heard him stomping across the board floor of his hovel and he wrenched the door open. Yann glowered at her but his hostile expression lasted only a moment before it a lecherous look replaced it, as his eyes focused on her breasts.
“I don’t believe I know you, Ella,” he said.
“I’m Uncle Merk’s niece,” she said.
“I didn’t know he had a niece,” Yann said but his voice didn’t hold a hint of suspicion.
Muirgan smiled. “I got here today; I’m his sister’s youngest. We live down the coast a bit. Me mum had a nightmare that something was wrong with him, so she sent me to check. I offered to stay a few days and help him out. So I here I am,” Muirgan said smiling with a cheer she did not feel. She held out the fish wrapped in newspaper toward Yann. “He asked me to bring you your dinner, sir.”
“Well, that’s a nice surprise,” Yann said, though he didn’t take the package from her hand. “But look, it’s starting to rain.” Huge, fat drops began falling, landing with audible plops on the path around Muirgan and they soaked her thin white blouse making it slightly see-through. “You’d better come in before you get soaked.”
Muirgan wasn’t fully at ease with this suggestion, but she so wanted to see him eat this entire fish. “Well, thank you Mr. Yann,” she said stepping past him into his nasty home. She could feel his eyes on her behind, as she had always been able to when he forced her to live here.
He pulled a chair out for her, brushing the crumbs and dirt from the seat as he did. “Sit here, Ella,” he said. “Will you join me for dinner?”
“Oh, no, sir,” she said sitting in the chair and laying the wrapped fish on the table. “I only brought enough flounder for you. I’ll eat when I get back to Uncle Merk’s.”
Yann poured her a glass of whiskey and slid it across the table. “You can at least join me for a drink while I eat,” he said with a lecherous grin.
“Aye,” Muirgan said, nodding and picking up the glass. “That, I’ll do.” She watched as Yann took the chair opposite her. He snatched the package from the table, unwrapped it, tossing the paper aside as he dropped the fish on his plate.
“It’s hot,” he said, waving his fingers to cool them.
“Yes, I cooked it right before I came over,” she said, smiling at him over the rim of her glass. She pretended to sip the whiskey.
“Usually, Merk’s cooking is cold before it gets here. Maybe you should stay a while, Ella.”
Muirgan smiled at him, giving him a noncommittal shrug.
“You’re a pretty girl, Ella,” he said, looking at her breasts again, which were more visible through the damp blouse than before.
“Thank you,” Muirgan said. She tried hard to push down her revulsion. He was as disgusting as always. The image of Aindréas’ blood spattering all over her sailed into her mind and anger rose in her chest. She had to fight for control as she sat at this man’s table making small talk with him while she waited for him to eat his dinner. “But you should eat before it gets cold, Yann,” she said with a purr. She was proud of her efforts, for she didn’t think anyone would be suspicious of her at this point.
“How about we have a little fun together while my dinner cools off?” Yann reached over and took her hand. “I have a nice bed over there,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Muirgan smiled and forced herself not to pull away from him. “I only just met you, Yann,” she said. That bed was not nice even when I kept it clean. It’s certainly not clean anymore.
“That doesn’t matter,” Yann said. “We could get acquainted really fast.”
“That’s a little too fast,” she said.
“If you don’t want to do it in the bed,” he said, “if you think that’s too intimate, you can bend over the table and I can take you right here.”
“Well,” Muirgan said with a small, cool smile while her eyes darted to the frying pan on the stove, where she’d left it. “Yann, that’s an offer I am finding hard to pass up, but maybe next time, after I know you better.”
“You don’t know how disappointing that is, Ella,” he said, continuing to hold her hand.
“Wouldn’t your wife mind if you’re dallying with another woman on her bed?” Muirgan asked.
“That bitch,” Yann said with anger. “That bitch left me more’n a year ago. Left me saddled with a small child, she did.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Muirgan said.
“That’s all right, Ella,” Yann said. “I got my revenge. I killed her lover while he was having a poke at her. She got what she deserved.”
Muirgan recoiled, unable to help herself.
Yann looked up at her sharply. “I’m sorry; perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that. You’ll think badly of me. Please don’t be afraid of me.”
Muirgan smiled. “I’m not afraid,” she said, but her voice shook a bit. “You should eat your dinner before it gets cold, Yann,” she said, pointing at the fish on his plate. “Flounder can get tough when it gets cold.”
“Ella,” he asked, “will you stay the night with me? I get lonely, and a woman like you must need a man sometimes. I mean, look at you, you can’t possibly be as prim as you sounded earlier.” He looked at her hopefully and added, “I can pay you if you don’t want to give it up for free.”
“Yann,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a seductive smile, “eat first, and then we’ll go to your bed and do it properly.”
He grinned at her and reluctantly agreed to eat dinner first. He turned his attention to the meal she had brought him. He ravenously ate the whole fish, washing it down with half a bottle of whiskey. Muirgan was glad he ate so fast, she was worried that he’d start to feel the effects of the toxin and not eat it all. She wanted him good and dead.
After he drank his last swig of whiskey, he made a grunting noise, followed by a gurgling sound before he looked at Muirgan with his eyes slightly bulging.
She smiled at him. “Oh, you know what, Yann,” she said sweetly. “I think I made a mistake. I don’t think that was a flounder after all. I think that may have been a puffer fish.”
Yann opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came out. His tongue began to swell and his lips started turning blue.
Muirgan leaned forward and looked deeply into his eyes. She softly said, “Every night when I try to sleep, I still see my husband’s blood splattered all over my body. That’s a memory you gave me, Yann, when you cut his throat. He was my husband before you stole my skin and forced me to live with you, before you raped me.” She wondered if she could turn the illusion off without letting it run its course, for she dearly wanted Yann to see her as Muirgan rather than the blonde, buxom Ella.
Unsure as to how to cancel the charm, Muirgan relaxed and focused on her own, true face in human form. She felt her body shift and change, growing shorter, thinner as she stared into Yann’s quickly discoloring face. She caught a glimpse of the hair over her shoulder and realized it was now dark brown. It made her happy to know that Yann was seeing her in the form he was so familiar with.
Yann made a few more strangled sounds and foamy spittle dripped from his open mouth and off his protruding tongue.
“Goodbye, Yann,” she said. “Now you’ve finally gotten what you deserve.” Muirgan smiled at him as she removed her thick brown skin from the pouch hanging at her waist. She turned and walked out the door as Yann fell over onto the table. His head smacked heavily into the plate he had eaten from, breaking it into pieces. A sharp pointed barb of it jammed into his forehead and blood pooled from the wound onto the broken plate.
Muirgan walked slowly down to the beach, stripping off her human clothing as she went, not the least worried about which of these dreadful creatures may see her. When she reached the sea, she stepped back into her Selkie skin and swam away as quickly as she could. She didn’t know when or if they found Yann’s body or what they thought when they did. She was through with humans; she had avenged Aindréas’ death. It had been worth waiting for.
2 months, 1 week
Devexus 9, 763 Na Réaltaí
Ársa “Did you see him, Ársa?” Ch éile asked, looking up happily and hopefully as her husband entered her chamber. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“I did see him,” Ársa said, “and I don’t know that I’d call him beautiful. He’s red and wrinkly.”
Chéile glared at him and said with a pout, “He is so beautiful.”
“I won’t argue the point,” Ársa said with a laugh. “He’s got a lot of black hair.”
“I know,” she said. “I was hoping he’d be blonde, but I guess he takes more after you than I counted on. He doesn’t even have pointed ears.”
“I’m sure he’ll do fine as he is,” Ársa said, feeling that perhaps Chéile was complaining a bit too much over this child she had just called beautiful.
“He’s perfect,” she said.
Ársa took a seat on the end of her bed. “I’m glad you managed to carry him long enough for him to be full term and healthy. You almost lost him, you know.”
“I know,” she said. “Grannus saved him, and I’m grateful.”
“Grannus said if you hadn’t been so keen on punishing Moriko it wouldn’t have happened this way.”
Chéile made a noise and blew out a derisive puff of air. “Leave her out of this,” she said. “It was a perfect moment until you brought her up.”
“All right,” Ársa said. “I won’t keep you. You still need your rest. Ída said she’d be bringing Déithe to nurse in half an hour or so.”
“Ársa,” Chéile said. “Would you help me with something?”
“If I can,” he said, but his tone was more disinterested and noncommittal.
“Some of the lower level staff and a lot of the Envoy that have come by have been derogatory about my plans to nurse Déithe until he’s five years old. It’s an Elfin custom and it’s one I think is important and I want to uphold it.”
“Yes,” he said. “I have told you before that I have no objections.”
“All these people keep coming in and telling me I’m going to spoil Déithe and ruin his life. They say I’ll make him weak and that the good mothers of Na Réaltaí only nurse their children until they’re a year old. I personally think that’s barbaric but I’ve never told them I think it makes them a bad mother if they do that.”
“I have no objections to Déithe nursing as long as both of you want. I assume that he won’t nurse more than at bedtime or something after he’s older. Who knows, he may lose interested before he’s five.”
“He may, but I want to know if you will give me some protection over this. It’s quite stressful having these people constantly telling me how bad this is.”
“Who’s telling you that? Surely not Grannus’ staff.”
Chéile shook her head. “No,” she said. “If they disapprove, they keep it to themselves. They’ve been good and supportive.”
“As I’d expect them to be.”
“It’s a lot of the other Envoy who have come to see Ársa’s firstborn and heir,” she said. She wondered briefly if he’d admit to having another son who could claim that title.
Ársa nodded. “I’ll send out a notice telling them all to leave you alone. The decision is made and it’s a mutual one and I won’t have anyone questioning how we choose to raise our son.”
“Thank you, Ársa,” she said. “That means a lot to me.”
Ársa nodded. “I’ll come back and see you and Déithe again soon.” He left her to return to his own rooms.
1 month later Albus 12, 763 Lilitu Grove Mirus, Corath
Adamen Adamen fidgeted as she waited in the hallway outside the greeting room of her mother’s palace. Her palace—she mentally corrected herself. It was hard to reconcile herself to the notion that it was hers, now, for it still felt like her mother’s home. Queen Erish’s death had come months after she had abdicated her throne, leaving her people without leadership.
She remember ed the day Moriko had brought Erish’s charred remains home after Chéile had returned to Na Réaltaí to gloat about having dispatched her rival. Ársa had asked the Fae
guardian to do it, rather than doing it himself, in hopes of keeping Chéile complacent. The entire grove had been thrown into chaos at the knowledge of her loss. Until that moment, Adamen thought, we had all assumed Erish would return someday to retake her throne.
As a people, they had not been in a hurry to name a new queen or coronate her, though Adamen had stepped in to unofficially fill the role. Their first priority had been to rebuild the grove and replace their homes. They had first asked Adamen to accept the crown when Erish first ran off and she had declined, hoping her mother would return. When word of her death reached the Grove, finally, she relented. Today was her coronation day. She looked at her friends seated nearby, watching her adjust her gown for the fiftieth time.
She grinned at them. “Well, I’m a little nervous,” she said. “Nothing to be nervous about,” Moriko said.
“Yeah,” Skill said, “being a queen is nothing.”
“Easy for the two of you to say,” Adamen said. “You don’t
have to give an acceptance speech.” Skill laughed. “Neither do you, you’re queen. You can do what you want.”
“You’re right,” Adamen said. “I can do what I want.”
A knock sounded on the door almost at the same time that it swung open. Durada stuck her pink-haired head inside and said, “Are you ready, my lady?”
Adamen nodded, replying, “Almost, I’ll be right out, Durada.” After the door closed, she looked at her companions. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this ‘my lady’ crap.”
“I know what you mean,” Moriko said. “Everywhere I go these days I run into people bowing or prostrating themselves, calling me their goddess. Where do they come up with this stuff?”
“All right,” Adamen said, “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I’ll tell Durada,” Moriko said.
“We’ll join the crowd and cheer for you the loudest,” Skill said, flying up to tuck in a stray curl of Adamen’s fiery hair.
Moriko and Skill went out first to join the crowd of Lilitu who awaited their new queen in the middle of the grove. Their numbers were slightly diminished, though there were several young Lilitu among them. The fire Chéile had set in their grove had killed a segment of their population, including many of their stable. It would take them a long time to fully recover from the devastation she had wrought. Even their trees still bore the effects of her attack, for many of them were smaller, much newer growth. The older ones were twisted into odd shapes.