How could she hate something so beautiful?
That beauty began to fade. Melt would be a better word. An agonizing itch gripped her waist and traversed down her legs, spanning to her tail. She shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to scratch as scales melted away like ice before the sun. Bit by bit, the pearly skin of her legs appeared until finally her tail separated and transformed into feet. She wiggled her toes. Two beautiful feet.
Leaping up on those beautiful feet, she lit a lantern, made her way to a chest she’d salvaged from a shipwreck two hundred years ago, and began rummaging through the mementos that reminded her of home, of being human, of friendships and love and life: engraved silverware from a captain’s cabin, a golden locket, a hairbrush and mirror, a porcelain tea service, King Urdon of Tidor’s leather shoes—she smiled as she remembered stealing them from beneath his bed—tomes from an ancient library, and the hilt of a knight’s broken sword. She caressed the pouch containing Sir Ivan’s livery collar—the one he’d given her as a promise of his love. After three hundred years in a salty, moist cave, the velvet had shredded and flashes of the gold medallion winked at her from within its folds.
Sir Ivan of Morehead. She sighed. Her first love. The man who’d started it all, back when she had been human and so very young. Odd, she could hardly remember what he looked like. Only that he was deliciously handsome. The first one hurt the most. But what did it matter? He was long dead. And she was alone.
Still.
Beside the pouch, another larger sack bulged with precious tokens from other Ivans: Ivan two, Ivan three, Ivan four, and so on until the last one, Ivan twenty-nine. What was his name? Thankfully, the past ten years had wiped away the memory. It mattered naught. Ivan twenty-nine would be the final Ivan.
Thunder bellowed outside the cave, shaking the rocks, jarring her from her thoughts. The human male moaned. Shoving aside the sack, she grabbed some bandages, blankets, and a soft down pillow from the bottom of the chest—things she kept for such an emergency, for she had no use for these things herself. Holding them to her face, she snuggled her cheek into the soft fabric and sighed as vague memories of sleeping dry and cuddled in blankets teased her.
Slipping an over-sized shirt over her head in case the human male awoke, she added a jar of seaweed balm to her stack and made her way back to him. She would keep him warm and dry and tend his wounds. The same thing she’d done for hundreds before him. ’Twas the only thing that had kept her sane these past three hundred years—saving the lives of shipwrecked sailors. At least it had given her purpose, a reason to leave her cave, though recently even that had become meaningless.
After making a bed in the sand beside him, Perdita dragged him on top of the soft blankets, then removed his shirt, scarf, and boots. Cuts and scrapes marred his chest and arms. A deep hole bled from his shoulder. But it was the puncture on his head that worried her most. She pressed a cloth to it, hoping to stay the blood saturating her pillow. She would have to stitch the hole and hope infection didn’t set in. So frail, this human condition, she envied it. Still, she would not let him die. Nay, she would use her powers to heal him as she’d done with so many others, even though it meant she’d suffer the worst torture imaginable, along with the loss of all her strength for at least an hour.
Thank the stars the man had not struck Hades’ Gate head on, its barbed spikes only clipping him in passing. Though the evil rock had done plenty of damage, she shuddered to think what condition he’d be in otherwise.
The condition she would have been in if she hadn’t been so rudely interrupted—the sweet sleep of death..
She knew his type. Proud sailors with no respect for the power of the wind and wave—so bloated with their arrogance they actually believed they could outwit and conquer the sea. Perdita had rescued countless pompous imbeciles who had tried over the years, always depositing them safely ashore before they regained full consciousness, their minds assailed with vague memories of a mermaid who rescued them. Myths and fables from fever-delusioned minds, or so those who heard the tales claimed.
All save Damien Gund and his minions. But that was another story.
The man groaned and his lips twitched. Dabbing a cloth into the pool, Perdita began cleaning his wounds, then quickly stitched and bandaged him up as best she could. She hadn’t much time left before the curse would force her back into the water.
Finally done, she sat back to examine her patient. Light-brown hair streaked in gold tumbled about an angular face, strong bristly jaw, and aquiline nose. Sculpted muscles bulged on his arms and legs and rippled across his stomach. Aside from his powerful physique, he wasn’t a particularly attractive man—rather average-looking, if she had to admit. A typical sailor among so many.
She ran her fingers over a tattoo of a lion on his right bicep and huffed at the symbol of power and virility. Obviously her assessment had been correct. He was simply another man suffering from an overinflated ego.
She tugged on a rope around his neck and pulled a medallion from his hair. ’Twas heavy and thick, no doubt made of solid gold. The figure of a dove was etched on one side and a lamb on the other. A dove and lamb? Interesting symbols worn by a man with a lion tattoo. The word Nevaeh was carved in fancy letters above both gentle animals. Very curious. ’Twas the royal city that existed on the other side of the gulf.
She hadn’t time to ponder the meaning when pain seared from her toes up through her legs, growing in intensity as scales began to form on her skin. Her feet melded together. Her lungs collapsed. Gasping for air, she quickly covered the man with a blanket and dove into the pool.
Four hours later when she emerged again, the human was feverish, and just as she feared, his wound was turning green. She knew all too well what would happen next if she delayed. Laying her hands atop the cut, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the man, his torn flesh, his lifeblood draining. Scales formed on her hands, inviting the pain in, drawing out the agony, pulling the infection, from the man into her. Blood spilled from the gills at her side—his blood. Spasms of torment racked through her. Biting her lip, she tried not to cry out. The pain increased until she could hardly breathe. Every muscle, every cell screamed for release. Her arms trembled. Her legs shook. Her insides burned like fire. If she would only die! But then the pain diminished, like the retreating of a storm, slow at first but then draining from her until she collapsed and dragged herself back into the water.
Hours later, after she regained her strength and health, she pulled herself onto the ledge. He was well! At least the wound on his head was healed. But he was still hot and remained unconscious. Perdita yanked her tail from the water and waited for her feet to form. Now, she must keep him cool and ensure he drank water. A difficult feat when she could only emerge from the sea for twenty minutes every four hours. Yet during the next day, she spent every one of those precious minutes patting him down with moist cloths and dribbling fresh water into his mouth.
Now, as she sat beside the human, his skin blotchy and sweat-laden, watching him breathe heavily and fidget uncomfortably, she decided mayhap a song would soothe him. ’Twas said a mermaid’s song could send a man into a deep sleep of peace and comfort, even lure him beneath the water to his death. Such evil was not for Perdita. She leaned toward the man and sang softly.
“How fare thee, oh sailor boy
How fare thee on the sea
Doest thou want my beauty, boy
Doest thou have a plea
Whene’er the ships teeter so
Whene’er the waters rise
Thou wilt find me in the deep
Where thou wilt see me with thine eyes”
The tune echoed off the moist walls, magnifying her voice and making it sound sweet and alluring. Much more than when on land where she could hardly carry a tune. Or mayhap singing was another charm that came with being a mermaid.
She was about to start another chorus when the man tossed his head and began mumbling in his delirium. “The lion. The lion.”
Dipping a cloth in the cool seawater, Perdita dabbed his cheeks and neck, but it did naught to calm him.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he mumbled.
“Shhh. ’Tis all right.” Perdita drew close.
“The lion,” he breathed out. “The lion breaks the curse.”
What? What would this human know about a curse? Certainly he spoke not of her curse. Nay, he was feverish and rambled nonsensical as most humans did.
Her legs burned. Zost! She was running out of time. Grabbing the bowl of fresh water, she dipped the sponge in and gave him one last drink as scales formed on her legs. She had to leave. The human clutched her wrist. Tight. Pain sped up her arm. She struggled as her lungs collapsed, begging to be filled with water. She wouldn’t die, of course, but the pain of suffocation would be unbearable.
Her feet joined and then spread into a tail.
The human’s eyes shot open. He panted, turning to stare at her with the most golden eyes she’d ever seen. “Do not despair, the lamb will break Natas’s curse!” he rasped then fell back onto the pillow, eyes shut.
Suffocating and confused, Perdita shook from his grip and slipped into the water.
Chapter 3
Something tickled Savion’s hand. It crawled, stopped, then crawled again, moving up his arm and onto his neck as if someone played a keyboard on his skin. He weakly tried to swat the offender away, but his hand felt like an anchor. A breeze blew hair into his face as the thunder of waves pounded his ears.
The keyboard-player bit his cheek. “Ouch!” Savion batted at his face and pried his eyes open against what felt like cannonballs strapped to his lids. A tiny crab skittered away over the sand and dove into a hole. Beyond him, many of its friends did the same as a wave crashed ashore.
Ashore?
Indeed, he was ashore. Lying on a bed of palm fronds beneath the shade of a tree. His wet clothes clung to his skin as a searing ache drummed through his head. He rubbed it, but pain and the feel of stitches caused him to jerk back his hand. What? The last thing he remembered was hacking away at the mast lines, trying to save the ship.
The Scepter!
He painfully pushed his body up to rest on his elbows. After the dizziness cleared, he scanned the shore, where foamed-capped waters extended to the horizon. Where was his ship? How did he get here? And more importantly, did his crew survive the storm?
Terror prickled his skin. Planting his palms in the sand, he tried to rise. Twice he fell and had to wait to gather his strength. On the third attempt, he finally stood on wobbly legs, clutching onto the tree trunk. Memories swam through his mind. He’d fallen into the sea. The waters had covered him, forcing him below. Then fierce pain. The last thing he remembered was the pain.
Perhaps he’d managed to cling to a piece of wood. No, surely he would have woken in the waves—not lying on a bed of leaves.
Had his men rescued him and brought him here? Taking tentative steps, he made his way to the water’s edge, scouring the shoreline and the jungle beyond for any sign that his crew had survived. Father, please, surely they are alive and well.
A flicker, a glimmer, a reflection of sunlight caught his gaze. Something stirred in the waves just offshore. A shadow. Shimmers. Then a foamy splash. He rubbed his eyes. He could have sworn he saw the tail of an enormous fish.
His legs gave out, and he sank to the sand. He was seeing things. Wind flapped his damp shirt, chilling him, and revealing deep gashes and dark bruises covering his chest. Whatever happened to him, he was lucky to be alive.
“Father, did you send Guardians to rescue me?” As expected, no answer came. His father wasn’t here, though Savion often spoke to him as if he were. Which provided much fodder for taunting from his crew. Perhaps it made Savion feel closer to the man who was eons away . . . across the gulf. He gripped the amulet hanging about his neck, thankful for its comforting warmth.
A wave splashed over his toes, and a vision of a dark-haired beauty flickered through his mind. A dark-haired beauty with eyes the color of the sea. Now he knew he was dreaming, for he’d never get within twenty feet of a woman so beautiful. He’d been deceived by a lovely face once. Shamed by an alluring figure …
But never again.
♥♥♥
Perdita popped her head above water and studied the man who was but a speck on the beach. He seemed well—well enough to stand and walk and remain conscious. Which was why she quickly deposited him on shore before he awoke and saw who tended his wounds. A slight pang struck her heart as she watched him struggle to rise and lumber down the beach. Why? She'd plucked a thousand sailors from Neptune’s grip, nursed them back to life, and she’d never given them another thought after returning them to land.
This human was different.
Dipping beneath the waves, she followed him along the shore, careful to dive out of sight when he glanced her way. This human had muttered constantly in his delirium, as most sailors did. But unlike most sailors, he did not speak of liquor or wenches or treasure or battles at sea. He did not utter a single curse nor spew angry words of revenge at some vile enemy. Nay, this man mumbled about purpose and a mission to defeat evil. His words were hopeful and eager. His face even lit with joy when he spoke of a father he missed and his longing for Nevaeh, the land beyond the gulf. That baffled her the most. Nevaeh was naught but a mythical place. No one had ever gone there. At least no one Perdita ever met.
No doubt too much sun and salt had driven the human mad. Still, his words carried such intensity, they stirred something deep within her.
Hope.
Zost! Hope was the opiate of fools. Which made this human naught but a fool. And she a bigger one for following him now. Yet, as he stumbled along, she found herself unusually curious about him: to know who he was and where he came from and why he seemed so different.
After an hour, the man found the small fishing town she knew he would stumble upon. Another hour passed in which he bartered his way on board a merchant vessel that was preparing to set sail.
She should leave now.
He could take care of himself, and Perdita had her death to plan. It was nearly the time of ephemeral redemption, and she couldn’t bear to endure another torturous month.
The human male boarded the ship, and shouts from the captain to weigh anchor and raise sails echoed over the water. Perdita dove beneath the waves and swam to the bottom of the small harbor. Coral in every imaginable color blossomed like crystalline flowers from the seabed, plants swayed in the water like graceful dancers, starfish clung to living rock, and crabs skittered to and fro. Sunlight pierced the water—spears of rainbows from above—while colorful fish of all sizes scattered as she approached. She fanned her tail, propelling herself forward as the warm water slid over her body. This was her curse. Condemned to live in such splendor forever. Indeed, she had once thought it beautiful and peaceful. And in many ways, it was more pleasing than land. But the beauty only reminded her that she had no one to share it with—no family, no friends, no lover. Paradise, no matter how dazzling, when experienced alone was worse than hell.
A fish slid beside her, matching her pace, and she reached over and touched its slick skin. Nay, not completely alone, she supposed. Mayhap she would have gotten used to her underwater world if not for the forced ephemeral redemption—a chance every ten years to break the curse, a month’s time in which she became human again. She welcomed it at first, even looked forward to it with great anticipation. But as each month sped past in failure and she was plunged back in the sea to wait another ten years—another long, miserable, lonely ten years—she dreaded the chance to hope yet again, only to have her hopes inevitably crushed.
What a cruel twist of fate Forwin had pronounced upon her.
The yellow tang rubbed against her and swam off, and Perdita flipped onto her back and admired the surface of the water rippling in the sunlight. There. The keel of the fishing ship slid through the bay out to sea, its hull casting a shadow over the otherwise luminescent scene.
The human male was on that ship. Sailing out of her life as they all did. Then why did she feel so distraught? Swooshing her tail, she sped upward and broke the surface just behind the stern of the ship. In moments, she spotted the man high in the rigging of the mizzen mast, working along with other top men to unfurl sail. He shouldn’t be up there! Not with a head wound that had nearly caused his death. Dizziness could overcome him, and he could find himself once again in the sea.
Then all her efforts, her pain, would have been for naught.
Nay. She could not allow that to happen. She would ensure he arrived at his destination safely, and then she would leave him be. Diving back beneath the waves, she sped after the ship.
Chapter 4
Savion stood at the main deck railing and gazed over the ebony sea. He stretched his sore back, rubbing muscles stiff from hard work and skin tanned from the sun. Though a captain’s responsibilities were many, Savion would do well to remember how difficult a long day’s work in the sun could be, so he would be more understanding of his crew.
If he found them again. Yet all he could do now was hope they survived and go to the meeting place they’d agreed upon should they get separated.
Above him myriad stars sprinkled light atop foamy waves, like diamond necklaces draped over black satin. He never ceased to marvel at the beauty of creation, the love put into every detail. He would have missed this scene if he’d been sleeping below deck. As he should be if he expected to endure another day of hard work. Yet ever since he’d boarded this ship, his sleep had been fitful and full of strange dreams. All his life his dreams had been pleasant and peaceful, but the ones that recently plagued him were filled with strange sea creatures and frightening scenes of blood and battles.
Tears of the Sea Page 2