Tears of the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Father,” he spoke aloud, “what is happening to me? I even dreamt of Lorelei, and she has not invaded my dreams in years.”

  He’d been happy for the reprieve since she was the reason he was sailing upon the Ancient Seas and not at home with his father. Though he’d long since forgiven the temptress, just the thought of her made his skin crawl. If only he hadn’t been such a fool. If only he hadn’t fallen for her wiles. But he’d been young and impressionable. And she’d been so beautiful. So very beautiful. In his naivety he’d equated beauty with goodness. But he’d learned the hard way that appearance had nothing to do with the heart. In fact, he’d discovered that beauty often corrupted the heart. He had so desperately wanted a bride—to choose a lady who would make his father proud. Instead, he’d brought shame to the entire family.

  And banishment to himself.

  “Father, haven’t I learned my lesson?”

  A shriek and a splash drew his attention below, and he peered over the railing just in time to see a large fish disappear beneath the foam curling off the hull.

  ♥♥♥

  Growing tired of keeping up with the ship, Perdita found a comfortable grip on a strake lining the hull. She’d spotted the man as soon as he’d leaned on the railing, hands clasped, staring out to sea.

  Being by himself, she hadn’t expected him to speak, but then his voice—distinctive in its richness—filtered down to her, and she angled her ear upward, desperate to hear him over the rustle of water. He had called out to his father, then mentioned a woman named Lorelei. Odd. Why would a grown man talk to a father who wasn’t there? He spoke again, softer this time, and she pulled herself up the hull blocks, straining to hear. Her hand slipped and before she knew it, she’d tumbled backward into the water.

  The sounds of the sea gurgled in her ears as she recovered and sped to catch up to the ship. Easing as close to the hull as she could, she grabbed ahold and popped her head above water once again.

  This time two voices met her ears.

  “I thought I saw something,” the man said.

  “Just a fish. Dolphin perhaps. They like to follow the ship sometimes, Mr. … Mr. …”

  “Ryne. Savion Ryne.”

  Savion Ryne. A strong name.

  “But I could have sworn I saw … never mind. It sure didn’t look like a dolphin’s tail.”

  “Moonlight plays tricks on ye sometimes, Mr. Ryne.” The man slapped Savion on the back.

  “Call me Savion.”

  A few minutes passed in silence before the sailor spoke. “Yer that fellow who saved me sister, ain’t ye? I thought I recognized ye.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Who might your sister be?”

  “I’m sure ye remember her. She’s quite unforgettable. The lady with flamin’ red hair and ten kids. Ye saved her life an’ her little ones, if what she told me was true.”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “She an’ her wee ones was stuck in Ardenton when Natas’s raiders invaded last month. Accordin’ t’ her, ye fought off several o’ them scalawags at great risk t’ yerself an’ brought her t’ safety.”

  “Ah yes,” Savion said. “Kind woman. Loves her children. A bit … enthusiastic, if I remember.”

  The sailor chuckled. “If that’s what ye call it. We who knows her call her neurotic. Har har! But aye, she be a good mother. She said ye go around savin’ people where’er ye find them, all the whiles fightin’ Natas’s hordes. Like some hero, a savior o’ sorts.”

  “Naw.” Savion gave an embarrassed huff. “I do what any man would do in the face of evil.”

  “Aye, she said ye were humble too. Seems she didn’t ’xaggerate on that account.”

  Minutes passed in silence.

  “Well, I jist wanted t’ thank ye, Mr. Ry … Savion. Keep up the fight against Natas. That vermin be a liar an’ the worst sort o’ thief.”

  “You are a good judge of character, my friend. But remember you can fight against him too.”

  “If the occasion presents itself, I will do jist that, Savion. Now ye best be gettin’ some rest. The captain ’xpects us up early t’ man the sails.”

  Perdita heard the sailor clomp away. After a few minutes, Savion, too, shoved from the railing and disappeared.

  Incredible—a rescuer, a savior, a man who put others before himself. In all her years, she’d never met anyone like that. And she’d been alive a long time.

  Had she found the one? The one who could finally break the curse?

  The next few days passed by like a sea turtle slogging through mud. Savion made no further appearances at the railing, though Perdita spotted him often in the tops. Sometimes she swam alongside the ship. Sometimes she grabbed hold of the hull strake and rested. All the time she did her best to keep out of sight. Mermaids carried a high price, not only to Damien Gund but to anyone with the craftiness to catch one. Of course she knew of no others of her kind in the Ancient Seas. She’d spent the first ten years of her time searching from shore to shore for any companionship, finally concluding that if there’d ever been other mermaids, they’d long since been caught or dead. Probably both.

  Finally, the ship sailed into the harbor of Hoffnung, a well-known port famous for its nightly entertainments, good food, and haven for all sorts of ruffians. Perdita knew it well. ’Twas where she’d met two of her Ivans.

  Two of the worst ones.

  She should leave. Go back to her cave and plot her demise. It wasn’t safe for her so close to so many humans. Yet first, she must ensure the man—Savion—got ashore safely. She hadn’t followed him all this way to abandon him now. Keeping her distance, she frolicked among the waves, hid among the shoals, and watched as he thanked the captain and crew then was finally rowed ashore.

  When he disappeared in the maze of buildings cluttering the town, an odd sorrow shrouded Perdita. If the story that sailor had told was true, here was a human worth pursuing. Here was a man who fought evil and helped others—even at risk to himself. Which was the key, after all. In his delirium, hadn’t he spoken of breaking a curse? Could it all be a sign? Or some cruel trick of Natas’s to resurrect her hope?

  Hope. There was that nasty little word again. She should leave. But still Perdita remained—embroiled in a battle between that hope and her normal despair. Despair was winning. As it always did. In years past, it had become her only friend and the one thing keeping her from embarking on another quest that would surely pound her crumbling heart to dust.

  Perdita found a bed of sea grass shielded by a coral wall and settled down to rest, to think, to plan. What did it matter if she stayed here or returned to her cave? Neither place offered her solace. After a while, the gentle sway of the sea lulled her to sleep.

  As she slept, the nightmare replayed itself in vivid color. Forwin strutted before her, his long crimson robes flowing behind him like waves of blood. “Even in light of Sir Ivan’s rejection!” he bellowed. “Even after he walked away and proved me right, you still will not have me!”

  But Perdita barely heard the words. Her legs gave out and she sank to the large boulder in the middle of what was now a soggy riverbed and numbly stared down the wooded path where she’d last seen Sir Ivan—the chinks of his armor glinting in the sunlight as he ran away. Ran. Not strutted or marched as he usually did.

  But ran like a coward.

  Water dripped from boulders and low-hanging branches along the river that had been overflowing only moments before—overflowing and raging in a mad dash of water that rose higher and grew more violent with each passing second. It had splashed and clawed at Perdita perched on a rock in the center as she begged her knight to save her.

  Of course he would save her. He had sworn his fealty, his love to her. Forever, he had said. I will love thee with all that I am until the end of time and beyond. I pledge to thee my life, my loyalty, my love, and will gladly give my life to protect thee.

  But as soon as he’d seen the rampaging river and the improbability of reaching her before the water swe
pt her away—the risk to himself of being swept away—the desperation in his eyes turned to sorrow and finally to shame.

  And she knew.

  His love went only so deep. Not even as deep as this river. He could have at least tried! He could have at least gathered downed tree trunks and attempted to form a bridge before the rising waters overwhelmed him. Instead, he had fled, leaving her to die.

  Forwin emerged from his hiding spot, grinning like a satiated lion. With one wave of his jeweled hand, the waters fled.

  And her heart along with them.

  She could not—would not—marry the warlock, Forwin of Rabbah. No matter her bargain. Numbly she remained on the rock, watching him pace before the riverbed, stroking his pointed beard, fuming and casting her seething looks.

  A squirrel entered the clearing, but with a snap of his fingers the creature became a puff of smoke. If only he would do that to Perdita. For she felt like naught but a vapor, all save her heart, which surely had a thousand pins stuck in it.

  Forwin halted and glared at her. He had decided her fate.

  Swallowing, Perdita returned his stare.

  “Where is your champion now? I have proven to you there is no such thing as true love. None save that which I offer. Come with me, and I will make you a queen.”

  “I would rather die,” she spat, then braced herself, waiting for him to turn her into a wisp as he’d done with the squirrel. Or mayhap a bat or a frog.

  She was not to be so lucky.

  His face reddened and grew taut as if someone had stretched it across a frame. “Very well.” He drew a deep breath. “Since you enjoy the water so much, I will doom you to it.” He pulled a pouch from his pocket, poured powder into his palm, and blew it into the wind. It spun and twisted and danced in the sunlight … a kaleidoscope of glittering colors so beautiful, her fears subsided. Mesmerized, she watched it until it showered over her like mist.

  Something stabbed her toes. It twisted like a knife through her feet and then up her legs. Pain consumed her. She screamed. “What have you done?”

  “You are cursed to wander the seas half-fish, half-woman, lonely and unloved for all eternity.”

  Her skirts melted away. Her legs slammed together. Her feet became one. She struggled to separate them. The pain burned a trail up her thighs to her hips.

  Panic sent her blood racing. “You cannot do this to me!”

  “Ah, but I can.” He grinned. “You see, my beauty, the second you made a bargain with me, you opened the door to my powers.”

  She could no longer move her legs. Her bodice shriveled and dissipated into the wind. She covered her bare breasts as scales formed over her skin—like flowers blooming, luminous and sparkling in the sunlight. Horrified, she tried to yell, to shout for help, but her lungs began to collapse. Gasping, sobbing, she begged the warlock, “Not forever! Not forever!”

  Forwin propped a boot atop a rock and leaned one arm on his knee, examining his nails. “Only one thing will break the curse. And one thing alone. Every ten years you will become human again for a month. All you must do is find a man who will die for you, then you will be free.” He shrugged. “Since you seem to believe true love exists, that should be an easy task.”

  He grinned, lifted his hands to the sky, and closed his eyes. A roar thundered. The ground shook. No longer able to breathe, speak, or even scream, Perdita could only stare as a wall of foamy water at least twenty feet high tumbled toward her. It struck her with the force of a thousand stampeding horses, twisting and turning, tossing her against rocks, plummeting her to the raging creek bed, then thrusting her to the raging surface.

  “You should have loved me!” Forwin shouted.

  Pain ripped through her like none she’d ever felt. Her lungs filled with water. Good. She would die soon.

  But she didn’t. Bruised, battered, and heartbroken, the river spit her into the sea like so much refuse.

  And in the sea she had remained.

  For three hundred years.

  Itching jarred her awake. She opened her eyes to a world transformed from one of color and beauty to one of muted shades of gray and black. Her tail prickled. Irritation crawled up her legs. “Zost! Not now!” She had forgotten the time of ephemeral redemption was nigh.

  If she didn’t emerge onto land by the time her legs formed and her lungs sought air, she would lose all control and be swept out to sea—a slave to wind and wave for the entire month. And she had no intention of doing that again. Once, when she had given up hope of ever finding love, she’d stayed in the sea, thinking that mayhap when she turned human again, she would simply drown. Instead, her muscles atrophied and she’d floated aimlessly, pummeled by waves and tossed against reefs that sliced and battered her. But the worst part was the excruciating pain in her legs—the kind of pain that makes the most devout religious zealot renounce their faith.

  It lasted the entire month.

  Pushing from her bed of sea grass, she swam and broke the surface. The port town had transformed into flickering dots of light that reflected on the bay, where ships had dropped both sails and anchors for the night. Tavern ballads, a fiddle, and laughter tumbled on the evening breeze.

  The gills on her side began to close. With heavy heart, she flapped her tail and started for the shore. It wasn’t as if she didn’t take some pleasure in her months on land. She loved the feel of dirt beneath her feet. She loved being dry—especially her hair—and wearing fancy attire. She adored the taste of good food and sleeping in a bed. But most of all, she craved being around people, talking and laughing, and sharing experiences.

  Ten years was a long time to be alone.

  But these short months as a human had become an unbearable torment. Every minute, every second, was one less chime on the cruel clock of time in which she had a chance to find true love before she was forced to enter the sea again for another ten agonizing years. Like a prisoner under a life sentence who was released for a day, the taunting pleasures of freedom became naught but a cruel whip of fate.

  She wasn’t fool enough to hope that this time would be any different. Still, she might as well try to win the heart of this Savion Ryne. Getting a man’s attention had never been a problem. Getting them to swear their undying love was easy. But finding a man willing to die for her … that, she had discovered, was nigh impossible. ’Twas what made the curse so formidable.

  She’d never be able to break it.

  For there was no such thing as true love. She had once naïvely believed there was. But now she knew Forwin had been right all along.

  Still, if she had to be on land with a man who possessed a passion for self-sacrificing, she might as well do her best to divert his passion to her. After she failed, she would go back to her cave and pursue the quest to end her life.

  Her feet separated. Then her legs. The ease with which she sped through the water grew clumsy and difficult. The ocean spewed from her lungs. And still she swam. Finally she struck the soft sand and allowed the waves to carry her in. Time had not permitted her to seek out a more private landing, so she headed toward the shadows at the far end of the beach. Gasping for air, she rose from the water on shaky legs unaccustomed to standing. Waves struck her back as she plodded ashore, then fell into a heap on the sand. The transformation always drained her of strength.

  She lay there, relishing in the breath flowing in and out of her lungs, when shuffling sounds met her ears and she looked up to see two shadows emerge from the trees.

  “Why lookie here, fellas. If it ain’t a naked lady!”

  Chapter 5

  “We knew you weren’t dead.” Petrok took a sip of ale and smiled at Savion.

  “Good thing.” Savion nodded at the barmaid as she brought another round for his men. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have waited here for me as I instructed, and I’d be without a ship and a crew.”

  A gust blew into the tavern, stirring dust on the floor and swaying lanterns hanging from hooks on the wooden ceiling. Someone banged a tune on a harp
sichord in the corner while patrons drank, sang, played cards, and flirted with the tavern wenches.

  “Well.” Hona thumbed toward the master gunner. “Nuto thought you were dead. He wanted to turn the ship into a fishing vessel. Fishing, us?” The young lad chuckled, and Nuto shot him an angry glance.

  “I just wanted to keep busy until we knew for sure, Captain.” He shrugged. “I’m mighty glad to see you.”

  “As I am you, Nuto.” Savion glanced over his men sitting round the table, eating, drinking, and enjoying their time ashore. “I’m happy to see all of you.” As they nodded to him in return, he spotted Verrad standing at the bar talking to a woman.

  “We would have waited for you forever, Captain.” Petrok smiled. “We knew no one as good as you could ever be defeated. Not by Natas and especially not by a summer squall.”

  Hona pointed to the wound on Savion’s forehead. “What happened to your head?”

  Savion sipped his drink. “I can’t remember. I fell into the sea, and when I awoke, I was ashore on some island.”

  “You don’t recollect getting stitches?” Nuto asked.

  “No.” Savion touched the nearly-healed wound, but for all his trying, he couldn’t remember who had cared for him. All he had were flashes: a dark-haired woman, a rock wall, water everywhere—its gentle lapping easing his nerves. Or was it a song, a beautiful melody, that had settled him?

  “Praise King Abbas you are alive and here with us again.” Petrok raised his mug in salute. “We kept the ship in good shape, Captain, and she’s ready to sail when you are.”

  “Good. I’m anxious to be back to task.”

  Two men in black uniforms with red insignias and curved swords at their hips walked in, glanced over the mob, and headed for the far corner. Lanterns flickered in their wake. Along with a sudden chill that slithered over Savion.

  “Malum—Natas’s minions.” Petrok spit on the floor, and clutched the hilt of his sword.