The Mermaid's Madness

by Hines, Jim C.

  “Better enough to murder her father and take over the tribe.” Talia spun away. “So you knew Lannadae was here, and you’ve been wasting time with your mirror instead of taking us to see her?”

  “I thought I could find Lirea myself.” Snow kept her head low, hair hiding her face. “Beatrice asked me not to tell.”

  “Beatrice is dying!”

  Each word was like a blow to the stomach. Snow blinked back tears, but before she could respond, Danielle asked, “Talia, would you break a vow to Beatrice?”

  Talia hesitated.

  “Posannes was king of his tribe,” Danielle continued. “I don’t know how it is among the undine, but I’ve watched human royalty. What would happen if the other tribes learned one daughter was mad, the other hidden away? Beatrice was protecting them. It’s what she does.”

  “Here.” Snow flung the cloak at Talia before she could say anything more, then grabbed another for Danielle. “Do you want to yell at me some more, or do you want to find a mermaid?”

  “Why can’t I do both?” muttered Talia.

  The wool cloak smelled of dust and cedar, but Danielle pulled it over her shoulders. Behind her, Talia gathered knives and other weapons from the armory.

  “Do you really need so many weapons?” Danielle asked. “Beatrice was helping Lannadae. She wouldn’t—”

  “Who says they’re for Lannadae?” Talia tucked a small whip into her belt. “I wasn’t ready when Lirea attacked the ship. That won’t happen again.” She glanced at Snow and added, “Though I might have been prepared if someone had warned me about Lannadae.”

  “The last messenger Posannes sent told us Lirea was doing better,” Snow said. “He said—”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Talia interrupted. “Where have you been hiding this mermaid?”

  Snow ran her fingers over the books on the far wall, selecting a heavy leather-bound tome with Dwarven Architecture: A History of Rock, Iron, and More Rocks written on the spine in silver ink. She gave it a tug, and the bookshelves swiveled away from the wall with a painful screech.

  “A secret passage behind the shelves?” Danielle asked. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”

  “Sure, if that passage were the real one.” Snow grinned and moved to the other end of the wall. “Beatrice didn’t want the trap to be too difficult to find.”

  Talia peered into the darkness. “What trap?”

  “The sixth step triggers a counterweight that slams the shelves shut, locking them behind you. If you’re lucky, someone hears you screaming and comes to let you out.” Snow grabbed a second set of shelves on the other side of the wall and pulled. These slid open without a sound, revealing another staircase. “The architecture book also unlocks the real passageway over here.”

  Talia grunted with reluctant approval. “How long has this passage been here?”

  “You would have found it long ago if you ever bothered to pick up a book.” The mirrors on her choker glowed like tiny moons as she stepped into the darkness.

  Talia looked at the trapped passage, then back at Snow, as if contemplating how hard it would be to toss Snow down those steps.

  “If Beatrice wanted us to know about Lannadae, she would have told us,” Danielle whispered. “Don’t blame Snow for Beatrice’s secrecy.”

  “She should have trusted us,” Talia snapped.

  “How many people should she trust with your secrets? Or Snow’s?”

  Talia glowered, then followed Snow down the steps.

  Danielle didn’t bother to pull the shelves shut behind them. As far as she knew, only Beatrice and the three princesses even knew these rooms were here. She hurried after the others while she could still see the light from Snow’s choker.

  The rock to her left was slick with algae and mildew. The wall to the right appeared to be made of loosely stacked stone, the kind of thing a child might build with rocks from the garden . . . if the child were playing with rocks the size of wagons. Sunlight peeked through the cracks, adding to Snow’s magical illumination.

  “These stairs are over a century old,” Snow said. “This was the old seagate path. Beatrice hired dwarves from Fairytown to dig this passage after a rockslide buried the path twelve years ago.” She kicked the stones and grinned. “I know it looks like a loud sneeze will collapse the rocks, but the mortar the dwarves used to reinforce the rock is stronger than steel.”

  “It’s filthy,” Danielle said.

  “It was supposed to be an escape route,” Snow went on. “But the rockslide also opened up a few caves down at sea level. So when Lannadae asked for sanctuary—”

  “Beatrice brought her here,” Danielle finished. Despite what she had said to Talia, a part of her was stung that Beatrice hadn’t told her. “Lannadae must have been terrified, to turn to humans for help.”

  “She was frantic,” said Snow. “Beatrice tried to get her to talk, but that only upset her more. Undine have actually been known to die of terror. Whatever Lannadae saw, it frightened her near to death.”

  Danielle stopped to peer through a gap in the rocks. The ocean was closer than she had expected. They were already more than halfway down the cliff.

  “Beatrice thought Lannadae would be safe here,” said Snow.

  “Lannadae was safe,” Talia snapped.

  Normally, Snow would have either responded to Talia’s jabs in kind, or else she’d have stuck out her tongue and ended the whole thing. Not this time. Snow bowed her head, ostensibly watching the steps.

  Danielle searched for words. A part of her simply wanted to shove Talia down the steps, hoping the fall would knock some sense into her. This wasn’t Snow’s fault any more than it was Talia’s. But Talia was the kind of person who liked to seize a problem by the throat and throttle it into submission, preferably in such a way that left her other troubles too frightened to bother her. With Lirea out of reach, that left only Snow and Danielle as targets for her anger.

  Nobody spoke again until Snow’s footsteps began to splash in the water. Snow stopped to remove her boots, setting them against the inner wall on a higher step. “We’re close now. The tide is rising, so you’ll want to leave your things high enough to avoid the water.”

  Danielle removed her cloak and bundled her shoes inside. She retreated up the stairs, setting her things where they would be safe from the sea. The damp air raised goose bumps on her arms.

  The stairs descended into cool seawater. A bed of algae and seaweed covered the bottom steps. Danielle held the outer wall for balance, frightening a tiny crab who scuttled through the cracks and disappeared.

  Snow turned sideways, and the light from her choker dimmed as she squeezed through a narrow gap in the inner wall. Talia followed, and then it was Danielle’s turn. The rocks smeared mud and algae over her shirt and skirt. After a few steps, the passage widened into a shallow cavern filled with water.

  Snow was already wading toward the center of the pool. “Lannadae?”

  At the back of the cavern, a dark shape slipped into the water. Too large to be an animal, it had to be the mermaid. Danielle started to speak, but between one breath and the next, the mermaid exploded from the water.

  She hit Snow with one shoulder, knocking her aside before turning to brandish a large rock at Danielle and Talia.

  “Stay back!” Talia shouted, her knives appearing in her hands as if by magic. She leaped into the water, twisting sideways to avoid the next attack.

  “Lannadae, these are my friends!” Snow shouted.

  Even Danielle could see how clumsy Lannadae’s attacks were. The mermaid swung wildly, clearly panicked by the arrival of strangers. “Talia, don’t hurt her.”

  The next time Lannadae swung, Talia brought the hilt of her knife down on the back of Lannadae’s hand. The mermaid squealed and dropped her rock. She splashed back, barely avoiding Talia’s knives.

  A powerful tail slammed into Talia’s hip, tossing her to the side. Lannadae tried to use her second tail to shove Talia beneath the water, bu
t Talia was faster, pushing sideways, then jabbing a knife at Lannadae’s stomach.

  “Talia!” Danielle waded deeper into the water. “That’s enough.”

  Talia hesitated. Lannadae shot to the rear of the pool, surfacing with another rock.

  “Both of you, stop.” Danielle stepped between them, her heart pounding. She watched Lannadae’s hands, waiting for the telltale twitches that would signal another attack. She had trained with Talia long enough to defend herself, but her reflexes would be slower in the water. “Nobody is going to hurt you.” She glanced at Talia, who scowled but didn’t argue. “We came here for Beatrice.”

  Lannadae kept her rock raised. Her tails were bent in opposite directions on the bottom of the pool, allowing her to match Danielle’s height. “I don’t understand. Why would Beatrice tell you about me? Has my father returned yet?”

  “I told them.” Snow raised her hands, either to show she was unarmed or because she was preparing a spell, Danielle wasn’t sure. “These are my friends. Talia and Danielle. Beatrice trusts them.”

  Lannadae stared at Snow, then pulled herself up to perch on a wide shelf of stone, watching them all.

  She was similar in appearance to Lirea, with the same long, split tails. Her scales were redder in color, and the fins on the sides of her legs seemed fuller, though perhaps the spreading of her fins was simply a sign of fear. She appeared roughly the same age as Lirea. Blue and yellow jewels sparkled on tiny braids in her matted hair.

  She was plumper than her sister, though still thin compared to the other undine Danielle had glimpsed. The winter had eaten away at the thick layer of fat that would have protected Lannadae from the cold. Her skin was pale, tinged with blue.

  Snow’s choker brightened as she studied Lannadae more closely. “You haven’t been eating enough.”

  Lannadae slapped her tails against the water. “Bring me something that hasn’t been dead for three days, and I’ll eat that.”

  “The undine only acquire that blue-green pallor through poor diet,” explained Snow. “We brought as much food as we could last fall to prepare Lannadae for her hibernation, but—”

  “Why did you bring them?” Lannadae demanded, staring at Danielle and Talia.

  “Because we need your help,” Danielle said. “Beatrice was attacked yesterday. By Lirea.”

  Lannadae dropped into the water. Turning to Snow, she asked, “Is that true?”

  Snow nodded. “Beatrice is still alive, but she’s not well. Lirea stabbed her.”

  Lannadae dove beneath the water and stayed there. “It’s all right,” Snow said. “She does this when she’s afraid. She’ll come out soon.”

  Danielle looked around the cavern. Several books sat on a crude shelf chipped into the rock. Gifts from Snow, brought down from the library? She couldn’t imagine Snow risking her precious books to the water. Even from here, Danielle could see that the leather covers were heavily stained, the pages swollen from moisture.

  “Beatrice gave them to her,” Snow said. “I did my best to protect the pages, but . . .” She shook her head, her disapproval obvious. “I’ve already had to repair the bindings on two of the books.”

  The air smelled of seaweed and old fish. Bones and cracked shells littered the rock to Danielle’s right, along with a tarnished knife. A stone flute lay tucked against the edge of the cavern. A pair of open barrels had been crammed into a nook near the back.

  Talia climbed out of the water and picked up the knife. “This came from the palace kitchen.”

  “Beatrice brought a number of supplies when Lannadae awoke last month,” Snow explained.

  “How did they bring those barrels in?” Danielle asked. “Beatrice couldn’t have hauled those down the seagate stairs by herself.”

  “There’s a tunnel below the water, at the very bottom of the staircase.” Snow pointed back toward the narrow cave. “It’s only visible at low tide. Beatrice and I—”

  “How much longer is she going to hide?” Talia asked.

  Snow waded toward Lannadae. “You’re safe, Lannadae. Lirea doesn’t know where you are, and my friends aren’t going to hurt you.” She jumped back as Lannadae’s tails thrashed beneath the water.

  “Fine. We can do this the hard way.” Snow dragged her fingers along the surface of the water. Fog spread over the ripples, and a crackling sound filled the cavern. Ice spread outward, moving toward Lannadae.

  Lannadae thrashed again, then swam to one side, nearly colliding with Danielle as she burst from the water. “I told you I don’t like the cold!”

  “Beatrice needs your help now,” Snow said. “The ice was fastest. Or would you prefer I let the princess here call a sea snake to chase you out of the water?”

  Lannadae yelped and turned to stare at Danielle. Her eyes grew inhumanly wide. “Princess? You’re her, aren’t you? Princess Cinderella?” She ducked beneath the pool, swimming so close that her hair tickled Danielle’s feet. Lannadae arose moments later, whipping her head back so that water sprayed from her hair. “You’re not wearing your glass slippers!”

  Danielle fought a smile. “They’re not very practical for stairs and caves.”

  “Beatrice told me your story. I’ve been practicing until I can tell it almost as well as she does. I could tell it to you, if you wanted.” She ducked her head, suddenly shy.

  “That would be lovely,” Danielle said. “But first, we have to—”

  “Cinderella and Snow White both. How exciting!” Lannadae spun around to stare at Talia. “So who are you?”

  “Nobody,” Talia said before anyone else could answer.

  “Oh.” Lannadae sounded disappointed. She turned back to Danielle. “Can you explain something to me? You attended the ball in a magic gown and slippers, but that magic ended at midnight. If the gown vanished, why didn’t the slippers disappear too?”

  “Actually, I’ve wondered that too,” said Snow, cocking her head at Danielle.

  “The gown didn’t vanish.” Danielle closed her eyes, remembering how hard it had been to tear herself away from Armand each night before midnight. “But my stepsisters and stepmother stayed at the ball each night until the stroke of twelve. I had to flee before they left. I returned to my mother’s tree each night to hide my things, changing back into a filthy serving girl so nobody would suspect me.”

  Talia cleared her throat, and Danielle sighed, remembering the days when the worst she had to fear was a beating from her stepmother. She knelt in the water, lowering herself to Lannadae’s height. “Your sister attacked Beatrice with a magical knife.”

  Lannadae drifted back. She sank deeper until her mouth was level with the surface. Snow tapped the ice in warning, but Lannadae didn’t try to hide. Water flowed over her lower lip, causing her voice to warble. “An abalone blade, the hilt bound in hair?”

  “You know it?” asked Talia.

  Lannadae moaned. The sound sent ripples over the water, and Danielle backed away. The mermaid’s voice grew louder, a song of despair that resonated through Danielle’s bones, stirring feelings she hadn’t felt in months.

  For weeks after Jakob’s birth, nightmares had torn Danielle from her slumber. Dreams of Jakob left unattended on the northern wall of the palace, giggling as he looked down at the ocean far below. Her own screams as she tried to run to him, but her feet wouldn’t obey. Every step painfully slow, watching Jakob totter on the edge, too far to reach, and then he was falling.

  Danielle rubbed her eyes, trying to blot those visions from her mind. Trying to keep from shaking.

  “Stop it,” Snow shouted. “Lannadae!”

  Lannadae jumped, and her song trailed off.

  “The undine’s voices are magical,” Snow said, wiping her face. “Particularly those of royal blood.”

  Danielle nodded, remembering Lirea’s screams back on the Glass Slipper. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Talia, are you all right?”

  Talia had turned to face the cavern wall. “Tell her if she does that again, I’m going
to—”

  “I won’t,” Lannadae said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I forgot how our song affects you.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “My father is dead, isn’t he? Lirea killed him.”

  Danielle rubbed her arms, fighting the urge to run to the palace to check on Jakob. She could still feel Lannadae’s grief, as strong as if it were her own. “I’m sorry, Lannadae. I lost my own father when I was young.”

  “I should have stayed with him,” said Lannadae. “He insisted on protecting me. On protecting us both, Lirea and myself. He said the tribe couldn’t afford to lose either of us.”

  “Tell us about Lirea’s knife.” Talia’s voice was colder than usual. Lannadae’s song had obviously hit her as hard as it had Danielle.

  “The hair wrapped around the handle is mine. Mine and my sister’s.” Lannadae floated on her back, fingers tugging the beads in her hair. “We were told it would save her.”

  “Who told you?” asked Snow.

  “My grandmother.”

  “Tell us what happened,” Danielle said.

  Lannadae swam to the rear of the cave and retrieved a knotted loop of yellow sinew. Beads and bits of shell were tied along its length. She twined the cord between her fingers, weaving a simple pattern of diamonds within a larger square. The motions appeared to calm her.

  “I am Lannadae, daughter of Gwerdhen, of the line of Ilowkira.” This was the loudest she had spoken. Her words were almost a chant. “This is the story of Lirea and Prince Gustan.

  “Lirea was the most daring of Gwerdhen’s three children. She would follow the humans and their ships, learning their songs and eavesdropping on their words. She soon learned more of humans than any undine before her.

  “One spring day, powerful waves drove a human ship against the rocks.” Lannadae’s fingers looped through the cord in her hands. When she pulled the cord taut, it suggested the shape of a ship with a single sail. “Lirea swam with all her strength, but she was able to save only a single human. He was a Hiladi prince, strong and handsome. She brought him to safety and fell in love. She gave herself to him that day on the rocks.