“I’ve sailed past these parts,” said James. “They say the rocks are graves. Every time a ship is lost, another rock rises from the sea.”
“Pah,” said Douglas. “Everyone knows they’re the teeth of the old gods, left here a thousand years ago.”
“Really?” asked James.
“No. They’re rocks.” Douglas splashed him with an oar. “Quiet down and row.”
Danielle had donned a long jacket before leaving the ship. She pulled it tight, folding her arms for warmth, but there was no way to avoid the dampness. Only Lannadae seemed unaffected by the wind and the water. The mermaid leaned over the side, trailing her hand through the waves.
Behind them, the Phillipa was little more than a shadow in the mist. “Not exactly the most comfortable place to live,” said Talia.
“I don’t know,” answered Snow. “Strange winds, cold fog . . . my mother would have killed to create this kind of atmosphere.”
Soon the Phillipa had disappeared from sight, and they were alone with the rocks and the waves. Danielle studied each one as they passed, searching for two rocks shaped like giants. Nobody spoke. Even the splashing of the oars grew quieter as the cutter slowed.
“There,” whispered Snow, pointing at two shadows up ahead. A flock of birds exploded from a nearby island at the sound of her voice.
“Kraken bugger us all!” The boat rocked as Douglas stood, yanking his oar from the lock and brandishing it like an enormous staff.
“They’re only birds,” said Danielle, trying not to smile. “Cormorants, like the ones who live in the cliffs back home.”
The cormorants skimmed the water, many coming close enough for Danielle to make out the individual black and white feathers on their wings. Several nabbed fish from just beneath the surface before flying back to the closer of the two islands ahead.
James and Douglas rowed the boat, following the birds. Both rocks were twice as high as a man and almost as long as the Phillipa. The sides were nearly vertical, miniature cliffs of crumbled black rock. As they approached, Danielle could see a submerged path of stone connecting the two.
“I guess that one sort of looks like a giant,” Snow said dubiously.
If so, it was a sickly giant indeed. The nose had fallen into the water, and the cheeks were streaked with bird droppings. Though the moss and barnacles did give the impression of a beard, and the clump of trees up top could be hair.
The second “giant” was easier to discern as they approached, though one “eye” held an enormous nest of woven grasses and leaves.
“Where would she be?” Danielle asked.
Lannadae sank lower in the boat. “I’m not sure.”
Danielle leaned over the side. The water was shallow enough to see the plants swaying on the bottom.
The wind moaned as it blew past the rocks. Danielle fought a shudder at the sound. It made her think of her father’s breathing during his last days in this world. The long, strained gasps as he fought for air. The groans of pain he fought and failed to suppress, knowing Danielle was listening.
“She’s here,” Snow said.
Danielle wiped her face. “What’s that?”
“It’s Morveren.” Snow’s eyes were glassy. “The song of the undine is magical, remember?”
“She was always a strong singer,” said Lannadae. “In her youth, she would sing messages to other tribes.”
“Sounds like the cries of the drowned,” said James.
Talia hadn’t spoken. She was staring at her hands, and her eyes were haunted. Danielle reached back to touch her arm.
Talia slapped Danielle’s hand aside, then froze.“Sorry. I was—” She shook her head. “Where is she?”
Snow pointed to the trees which topped the left rock. Talia barely rocked the boat as she stood and drew one of her knives.
“What are you doing?” Lannadae asked.
A moment later, the knife spun between the trees.
The moaning sound Danielle had thought was the wind stopped with a yelp. Talia pulled out a second knife.
“No!” Lannadae grabbed Danielle’s leg. “Cinderella, stop her!”
Danielle put her hand over Talia’s. “She can’t help us if she’s dead.”
The song began again, angrier this time. Talia’s eyes shone. “Shut her up or I will.”
Danielle nodded and turned to face the cormorants nesting in the rocks. Sing, my friends.
To call the cries of the cormorants a song bent the meaning of the word to the breaking point, but as their squawks grew, the mermaid’s spell lost its hold. Barely audible, a furious voice from the trees shouted, “What are you doing to my birds?”
“That’s her.” Lannadae stared up at the trees. “What is she doing up there?”
“Let’s find out!” Snow said brightly. Either the mermaid’s song hadn’t affected her, or else she had thrown off the effects far easier than anyone else. Before Danielle could stop her, Snow jumped overboard and began swimming toward the rocks.
“Cooperative of her to walk into whatever trap Morveren might have waiting, don’t you think?” Talia shook her head and jumped in after Snow.
Danielle cupped her hands to her mouth. “My name is Danielle Whiteshore, princess of Lorindar. I’ve come with your granddaughter Lannadae to ask for your help.”
“Liar! Lannadae’s dead. Lirea murdered her sisters, just as she murdered my son!”
Danielle turned to Lannadae. “How would she know that?”
“I don’t know.” Lannadae raised her voice. “Grandmother, it’s me!”
There was no answer. Danielle stripped off her jacket. “Lannadae, please swim around to the other side and make sure Morveren doesn’t try to escape.”
Lannadae slipped out of the boat. Danielle removed her shoes, but she hesitated to follow. She had never learned to swim as a child. She wouldn’t have learned as an adult either, if not for Beatrice’s insistence. She still remembered her first lesson. The queen’s exact words had been, “Either jump in or I’ll get Talia to throw you in.”
Holding her breath, Danielle jumped into the water. It was colder than she expected, weighing down her clothes and dragging her under before she bobbed to the surface. Coughing and spitting seawater, she paddled after the others.
Snow was already climbing up the side of the rocks. Talia leaned down to haul Danielle from the water. Danielle grabbed a handful of grass with one hand while her feet searched for cracks and outcroppings in the rock.
The first few handholds were tricky, being slick with moss and water. By the time Danielle reached the top, Talia and Snow were already there, crouched in a small clearing among the ferns and trees.
Discarded fish bones covered the ground next to a sunken hollow filled with mud. The trees were no thicker than her arm, but there were dozens of them, their roots climbing over one another for purchase. Water puddled among the roots and in depressions in the rock.
The treetops bent together overhead, where branches and driftwood had been interwoven to create a thick canopy against the sun. Broken bits of twine littered the earth. Snow picked up one of the pieces. “Seaweed fibers.”
Four paces brought Danielle to the opposite side of the rock. The water below wasn’t deep enough to dive into, at least not for a human. An undine might be able to make it without breaking her neck. But she could see Lannadae swimming past, and surely Lannadae would have noticed if Morveren tried to flee.
“Nobody said anything about invisible mermaids,” Talia said.
Snow was investigating a clay bowl which had been shoved beneath a fern. She made a sour face. “Yummy. Drowned worms.”
Danielle stepped into the middle of the clearing. “Morveren, we need your help. Lirea attacked my queen with the knife you made.”
“Then your queen is dead.” The branches overhead quivered. Morveren peered over the edge of a kind of hammock woven between the trees. Thick as the branches were, Danielle hadn’t even noticed her.
“A mermaid in
a tree.” Talia pulled out her whip. “That’s one I haven’t heard before.”
“Morveren, your granddaughter is alive,” said Danielle. “She’s here. You can see her swimming through the water below.”
Morveren grabbed the edge of the hammock and tumbled out, dangling in midair. She clutched a braided rope in her hands, which she used to lower herself to the ground. She groaned as she moved, and her upper body was hunched as though her bones struggled to support her weight.
“What happened to you?” Danielle whispered.
Like her granddaughters, Morveren had two tails. But where Lannadae’s and Lirea’s tails ended in wide fins, Morveren’s were nothing but stumps. The scales at the end of her tails grew in an irregular pattern, poking through lumps of pale scar tissue.
That would explain why she stayed out of the water. The fins running down the sides of her legs would still help her to get about, but without her tails, she would swim little better than a human.
Morveren was nude save for a worn harness. Twigs and bits of leaves were tangled in her black hair. Her scales were rough and filthy. White cracks marred many of the scales, and some had torn away to reveal pale skin. Her skin had the same unhealthy blue tinge as Lannadae’s.
Morveren dragged herself along the ground until she reached the edge of the rock. “Lannadae?”
“Grandmother!” Lannadae bobbed from the water.
“It is you.” Morveren turned to Danielle, tears dripping down her face. “She’s alive.”
“So is our queen,” said Danielle. “Lirea’s knife ripped her spirit from her body, but her body still lives.”
Morveren moaned and crawled back to the mud pit. She lowered herself into the mud with a grunt of pain. “Do me a kindness and hand me that bowl?”
Snow carried the bowl from beneath the ferns, setting it at the edge of the mud. Tiny wormlike creatures swayed in the water, their tails stuck to the bottom of the bowl. White hairs surrounded the other ends like tiny crowns.
“Thank you.” Morveren plucked out a worm the size of her smallest finger. Danielle grimaced, wondering if she meant to eat it, but instead she squeezed the worm until greenish goo seeped from the back end. Morveren smeared the goo onto a bloody scratch on her arm, then tossed the worm back into the water. “The secretions of the flowerworm are as good as a second skin. It keeps the blood scent from spreading through the water.” She pointed to Danielle. “You scraped yourself climbing up here. Would you like me to tend the cuts?”
“No, thank you,” Danielle said.
“This dry air is torture. Weakens the scales and the bones and cracks the skin.” Morveren used two more worms to treat various cuts, then crawled out of the pit toward her granddaughter.
“She calls this dry?” Snow asked.
Danielle sat down beside the mud. “How did you know Lirea had tried to kill her sisters?”
Morveren hesitated, then turned away. Her expression was difficult to read, but Danielle thought she looked ashamed. “Through the knife. For a time, I could hear fragments of her thoughts. Back when my magic was stronger.” She bowed her head. “My son?”
“I’m so sorry,” Danielle said.
New tears spilled from Morveren’s eyes.
“Tell us about the knife,” said Snow. “How did you construct it? What spells did you cast?”
“Lirea wanted to die.” Morveren dug at one of the scales by the edge of her scar, scratching and pulling until it finally came free. “She was so young. You can’t blame her for what happened. Blame me, if you must. Lirea begged me for a spell that would allow her to be with her human prince. She said he loved her, and I believed her. Once I learned the truth, it was too late.”
“So instead of removing the spell, you gave Lirea a knife that rips the soul from its victims,” said Talia. “That makes sense.”
Morveren flicked the scale at Talia. “You think removing a spell is as easy as changing those ridiculous clothes you wear? Spells like the one I cast on Lirea can be woven in two ways. One is temporary, lasting less than a day before wearing off. Lirea wanted to be human forever. She insisted on it, pleading and begging until I gave in. She was in love, charmed by a man she thought she knew. I should have insisted she wait, but I’ve never been able to refuse my granddaughters. Lirea told me her prince wanted to marry her. I thought that bond would be enough to sustain the spell.”
“Since he’s human, that connection would help to define and maintain her form as well,” Snow said, nodding. “When his body died, the spirit still sustained her, but she lost that clarity of form. She’s trapped between human and undine.”
“You know magic?” Morveren asked, her voice eager. “Then you understand the cost of such a transformation.”
Snow shook her head. “I’ve read about transformation magic, but I’ve never been able to master it.”
“The spells are . . . difficult.” Morveren slumped lower. “I should have refused.”
One of the cormorants swooped down, wings pounding. The bird seemed on the verge of panic. A fish tail protruded from his beak, and his head convulsed as he tried to swallow. Danielle started toward him, but Morveren was faster.
Morveren sang a low, warbling note, and the cormorant hopped toward her. The mermaid grabbed him gently behind the head. She slipped the fingers of her other hand into the beak, slowly working the fish free. The fish still flopped weakly, so she slapped it against a rock.
“What’s wrong with the bird?” Danielle asked.
Morveren picked up a sharpened flake of stone and used it to cut a loop of twine from the cormorant’s neck. The bird fluffed its feathers, then flew up into the trees. “I trained them to fish for me. The string stops them from swallowing their prey, so they have to come back to me to remove it.” She bit into the fish, scales and all, then spat the meat into her hand. The cormorant cried out, and Morveren threw the meat, smiling faintly as the bird flew after it. “They’re not terribly smart creatures, but I can’t hunt as well as I used to.”
“What about your magic?” Danielle watched the cormorant disappear into the mist. “Why do you need birds to hunt for you? Can’t your spells take you away from here?”
“My magic . . . isn’t what it once was,” Morveren said. “I used most of my strength helping Lirea. Trying to help her. Even if there was a way to completely restore her to what she was, I no longer have the power to do it. Nor, I think, would she allow me to do so.”
“Lirea has turned the undine against us,” Danielle said. “She demands tribute in exchange for safe passage through the sea. Gold and other treasures.”
Morveren crawled to the edge of the rock and lay flat, staring down at Lannadae. “There are stories of a time, thousands of years ago, when the undine were one tribe. They say the first undine were more like you, able to walk and live on land as well as the sea. We were one family, enslaved to the humans. We ruled the sea in their name, and all paid tribute to our masters.”
“What happened?” asked Snow.
“Some believe we turned against our rulers, wrecking their ships and stealing their treasures until they were too weak to protect themselves. It may be Lirea hopes to do the same. To unite the tribes and regain our former glory. And perhaps to punish your kind for what was done to her.”
“Help us to stop her,” said Danielle. “And to save our queen.”
Morveren sat up to face Danielle. Despite her filth, there was something regal in her bearing, a strength that hadn’t been there before. “Your queen’s soul is trapped within the knife, along with Gustan’s. I will help you retrieve the knife and save your queen.” Morveren tugged a leaf from her hair and flicked it away. “In return, you must help me save Lirea.”
Before Danielle could answer, Talia stepped around to the mermaid. “Lirea attacked our queen. She threatened Princess Danielle. She killed your son and one granddaughter and still hopes to kill your other granddaughter.”
“None of which would have happened if not for me.” Morv
eren turned to Danielle. “The knife wasn’t meant to cure her. It was meant to keep Lirea alive until I could complete the spell. I fear the knife has trapped her in the moment of Gustan’s death. A part of her is always reliving what she did to save herself. I’ve condemned her to torment enough to drive anyone to madness and hatred. Please let me try to undo the damage I’ve caused her.”
A thunderclap echoed over the water. Danielle’s first thought was that the storms had returned, but the sky was clear.
“That was cannon fire,” said Snow.
“Could Lirea have found the Phillipa?” Danielle asked.
Talia shook her head. “The Phillipa’s guns are smaller. That’s another ship.” She tensed as a second explosion followed, slightly higher in pitch than the first. “That was the Phillipa.”
Below, Douglas and James were shouting for them to return.
“Please,” said Morveren. “Lirea’s actions aren’t her own. Let me try to make amends for what I’ve done to my family and to yours.”
Danielle nodded. “If you can help us save Beatrice, we’ll do what we can for Lirea.”
“Assuming we live long enough to reach her,” added Talia.
Danielle searched for the Phillipa as she climbed down from Morveren’s island, but the mist was too thick. She dropped into the shallow water with a splash, biting back a gasp at the cold.
“Princess!” James shouted. He and Douglas brought the cutter alongside and helped Danielle climb on board. Lannadae was already there, dripping puddles into the front of the boat.
Morveren followed them down, a woven sack looped over one arm. She gripped the tree roots and grasses to control her slide, then dropped into the deeper water at the back of the island. She circled around to the boat, reaching it just after Snow.
Once everyone was on board, James pressed his oar against the rock, pushing them back toward the Phillipa.
Morveren and Lannadae sat in the front, holding one another and crying together. Morveren sang softly, though there didn’t appear to be any magic in the sound. It reminded Danielle of the crooning, meaningless sounds she sometimes made to comfort Jakob.
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