The Mermaid's Madness

by Hines, Jim C.

  “I could mix up a willow tea that might help,” Snow offered.

  “It’s no less than I deserve.” Morveren sank down, resting on the bench. “My magic isn’t what it once was, and I spent most of that strength protecting you and your friends. When we reach my home, I’ll need you to help me unravel the defenses I left behind.”

  Snow glanced at James, but Morveren’s arrival had clearly reversed the effects of Snow’s charms. He was hard at work, though his face remained slightly flushed. “What kind of defenses?”

  “Nothing as powerful as Lirea’s air spirits,” Morveren said. “What type of magic do you practice?”

  Snow shrugged. “I use mirrors a lot, but I’ve studied a little of everything.”

  “A dabbler, you mean.” Morveren snorted.

  Snow reached down to touch the water puddled in the bottom of the boat. She whispered a quick spell, and frost spread across the surface. Morveren yelped and yanked up her tails. Bits of ice rimmed her scales.

  “Not bad,” Morveren said, rubbing the ice off. She turned around, searching the ship. “That cat. Can you command him to come to us?”

  Stub was trotting along the starboard rail, a bit of fish clutched in his teeth. “Command him?” Snow repeated. “You haven’t known many cats, have you?”

  “Magic is about strength of will. If yours is no stronger than that of a ship’s cat, how can you hope to overpower my old spells, let alone subdue my granddaughter?”

  “Talia usually does most of the subduing.” Snow brushed her fingertips over her choker. “Mirror, mirror, shining bright. Bring that cat into the light.”

  Glimmers of sunlight danced along the railing, guided by her mirrors. Stub’s tail lashed as he watched the lights jump down to the deck. He shifted his weight, then pounced. The lights raced away, Stub in pursuit. Moments later, Stub stood on the side of the cutter. He sat and lifted one paw, then the other, searching for the lights, which had mysteriously vanished.

  “I told you to command him, not trick him with your mirrors,” Morveren said.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?” Snow said, more sharply than she intended.

  “True enough. You did well, considering your youth.”

  Snow stopped herself from touching her hair. Her appearance made her look older than most of the people on this ship. “My youth?”

  “I’ve been practicing magic for over two centuries,” Morveren replied. “You’ve spent perhaps twenty years? Thirty?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You lack subtlety. If your spells were songs, you would be shouting at the top of your voice. I noticed it before, when you wove your shield against my voice.And your mirrors make powerful tools, but you use them as a crutch. Whoever taught you should never have allowed you to become so dependent on—”

  “Nobody taught me.”

  Morveren leaned back, studying Snow as if for the first time. When she spoke, the scorn was gone from her voice. “You learned on your own? And you didn’t kill yourself in the process?”

  “Not yet,” Snow said.

  “You might have potential after all.” She was smiling as she spoke. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  Morveren splashed her. “Do you want to learn or not?”

  Grudgingly, Snow closed her eyes. “Now what?” “Now you listen to my song.”

  Snow waited. She could hear the waves breaking against the hull. A pair of deckhands walked by, whispering about the Hiladi ship. Pulleys squeaked as the crew trimmed the sails. “You’re not singing.”

  “You’re not listening,” Morveren countered. “You’re trying too hard. You’re so tense, like a child who believes she can shit pearls if she pushes hard enough.”

  Snow opened one eye. “Undine can do that?”

  “No. But my older brothers told cruel stories when I was young. Now shut up and listen.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Snow tugged her earlobes, trying to clear the congested feeling. “You’re not the one with worm goop corking your ears.”

  “So stop using them.”

  Resting her hands on her thighs, Snow tried again. She had learned at a young age to see things that weren’t there. It was the only way to detect the spies her mother sent to watch her. Imps and minor demons, little more than flickering afterimages. They weren’t invisible, not in the traditional sense. Rather, they hid among the real, blending into their surroundings. The trick was to push the real world out of focus in order to see what lay beyond.

  She tried to do the same with the noises around her. Voices faded to a buzz. The waves melted into a steady crash of sound. She could hear the drumbeat of her own heart. Even that sound faded, the thrum of her blood becoming little more than a distant rhythm.

  For a moment, she thought she heard it. Humming, faint and fragile as a whispered breath through a flute. Snow stretched out with her senses, but the sound slipped away.

  “Subtle as an amorous squid, you are,” Morveren said. “You waste more magic searching for my song than I’ve used for the actual spell. You overwhelm it with your clumsiness.”

  Snow stuck out her tongue, keeping her eyes closed. Stillness had never come easily to her, but she did her best. Slowly, the humming returned. A simple scale in a minor key, rising and falling again and again.

  “Good. Open your eyes.”

  Snow found Stub sitting on the edge of the boat, head tilted to one side, the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth. “How did you do that? Your song wasn’t even strong enough to command a butterfly.”

  “Lannadae told me what happened when you brought Talia and Danielle down to meet her. Lannadae was afraid, and she attacked them. Lannadae is undine. She’s stronger than any human, but Talia beat her. How?”

  “To start with, Talia carries enough weapons to arm a battalion.” Snow raised her hand before Morveren could speak. “Fine, so strength isn’t everything.”

  Morveren reached out to tickle Stub’s ear. “It only takes a single thought to direct the mind. Your job is to provide the right thought. Sing with me.”

  “What?”

  Morveren hummed out loud this time. “Sing with me.” She spoke without interrupting her song.

  Snow nodded, humming along with the mermaid. A single scale, reminding her of music lessons when she was young. That tutor’s breath had smelled like old fish too.

  Morveren sang lower. Snow matched her. Morveren changed keys in midscale, jumping to a higher pitch. Snow grinned and chased her song. Their voices grew quieter.

  “Sing to the cat,” Morveren said. “Don’t let me hear.”

  Snow did her best. She lowered her voice even more and concentrated on Stub. His ear twitched.

  “Good. Now weave a vision into the music and scare him off.”

  She imagined a troll sneaking up to yank Stub’s tail. Between one note and the next, she shoved that vision at the cat.

  Stub’s claws dug into the wood, and he scrambled away, hissing.

  “You sang louder at the moment of sending,” Morveren said. “I could see that hairy beast as clearly as the cat did.” She pointed to the aft of the ship. “They say a true master will weave a song loud enough to deafen your helmsman there, and she would sing it so precisely that the man next to him would never hear a single note.”

  Snow flexed her legs, trying to work the stiffness from her muscles. She glanced at the stumps of Morveren’s tails. “If you’re so skilled, why couldn’t you stop Lirea from doing that to you?”

  Morveren bowed her head, staring at the lumps of scars and misshapen scales. “I never claimed to be a master. Her wind spirits took me by surprise, and her madness gave her strength. I was able to stop her from killing me, but that was all. Even if I had the strength to overpower her, I would have destroyed her mind in the process. That’s the other risk of sheer, brute force. You may crush that which you hope to control.”

  “Sounds like Talia again,” Snow commented.

  Morveren lay back and smiled.
“Now see if you can persuade that poor beast to bring me some of that fish.”

  By the following morning, Stub refused to come out on the deck if Snow was anywhere to be found.

  Morveren had assigned one task after another. She would splash water onto the side of the cutter, telling Snow to freeze a single drop without affecting the rest. When Snow finally managed that, Morveren sent her off to cast an illusion only one person would see. That took most of the evening, but eventually Snow returned, exhausted and exhilarated, leaving behind one very confused chef.

  Morveren divided her time between rest, Lannadae, and Snow. Currently she and Lannadae were shut away in Danielle’s cabin, enjoying a morning nap. How much sleep did mermaids need, anyway?

  Snow turned her attention back to the carpenter who was working to repair a section of the starboard railing. Morveren hadn’t given her any more lessons, so Snow had been making up her own. She hummed to herself, gathering her magic for another attempt.

  “There you are.” Danielle smiled as she approached. Talia followed close behind. Danielle carried Stub in her arms, but the cat hissed and fled when he spotted Snow.

  “Can this wait?” Snow asked, still concentrating on the carpenter. “I’m this close to making him pick his nose.”

  Danielle held up a biscuit. “I’m glad to hear you missed breakfast for something important.”

  Snow tried one last time, but the pick turned into a scratch at the last moment, and she gave up. She scowled at the carpenter, then grabbed the biscuit. Her mouth watered at the taste of raisins and cinnamon. “Thank you,” she mumbled between bites. “I’ve been practicing, that’s all.”

  “So we’ve noticed,” said Danielle. “You wouldn’t know why Bradley refused to cook this morning, would you? He was saying something about last night’s peas screaming in pain and trying to climb out of the pot when he boiled them.”

  Snow tried not to laugh and nearly choked on her biscuit.

  “The poor man’s still praying for forgiveness for every legume he’s ever tortured,” Danielle added, lips curled as if she couldn’t decide whether to smile or scold.

  “Captain Hephyra says the water ahead grows thick with seaweed.” Talia twisted her hair into a braid as she spoke. “It’s slowing our progress, and it could be dangerous.”

  “It is dangerous,” Morveren said, her voice as clear as if she stood beside them. Morveren crawled across the deck, followed closely by her granddaughter. “We’re here.”

  “Where is here?” Talia leaned out to study the water ahead. “This is practically a swamp.”

  Snow joined Morveren at the rail. Up ahead, clumps of dark red plants carpeted the waves. From here, it looked thick enough to stand on.

  “It’s gotten a little overgrown,” Morveren commented.

  “A little?” repeated Talia. “That morass could sink an unwary ship.”

  “That’s the idea.” The muscles in Morveren’s arms were like ropes as she pulled herself higher. “I like my privacy.”

  The crew was already trimming the sails, bringing the Phillipa around so she skimmed the edge of the seaweed.

  “I’ll need help getting through this mess,” Morveren said. “I enchanted the plants to stop anyone who tries to get too close.”

  “Why would you do that?” asked Talia.

  Morveren looked at Snow. “I’m sure you’ve collected other trinkets over the years, in addition to that mirror you spoke of. Would you let strangers snoop through your things? Unfortunately, the plants have spread in my absence. And there may be . . . other dangers. I never expected to be away so long.”

  Snow hoped her eagerness didn’t show. Enchanted plants? She knew the fairy folk used similar magic, but they guarded those secrets closely. “What other dangers?”

  “That depends on how much those plants have grown,” said Morveren. “You’ll need to escort me to the bottom. Have you ever tried shapeshifting?”

  Her stomach tightened. “I’ve tried, yes.” The books she had inherited from her mother included spells for changing the body. That was how her mother had fooled Snow into taking a poisoned apple. Snow would have seen through mere illusion. Her mother had physically transformed herself to lull Snow’s suspicions. But Snow had never been able to master that trick. She had tried a great many times over the past year, usually with insects. The most she had managed to do was change a living beetle into a dead beetle.

  “I should go,” Lannadae said. “There’s no need for more magic. I can help you through the plants.”

  Morveren smiled and kissed Lannadae’s hair. “Thank you, Granddaughter. But you lack the skill to help me. Don’t worry about your friend. She will be—”

  “Don’t worry?” Talia asked, moving to stand between them, facing Morveren. “Look at what happened to the last person you changed with your magic. If you think you’re going to lay that kind of curse on Snow—”

  Morveren scowled at Snow. “How do you tolerate such ignorance?” To Talia, she said, “The spell I cast on Lirea was meant to last forever. Such a change carries a much greater cost. Snow will be undine for less than a day. She can cast that spell herself once she learns how, and with far less exertion than she used against your Hiladi friends.”

  Talia looked ready to toss Morveren overboard, but Snow spoke up first. “I want to learn this, Talia.”

  “She destroyed Lirea’s mind,” Talia said. “You can’t risk—”

  “She didn’t mean to,” Snow countered. “Morveren tried to help her. It’s not her fault Gustan betrayed her.”

  “My parents tried to use magic to ‘help’ me, too. Remember?” Talia’s voice was cold. “There’s always a cost.”

  “Then I’ll pay it,” Snow said. “Wouldn’t you do the same to help Beatrice?”

  “There will be pain,” Morveren said.

  “I’ve eaten Talia’s blackened nadif chicken. I can handle pain.” Snow grinned at Talia. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  “That would be a first,” Talia muttered.

  Snow stuck out her tongue.

  “I’ll tell Hephyra what’s happening,” Danielle said.

  “She knows.” Snow patted the railing. “This ship is her tree, remember? You think she hasn’t heard every word we’ve spoken?” With that, she handed her hat to Talia, tugged off her shoes, and jumped overboard.

  Even here on the edge of the seaweed the plants tangled her legs, slowing her plunge. She could feel Morveren’s enchantment within the ropelike stalks, trying to pull her down, but the magic was weakest here. She kicked to the surface and tugged her feet free just as Morveren dove into the water beside her.

  “Hurry back, Grandmother,” Lannadae called.

  From the rear of the ship, Captain Hephyra waved at them both. “I’ll bring her about and anchor in clearer water, where the chain won’t tangle in the weeds. Try not to get yourselves eaten.”

  “That’s the least of our worries,” Morveren called out. She swam to Snow. “Tell me what you know of shapeshifting.”

  Snow’s heart pounded. “I know the theory. Runes traced on the skin to shape the desired form, and then—”

  “Undine don’t spend a lot of time drawing,” Morveren said dryly. “Runes are only one way of shaping the magic.” She reached down with one hand, flinching as she twisted a chipped scale from her hip. “Unless you want those trousers bonded to your flesh, you should probably be rid of them.”

  Snow held her breath and bobbed beneath the waves, kicking her trousers and undergarments free. There was something delightfully wicked about floating half-naked in the sea. She adjusted her belt, tightening it higher over her shirt. The sunlight reflecting off the surface should preserve her modesty from anyone on the ship.

  Snow bundled her things into a ball and pressed them against the side of the ship. A quick spell spread a patch of ice from her clothes, freezing them to the hull to await her return.

  “If you humans weren’t so skinny, maybe you wouldn’t need all thos
e clothes,” Morveren muttered. “It’s a wonder you don’t freeze to death come winter.”

  The seaweed tickled Snow’s skin behind the knees, making her giggle.

  “Stop that.” Morveren pressed the scale into Snow’s hand. “Cut a line down the inside of each leg, deep enough to draw blood. Don’t worry, sharks won’t come anywhere near this place.”

  Snow touched the scale’s edge to the inside of her thigh. Gritting her teeth, she pressed until the scale broke the skin, then sliced downward. Blood was a common ingredient for many kinds of magic, but usually she found a less sensitive place from which to acquire it. Breath hissed as she finished the cut. She paddled in place, letting the initial pain pass before starting on the other leg. She studied the scale. The edge was chipped ragged. No wonder it hurt. “My knife would be less painful.”

  “The scale gives your body a taste of the form it’s to assume,” Morveren said, swimming around behind Snow. She grabbed the back of Snow’s shirt, supporting her while she recovered. Even with her tails gone, Morveren was a strong swimmer, and the fins along the side of her stumps kept them both afloat. Supported by the water, she moved more easily than she had on board the ship.

  Snow’s blood drifted through the water like smoke. “I think I like the runes better.”

  Morveren laughed. “If magic were easy, everyone would do it.”

  The second cut was harder. Now that she knew how much it would sting, she had to force herself to press hard enough to cut the skin. Morveren held her until she finished.

  “Press your legs together and try to cast the spell. The pain will help you focus. Concentrate on the shape you wish to assume.”

  Snow nodded and began to chant the words she had learned from her mother’s spellbooks.

  “Don’t speak,” Morveren said. “Sing. All the spoken words in the world can’t match the power of a single song. Sing for your ears alone, as you sang to the cat. Force your flesh to obey.”

  Snow obeyed, improvising a simple melody to match the words. She could feel the skin of her legs tugging together, but it wasn’t enough. Then Morveren joined her voice to Snow’s.