The Mermaid's Madness

by Hines, Jim C.

  “What happens to them?” Snow asked.

  “Who?”

  “The souls you consume for their power.”

  Morveren spliced another hair through the web. “I don’t know. I use them until their strength fades. Eventually they slip away. I like to believe they find their way to whatever world awaits them.” She picked up the cup and moved it toward Snow. “Be careful. Too much power will destroy the trap. I could come with you to—”

  “You’re staying here.” Snow calmed herself as she took the cup. Her vision had improved slightly with sleep, but her eyes still watered if she tried to focus on fine details like the individual hairs.

  Each of those hairs had been carefully trimmed from Beatrice’s locks. Morveren had used them to weave a white web, one which should allow Beatrice to pass freely while trapping Gustan. A hole at the center would allow the hilt of the knife to rest in the cup.

  Snow held her breath, afraid to disturb the web as she carried the chalice toward the door. Stepping through that door was like throwing off a stifling blanket. It wasn’t that she couldn’t use magic inside the church. She had tested a spell or two, and with the help of her mirrors, Snow suspected she could overpower Father Isaac’s wards if she had to. Probably. But even her aborted efforts had left her drained, her head pounding.

  The pain in her skull returned as she wove power into the web on the chalice. She could feel the hairs vibrating like lute strings.

  “Your eyes are watering.” Talia stood looking down at her. Snow hadn’t heard her approach. “You need rest.”

  “Are you offering to take over?” Snow ran a finger over the hairs. Physically, she could have snapped them with ease, but to the trapped souls, the bonds would be strong as steel. To Gustan, at least.

  Assuming Snow hadn’t poured too much magic into the trap. Or too little. And that Beatrice was still strong enough to escape. “It’s ready. I think.”

  “That’s all?” asked Talia.

  “Magic doesn’t always involve smoke and lights and explosions.”

  “You wouldn’t know it from some of your experiments.”

  Snow stuck out her tongue and carried the cup back into the church. The cup felt heavier, and she could feel the wards pressing in on her spells, but the enchantment was already in place. Trying to ignore the pain in her head, she carried the cup toward the altar.

  “Well done,” said Morveren. “You see? A delicate touch is all a true witch requires. You can—”

  “Are you sure Gustan won’t be able to escape?” Snow said. “If he finds Beatrice’s body, he could try to take it for himself.”

  “Even if he does find a flaw in the soul cup, he won’t be able to take your queen. If bonding soul to flesh were so simple, I would have claimed one for myself years ago. More likely, his struggles would kill her and destroy what’s left of his spirit.” Morveren sagged against the altar. “Snow, I know you don’t agree with what I’ve done, but you can’t let Lirea die. This isn’t her fault.”

  “No. It’s yours,” said Talia.

  Morveren ignored her. “Separating Lirea from the knife will have weakened her. Together we can use her connection to the knife to control her, to stop her from attacking your people. Please keep her alive until I can find a way to complete her bond with Gustan.” She cried as she spoke. Magic and urgency filled her words, though the wards of the church protected Snow from the power of her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Snow said.

  “Lirea is innocent.” Morveren turned to Lannadae.

  “Help me, child. This is your last chance to save your sister.”

  Lannadae had spent the past hours with Father Isaac, talking in low voices so as not to disturb Snow or Morveren. She drew herself higher, balancing on her tails. Tears wet her cheeks. “Your magic destroyed my sister.”

  “You can’t—” Morveren crawled toward Lannadae, only to stumble. Snow could feel her struggling to throw off the effects of Father Isaac’s incense. Morveren raised her head. “It’s not too late, child.”

  Snow brought the cup to the front of the church and set it on the corner of the altar, out of Morveren’s reach. “I’m ready.”

  “I’ll fetch Danielle and the others.” Talia hesitated, then turned to Father Isaac. “Will they be—”

  “Morveren can do no harm while the incense fills the church,” said Isaac.

  Snow pressed her thumb carefully through the gap in the center of the web. When she pulled back, she could feel the web tugging, similar to what she had felt when she experimented with the knife.

  Snow would have tried to use raw power to trap Gustan while Beatrice returned to her body. She might have beaten him, but what damage would she have done to Bea in the process? Without Morveren’s help, Snow might have destroyed them both. “Talia was right to stop me.”

  “She cares for you,” said Morveren as she tried to find a comfortable position. Too much time out of water had left her hunched, much as she had been when Snow first saw her. Morveren groaned with every movement, but until this moment she had fought to carry herself with some dignity. Now she sagged against the frontmost bench, broken and defeated. Wincing, she rubbed her wounded tail with her hands.

  “Most of the time,” Snow agreed. “Though there are days I’m sure she wants to toss me off the palace walls.”

  Morveren frowned. “You mean you don’t know how she feels about you?”

  Snow’s next quip died on her lips. “What do you mean?”

  “Talia loves you. I noticed before, on the ship. When she came to bring me here, her feelings were unmistakable. Even out of water, I can smell her feelings. I assumed you knew.”

  “That’s not—She’s my friend.” Snow set the cup down to keep from dropping it. She thought about Talia’s discomfort when they were swimming together to Lirea’s palace. Or how annoyed she always got when Snow flirted with men.

  Not annoyed, but jealous.

  Snow bit her lip, remembering how strangely Talia acted when Snow first recovered from Lirea’s attack. Talia had looked almost frightened, a childlike vulnerability Snow had never seen from her.

  “You don’t care for her?” Morveren asked.

  “It’s not that simple,” said Snow. “She’s not . . . I don’t—”

  “Humans.” Morveren snorted and rested her head against the bench. “I forget how you complicate these matters.”

  Morveren was right. Snow would have seen it long ago had it been anyone but Talia. One hand went to her shoulder, remembering the way Talia had massaged her to sleep. How long had she felt this way? As far as Snow could recall, Talia had never shown romantic interest in anyone, male or female. Given her history, Snow could understand Talia’s reluctance, but—

  The chapel doors swung open. Father Isaac escorted King Theodore inside, followed closely by Armand, Danielle . . . and Talia. Talia was watching Snow, though she quickly looked away. Too quickly.

  Prince Varisto was the last to enter, along with Tymalous, who took a seat at the back of the church. Varisto had left his ax behind. He moved like one lost as he followed the others to the front of the church.

  “How is she?” asked Theodore.

  Father Isaac stepped past Snow and Morveren, climbing the steps to the altar. “Unchanged.”

  Snow shook her head to clear her thoughts, which turned out to be a mistake. Her vision swam, and the back of her head began to throb. She groaned and clutched her skull with one hand.

  “Are you all right?” asked Talia.

  “I’m fine.” Snow swallowed, hoping that hadn’t come out as sharply as it sounded. Without looking up, she untied Lirea’s knife from her belt and gripped it in both hands.

  “Please,” Morveren said. “Don’t let her die.”

  Snow could feel the power in her words, fighting through even Father Isaac’s protections to press against Snow’s thoughts. How long had Morveren gathered her strength for this one final attempt?

  It wasn’t enough. As Morveren’s po
wer faded, she curled her tails around herself and began to weep.

  “This is the witch?” Prince Varisto stood staring at Morveren, his hands clasped.

  Talia stayed beside him, presumably to make sure he didn’t kill Morveren right then. Talia had never been one to rely on magical protections. “This is Morveren.”

  Varisto turned to Snow. “And that knife. My brother . . .” He reached out, then hesitated. “Does he still live?”

  “The mind I touched was splintered,” Snow said. “Little remains of your brother’s spirit.”

  Varisto touched the hilt. He closed his eyes. “I feel nothing. I . . . I had hoped—” His fingers tightened into a fist, and he jerked back. “Please finish this. Give him the dignity of death.”

  Father Isaac moved to the end of the altar. Clasping his crucifix in both hands, he bent his head and began to pray. Snow could feel his power spreading through the church, waves of warmth and protection.

  Snow moved the knife toward the queen’s arm. She saw the king start to rise, but Prince Armand caught his hand.

  “Blood renews the bond between body and soul,” said Morveren. “You have to do this, to help her to find her way back.”

  “I’m sorry, Bea,” Snow whispered, then jabbed the tip of the knife into Beatrice’s forearm. She blinked back tears as blood welled from the cut. Reversing her grip on the knife, she spread the queen’s blood onto the hilt.

  Morveren pulled herself higher, her bent tails supporting her like two thick serpents. “From this point forward, you must be swift. Both souls sense the presence of her body. Already they will be fighting to escape. If your queen is strong enough, she will—”

  “Shut up.” Snow set Lirea’s knife through the web in the cup so that the pommel rested on the bottom of the cup. The hairs held the knife in place, with the blade pointed to the ceiling. “She’s strong. She can do this.”

  Gritting her teeth, she touched her choker. Her head exploded with pain as Father Isaac’s protections fought to suppress her magic, but the true power of Snow’s spell was far from here, safely hidden beneath the palace.

  She called enough power to set the whole chapel alight, but only a single beam of magical light pierced the wards. Being careful not to touch the strands of the web, she directed that light into the cup, to the hair wrapped around the hilt of Lirea’s knife. The first few strands were slow to break, but with each passing moment, more of the hair snapped and curled away. She could almost feel the trapped souls adding their strength from within, fighting to break free of their prison.

  Magic flared through the web on the cup as both souls escaped the knife. Snow’s legs gave out, and she would have fallen if Father Isaac hadn’t caught her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, pushing herself upright. She concentrated on the soul cup. Each hair glowed golden, a glowing web over the mouth of the chalice. Voices cried out from within. Snow felt Beatrice’s presence as she started to pass through the web, only to fall back into the cup. “Gustan is fighting her.”

  “She must fight back,” Morveren snapped. “Fight back, or both will be lost forever.”

  Danielle approached the altar. “Beatrice, it’s us.” “The soul can’t hear you,” said Morveren.

  Snow tore a mirror from her choker and dropped it through the web. The glass rang against gold.

  “What are you doing?” Morveren asked, trying to pull herself higher.

  The mirror held the reflection of the glowing web. Snow concentrated, spreading that reflection beyond the boundaries of the glass, creating an illusory web within the cup. Like a bird to a window, Gustan broke away from Beatrice and lunged toward the mirror, seeing it as a second portal to freedom.

  “It’s done,” Snow whispered, pain and tears blinding her. “She’s free.”

  Father Isaac rested a hand on Beatrice’s forehead. “Her body and spirit are one.”

  Everyone gathered around the altar. The king took Beatrice’s hand in his and asked, “How long until she awakens?”

  “Not long.” Morveren backed away from the altar.

  “What of my brother?” Varisto asked.

  Snow wiped her face on her sleeve, blinking to try to clear her vision. She reached to take the cup and knife. The cup tilted onto its side and rolled toward the edge of the altar. Talia jumped to catch it . . . and missed. The cup bounced once on the floor, and then a gust of wind blew it into Morveren’s waiting hands. “I’m sorry, child. I can’t let you murder my granddaughter.”

  “Lirea’s air spirits,” Snow whispered. “They’re here. All of them.”

  The doors exploded outward. Wind spun through the church, knocking Snow back before she could ready her own magic. She could feel the power of the incense burning the spirits, but with every moment the wind blew more of the incense from the chapel. Candles toppled to the ground, their flames extinguished. Hangings on the wall tore free and whirled around the air. Talia sprang toward Morveren, one foot sweeping up in a kick, but Morveren dove aside, crawling beneath the bench.

  “How did they get in?” Danielle shouted.

  “They were already here.” Snow turned to the knife. “We carried them into the church ourselves.”

  Father Isaac spread his hands and approached Morveren, his robes fluttering. “Allow Gustan to move on.”

  The wind had knocked Danielle down. Other spirits held King Theodore and Prince Armand pinned against the benches. But so far nobody had actually been hurt. Snow held the altar with both hands, using her body to shelter Beatrice from the wind.

  Morveren clutched the cup to her chest. Her humming grew louder. Snow’s ears popped as the wind gained in strength, and then all was still. She could feel Isaac fighting to suppress the spirits’ anger. His own magic seemed untouched by the chapel’s protections.

  “Go in peace.” Isaac reached for the cup.

  One of the windows shattered in a storm of colored glass. A second followed, broken by the spirits.

  “Grandmother, stop!” Lannadae tried to reach Morveren, but the wind tossed her aside like a doll.

  Varisto clapped his hands. The ringing of his bracelets echoed throughout the church. Snow could hear the sound reaching beyond the walls, a summons of some sort. Breaking the window had weakened the wards. Moments later, Varisto’s ax spun through the open door, slapping into his hand. He leaped to strike, but the wind knocked him back.

  Snow squinted at Morveren, trying to understand. There was another spell worked into the chalice. Several of the hairs seemed to extend beyond the lip of the cup, reaching toward Morveren.

  “You wove your hairs with hers.” And Snow had missed it. She fought to maintain her balance. Her head pounded as she tried to erect a magical wall around Morveren. If she could sever Morveren’s connections to her spirits, they should dissipate.

  “A small thing, but enough to connect me to our trapped prince,” said Morveren. “Skill, rather than power. Now please move aside. I have no desire to hurt you.”

  “No.” The wind howled louder. Snow’s hair whipped about her face, blinding her. She grabbed her own knife, flipping the catch to reveal the mirror in the cross guard. She thrust the blade up, willing the strike to cut past mere air to the spirit’s heart. Her arm shook from the effort, but the wind diminished as the spirit fell back, wounded but not dead.

  “You’re a strong one,” Morveren said. “But you lack experience.”

  Even as Snow struggled to hold off one spirit, the rest attacked in unison. They smashed through her defenses, lifting her into the air.

  “Snow!” Talia jumped to catch Snow, arms wrapping around her waist. The wind threw them both to the side, but somehow Talia managed to twist her body, taking the brunt of the impact.

  Through doubled vision, Snow saw Morveren rise, held aloft by her spirit slaves. She flew out of the church, vanishing before anyone else could react. The doors slammed shut behind her.

  Talia was already up and running. She lowered her shoulder and crashed into the d
oors, but they refused to budge. “They’re held from the outside.”

  Snow pulled herself up, keeping one hand on the wall as dizziness washed over her. Nothing felt broken, but she would have a number of new bruises. She had always bruised so easily. She touched her hair, and her fingers came back bloody where the fall had reopened her injuries.

  Snow stumbled toward the door, her knife still clutched in one hand. She had cut herself when she fell, a long gash along her side. Any deeper, and she could have killed herself.

  Her neck warmed as she pulled power from her choker. Sparks danced from the mirror in her knife. Talia started to speak, then swore and jumped aside as the doors creaked.

  Snow could feel the air spirits outside. Morveren had left two to bar the doors. With every step, Snow pushed harder. The pressure in her head increased as well, but she kept going. Slowly, the doors bowed outward.

  She threw her knife.

  The blade wedged into the gap between the doors and quivered in place. Moments later, the doors exploded.

  Boards and splinters burst inward, but the same magic Snow had used to push open the doors also deflected the debris. The air spirits vanished.

  Talia jumped through the doorway, knives drawn. “She’s gone.”

  Snow could hear shouts from outside. Cries of confusion and fear, but Morveren had already escaped.

  “Snow!” Danielle and the others had gathered around the altar. “Beatrice is moving.”

  Snow turned away from the door. There was nothing she could do to catch Morveren now. If the air spirits were strong enough to carry her, she could go anywhere.

  Beatrice lay shivering. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, but she was smiling. Her smile grew when she saw Snow. “I heard you. Even within that dark place, I could hear you calling me.”

  The words triggered a coughing fit. King Theodore helped her to sit up, holding her until she recovered. Beatrice leaned her head against his chest. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Our son tried to smash through a bench with his leg,” Theodore said. “He might have broken the bone.”

  “Where’s Isaac?” Snow turned around until she spotted him slumped against the wall beneath the cross. He had been the first target of Morveren’s attack. Tymalous was already running toward him, moving with surprising speed for a man of his age.