by Emma Hamm
He drew back enough to breathe, his breath fanning across her face like a sea breeze. “Was that enough?”
“Never.”
“Didn’t you have something to show me?”
It didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t care about the golden treasure anyway; couldn’t they continue to kiss? This newfound desire was difficult to force from her mind.
But his eyes were curious, and his fingers drummed a beat against her throat.
“Yes,” she replied. “Turn around.”
The cave was lit by a rare species of worm which grew from the ceiling. Their spit was bioluminescent and cast a blue light around the cave.
Saoirse helped him turn by holding onto his ribs. His back rested against her bare chest and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“The gold is here,” she said. “Do you see it? It’s a merrow hoard, a rare one in these parts as most of us live in the abyss.”
And what a hoard it was. The few merrows with the addiction carried handfuls whenever they could. Coins, crowns, goblets, all mashed together in a mountain of wealth that spilled into the water.
He pulled away from her, swimming to the edge and clambering up onto the mountain. His eyes were large with awe as he stumbled and fell onto his knees.
Saoirse watched him grab fistfuls of the coins. They trickled through his fingers and clinked, cascading down into the water and glinting as the blue light reflected off their shiny surfaces. Mouth agape, he turned back to her.
“How did all of this get here?”
“There are many shipwrecks in these waters, and some among us gather up the pieces.”
“You?”
Saoirse shook her head. “No. I have only added one thing to this cave.”
“What is it?”
She blushed. Would he think it was foolish? A child’s desire to add something to the hoard but not seeing the meaning behind it all?
Yet, he had asked, and she was loath to deny him anything. Saoirse pointed behind him and up, towards a small rocky ledge that jutted out from the cave way. “There.”
He stood and made his way over the mountain towards her one contribution. It was a golden statue, small enough to easily hold and barely larger than her hand.
Perhaps it was some country’s prince, a ruler known throughout the human world. She thought the smooth lines of his face were too intricately made to let him wallow in the depths. The crown on his head was sharply pointed, and the sword on his hip made her dream about the wars he had fought.
And won.
She dreamt about that prince throughout most of her childhood, and even into her adult years. He was handsome, kind, a king that would make all other kings appear foolish. His intelligence was known throughout the lands and all the royal women wanted to be his bride.
The stories she made up in her mind fueled her happiness. Now, Saoirse found she was afraid what Manus would say. Was he a made-up figure? Just a man an artist sculpted on a whim with no real roots?
Manus turned it over in his hands and nodded. “Cú Chulainn. One of the greatest kings in all the legends, son of Lugh and a mortal woman. It is a good omen to keep such a talisman. He’ll keep you safe.”
“He was a protector then?”
“Of everyone he loved and one of the most unfortunate men in history.”
She swam closer, placing her elbows on the mountain of gold and staring up at him. “Tell me?”
“A story?” he asked, his voicing lifting in surprise. “Now?”
“Please.”
“Won’t the other merrows return and be angry we’ve invaded their treasure?”
“It’s unlikely.” She shifted, sending more gold tumbling into the saltwater. “I dearly love stories, and you tell them so well.”
“Are you staying in the water?”
Saoirse looked at the piles of gold dubiously. “Yes.”
He glanced at the wealth around him one last time and sighed. “All right then.”
Manus settled onto the pile. He wiggled until his body created an indent in the coins, placed his hands behind his head, and cleared his throat.
This was her favorite time with him. He’d told stories at night when the moon was full and held its breath along with Saoirse. She liked to pretend she was in his stories, living the moments with the people who adventured, battled, and loved.
“Cú Chulainn is known throughout the lands as one of the most powerful men who ever lived. He’s the son of Lugh and took after his father in battle. It is said when the ríastrad overtook him, the battle frenzy turned him into a completely different man. A beast. And he was handsome, so handsome that all the other lords worried that he would steal their wives and daughters away from them.”
Saoirse sighed and laid her head on her forearms. “Did he take a wife? Was she as beautiful as he?”
“No,” Manus shook his head and grinned. “He was too wild for that. He never took a wife, and the others resented him for that. In an attempt to get him away from their women, and to give their own sons a chance at marriage, the Forgall Monach suggested that Cú Chulainn was not as legendary a warrior as he claimed. Any warrior worth his mettle would train with the Scáthach of Alba, a woman more powerful and more deadly than any man alive. She lived in Dún Scáith, the Fortress of Shadows, far away in the Isle of Skye.”
At the name, Saoirse sat back up. She leaned forward gleefully. “I have heard of Scáthach! Her daughters traveled here once, long ago.”
“Her daughters?”
“They were as fearsome as she. Wondrous creatures wearing the armor of men and the helms of animals. The guardian threatened them, but they screamed battle cries so loud that we heard them in the deepest parts of the ocean. They earned the right to pass through our waters.”
His cheeks paled. “I wonder what kind of creature would frighten a guardian.”
“Frighten? No. They didn’t frighten the beast, they were a kindred spirit.” She pressed her hand against her chest. “The guardian knows the pain of a woman wronged. They are born from the souls of the drowned and exist only to help prevent any from experiencing such heartache again.”
Her soul ached to be held in the careful grasp of a guardian. They were kind, and although capable of much destruction, they harmed nothing without reason. Saoirse loved them so much that it hurt.
Could he ever understand that? Did he know the tearing feeling in a woman’s heart at the chance a man might not love them in return?
He couldn’t, she surmised, but she would not think less of him for it.
Saoirse lifted a hand and gestured for him to continue. “Cú Chulainn, what became of him when he went to the isle?”
“He trained long and hard with Scáthach and her daughters. He learned all the techniques which were known only to the women of the isle. But as a handsome, virile man, he could not keep his eyes from the women themselves. They were strong, brutal creatures who sometimes appeared more man than woman.
“Cú Chulainn found himself captivated by one, whose rival, Aife, became bitter and jealous. In a fit of rage, she challenged Cú Chulainn to a duel.”
Saoirse gasped. “She did?”
Solemnly, Manus nodded. “She did. They fought for days on end, with blade and fist. The sun rose, and the moon sank over and over until the battle was finally won. Cú Chulainn pressed his sword against her throat, a victor as he had always been. In return, he requested to lay with her and got her with child.”
Tears filled Saoirse’s eyes immediately. She swallowed and lifted a hand to make him pause. “I thought you said he was a good man. A hero?”
“So the story goes.”
“But he forced a woman to lie with him? The battle was already won, and yet he waged another with her body?”
Manus took a deep breath, his brows wrinkled. “I hadn’t ever thought of it like that, but I believe you might be right.”
“I don’t believe he’s a hero. Not anymore.”
“And perhaps you are
right. Even the old legends remind us that these stories are tales of men, not gods. Men make mistakes.”
“Tell the rest of the tale, Manus. I would like to know what became of this Cú Chulainn.” Fires burned in her chest, rage so pure and angry she didn't know what to do with it.
He shifted and rolled onto his side, so he could watch her expressions. “After learning all the skills he could, he left the Isle of Skye and returned home. He stormed a fortress of a man who wronged him, took his castle, his men, and his lands, and became a lord of his own right.
“The prophecies of Cú Chulainn always said he was a man whose fate was to be known in name, but to die young. With such knowledge riding on his shoulders, it’s little surprise that the day an intruder arrived at his doors, he was nervous.
“Cú Chulainn called out to the man, ‘Who goes there?’ and there was no response. Again and again he asked until he issued a warning. ‘If you do not respond, I shall fight you, and I shall kill you.’
“The intruder did not respond. They began a duel that was brief, brutal, and bloody. The unknown man lay dying on the ground, and Cú Chulainn’s curiosity got the better of him. He knelt beside the body and pulled the helm off the intruder’s head.
“His own face stared back at him, young with vivid green eyes like his mother’s. As his son lay dying in his arms, he whispered to his father, 'I came to carry the flag of Ulster to the gates of Rome and beyond with you.'”
The ending words of the story echoed in the cave. Saoirse reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Then he did not have a happy story after all.”
“No,” Manus said, though he sounded confused. “I always thought he was made of legends, but now…no. I do not believe he had a kind or happy story.”
“How did he die?”
“In a battle with Queen Medb, Cú Chulainn grew arrogant, and broke many geasa, taboos. Each was another nail in his coffin. Her champion, Lugaid, made three magical spears, designed and spelled to kill kings. First, he killed Cú Chulainn’s charioteer, the king of all chariot drivers. Then, he killed Cú Chulainn's horse, Liath Macha, king of all horses. And last, he threw the spear straight through Cú Chulainn.
“The hero tied himself to a standing stone in the middle of the battlefield so he could die on his feet. A crow landed on his shoulder, the Morrighan come to guide his soul to the afterlife. Lugaid cut off his head, and in one final movement Cú Chulainn’s sword fell and chopped off Lugaid’s hand.”
“And so Cú Chulainn got his revenge, yet again.”
“He did many great things as well.”
“Your heroes are men of great and terrible deeds.”
He held out the figurine for her to take. The metal was cold on her fingers.
“That is the way of men, little pearl. We are cold and callous creatures. We come screaming into this world already dying. It is little wonder we are such selfish beasts.”
Saoirse turned the prince over, staring down into the face which had graced her dreams for such a long time. She traced a finger over the prominent brow, the kind eyes, the hawk like nose, and stubborn chin. He had been good to her in her dreams.
Dreams were nothing more than the fancies of children. Real people were flawed, and it was the most painful lesson she had ever learned.
She let the figurine fall from her hands and sink to the bottom of the cave. It teetered on the edge of the tunnel that delved deep into the abyss and then fell into the darkness.
“I don’t know if I like your world,” she whispered. “It is angry and frightening.”
“It is. But it is also beautiful and free.”
“What is freedom? Is it something we dream about at night? Something our hearts dream up even though our minds know it’s not real?”
“Ah, if you give up dreaming then all the possibilities of the world disappear. Whether or not they exist.”
She swished her tail through the water, waving it back and forth as she thought about his words. Dreaming was important. It had kept her alive and happy for so long, removing it from her life would be difficult. Would she be the same person without her dreams?
Unlikely.
Saoirse chewed on her lip and nodded. “You are a wise man and a good man, Manus.”
“Don’t give me any compliments, little pearl. You don’t know me all that well.”
“I know you. I know your soul, your kindness, your trust. There is a good man beneath whatever walls you have built around yourself.”
She looked up, her heart in her eyes and her stomach rolling like the sea in a storm. After baring her soul, she hoped he would return the sentiments. Instead, his gaze was focused on the water behind her.
Manus stilled. Even his breathing stopped for a few moments as he stared through the dimly lit water.
“Saoirse,” he growled. “Get out of the water.”
Her spine stiffened, and her fingers grasped the coins. “Why? What is behind me?”
She felt the soft brush of a large body against her fins. Smooth and silky, she recognized the texture.
Shark. Likely a bull shark considering the size of it, and one of the most aggressive species.
It could only mean one thing. The merrow men had somehow heard she was here, or worse, that she had brought a human. Sharks always worked with the nasty drunkards under the sea.
“We have to go,” she gasped. Saoirse reached for Manus, holding her arms high and gesturing for him. “Come!”
“Saoirse, get out of the water!”
“Get into the water we have little time!”
He gaped at her. “Get into the water with the shark? No! I won’t let you risk your life!”
“The merrow men are coming, we don’t have much time!”
He let out a snarl that shook her bones but eased into the water beside her. The bull shark circled them, slow and calculated, its movements deliberate but not threatening. It made her nervous.
What were the merrow men up to? Did they know she had hidden a human man from them? Or were they threatening her only to force Saoirse to return and make her decision?
She grabbed Manus’s arm and looped it over her neck. “Hold on.”
Saoirse held him tight to her breast, the dark tendrils of their hair linking to create a barrier between the shark and them. It eyed her tail, hunger flashing in its dark eyes.
Teeth flashed in a grin. There were secrets in the water, tainting it like blood and bringing the monsters to feast. She clutched Manus tighter and launched into the dark tunnel.
The echoing crack of the shark’s jaws clamping just beyond her fin rang in her ears. She raced forward, scraping her shoulders and tail on the jagged stone walls of the tunnel. Their flight was not graceful. Fear spiked through her body in a wave of heat and nausea.
Sharks didn’t attack like that unless they were told to. And though it had not hurt her, it had forced her into the tunnel.
Was it herding her?
She rounded the loop, forcing Manus’s mouth to hers and exhaling air. He spluttered, bubbles frothing all around them, but she didn’t have time for such foolish behavior. He needed air, and she needed to rush.
Saoirse dug her fingers into his cheeks, forcing him to breathe.
They burst into the dim light of the shipwreck so quickly that she almost didn’t catch them before they burst through the side. Saoirse caught her breath and stared around the wreckage, hoping she wouldn’t see a merrow man through the cracks.
She was not so lucky.
Their bulbous eyes stared at her through each torn board. Red noses leaked mucus into the water while they swiped at their faces and overly large eyes. Webbed hands ending in claws shook, preparing for a hunt as never before.
Frog-like legs stroked to keep them afloat, although she could see some merrow men in the distance walking on the bottom of the sea floor. Hundreds of shadowy figures marching up from the abyss. All to kill the man she held in her arms.
Manus touched the side of her neck, tilting
her face towards him and taking in her horrified expression. Brows furrowed, he nodded and touched his lips to hers.
It was as much a kiss, the newfound thing which made her soul take flight, as it was a sharing of air. He stroked the soft curve of her cheeks with fingers light as the softest of breezes. He sipped from her tongue and gently gifted the quietest part of himself. A subtle touch, a breath of life, and a promise of adventure.
She felt like the name he had given her. The small pearl who hadn’t realized she was more than a plain grain of sand until he plucked her from her shell.
Manus pulled back with a soft smile, placed his hands on her shoulders, and shoved.
The push sent her careening backwards until the wall stopped her. It was a far enough distance that he could grasp a splintered piece of wood and pull himself out the nearest window.
She lost all sense of reason. He put himself directly into harm’s way, and for what? They wouldn't hurt her! They would hurt him.
Hands shaking, heart already bleeding, she shot out of the shipwreck and into the open water. She frantically searched for him, for anything that wasn’t a teeming mass of green skin covered in warts and lesions.
Where was he?
“Manus!” she shouted. Her wailing call echoed like the shriek of a guardian, like the song of a whale. It flowed over the merrow men who flinched back from the sheer agony in its tones.
A form shot up from the ocean floor. Strong, powerful, and oh so handsome, he fled the merrow men with blood streaking behind him like a red banner. His makeshift weapon was gone, and she fiercely hoped it was buried in a merrow man’s chest.
Determined to save him, she streaked through the water like a falling star. She reached her arms out for him, scooped him up, and spun around.
Never before had she swum so fast. The long muscles in her tail burned, her heart thumped hard against her ribs, and her gills worked overtime to get him to the surface. He’d be safe there, she was certain of it. They couldn’t catch him once he swam, Manus was too fast.
A clawed hand closed on her tail fin, sinking through the thin membrane and yanking. She cried out as pain sent icy nails up her spine.