Parting Worlds - A Little Mermaid Retelling (Once Upon a Curse Book 4)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  I look over my shoulder toward the opposite side of the castle wall, beyond which there's only darkness and the barest hint of evergreen pines. I'm not sure if I can bring a human through a portal, and I certainly can't leave him alone in the middle of this chaos, so I go with option three.

  We need to get to the forest. We need to find the priestesses and the priests. They'll be able to help us. They'll know what to do.

  "The stables have already been raided," he tells me, shaking his head.

  So we go on foot.

  "Okay." He nods, gaze clearing now that we have a plan. "Okay, I know the safest way to get to the forest. There's a place where we can sneak over the wall."

  He takes my hand and pulls me with him, away from the chaos and back through the castle gardens, where the air at least smells a little sweeter and I can pretend the world isn’t crumbling all around me. Life always feels the slightest bit better surrounded by flowers. My fingers graze the edge of a hydrangea bush as we round a corner. The petals cry out for a taste of the Mother, for the fuel that's been so carelessly yanked away, for a hint of the force that gives them deeper life. I let my magic flood into the ground and air. I let it seep from all my pores and sink into the plants aching for the connection they've lost. As we race down stone pathways carved between the hedges, a haven blooms behind us. Dahlias and marigolds and daisies. Lilies and phlox. I give my spirit to the land, praying the Mother can feel my gratitude, my regret, and my silent promise to see her world returned.

  When we reach the wall at the farthest corner of the garden, I realize what Erick means to do even before he reaches out to grip the vines. The stones are blanketed in swathes of ivy, stems spotted with barren patches clearly rubbed raw from overuse. This is how he sneaked out to meet me at the cave.

  Erick climbs quickly, familiar with the route. When he reaches the top, he turns to stare down at me and extends his hand. I lift my foot and grip a vine overhead, then pull myself from the ground. Glancing down, I spot another foothold. When I look back up to find a place for my hand, I notice Erick is no longer focused on me. He's watching something behind me and his arm has fallen limp. As dread floods his eyes, it fills my gut.

  I spin, holding tight to the wall as I glance over my shoulder.

  It’s the little girl from before. The flower that was tucked behind her ear now sits cradled in her fingers as she stares with childlike wonder at the garden blooming all around me.

  "Sylvi," Erick calls, tone a mix of warning and warmth.

  She looks at him, then drops her gaze to me. Her eyes shine with an envious gleam that makes my pulse race. Her lips move.

  I can’t hear what she says, but I don’t have to.

  I turn back to the wall and climb as quickly as I can, even though I know in my heart that it's too late. Invisible claws rip into my skin, tearing through my muscles and veins, scratching at my arms and legs, so every bit of my body flares hot with pain. I glance up at Erick, scrambling to reach him, to touch him one last time. Every inch is pure torture. I scorch, on fire, as a foreign presence pulls at my heart, trying to split it from my soul.

  "Aeri!" Erick shouts down at me, seeing the panic in my eyes. "Aeri!"

  He leans over the ledge, reaching down to me. We're only a few inches away, so close to freedom. Another wave of pressure bashes into me, so tangible I gasp. He searches my gaze for some hint of what's happening, and I realize he doesn’t know, doesn't understand. I'm a being made of nature. The words that rip the magic from the earth can also tear the power out of me.

  And they are.

  Sylvi saw my magic, and she wanted it for herself. The spell carves into me like a knife, severing the magic from my skin and gifting it to her.

  My power and my life drain away.

  She's just a child. I'm sure she doesn’t understand what she's done, and I empathize. Before tonight, I was a child too. I saw a man I wanted, I saw a love I couldn't live without, and I took it, no matter the consequences. Now the weight of those actions makes me feel old. All the talk of balance, all the lessons the priestesses willed me to hear, they finally sink in now that I'm staring death in the face—now that I'm staring my choices in the face.

  Worse, there's nothing I can do.

  With my last ounces of strength in this borrowed body, I leap, reaching up with my arms. Erick wraps his fingers around mine, catching me in midair.

  I love you, I whisper into his mind.

  His eyes go wide.

  I know what he hears in my final words, exactly what I meant him to—goodbye.

  "No!"

  I smile sadly.

  "No!"

  My vision fades into blackness. My legs dissolve into leaves and branches as my magic seeps completely away, sailing across the garden to sink into a human soul instead. I return to my natural state, no longer in the body Mother's magic provided.

  "Aeri!" His voice is distant, but I still hear the plea, the panic, the cry. "No, don’t leave me. Don't go."

  I wish I could stay.

  I really do.

  For him. For Nymia. For all the dreams we dared to dream, and all the changes we hoped we'd live to see. For all the mistakes we made and all the lives those mistakes will cost. For the world I love and the gods I hold so dear.

  But I can't.

  "I'll fix this," Erick whispers with gritty determination. His promise is the last thing I hear before my ears seal shut. "Whatever I have to do, I'll find a way to fix this. To save you. To save them. I promise."

  My final thought before all awareness fades is a distant, wistful question, wondering what flower I'll turn into, what bloom resides in the center of my soul.

  Then I'm gone.

  Time passes in shades of light and dark, in the warm kiss of the Mother and the cool touch of the Father, in the never-ending cycle of day and night. I'm leaves and stems. I'm rose buds blooming in spring and crimson petals falling in autumn. I'm vines creeping toward the sun and roots sinking in the dirt.

  I see nothing.

  I hear nothing.

  I taste nothing.

  I smell nothing.

  My mind hovers at the edge of awareness, not quite working, but not quite gone. Sometimes, when a finger skims the edges of my blossoms or a drop of blood is drawn by my thorns, memories swirl in the depths of the abyss, just bright enough to show me a flash of colors before they're gone. At first, it's a boy. I can't see him clearly. I can’t quite remember him. For some reason, he makes me think of dark caverns and bright stars, of searing touches and secret nights, of the pulse I used to have and how the feel of his lips made it race. Then for a long time, there's nothing. No sparks. No moments of recollection. No embraces. Until a girl lies among my leaves, her touch eliciting the wildness of storms, the tickle of cherished laughter, the warm embrace of love.

  Hold on, she seems to whisper. I'm coming. I'll save you.

  Sometimes, in the endless fathoms of my lonely soul, there are other voices too. One high and warm, one low and cool. I don't hear what they say, but their presence soothes me, makes me feel less forgotten, less alone.

  They have plans for me, I know.

  They believe in me.

  They trust me.

  They hope that when the time comes for me to emerge from this infinite slumber, I'll live up to the challenges they've set. I'll see the world they wish for brought to life.

  In the meantime, I float.

  Weightless.

  Thoughtless.

  Limitless.

  Trapped in the in-between.

  My lungs burn with the heat of life and I gasp, greedily sucking down a gulp of cool, fresh air. Only it's not fresh. It's acrid and rotten and filled with a poisonous taste I don't understand. The earth cries out, tearing into my spirit, calling for help, pleading for aid. My magic flows unbidden, sinking into the ground around me, but the dirt feels more decayed than the air, stained and sullied, unwell.

  Erick!

  Nymia!

  The names flash
across my thoughts, as foreign as this world I'm waking up to, as familiar as my own soul. Memories rush over me—pictures of the life I had before. Everything crashes back, snapping me awake in an instant. I pull my eyes open, blinking against the brightness they haven't experienced for who knows how long, and force myself to sit up using achy, wobbling muscles unaccustomed to life.

  Where is he?

  Did he leave?

  Did he get help?

  Where's my sister?

  What happened to her?

  I lift my face to the sky, searching for Erick on the wall—his deep blue eyes, the black hairs curling over his forehead, the warm smile. The last thing I remember is his hand grasping mine, ready to pull me up over the edge, so close to freedom. Then that girl stole my magic, and I fell away. As the world sharpens into acute focus, shock makes my heart skip a beat.

  The wall is gone.

  All that's left is a pile of crumbling stones, coated in ivy and the few stalks of climbing roses my soul left behind.

  I roll onto my knees while I spin around—and freeze.

  The castle is gone.

  The town is gone.

  The garden is gone.

  I blink rapidly, hoping somehow the scene will change, that maybe I'm still dreaming, that I haven't quite woken up, but nothing shifts. It remains an open field of browning grass and dead, brittle trees with their leaves stained red. A strange building lies in ruins, its gray walls caved in, with a plain boxlike structure I've never seen before. The more I stare, the more my mind boggles. Massive cylinders stretch into the sky like man-made volcanoes, only missing the smoke. Metal carriages on four small wheels sit hollowed out, with broken glass windows overgrown with shrubs. Some sort of flat stone slices through the ground, painted with faded stripes, the surface cracked and fractured. And a scratched metallic sign stands a few meters away, with a symbol I don’t recognize—a bright yellow triangle with an odd ebony flower in the center that has three wide petals around a circular disk. I'm not sure why, but I get the sense it means something bad. The colors are all wrong, too frightful, too scary, speaking a warning.

  What happened while I slept?

  What world did I inadvertently create?

  I breathe deeply again, coughing as the air burns my throat, and call on my magic to pull water from the ground. Though it rises into a clear pool, the liquid feels dirty somehow, not well, not right. When I sink my fingers under the surface, it buzzes with a charge unlike anything I've ever felt before—not natural, not magic, definitely not of the Mother. The humans did something. I know they did. I just don't know what.

  Erick.

  An icy feeling trickles down my chest to settle in my gut.

  The world has changed so much.

  Too much.

  Still, I whisper into the water, "Nachtinn eoscu ma mhoin."

  Please, show me Erick. Please, let him be alive.

  Please, don't tell me I slept through his entire human life.

  The water doesn't change. No image swirls across the surface. No face. No scene. Nothing but the subtle rainbow sheen of magic letting me know the spell is searching for someone who no longer exists. I could fool myself and pretend it's just the magic I once gave him blocking him from my view, but deep down, I know it's not.

  Too much time has passed.

  I've lost him.

  A single tear lands in the water, sending ripples to interrupt the fathomless pit of magic, and I pull my hand away to angrily swipe at my cheek.

  I deserve this.

  Look around me.

  Despite the sunlight on my skin, I hardly feel the Mother in the earth. There's no balance. There's only destruction. The flowers that blossomed in a rush of magic when I woke are already wilting. The pines in the distance may be green, but I can tell they're weak, slowly dying. The air is too hot. The wind carries the begging voices of a thousand plants and animals in need. The land is dry of power, utterly barren, and it's all because of me.

  Did I really for one second think I might get a happy ending?

  That I would wake to find my sister and my prince?

  That it would all work out in the end?

  Yes.

  For some inconceivable reason, I did.

  Fool.

  I am a fool. It's true. Because deep down, I still have hope that somehow, someway, my story isn’t over. This can't be how it ends.

  Nymia.

  I imagine my sister's golden hair, her bright cerulean eyes, the wicked smile she reserved just for me, in those moments no one else ever saw, when we danced with wild abandon beneath thunder and lightning and the Father's vast night sky.

  The priestesses are dead. For the world to be so off course, I know they must be. I'm not sure how the humans defeated them, how so much magic was broken down and destroyed, but I know they're long gone.

  Still, I pray for my sister.

  I pray for one lone faerie soul to have survived.

  I pray for a miracle.

  Colors flash and whirl across the surface of the scrying water, deepening in some places, brightening in others, congregating in groups until a picture forms, blurred at first, then sharper and sharper, until finally my heart swells with the sweetest relief I've ever been blessed to feel.

  Nymia is alive.

  Tears stream down her cheeks as she stares out into a scene I can't see, hope gleaming in her eyes. I wonder if she sees my face in some distant horizon, in the fiery rays of the sinking sun, in those last few moments of brightness before the shadows descend. Her skin is painted pink with sunset hues, while I'm coated in bright daylight. We're on opposite sides of an unknown world, but the sight of her makes me feel at home.

  Shifting the scene, I pull back on the scrying water, trying to learn where she is and what she sees. As the image retreats, an arm comes into view, draped across her shoulders. A chin digs into the hair atop her head. Her fingers interlace with another set, larger and a little hairier, obviously belonging to a man. He rubs the topside of her hand with his thumb, affectionate and reassuring, clearly comfortable being so close. My jaw drops open when I realize his skin doesn't shimmer. His fingers don't glow. There's no magic hidden underneath, aching to be used.

  He's…human.

  I lean closer to the water and force the picture to expand, until I see a face and a body and enough of the background to notice they're sitting on a mountain, surrounded by clumps of lingering snow, and…more people. Two human girls sit next to Nymia. The younger one, no more than twelve or thirteen, rests her head upon my sister's shoulder, though her arms wrap around the waist of the older girl to her other side. Next to her is— I'm not sure. He looks human, but there's something wild about him, something not quite barren of magic. He's a shifter, I realize as I see two furry mounds behind them, rising and falling with the gentle undulation of breath. Bears, I think, though I can’t quite see their faces or their eyes. They're too docile to be wild, so they must be magic.

  My shoulders drop as I release a heavy exhale.

  How in the world did my sister end up surrounded by three humans and three shapeshifters on the edge of a rocky snow-covered ledge? I'm the one who ached to explore the world beyond the forest. I'm the one who always wanted to see real snow.

  Nymia hates the cold and, well, humans.

  Or so I thought.

  If I hadn't noticed the change in the world when I woke, this scene would be enough to let me know I've missed at least one lifetime, probably more. How long has she lived without me? What has she been through? What has she seen?

  A pit in my stomach drops.

  What did she do to get me back?

  As soon as the question enters my mind, I know that's what I'm seeing. My sister has a triumphant, relieved expression written across her face. Somehow, she sent my magic back to me—with a spell, with a sacrifice, with a prayer. Somehow, she brought me back to life. She seems light, as though an invisible weight has lifted. But she seems heavy too, burdened by time and secrets and a
loneliness that won't subside until we're together again.

  I know because I feel it too.

  I miss her.

  I ache to see her.

  In my heart, it feels like only yesterday that I ran away from home and whispered goodbye in the dark. But my soul is weary.

  Nymia.

  Her name whispers across my mind with a longing I don’t quite understand, backed by years I can’t remember and hours I spent floating in the dark. I stretch my hands over the water, murmuring the words for the faerie portal, forcing them up my burning throat, already feeling stronger as my magic floods my tired bones.

  Then I pause.

  That horrible night comes rushing back—how I left her in the dark, how I ran to my human prince, how I betrayed faerie secrets and led our enemies into the heart of our home.

  My fingers curl slowly into a fist.

  Nymia's face blurs across the surface of the water as my magic turns just as hesitant as I am. Does she know what I did? Does she blame me for everything? What if she didn’t bring me back? What if I'm only seeing what I want to see, what I yearn for? Does she hate me?

  I wouldn't blame her.

  I sort of hate myself.

  With a swallow, I drop my arms to my sides and release the spell, staring at the faded picture until it's nothing more than streams of colors swirling across the water. The elation of finding her alive is replaced by fear—so sudden and sharp, my whole body goes stiff from the shock. The puddle sinks into the ground, shrinking inch by inch, but I'm frozen.

  What if Nymia doesn't want to see me?

  What if she's happier without me?

  What if she's moved on?

  After all, if she returned my magic to me, why isn’t she here? Why didn’t she open a portal to come find me? Why let me wake to this new world all alone?

  Nymia wasn't looking into a scrying pool. She wasn't searching the depths for a long-lost sister. She was happy and content, wrapped in the arms of people who clearly love her—people who aren't me.