by Trisha Telep
The hours until moonrise passed slowly for Muirin, but pass they did. She attended her stepmother at the evening meal, careful not to say anything that would arouse the older woman’s suspicions. When, soon after the meal, Muirin claimed to be weary and said she would find her bed, her stepmother gave her a smile and wished her a good night. Muirin hid her surprise at her stepmother’s warm tone and willingness to let her go, but was pleased to make her escape so easily.
She was at the door when her stepmother called to her. “Your father has written to me,” she said. “He has met with the King of the north, who has agreed to marry you to his only son. The contract is being signed as we speak.”
Muirin nodded, hiding her horror at this news, but ever more determined to wed Conlan that very night. She brushed her hair until it shone, then bundled its length into a fine net caught at the nape of her neck. She had chosen her clothing carefully, a gown of sea blue silk, a froth of white lace, like the crest of a wave. She wore the golden necklace her mother had given her, a dolphin hanging from the golden links. She took one last look at herself in her mirror, pinched her cheeks to make them rosy, then threw her finest mantle – a cape made of swan feathers – over her shoulders, and hurried from her room.
She left the castle easily, finding the postern gate left open and no guard there to question her. She reached the cliff above the sea just as the moon was reaching its zenith. Conlan was already there under the mighty oak, his tall form in shadow.
He was not alone. The Queen stood nearby, draped in a long dark cloak, her face pale. In her hand was a switch, which she tapped against her leg as Muirin slowed her steps, then joined them.
“Muirin,” her stepmother said, her voice smooth and emotionless, “what mean you by stealing from the castle in the dark of the night?”
“It is not dark, madam. The moon has lit my way.”
“Have you come to swim?”
“No, madam. I have come but to enjoy the moonlight on the sea.”
“Liar! You have come to steal away with the woodcutter’s son!”
“No, madam, we do not plan to leave!”
“You would stay here then, with him? Your father is even now finding you a husband, you ungrateful girl!”
“I want no husband but Conlan.”
“You mean to defy me? You?” She raised her switch as though to strike Muirin.
“No!” Conlan shouted, rushing forwards from the dark, his arm outstretched.
Before he could reach her, the stepmother whirled to face him. “You would strike me, son of the earth?”
“Do not harm her!” he roared.
“She must be punished!”
“You will not harm her!” Conlan raised his arm.
“Then let it be you who suffers.” Muirin’s stepmother raised the switch and pointed it at him, her voice rising into the air. “I call upon thee, forces of darkness, to give me strength. Strike him down, he who would harm your priestess, he who would defy me!”
There was a strike of lightning from a sky that had been clear a moment before, a great swirl of wind that brought the sudden smell of sulphur.
“Strike him down, oh forces of darkness!” the stepmother called again, raising her arms high, her cloak spreading behind her like wings. “Make him pay for daring to defy me! Root him to the ground!”
Lightning split the sky again, and a roar of wind blew leaves and branches and dirt into the air. Muirin put her hands over her eyes. There was a clap of thunder so loud that it deafened her. And then silence.
She looked up, but saw only darkness. The moonlight was gone, the sky a black dome above her. Nothing seemed to move, nothing to even breathe. And then, dimly, the sound of the sea came to her, a soft murmur.
“Conlan?” she whispered, reaching for him.
Her hands found only air and she stepped forwards in the dark, then again, reaching for him. “Conlan?” Again there was only silence, and she grew fearful. “Are you hurt? Conlan, speak to me!”
Her hands found the trunk of the giant oak, and she stretched her arms around its width, laying her head on its bark.
“Conlan?” There was only silence.
Muirin spent the remainder of the night under the tree, waking at dawn, surprised that she had slept at all. Night was receding and while the light was still dim, it was enough for her to see that it was not the ancient oak under which she had slept, but a much younger tree, a slender oak tree with leaves the colour of Conlan’s eyes. And there, a handful of paces away, the ancient oak.
She stared at both trees. Two. For all the years of her life, there had only been one tree here on this cliff. She jumped to her feet, staring at the two trees.
“Muirin.” The voice was soft, feminine.
Muirin whirled around to find the owner of the voice. The cliff was empty but for her and the two trees. Far below her, in the cobalt water of the western sea, three dolphins swam in spirals, and above her, perched in the highest branches of the ancient oak, three ravens watched.
“No,” said the voice. “It is not they who speak to you, child.”
“Who are you?” Muirin asked in a small voice.
“I am here, child, in the wind, in the air. You cannot see me, but I am with you.”
“Mother?”
There was the sound of soft laughter. “No, although I knew her as well. A fine woman who did not deserve to die so young. Nor did you deserve to lose her, or your father to fall under the spell of the enchantress you call your stepmother.”
Muirin turned to look all around her. “It is true. But I cannot see you.”
“Do you wish to?”
“Oh, yes, please!”
More soft laughter followed, then a small glowing ball appeared in the air before Muirin, slowly enlarging until it was the size of a dainty person. Within the glow was the most beautiful woman Muirin had ever seen. Her hair was golden, her skin soft and supple, her gown of gossamer. She smiled, her eyes lighting with humour. “Is this better, child?”
Muirin stared in awe at the lovely woman. “You are one of the fair folk, come from the Otherworld!”
The creature smiled again. “It is true. I am of the aes sídhe, come from Tír na nóg.”
“I have nothing to offer you!”
“I have not come to ask for an offering, Muirin, but to aid you in your plight. We are the People of Peace, and this night your stepmother has disrupted our peace. It is she who has done this, who has cast a spell over Conlan and transformed him. She has rooted him in the ground.”
Muirin whirled to look at the slender oak tree. “It is true, then? I had hoped it was but a terrible dream.”
“It is true. Conlan is no more.”
Muirin clasped her hand over her mouth with a moan, then threw her arms around the tree. “Conlan! Oh my love! I should never have defied her! Conlan!” She whirled back to the woman of the fair folk. “Is it forever? Can it be undone?”
“There is one way by which he can be returned to human form, Muirin. But it is very dangerous.”
“I don’t care about danger! I will do anything that would bring Conlan back to me!”
“It will require great courage, child.”
“I will find courage enough to do whatever is required.”
“And great physical strength.”
“I will find the strength I need!”
“And you must outwit a terrible foe.”
“I will find a way to do that! Please tell me what I must do!”
“You must go to the land of the merrow and the mermen. To Tir fo Thoinn, the Land Beneath the Waves.”
Muirin thought of all she had heard of the Land Beneath the Waves, the home of the beautiful merrows – the mermaids who sometimes took human form and lived among men. And of the mermen, said to be hideously ugly creatures covered with scales, having the features of pigs and long, pointed teeth.
“The merrow are sometimes hostile, Muirin. You could be in danger.”
“How can I go ther
e? How will I breathe?”
The woman looked up at the ravens. “They will aid you.”
“What must I do there?” Muirin asked.
“In the Land Beneath the Waves there are mermen who hold the souls of drowned sailors in cages, called soul cages. You must free three of them.”
Muirin nodded. “I will do it. Anything to free Conlan from the enchantment.”
“There is more you must do.”
“Please tell me!”
“In the Land Beneath the Waves there is a castle in which a lovely princess lives. An enchantment has removed all colour from her life, and only a clever human can restore it.”
“I will do it! But how?”
“You will have to discover that.”
“I will! Anything to free Conlan.”
“There is still more, Muirin.”
Muirin began to grow afraid. “Tell me, please.”
“There is an ogre who has terrorized three merrow sisters. You must kill him.”
“But how?”
“You will have to discover that. Are you willing?”
Muirin swallowed, but nodded. “Anything to save the man I love.”
“If you are successful, you will return home to find Conlan restored, your stepmother banished beneath the waves and your father freed from her spell.”
“Yes! But how . . .?” Muirin clasped her hands before her as the sídhe’s glow began to fade. “Oh, do not leave me yet! I don’t know enough! Where should I go?”
The woman, already transparent, looked down at the dolphins again. She continued to fade. “The dolphins will aid you. Safe journey, child. Courage!”
And then Muirin was alone again. She stared around her, seeing the lonely cliff, empty but for her and the two oak trees. She looked at the slender oak and lifted her chin.
“I will free you, Conlan!” she cried.
For a long moment, Muirin could not move. She stood where she was, her hands clasped before her, looking out over the sea. She was afraid. Then she walked to the slender oak and threw her arms around its trunk.
“I cannot live without you, my love. I will not live without you.” She placed her lips against its bark. “Conlan, if I do not return, I will find you in the afterlife. I will always love you. Always. Stay strong, my love.”
And then she left, walking slowly down the path that led from the cliff to the sea. In the water below her, the three dolphins still swam in spirals. She looked up at a harsh cry above her, to see the three ravens spinning overhead. They swooped past her, circling something at the far end of the beach. One lifted it, and with the others flanking it, flew towards her as she reached the shingle, then lay it before her on the rocks.
It was a small red cap made of feathers. A cohuleen druith, she realized, recognizing it as the magical cap that enabled the merrows to swim through the ocean. Muirin had heard that if a mermaid lost this cap, she also lost her ability to return beneath the waves. Muirin looked around her now, half-expecting to see the merrow here, but there was no beautiful woman walking on the beach.
“I will but borrow this,” she said aloud, in case the merrow might be able to hear her. “I will return it to you, I swear it. Or die in the trying.”
She shivered at the echo of her own words, but lifted the red cap and examined it. It weighed almost nothing, was craftily constructed of fine red feathers and what looked like silver thread. She turned it in her hands, looking out to sea.
Could she do it? Plunge into the waves and trust this delicate garment cap to keep her alive? Conlan, she thought, and put the cap on her head. The ravens circled her, their cries sounding like encouragement now. She smiled then walked towards the water.
But there she hesitated, looking at the waves crashing on the beach. How many times had she swum through these crystal waters with Conlan, laughing at the waves as they broke over her? She had no choice. If she did not go, Conlan would never return to her, and how could she live without him? If she perished in the trying, at least she could die without shame.
Daughter of the sea, her stepmother had called her. She was about to be just that, a daughter of Lir, the king of the ocean. She stepped forward, watching the water lick at her shoes. Another step and her skirts were wet. Another and she was in to her waist.
She plunged into the froth when the wave came, expecting to be tumbled, then come out the other side and gasp for air. Instead, she sank under the surface, no longer feeling the damp, her body strangely lightweight. She opened her eyes, expecting them to sting from the salt water, but instead she could see clearly the three dolphins that now swam before her, their heads bobbing at her at though inviting her to join them.
She moved her arms and glided through the water with little effort, realizing that she could breathe as well here as on land. She almost laughed. It was real, the merrow magic was real! But hard on the heels of her amusement came a wave of fear. Somehow she had to find the Land Beneath the Waves, then learn how to do the tasks that would eventually save Conlan. She took a deep breath, and followed the dolphins.
She had no idea of how long she swam, or how far. There were times when she swam alone, others when the dolphins would offer her a fin to hold, and glide her through the water at a speed she could never have matched on her own. Times when she could see the sunlight on the surface, others when all around her was darkness.
Creatures passed her and the dolphins: small fish that darted out of the way; large fish, with fins that looked like sails, that paused to watch them go by; sharks that circled as if wondering if she could be snatched away from her guides; whales that filled the water with their strange songs.
And then Muirin could see it, the Land Beneath the Waves, stretching far into the distance, a walled kingdom of spires and towers, large structures covered with oyster shells. An entire city, with streets and bridges plainly visible. And full of merrows and mermen.
As they neared the undersea kingdom, her fear returned. How would she be able to gain entrance through those enormous gates? And once in, what would she do? How would she know where to find the soul cages, the princess whose castle was without colour, or the three mermaids terrified by an ogre?
How foolish she had been to think for a moment that she could do this! She was trembling by the time they reached the massive gates, sure she would be discovered as an imposter. But she need not have worried, for the gates opened of their own accord, and she and the dolphins glided through with none to stop them.
They paused in a large square surrounded by tall buildings, unnoticed by the beautiful mermaids who swam by. Muirin watched as the gates closed silently behind her, then turned back to discover that two of the dolphins had disappeared. The third seemed to be waiting for her. She pulled her feather cape close, gathered her courage, and followed it.
The dolphin led her across the square and into a wide street lined with what appeared to be shops and houses, and filled with every sort of transport: sea horses pulling magnificent coaches; mighty water horses, which would have terrified her at home; sea serpents pulling huge barges on which mermaids lay, reclining on fanciful couches, combing their long tresses with combs made of seashells.
Muirin was so fascinated by all she saw that she soon lost track of their path, and hardly noticed when they turned into a narrower street, then a still narrower lane. And stopped before a door made of seaweed. The dolphin rapped on the door with its nose, and glided back, leaving Muirin to face the repulsive creature that opened the door.
She drew back in horror from the pig-faced merman. He did not have skin, but was covered in scales. He looked her up and down, then smiled, revealing long pointed teeth.
“Daughter of Lir,” he said in a pleasant tone, opening the door wide. “Welcome. I have been expecting you!”
She stepped inside his home, not knowing what she would encounter. The room was large, furnished as one might expect a human home would be. But there, in the corner, stacked high, were a dozen wicker cages like those used for catc
hing lobsters. Most were empty, but four were not. An octopus stared at her mournfully from a cage in the centre row, and above it, in the top three cages, well above her reach, tiny shimmering male faces looked down at her. The soul cages.
She had heard the tales of mermen who caused storms, then captured the souls of the drowned sailors, but had considered them too fanciful to be real. But here they were, imprisoned souls, and she must somehow discover how to free them.
“Well,” the merman said, offering her a driftwood bench to sit upon while he leaned against the hearth. “How was your journey, daughter of Lir? Not too arduous, I’m hoping?”
She shook her head cautiously. “Not at all,” she answered, looking at him out of the side of her eyes. He truly was the ugliest creature she’d ever seen.
“Good, good,” he said, offering her a shell full of brandy. “For your troubles in bringing it to me.”
She took the shell and sipped at the brandy, trying to think of what she had that he might desire. She could not part with the red cap, for she had promised to return it to the merrow who had left it on the strand. With what else, then, could she bargain?
She had the golden necklace with the dolphin pendant that her mother had given her all those years ago, but one look at his neck let her know it would never fit him. Perhaps he would like to give it to one of the mermaids? She had her clothing, the net around her hair, but what would her want with those? And her cape, made of the finest swan feathers.
That was it! Daughter of Lir, he had called her. Lir, the king of the sea. Whose children had been turned into swans by their jealous stepmother.
She slid the cape off her shoulders and casually laid it beside her on the driftwood bench. He watched her movements with a smile. Would he eat her? she wondered. Those long teeth were terrifying. How strange that the female of the species was so lovely and the male so hideous. Small wonder, then, that mermaids sought human mates.
He bent to slide a hand with webbed fingers across the feathers. “As soft as I have heard! Is it true, then, that the cape will allow me to walk as a man in your world?”
“I cannot tell you,” she said, keeping her words truthful.
