by Dave Freer
Above them the two dragons met, and plummeted downward in a spiral of furious fire . . . and suddenly tumbled apart in a chaos of frantically flapping wings, as they were both blown wildly across the sky.
Finn shook his head. "Don't mothers teach these young 'uns of today anything about windshear?" he asked with mock sympathy. "Hold tight. Here it comes."
Meb clutched both the gunwale and her pup, as the rage of the wind suddenly hit them and the water picked up the fat slug of a fishing boat, and flung it about like a . . . well, like a small fishing boat in a hurricane.
Meb was not sure how they didn't sink. She was not too sure how long it went on for, even. It seemed interminable. The boat raced and bucketed, waves slopping over its decks, and the seamen frantically alternated between holding tight and bailing desperately. Meb got soaked to the skin. So did the shivering pup. Yet there was a curiously electrifying and almost joyful feeling to it all. Meb knew that she ought to be frightened for her life. But part of her wanted to shout with glee and laugh.
Eventually the wind slackened, and the battered little yawl sailed out of the cloak of rain and into a gentler ocean. The green bulk of Starsey was gone. Instead ahead lay towering gray cliffs.
"Where are we?" asked Meb.
"That's the back of Starsey," said Finn. "We're in the caldera bowl between Starsey, Pallin and Morth."
"In dead-man's sea," said Hrolf. "Well, we lived through the storm. Maybe we'll get out of this alive too." He didn't sound at all optimistic.
"Wh . . . why is it called that?" asked Meb.
"Because no living man comes back from fishing here," said Hrolf with morbid relish. "The merrows take you down and devour you."
"You'd be having that all wrong, as usual," said a voice from the water. "It's called that because we gather the souls of the dead here. And we're not after eating your kind. We know where you've been."
Wide-eyed fishermen grabbed for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. Hrodenynbrys grinned toothily at them from the water. "And what do you think you'd be doing with those? If we'd wanted to drown you, we'd not have brought you here." He looked at Finn. "Couldn't you have found a better boat than this ratty little tub with a crew of layabouts?"
"The famous gratitude and grace of the merrows," said Finn sardonically. "Open that brazier, Hrolf. They don't want the piece of flotsam we have worked so hard to bring them."
"Well, I wouldn't be putting it quite like that," said Hrodenynbrys. "No point in being hasty and nasty about it. It's just that a fine vessel would have seemed more . . . appropriate."
"Unfortunately, all the swan-ships were going the other way," said Finn. "Now, having frightened both the Scrap and her pup out of a year's growth, not to mention having got salt onto my cloak, what are going to do about it?"
Hrodenynbrys looked sidelong at the crew. "Well, the Chieftainess Margetha has extended a welcome to all of you below. But I'd be thinking that these fine fellows might be happier out here in the sunlight."
The crew, like a row of puppets on a single string, nodded.
Hrodenynbrys nodded back. "So, we'll bring a bell up for you, Fionn. I'm knowing that your apprentice does not like the swimming much. Near drowned me, she did."
The merrow disappeared beneath the waves with a flick of his tail.
The fishermen looked at the water, warily. "You're not going down there, are you?" asked Mikka.
"Yes. You'd be amazed where gleemen get invited to go to," said Finn. "I'd say we ought to leave our boots behind, Scrap. It's wet down there. And maybe leave the pup as well. We'll be back soon, or not all."
Meb nodded, less frightened because Finn wasn't, and anyway, she trusted 'Brys. You had to watch him, that was all.
A wood-framed bubble—well, that was what it looked like—popped up to the surface of the water. Several merrows pushed it up to the side of the fishing yawl, and flipped it onto its side.
Finn jumped down into it, showing that he was familiar with the device.
"Can you hold my dog?" Meb asked Mikka.
He smiled for the first time since the merrows had appeared and took the pup from her. "Are you sure that it's a dog? More like a half-drowned rat, s—uh, gleeman."
"He's still growing. I shall bring him back in a year or two to bite you if you insult him," she said firmly, winking at her stepbrother, and climbing down into the merrow device.
"Climb up here and sit on the pole," said Finn. "Hold tight onto the handle. They'll flip it in a moment. The first time I fell out into the water."
The strange bubble flipped and Meb nearly imitated Finn's first time, but stayed on the pole more by luck than good judgement.
The whole device began to descend into the depths, hauled down by thick ropes.
"It's not too deep, but they dribble air in as we go. Keep your feet up. The water rises."
"It leaks?" Meb looked out of the now transparent walls of the bubble between its thick wooden struts.
"No, it's the pressure. They're cautious about the time we spend down there and how long they take to bring us to the surface. I can only assume a number of humans died before they got it right. But by now they seem to have got it right."
"There are fish out there!" She ought to be terrified but instead found herself fascinated by it all.
A shoal of silver moved around them, flickering and changing with the light like some huge magical metallic ribbon. "Yes. It's one of the things about water. Fish live in it, in spite of the merrows. And they keep this caldera lagoon as one vast sanctuary, which is why we probably should have told your fishermen friends not to drop a line. Now, to warn you, when dealing with merrows, give as good as you get, Scrap. They respect that."
The bubble was being slowly towed towards tall and impossibly slim towers. Meb blinked. They swayed. She was sure that they did! She asked.
Finn nodded. "They move with the waves. They're not solid—more like an airtight fabric. Very strong."
They came down to the ocean floor, where Meb looked out onto a series of odd, shimmering structures set in a neat double rows in an avenue. "Soul nets," said Finn, "Made of the hair of drowned sailors."
Meb shuddered. "Why?"
"Ask Hrodenynbrys."
They passed down the avenue of soul nets, to a building—if you could call it that, with an enormous roof framework—made of the great timbers of lost ship keels. The bubble was pulled under the edge of a framework, and allowed to pop up into it. Merrows appeared to have been swimming down after them and they came and tipped the bubble on its side again. Meb did fall off the pole this time, but just onto the wall of the bubble. The air was thick and humid and redolent of salt and seaweed. The merrows towed them to a little dock, and helped them out. "Welcome to the place of the merrow, the land beneath the waves," said Hrodenynbrys somewhat formally. He led them up a short flight of stairs and along to a huge chamber. The transparent walls between the pillars gave a view out onto an underwater garden of seaweeds and corals. The light was a little muted by the depth, and the dancing effect of the sunlight on the waves made subtle changes in the varied hues outside. Of course it was a little odd that they were sloshing through knee-deep water. But it was quite warm—a lot warmer than the cold seas of Cliff Cove. "Why is it so warm? I thought it was cold under the sea?" she asked Finn.
"Geothermal vents," he answered. He took in her puzzled expression, and explained. "The inner fires of the world warm the place. Not the safest spot under the ocean to live, but merrows don't do 'safe' very well."
At the end of the room was a throne of pink coral, and in it lounged a woman. Well, her skin was—like Hrodenynbrys's—blue. And she too had tasseled fins. And she'd omitted to wear a blouse. But her chest was . . . uh . . . womanly. Meb understood why sailors were supposed to be distracted into jumping overboard by merwomen. There was quite a lot of exposed chest. Meb found it very embarrassing.
"Didn't I tell you slouching around in that seat would ruin your figure?" said Finn sternly. "You'll end up
with a belly as broad as your behind!"
"Fionn! I'd have guessed it was you, if Hrodenynbrys had just said that you were so ugly only a mother could love you." She was smiling as she said it.
"As it was, he said that you were so ugly your mother ran away," said Hrodenynbrys with his usual toothy smile.
Meb found herself mildly offended. She'd never really thought how Finn looked. Just . . . like Finn.
"And this here is his apprentice. Scrap has a fine mouth," said 'Brys. "You know what Scrap told old Shellycoat to do?" And he proceeded to explain it to her in graphic detail, with embellishments.
"And if you'll look at what is on the youth's head, you'll know that old Shellycoat had a long, interesting, uncomfortable day," 'Brys snickered.
"I'd better watch my tongue then," said Margetha.
"If you do, you'll go squint," said Meb, determined to get at least one comment in.
"Ach, you'll do," said the bare-chested female merrow chieftainess, approvingly.
"Has this daft fool told you what he tried to do to us, Margetha?" said Finn, pointing to Hrodenynbrys. "You're likely to have a war with the alvar on your hands."
"Aye," said Margetha. "To be sure they're already demanding you be turned over to them for punishment. At least one prince with a face like a hake is. The description is a bit off though. They said a tall renegade alvar with a foxlike face, and a human mage. They made no mention of the Angmarad, though."
"You know," said Finn, thoughtfully, tugging his wispy beard, "bizarre though this is, they may not know that it is missing. It was not kept in any special place. And we relieved them of a large number of the rubies that Prince Gywndar obsesses about. There were too many of them in one place."
"You're still on about balance, Fionn. Well, can we redress that balance? We want the Angmarad. We should never have let them take it in the first place."
"We should never have even made it in the first place," growled Hrodenynbrys.
"Well, yes," said Finn. "But there is the matter of a hammer that you agreed on as price for it. I'd have been more trusting, but for him and his soul-net. So I thought it would be best if we exchanged the two, instead of me having to come asking, later."
Margetha scowled. "If I'd known what was going on, it would never have happened. 'Brys did as I told him. It was a mistake. We made our bargain, and we'll stand by it, even if we're reluctant, because the dvergar have dealt fairly enough with us, and we rely on them for much."
"A bargain is a bargain. When I said I'd get it for you, you agreed to the price," said Finn, his tone mild, but with a hint of steel behind it.
"That was near on ten years back," Margetha said. "We were thinking it was all just talk by now. But we'll hold by it."
"These things take time. There are portents and signs. And of course getting around to it," said Finn. "But we're here now. The Scrap has the Angmarad for you."
"And we have the hammer for you," said Margetha, picking up a silvery oblong box from next to her seat. "It needs to stay in the box to stay away from the moist air down here."
Finn took it. Cracked the seal around the edge. Took out a plain, unornamented hammer, with an odd-shaped head. It was made of a silvery-blue metal, but seemed quite un-special looking in any other respect. "And to stop curious merrows from playing about the hammer of artifice. It's an old thing. Been around since not long after the First. It doesn't rust."
"We did wonder what it could do," admitted Margetha. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Ah, now that's for me to know and you to find out," said Finn.
"It's a singly annoying fellow that you are," said Margetha irritably.
"It'd be likely that he'll give it back to the dvergar," said Hrodenynbrys.
"Then why would he not just say so?"
Hrodenynbrys shrugged. "It's that he likes being thought a rogue."
"And you never know. I might be one," said Finn. "Now I suppose we can be leaving."
Margetha cleared her throat. "There is the matter of returning the Angmarad."
"Of course," said Finn, airily. "Silly me. Scrap."
Meb reached for the twist of bladder-wrack on her head.
Margetha held up a hand. "It would probably be better if you just took it to the water for me, child. The temptation to hold onto it otherwise might be too much. Come, there is access to the open water from the antechamber."
So they went together. The transparent walls showed a view onto a seascape of delicate corals and fish feeding in bright twists of color and silver.
"If you reach under that rim," said the merrow-woman, pointing, "your hands will be out in the open water. Please, will you put it there." There was no jest in her voice now. It was a genuine plea, humble and faintly desperate. Meb looked at Finn. He made no sign at all. Well, thought Meb, she could live without a piece of old seaweed around her head. She'd only put it on—and kept it there—because he told her to. So she took it off her head and—even though it was going to mean getting wetter—knelt down and pushed the Angmarad through into the water outside. She could see the trailing fronds of the beer-brown seaweed swelling. Looking as if they were almost alive again. The coronet had a strange shivering feeling in her hands, almost like a live fish.
"Will you let it go for us, mage?"
Mage? They thought she was like Finn because she was his apprentice. Let it go? But it would just drift away. But if that was what they wanted . . .
So she did. And it did drift away. Although it seemed to be growing and spreading as it did, and there were shoals of fish darting through it.
Meb stood up again, aware that Hrodenynbrys was suddenly exhaling. And so was Finn. "It is back where it belongs. Thank you," said Margetha. "The people of land beneath the waves are forever in your debt. Call on us at need." She looked at Hrodenynbrys. "I would give you the gift of making you safe from drowning, but that is your birthright anyway. He owes you for the hair and the garment."
"Ach," said the merrow, "it'd be a small price to pay. I'll have it ready for your wedding, belike. And I wasn't to know what the future held."
Meb didn't feel she could say "Just what is going on?" but she wanted to.
"There'll be feasting, dancing, music, and probably a fair amount of fighting and wild lovemaking to follow this," said Hrodenynbrys cheerfully. "I'll be playing my pibgryn."
"Some other time," said Finn. "This is a party for merrows, this time, I think, besides, I have to move. Strange things are afoot, and great powers and magic wait not on partying."
"They should," said Margetha. "But we'll see you safe to your boat and safe over the rim-wall."
So they were escorted back to the bubble they'd come down in. Meb got to ask about the soul-nets finally. Hrodenynbrys blinked. "Because it's our duty, see. Otherwise the sea would be too haunted to swim in or sail on."
"Why?"
"Well, you have the spirits of the dead that are linked to the stuff of the body sometimes," said Hrodenynbrys seriously. "Hair's best, but the whole body is linked . . . that's why you have graveyards being haunted. Only, as there no graveyards down here for sailors lost at sea—and the bodies break up, get eaten, rot and scatter, you end up with the souls following the water they died in. Some are right nasty about it. So we gather them in, and give them a place to rest with suitable respect."
"Oh." Meb swallowed. It was sometimes easier to think the worst of people than the truth revealed.
Meb and Finn got onto the pole and held onto the handle for it to be flipped upright, ready for the long slow ascent. Once they were sealed into the privacy of it Meb felt she could finally ask: "Just what was I doing? And did I do it right?"
Finn laughed so much she thought he might fall off the pole. When he eventually stopped he patted her on the back. "You did fine. And they did what I had been leaning on them to do. It was a big temptation, that piece of old seaweed. It was more powerful than most pieces of seaweed, but the merrows and the sea will be better off for it being let loos
e again. At least half the power and life of the sea was bound into it. You gave it up, willingly, freely. No chieftainess has been able to, before. Margetha wouldn't, if she'd touched it."
"Oh. Why me?"
"Someone had to do it," said Finn. "And you were quite used to the smell of seaweed."
She got the feeling that that wasn't the entire answer, but it appeared that was all the answer she was going to get. So she looked at the fish instead of talking.
The pup scrabbled from the arms of Hrolf and leapt into the bubble and bounced up on her, trying to lick her face and bark and wag his entire tail end, let alone his tail.
Mikka leaned over the gunwale. "Next time, think before you do these things. He's been crying fit to drive us all overboard. And we had to fish him out the drink with a dip-net, when I let go of him for the first time."
