“What are you called?” she asked finally.
“Merrow,” the creature replied, turning in surprise to look at her.
“Is that your name, or your people?”
“Both, I suppose. My people are the merrow, but being as I am the last of my clan, it will serve as a name.”
Briah sighed. “I fear I’m about to hear another sad story.”
“Fear not,” said the merrow. “I have no wish to tell it again. My name, when I was born, was Taran. Call me that, if you will, for I have not heard it spoken aloud in many years.”
“Not even by the roane?”
Taran shook his head.
“Where did you learn to sing so beautifully?”
“‘Tis a trait among my people.”
Briah pulled Kamin around to face her. She just couldn’t get enough of looking at him, and still feared someone might try to take him from her.
Taran offered Kamin a webbed hand to play with. “Your son enjoys my singing as well.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying it. How did you come to be among the roane?”
“After my people were killed by the mermen from the south, the roane gave me shelter. I was very young at the time, and now I love them as a second kin.”
“Did you help them steal my son?” The question came out before she could stop it.
“No. But I tried to comfort him when they brought him to me. He cried so much, at first, and nothing seemed to help but my singing.”
Briah pulled Kamin away from the merrow and clutched him tightly. “I could kill them for that.”
“Mama!” Kamin squirmed out of her grasp and climbed back to Taran.
Suddenly Briah began to cry. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
“Stop talking nonsense, lass,” said the strange sea-creature. He set Kamin back into her lap, and moved closer so they could still play. After a moment, Kamin grew bored with the merrow, then turned back to Briah and began to nurse. Briah had little milk left, but it was enough to keep Kamin content for a few moments.
“He missed you terribly at first,” said Taran. “As no doubt you missed him. But the roane are his people too, and they love him well. He was never harmed or mistreated.”
“For that I am grateful. But they should not have taken him.”
“Their need is great. And what right have you to keep the boy from his destiny?”
“What right have you to decide his destiny for him?”
Kamin began to whimper. A moment later, Briah joined him. None of this was turning out like it was supposed to! Here she was in a faerie kingdom, her son returned to her, and the man—or at least being—of her dreams finally here to speak with her, and all she could do was pick fights, make threats and cry.
When she looked over at Taran, he seemed like he wanted to cry as well, although, Briah wasn’t sure how to read his strange face. Then he spoke so gently that Briah cried even harder. “Sorry lass. I had no call to raise my voice to you.” Kamin was still pouting, so Taran began to whistle a lively tune that soon had the little boy bouncing and giggling.
Briah just stared at them both, trying to make sense of it all. “You’re no kin of his,” said Briah to the merrow. “Yet you seem to care for him.”
The sea creature held Briah’s green eyes with his red ones. “I lost much; I can feel loss in another. Kamin, too, was alone among strangers, and missing his mother. Perhaps I understood him as no one else could. Perhaps that is why my music soothed him.”
“I wish you could have eased both our losses by bringing him home to me,” Briah said, again without thinking.
To her surprise, Taran hung his head. “In fact, I considered doing just that, for I could not bear to cause you pain. But the roane have given me much; I could not betray them. I did, however, think I might be able to bring you down here.”
Surprised, and deeply moved, Briah stared at the strange creature before her. “Truly? And why did you not? Oh, of course—the roane did not allow you to.”
The merrow shook his head. “I never told them of my plan, but I know they would have welcomed you, just as they will now. After all, they accept me among them, and I am as strange as you. I’m not even the mother of their prince.”
“Then why not?”
Taran stared hard at her. “Look well upon me, lass. If I came to you, while you dwelt alone on your beach, would you not have fled from me in terror? Or flung stones at me before I could even speak?”
“Not if you called out my son’s name,” she said. “I would have—” Briah stopped, and looked again at the merrow’s ugly features. Despite all she had come to feel for him for his music and gifts, she had never seen Taran close up, in the harsh light of day. Her first full look at him was tempered by the knowledge of her son’s return, and all she had seen in this magical place. Had she seen him under other circumstances, her reaction might well have been what he feared. And she saw how much that hurt him.
“I am glad you chose to help my son, anyway,” she said awkwardly. “And that when I did see you, I did not act too much of a fool.”
Now it was Taran’s red eyes that widened in surprise. “Truly? And now that you have your son back, and find that the fair seal folk honor you, you will not turn from me in disgust?”
“No, of course not.”
“I loved another mortal woman, once. She hated the sight of me.”
“Then she was a shallow fool!” snapped Briah. “Not that I know much of love myself.”
She feared she was making things worse, but had no idea how to repair them, when Taran began to laugh. His laughter was a rich and beautiful as his singing. “You are a remarkable woman, Briah. I knew that from the day I first saw you.”
“The feathers, the flowers… they were all from you, weren’t they?”
“Aye.”
“All those fish stuffed one inside the other when Kamin was sick and we had no food! That was from you as well?”
“It’s a specialty of my people.”
“It saved our lives. Was there… a love spell in it?”
The merrow stiffened. “I would never have done such a thing. Nor would I expect a woman as beautiful as you to return my feelings.”
“My feelings are far too confused right now to know anything. But I would be grateful for your friendship.”
Taran’s eyes lit with surprise and pleasure. “I would be honored. And I will do all I can to make your stay here a happy one.”
“Right now, I have Kamin back in my arms, and another adult to talk to. To me, that is a nothing short of a miracle.”
Taran grinned. “You are easy to please.”
“Not really. If you knew how long it’s been since I’ve had anyone else to talk to—”
“Do you think you might stay, then?”
“Can I stay?”
“Mortals often dwell among the faerie.”
“Only if the faerie wish them to.”
“They will be glad of your presence. And you have the right. You are his mother.”
“But it’s Kamin they need, not me. Besides. I was not careful to guard my tongue. I told them what I thought of their plans for him. They won’t let me stay if they think I might interfere.”
Instead of answering, Taran gazed at Kamin. “He was not afraid of me, either.”
“Of course not,” said Briah. “He’s just a baby.”
“Children learn fear and hate at an early age. He was not afraid because he has a wise and brave mother.”
Briah sighed. “Everyone here holds such strange opinions of me! First, they think nothing of taking from me my only child, then they praise me for greatness I don’t even possess! What next?”
Kamin began to fuss. Briah realized that, as grateful as she was to have him back, she lacked the energy to play with him, or even the knowledge of how it was done in this place.
“Could you please sing some more?” asked Briah.
Taran smiled, showing green teeth that matched his ski
n and hair. “Gladly, lass.” He began to sing, a different song than any she had heard before. Kamin settled down at once. Briah, too, was soon spellbound. The words were foreign; ancient, yet the feelings they evoked of love and loss and comfort were universal.
Kamin drifted off into sleep. Briah gazed into his peaceful face, marveling that she was once again seeing it, until she noticed the singing had stopped. She looked up to see the red eyes of the merrow looking on with surprising tenderness.
“There’s no sight so lovely as a mother and baby,” he said.
Briah looked away, unsure how to respond. At that moment, a Roane boy appeared in the entrance to the chamber. “The feasting is about to begin,” he said. “I am bidden to bring you both to the hall.”
“What of Kamin?” asked Briah.
“I will get one of his nurses to watch him,” said the seal, who promptly swam away.
“I really don’t want to leave him,” said Briah, gazing again at her son’s sleeping form.
“He’ll be fine, lass. And he’ll be here when you return. My word as Merrow.”
“Can you speak for the roane?”
“In this matter I can.”
A young seal woman appeared, and posted herself by Kamin’s cradle.
Briah sighed. “All right—for a little while. I have never attended a faerie feast.”
She kissed Kamin’s forehead and followed the merrow from the cave.
CHAPTER 18
Briah found another surprise waiting for her when she reached the roane king’s hall.
All the roane were in human form. She suspected it was to make her feel more at ease, their strange—and not always well-mannered—visitor from above. Briah was deeply moved. And she probably would have felt more at ease if they hadn’t all been naked as well. Still, the gesture was well meant, and she took it as it was intended.
All of them had long hair of various shades of brown or gray, just as their fur had been. Their skin, however, was stark white. Only their liquid brown eyes were unchanged. As she looked closer, despite an attempt not to, Briah saw that not all of them were fully naked. Many had adorned themselves with strings of shells, and strange sea flowers. One was even wearing bronze drinking horn as a hat, with a another one over his… she pulled her eyes away.
The hall itself would have been right at home in her people’s legends of faerie, except for the water. The cave was broad and spacious, with seawater lapping the bottom of the huge flat rock that served as a table. Low stone benches flanked the table, and here dozens of seal people sat, drinking from an assortment of shells and man-made vessels. The glowing mosses cast just the sort of eerie faerie light one would expect in such a place.
“Briah,” said the king in a booming voice. “And our friend Merrow. Come! Sit and be welcomed among us.”
The same boy who called them to dinner led Briah and Taran to places near the king and queen. Briah smiled. She would have recognized them anywhere. The king was a slight dark man, approaching middle age, yet with an air of command that demanded notice. The queen was only a bit younger, with silvery hair even longer than Briah’s, arranged in several elaborate braids and adorned with pearls.
Others were familiar, even without their furs. The old advisor was a stooped, white haired man, with gray whiskers that weren’t very different from his seal whiskers. He was actually wearing a tunic made of some costly material, though its color had faded. The young male who had challenged Briah was there—at the far end of the table—looking very much like a hot-tempered youth from her village.
Someone brought Briah a large shell filled with fish and other morsels found in places she could never travel. She thanked him, but hesitated.
“You needn’t fear,” said the queen. “Sharing our food will not trap you here. It is merely food.”
Briah lifted a succulent oyster from the shell and ate it. “I’m not afraid of that,” she said. “If it means staying with my son, I could give up the world above.”
An appreciative murmur arose from the assembly.
Since there appeared to be no protocol, Briah spoke again. “I thought you only shed your furs to walk on the land.”
“On special occasions, we do down here as well,” said the king. “Such as when we have a human guest among us.”
“I am honored,” said Briah.
“We hope you will see us in a better fashion than before,” said the queen. “Kamin has an important destiny among us. You, too, are welcome to stay and be a part of that. Or, if you choose to return above, to visit whenever you like.”
As long as I don’t interfere with your plans, thought Briah. But she said nothing, only nodded politely, and listened to the conversations that buzzed around her.
Like her own people, the roane enjoyed conversation while eating. They were different in that storytelling was a constant part of the meal, rather than formal entertainment at the end. Also, it seemed, all of them were gifted storytellers.
An old woman seated near Briah, gazed at her fondly. “Your presence among us brings back memories,” she said.
“I hope they are good ones,” said Briah, wondering what she would do if the woman had lost her entire family to seal hunters.
Fortunately, she smiled. “Long ago, when I was as young and fair as you are now, I cast off my fur and danced in the moonlight on a distant shore. I thought I was alone, but a fisherman saw me.
“He fell in love with me, and he must have known something of our ways, because he took hold of my seal skin, and hid it in his boat. When it was time for me to return to the sea, I could not find my skin. I searched and searched, growing desperate.
“Then the fisherman came to me, and asked me to be his bride. I had no way to get home, and nowhere to go on land, so I agreed. I lived as his wife for seven years. The longer I stayed, the fainter my memory of my past and myself grew.
“Then one day, I was searching the cupboards for pine tar to patch our roof, and I found my fur. The moment I touched it, all memories of who I was and where I came from flooded back.
“I took my fur, and leapt into the sea. At once, I was roane again.”
“Do you ever think of him?” Briah asked the old storyteller. “The man who kept you from your people and forced you to be his wife?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “But not with as much anger as you speak with now. While I was with him, I was happy.”
“But he tricked you! Hid your fur so you had to be his wife! How could you love him?”
“When a roane’s fur is taken like that,” said the queen, “her memory fades. So she’s not homesick.”
“Still,” said Briah. “It doesn’t sound like love to me.”
“Love between roane and mortal is not always a matter of capture and deceit,” said a seal man. “Many were the nights when I shed my fur, and courted lovely maids upon the land.”
“Aye,” said another. “Those that live close to shore. Often, they sit alone by their windows, dreaming of enchanted lovers, while their men are out drinking, or courting other women.” He winked at Briah. “There’s no forcing or capturing then, I assure you.”
Briah blushed, and the company laughed.
“You mustn’t tease her so,” said the queen.
“No, truly,” said Briah. “It’s all right. It’s just—I’ve been alone so long. And now, here I am, with other people to talk to. People not so very different from me. I just never thought it would happen.”
“We are more different than you realize,” said the king. “But you are welcomed to dwell among us for as long as you like. Merrow! A song, please.”
Briah considered the king’s words as Taran sang. The feast ended soon after, and Taran led Briah back to Kamin’s chamber. He was still asleep in his cradle. To Briah’s delight, huge sponges were arranged nearby, as a bed for her. “In case you find sleeping on rocks as we do not to your liking,” said her guide.
Exhausted, Briah lay down, expecting to fall asleep at once. But the week she h
ad spent insisted on replaying itself in her head, making sleep impossible. First there was the blank terror of losing Kamin. Then the long and lonely vigil, which ended with Pup’s arrival. Then, the magical world of the Roane, and their frightening prediction for Kamin’s future. Finally, the strange meeting with the man of her dreams, who was nothing like she had dreamed, and yet was somehow much better.
Briah longed to hold Kamin in her arms as she tried to sleep in this alien world, but feared to wake him. Strangely, what she wanted most right now was to speak with the creature most different from her in all the worlds—yet somehow, the most alike. She wanted Taran.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, the merrow’s voice spoke softly beside her. “Can’t sleep, lass?” he asked quietly.
Briah started in surprise, yet still remembered to whisper. “I thought you had gone! Why are you not asleep in your own…” she realized she didn’t know where Taran slept, “…chamber?”
“My kind sleep more often in the daytime. Since coming to live with the Roane, I find I rest better after I patrol their chambers and watch over them as they sleep.” He gazed fondly at Kamin. “I have guarded him each night since he arrived.”
“I am glad of it,” said Briah, beginning to relax a little.
“If you wish, I will guard you as well. Perhaps it will help you sleep.”
“I would be glad of that, as well,” said Briah. “Could you do one other thing for me?”
“Anything, lass.”
“Sing to me. Something soothing; something happy.”
Taran smiled, his red face suddenly beautiful in the dim light. “Once there was a beautiful maiden…” he began. As he sang, the merrow swam to Kamin’s cradle. Then, very gently, he lifted him without waking him, and set him beside his mother on her bed of sponges. Kamin slept undisturbed, and finally, so did Briah.
CHAPTER 19
Briah dwelt among the roane for the next turning of the moon. Whatever enchantment they had done apparently worked, for her skin stayed whole and smooth, no matter how long she stayed in the water, and her lungs always held enough breath, no matter how deep she swam. She shared her small, air-filled chamber with Kamin, where they slept on a luxurious bed of sponges, with the merrow to sing them to sleep each night. Nights were often the only time Briah saw her son, for his days were filled with his new family, leaving Briah free to explore this alien world.
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