"I will find him, and make sure he is safe. If you will save my sons, my heirs."
Margareta took a deep breath. "All right, Father. I will do it. Silence my voice to save my brothers."
"Thank you!" He threw his arms around her, hugging her as he hadn't since she was a child.
And from that moment, not a sound passed her lips. For her father was right about one thing. If she chose to save someone – be it her brothers from some folly or some nameless squire from a shipwreck – she would not rest until she had succeeded.
Five
For a week, Margareta wandered through the house and the priory like a corporeal ghost. She avoided people she would normally acknowledge, taking her meals alone in her chambers. If it weren't for the library and the rose garden, she would have been bored out of her mind.
All right, she was ready to scream when a thin wail erupted from the other end of the rose garden. Curiosity got the better of her, so Margareta crossed the courtyard to investigate.
The wail issued from a bundle of blankets held tightly to a young woman's breast. The woman herself reclined on a bed of sorts, and she was wrapped in more blankets than her baby.
"Lady Margareta!" the nun exclaimed before dropping a deep curtsey. "Lady Margareta is the Master's daughter. She has taken a vow of silence, in the hope that her sacrifice will persuade the Lord to save her brothers."
Margareta opened her mouth to correct the woman, then remembered and closed it again.
"My lady, may I present Lady Penelope, widow to the late but valiant Sir Godfrey, who died defending the priory?"
Margareta inclined her head. She hadn't heard of any such knight, but if the baby in Lady Penelope's arms was his, he couldn't have died very long ago.
The nun fluttered her hands. "Oh, but you wouldn't have heard about Sir Godfrey's brave deeds, for you had not yet arrived. Lady Penelope, you must tell her."
It was Penelope's turn to duck her head. "Perhaps when I am recovered. I am but recently widowed and I fear the birth of my daughter…"
The nun's hands fluttered more violently. "But of course. Perhaps I should help you inside, so that you can rest?"
Penelope wrinkled her nose. "I much prefer it out here. I'm sure you have better things to do than hover around me all the time. I will be perfectly well here for a while, if Lady Margareta does not mind sharing her garden?"
For all that she wanted to be alone, Margareta knew she would look churlish if she refused. Besides, she was curious about the other woman. And she wanted a peek at the baby.
So Margareta smiled, spreading her arms wide to signify how delighted she was to share the garden her father had planted for her.
As if on cue, a bell tolled.
"Oh! That is the bell for prayers. I must go!" The nun hurried away.
When Margareta was sure the nun was out of earshot, Penelope said, "If you wish me gone, merely nod and I will ask them to take me somewhere else tomorrow. It is so different to things at home. There, I would have a private courtyard where I could sit and my sleeping chamber is just for sleeping. Here…why, the moment I arrived and they found out I was with child, they confined me to a dark room and seemed terrified that some dark spirit might harm me or the baby if a single ray of sunlight or a breath of fresh air reached us. I threatened to walk out here by myself if they did not let me out of that room."
Margareta felt a strong desire never to have children. Not that her father was likely to accept any offer of marriage that came her way, anyway. That would mean giving her a dowry and part of the island, which he would already have to divide between his twelve sons. Of course, that only strengthened her desire to hold Penelope's child, for if she could never have one of her own…
Margareta held out her arms for the baby.
Penelope looked surprised. "You want to hold her? Sure." She settled the baby in Margareta's arms and sat back. "Her name is Melitta."
Margareta stared at the sleeping child. She weighed next to nothing, yet Melitta held more power over her than the tiny girl would ever know. The aura of magic that swirled around her marked her as a witch. Magic followed bloodlines, which meant her mother might also have some magical talent. Or it could have come from her father, though it was rare for magical ability to manifest in men.
"My husband was a fool," Penelope said. At Margareta's startled glance, she smiled, revealing a spot of blood on her lip from where she'd bitten it to cast what Margareta could only guess was a spell of some kind. "A brave, loyal fool, but no less a fool. What talent she has comes from me, though it is very faint. I thought my mother's bloodline would end with me, until a woman who is what you would call a witch joined our travelling party. Back home, we would call her an enchantress. That's a powerful kind of witch, who can cast many types of spells, not just the one or two that she is best suited to."
Margareta nodded. Penelope would call her an enchantress, too, if she knew, though Margareta's power was limited by her nature. There had never been a mermaid witch before, and it was unlikely that there would be another. She could command water in ways that sent the other merfolk whispering and wishing she were far away, but any other spell – even the slightest blessing or curse – sapped her energy for hours. Penelope's power ran to…telepathy, she thought.
"Reading minds, yes," Penelope said. "Or strong emotions. I cannot change them, but I can perceive them. You should see Melitta's thoughts. Nothing but blurs of colour…and milk." She laughed.
Margareta ached to laugh with her, but she could not. Her father and her brothers depended on her silence. Yet with Penelope, she could perhaps hold something approaching a normal conversation. For the first time in Margareta's life, she wanted a friend. And a baby like Melitta, though motherhood would have to wait.
"I would like that," Penelope said. "Though I will ask one favour. Can you invite me into the garden every day? Arguing with the nuns here nearly wore me out before I made it outside." She winked. "I still might be in my room if I hadn't squeezed out a tear or two as I invoked Saint Godfrey, which is what they'll make of him if they are given their way. A brave, foolish man who would still be alive if he weren't such a brave fool. He should have left matters to the enchantress, as I did." Penelope smiled wanly. "I know you are curious. I will tell you the whole tale one day, but not today. I promise." She reached for the baby and Margareta reluctantly handed Melitta back to her mother.
Penelope's story could wait for another day.
Six
Erik trudged into his father’s throne room with his eyes on the stone floor. He didn’t want to meet his father’s gaze at all, so when he approached the throne, he not only fell to his knees but bowed so low his forehead touched the stone.
"Father, I bring heavy news from Beacon Isle," he said.
The courtiers hushed each other, to better listen to his news.
"Crown Prince Philip is dead, as are all who sailed with him," Erik continued.
"How did he die?" Father demanded.
"The ship we were on ran into a storm. Lightning struck the mast, which crushed the ship’s cabin when it fell. All those within perished, and the ship sank." For the first time, Erik wished he’d been inside the cabin with his brother, for he knew what the king would ask next.
"How did you survive, when your brother perished?"
Erik wished he could bow lower, so that he sank right through the stones. "Philip sent me to fetch more wine, so I wasn’t in the cabin. I was thrown into the ocean with everyone else, but by some miracle, I found my way to an undamaged boat, and made my way to shore." A mermaid, not a miracle, Erik was certain, but his father would never believe him. He barely believed himself, and he’d seen her with his own eyes.
"The sea is a perilous mistress, that no man can withstand. Not even a king. Poor Philip," Father said gravely.
No man, maybe. But the more Erik thought about it, the more he remembered about his time on that little boat. There’d been a girl, he remembered now. She’d hauled him aboard
the boat, but somehow he’d ended up back in the water. That’s when he saw the mermaid. Much later, he’d found himself back on board the boat with her, and he’d heard her ordering someone or something to take them home. The mermaids, or maybe even the ocean itself. And he’d arrived safely on the shore, but alone.
She couldn’t have perished. It just wasn’t possible. He’d return to Beacon Isle and find her and…
"Arise, Sir Erik. As crown prince, you are now heir to the throne in your brother’s place," Father said, before the courtiers erupted in applause.
Crown prince? No, he had to return and find her. He’d dreamed of her every night, and every morning felt lost to find her gone.
"You will report back to me here on the morrow. Before you can become king, you have a lot to learn," Father continued.
Erik’s heart sank. He resolved to learn all he could about kingship as fast as possible, the sooner to return to the mysterious girl. And he would find her. Some day, some how, he vowed, he would hold her in his arms again.
Seven
Unbeknownst to Margareta or Penelope, the nuns had commissioned a stone plaque to mark Sir Godfrey's grave. The stonemason brought it on his pony cart and the nuns decided to make it into a solemn celebration of the knight's deeds. Penelope and Melitta walked at the head of the procession, followed by most of the priory's residents, who had traded their white robes for mourning black. The pony cart brought up the rear, kicking up a great deal of dust that spurred Margareta to hurry to the front, where she could walk at Penelope's side, ostensibly to offer the widow support.
Penelope walked with her spine straight and her head held high. Her eyes were dry, and though her gown was as black as those worn by the nuns, her face was unshadowed.
Either there was little love between Sir Godfrey and Penelope, or her sorrow ran so deep she could not bear to show it on the surface, Margareta mused. She watched Penelope through the drawn-out erection ceremony, as the knight's monument was carried from the cart to its final resting place over his grave and a great number of prayers were uttered for his soul, but Margareta could not decide the truth of her friend's heart.
She had no chance to ask her during the sombre funeral feast in the priory's great hall, where the silence was broken by Melitta's insistent wail that it was time for her meal, too.
Penelope excused herself and Margareta followed her back to her chambers. The widow and her daughter slept in one of the priory's guest apartments, large, airy rooms with windows facing the sea. Penelope had set up her loom before one of the windows, where the light was brightest, though she had not yet started to make cloth.
Penelope took her accustomed position on the bed, propped up by pillows, as she fed Melitta. Margareta had seen the other woman feed the infant many times, but it still made her hungry for something she could not yet have. Not the milk – there were goats and cows aplenty on the island, and she could send down to the kitchens for fresh milk any time she wanted. No, she wanted a child like Melitta. To beget a child, she would need a husband, though, and would the child be enough to keep her from mourning if she lost her husband?
"You think me heartless, don't you?" Penelope said suddenly. She laughed softly. "No, I am not using magic to read your thoughts. I can see it in your eyes. You think because I do not cry for Godfrey, that I am not prostrate with grief at his passing, that I could not have loved him."
Margareta shook her head, but Penelope had turned her gaze on the baby at her breast.
"You're wrong, you know. He was a good, kind man, and I did love him. Perhaps not as much as he loved me, but then he was passionate in ways that I am not. And it killed him. He believed we were in danger, and he acted recklessly. Without thought. Anyone who'd paused for even a moment's reflection would have seen that the brigands were not interested in me. What was one waddling pregnant woman, when what they really wanted were the novices. Young maidens who were already prepared to serve. I've seen so many such women in the slave markets at home. Maidens fetch a higher price, though they do not remain maidens for long. Too many men believe dipping their wick in one can work miracles, and it's too late for the girls when the men discover what they were told is wrong. The brigands and slave sellers probably spread such rumours themselves, so that they can command a higher price for the girls they capture."
But there were no brigands on Beacon Isle, Margareta knew. Her father would have driven such ruffians off the island in a heartbeat, if he did not choose to hang them. She willed Penelope to read her mind and finally tell her what had happened the night her husband died.
Penelope looked up and her gaze met Margareta's. "I will tell you," she said slowly. "I know you think your rank protects you from the fate awaiting any common-born maiden the slavers capture, but you are wrong in that, too. Without a strong male protector or a powerful enchantress at your side, you are merely property in their eyes – and you can be bought and sold."
And on that chilling note, Penelope began her tale.
Eight
A rare summer storm had closed White Harbour to ships, for the normally calm stretch of water was battered by waves that would break stronger ships than the cog they rode in. The captain dropped anchor on the eastern side of the island, in what he called calm water, and sent them ashore in the boats.
Penelope and the other girls had clung to the sides of the boats as waves rocked them, threatening to capsize them. They were all soaked by the time they reached shore, where the novices huddled in a miserable little flock while one of the sailors headed for the nearest village to ask for a cart to carry the women.
Penelope settled on the sand to wait, for she felt the pains begin again. She didn't think they were birthing pains yet, but Godfrey worried so about her. The cart had been his idea, of course.
Then Kun, the enchantress, came ashore. She was as wet as the rest, for her strength lay in earth and not water magic, but she insisted she knew the island well, and the nearest village was further away than White Harbour, so they might as well walk.
Godfrey had the temerity to protest that Penelope could not walk so far in her condition, but something in her had rebelled at his coddling. She'd heaved herself to her feet, feeling an urge to move.
"But what if the cart comes and finds us gone?" Godfrey asked.
"Then it can come and get us," Kun said with a shrug. The afternoon sun shone, but her dark hair seemed to drink the light instead of reflecting it. Even Godfrey would not look at her for long before turning away.
Kun beckoned for the novices to follow her, and they made a strange procession. Penelope leaned on Godfrey's arm, for the knight's horse had remained aboard the ship and he walked with the rest of them.
They walked through the fields in the afternoon light, so the setting sun was in their eyes when they entered the wood. Penelope welcomed the cool darkness, but there were more than trees waiting for them. She heard the shouts, but couldn't see past the novices in front of her. She and Godfrey had fallen to the rear, so when one of the brigands circled around to attack them from behind, Godfrey wrenched his sword from its scabbard and charged the man.
More men stepped out of the trees to assist Godfrey's man, and for a moment, he was surrounded before they cut him down. It was done so quickly, so silently that he was dead before she was aware of what had happened.
Penelope felt magic billowing out from the enchantress, and she bit her lip to offer what little help she could. Then she saw into the men's minds. They wanted the girls, but more than that, they wanted to chase them as they ran, their desire building as they hunted. Penelope herself was dismissed as poor sport, but when one of the novices bolted, their fierce joy was almost unbearable as they leaped as one to follow her. Penelope fell to her knees.
Kun's magic engulfed them all, shaking the earth so hard no one remained standing but the enchantress herself.
One of the men fell near Penelope, and she was surprised to see he wore fine clothes. They all did. Brigandry evidently paid well on
Beacon Isle.
Kun shouted something and the man before her began to shimmer, then shrink. He gave a horrible cry, but he grew smaller and smaller until Penelope could have cupped him in her hands. Then he shivered, throwing his cloak out wide and it caught the wind, buoying him up like wings. No, they were wings.
Penelope watched in amazement as the brigands turned into birds, which flew away.
Then pain engulfed her once more, and she knew that this pain was not the same as before. Her baby was coming, and she was helpless to stop her birthing blood from mingling with her husband's lifeblood on the road.
Nine
"I will not do this!" Margareta burst out. After being silent so long, her voice sounded strange in her ears. "I will not save them from a fate they so richly deserve. She should have killed them, not let them fly away. How dare they…"
Penelope's mouth dropped open in shock. "But an enchantress cannot use her power to kill. It is against the laws of their kind. If she does, she will be enslaved like the other djinn, who were once free to practice magic until they turned to evil."
Margareta would not be silenced. "So an enchantress who puts down a pack of rabid dogs who prey on women is punished, while the men get off lightly, with the gift of flight?"
"That was the enchantress's choice of punishment. I am sure Mistress Kun had her reasons. A lesser witch does not question an enchantress, for she understands far more than I ever will," Penelope faltered.
"Where is this enchantress now?" Margareta demanded.
"I do not know. I was busy with childbirth when she left and I did not see her again," Penelope replied.
So she could not question the enchantress, Margareta mused. But there was one person she could speak to, who would not be allowed to hold back information this time.
She stormed through the house to her father's solar. He had aged since she'd seen him last, though it had only been a few weeks. Right now, though, she didn't care if he looked twice his age.
Silence: Little Mermaid Retold (Romance a Medieval Fairytale series Book 5) Page 2
