The Secret of the Emerald Sea

by Heather Matthews

  He loves to fly, Jane thought in wonder. He looks as I did, no doubt, when the first feeling of being a mermaid came upon me and I moved through the water so joyfully and easily. She smiled at the memory, for it was a beautiful one, and one she would always treasure, although what had come afterward was harsh and unpleasant. She remembered the fish whose eyes had glowed like jewels in the dark water, and the way their lips had moved as they murmured to her in greeting. It had been incredible, and she would never forget it.

  “We are almost there!” the Cupid shouted in her ear. “Not much longer now!” Slowly and carefully, he banked his great wings like a giant bird of prey. They swooped gently downward, and Jane felt like a leaf that floated in quiet circles to the ground, carried upon the cool autumn air. Looking down, she saw a little town, and grass, and trees! It was a village, although not her own, she knew. The many church spires of Royalton were missing. Still, it was civilization, and the vast seas were behind them at last.

  In the distance, she saw farms and the twinkling lights of houses and shops where a few candles burned in the cool pre-dawn, glowing faint yellow-white in the windows of buildings. The town seemed deserted, but she knew dawn would soon bring a flurry of activity, and she could not believe her own excitement as she imagined markets and horses and food and drink after all her months of deprivation.

  “Hold tight!” the Cupid exclaimed, grinning into the wind as he flew. Jane was terrified as the ground rushed up to meet them.

  Seconds later, the sky—just at the precise moment they landed!—seemed to turn to its daytime color. The sun began to beam down on their bodies, and when she had managed to stand up, the man who had carried her was gone. The tiny Cupid stood in his place now. She could not help but smile at the little boy, who was really a magical being—a shape-shifter straight out of a fairy tale. Now that she knew his other self, it was difficult not to giggle at the little boy’s appearance.

  “Don’t laugh at me, Jane,” the child told her, and her giggles ceased as quickly as they had begun. “It’s bad enough being a toddler without your mockery!”

  And so she apologized, took his little hand in hers, and they walked toward the village, stopping only to steal some nondescript garments from a farm’s clothesline—what choice had they?—and to garb themselves as poor peasant villagers.

  “How do you know this place?” Jane asked the Cupid as they neared the town.

  “I saw it in a dream, Jane,” he answered. “I believe there is a reason why we are here, although I am not yet sure what that reason is.”

  “What shall we do for money, and food and shelter?” she asked worriedly. She could already smell roasting meat, and bread. She was starving.

  “I thought we could tell fortunes. I could whisper in your ear, and you could tell the villagers the sorts of things they want to hear,” the Cupid answered. She could hear the sly smile in his voice. “Everyone wants to believe they will find love, and be loved with all of someone’s heart.” He squeezed her hand tightly.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering his kiss, his man’s kiss, and then she shook her head slowly. “It’s all so confusing,” she whispered to herself. “But we would be lying to them, would we not?” Jane asked a moment later after a few deep, calming breaths. “Is that not wrong?”

  “They only want hope, Jane. Just to hope for something.” He stroked the inside of her wrist with his tiny fingers. “It’s not a sin to foster hope in another person.”

  He bent his head a little then, as he spoke, and Jane watched his clever little face, which always seemed to hide a multitude of thoughts and opinions, and she wondered, as she had many times before, if his views of sin and humanity might not differ greatly from her own. But she did not really wish to delve further into such issues. It was easier to believe they were alike.

  “But what if we are shown to be frauds since nothing comes true?” she asked.

  “Perhaps enough of it will come true to enhance our reputation,” the Cupid answered, laughing. “Perhaps we will be better at reading the villager’s minds than you think, Jane.”

  Jane laughed. She knew she had changed since she, too, had been a simple villager. Perhaps it was because she had grown older, but when she was with the Cupid, some mischievous element in her own character seemed to emerge, and she suddenly found herself looking forward to telling the fortunes, to making the money, and to getting along on her own—with the Cupid, of course, always with him—without anyone to say what she should do or whom she should be.

  Of course, she would find her way back to her grandmother. She must remember that this was the most important thing in the end.

  “We will try to pass ourselves off as gypsies, then!” Jane laughed. “Me, the blonde gypsy, and my gypsy baby brother who does not speak, but only clings to my neck.” She shook her head at the ludicrous ruse the Cupid had dreamed up for them. It was so silly and far-fetched. She giggled and trudged forward, slowing her steps to match his. Whenever he wished, she would carry him upon her hip.

  “They’ll have to be fools to believe a single word of it!” she muttered.

  “Indeed, they will!” the boy remarked quietly, and she could hear the slyness in his voice.

  Perhaps that is what he is counting on, she thought quizzically.

  Chapter Eleven

  As Jane and he Cupid made their way toward the town along an old dirt road, they encountered a trickle of townspeople who were quite bold in their curiosity about the young girl and the tiny boy. The women along the roadway asked more questions than the men did, and Jane told them a tale of woe that was so sad and tragic—and previously concocted by the Cupid—that the women of the town were determined to help the young girl and her brother right away.

  The Cupid had told her that her youth and beauty, not to mention his little dimples, would surely cancel out the usual mistrust of strangers. She watched him as he smiled at the villagers they met with practiced skill. His large, jewel-like eyes seemed to beseech the local townspeople to please, please help them in any way that they could.

  Jane was more reserved, but once she’d told her rehearsed story a few times, she began to feel more comfortable with the people they met on the road. One of these villagers led them to a public house located directly in the center of the little town. It was known as The Crown Of Thorns.

  Despite its somber name, the Crown of Thorns was a merry place. All the villagers met there at the end of their long workdays in order to commiserate about the day’s events. The crude, thatched little building attracted everyone and everything. News traveled fast through the local pub as the cheap liquor loosened everyone’s tongues.

  Children were not permitted in the Crown of Thorns, but somehow, youngsters ended up there every day, hugging their mothers and singing along with boisterous drinking songs and mournful dirges. This made it easy for Jane and her little companion to blend in. In fact, sometimes, the older children would sneakily drink the dregs outs of wineglasses and ale mugs, then crawl into their mother’s laps and fall asleep. They would be carried home to bed when the pub finally, finally closed. But the Cupid never took a single sip.

  The pub was their first introduction to the village, and it was also Jane’s first try at fortune telling. From the Cupid, she had learned about the various clever ways she could answer questions to deflect any difficult lines of inquiry, and so successful was this teaching that they were soon made welcome by the locals who gave them a place to stay—for free— that evening in exchange for their fortunes.

  Jane saw the fortunes as a silly trick, but the Cupid’s uncanny grasp of human nature allowed their reputation to build quickly, and this created increased demand for their services. The Cupid would stare into the eyes of the person who sat across from them, seeming to read their mind. He would then whisper things to Jane that allowed her to make generalizations and give advice that could be interpreted any number of ways. He would feed Jane murmured sentences and show her how to use astrology and
palm reading as tools to further bilk the townspeople out of their money.

  As always, he told her wisely, magic had a hold on the common folk, who really didn’t know any better. Though they were all religious, they could not resist the easy lure of those who promised to reveal the future, and though there were other clairvoyants, or those who claimed to be clairvoyant, Jane and the Cupid were a mystery and an unknown quantity, and their value shot higher as the advice they gave seemed accurate more often than not.

  Once they’d made a little name for themselves, Jane was given a pack of Tarot cards in the pub, the first pack she had ever seen. It was kept behind the bar, wrapped in cheap velvet, and its cards were filled with all manner of grinning Devils and spinning Wheels of Fortune and icy Empresses. She learned to spread the cards out as a tool to extract information, and sometimes, when her mind was quiet and focused, the readings seemed eerily accurate.

  Jane knew some other forces were at play, giving her readings more truth and gravity, but she was frightened by this magic. She resisted the urge to tell her own fortune and that of the Cupid’s. Sometimes her fingers burned or tingled fiercely as she touched the deck, as though the cards themselves held some sort of dark power. She knew that, eventually, she would give in and tell her own fortune, and she feared for what she might find.

  Her own cynicism withered and died as she saw the faces of those whose futures she foretold and whose pasts she touched upon. Their eyes showed the truth. After all that had happened, it was not difficult to believe that such magic might exist. She did not know that this magic lived within her own body and soul, and that her abilities were the result of her strange parentage.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jane and her little companion settled into life in the village, and soon it was full winter. Two days after their arrival, they had been offered the rental of a tiny, shabby farmhouse, and they had accepted gratefully. It was private and secluded, which was important to them. Though rough and a little chilly, the farmhouse felt like a palace to them. They had shelter, food, and some income from fortune telling. Jane was comfortable, and mostly warm.

  A great festival to celebrate Christmas was being planned in the village, and this was exciting for her, although it also made her quite homesick. Sometimes, she would wake in the night and wonder why she did not simply put on her shoes, walk out the door, and find her village. She did not understand why she stayed.

  By day, the pair told their fortunes either out on the cobblestones of the main square, or else inside the Crown of Thorns. By night, they retired to the quiet farmhouse and lit a cozy fire that fought the drafts coming through the aged, wooden walls. They talked of the festival to come, where they planned to extract as much money from the villagers as they could, and then perhaps move on to find Jane’s home.

  Jane felt the Cupid was reluctant to leave, but he told her he would, although not just yet. She was certain he was waiting for something to happen to them, and this made her uneasy. Jane often watched him gaze out into the snowy night, his blue-gray eyes penetrating the darkness. What did he hope to see?

  Jane always waited for the Cupid to transform again, but he never did. Sometimes, she stared into the eyes of the little boy, looking for the man she knew that night on the raft. The Cupid seemed to understand, but he would not relate to her as a man. He only spoke to her as he always had, and often, she burned with frustration and even anger. She longed to ask him why he did not change, but it seemed pointless. He was a secretive being, and there was no point in trying to change that. He would do what he would do.

  One day they sat in the town square, wrapped in donated sweaters and scarves to stay warm. The villagers told them of a play that would be performed in a theatre on Twelfth Night, and they were invited to go along. It had been so long since Jane had experienced any sort of culture, and the Cupid had never had that opportunity at all.

  Jane could hardly sleep with excitement. She had always loved the dramatic arts and wished she could be on the stage herself. When she had been a small girl, she’d been much too shy. Now, she had changed, and felt she could bring something of herself to a play or a song, but she did not know how to begin, and yet she longed to try.

  The night of the play came quickly, and it was clear and bright. The gentle snowfall whitened the sky, which was filled with glistening stars. The Cupid and Jane held hands as they walked along to the theatre. Jane had been encouraged by her little friend to buy a special dress. He explained that the fortunes they told did not make a lot of money for them, but that their income was sure and steady. Always, someone would pay, even a poor villager, for a glimpse of the future...and so she dipped into their purse filled with coins and bought a pretty frock to wear.

  Jane adored her dress. It was icy lavender with a full skirt that moved as she did. Its bodice was pure white lace with violet trim. Purple was her favorite color, and the Cupid threaded silken ribbons the color of fresh violets through her flaxen hair with his tiny fingers. “You must look beautiful tonight, Jane,” he whispered, smiling mysteriously.

  Jane was beautiful that night. Her green eyes glowed emerald, her lips were rosy, and her cheeks were bright with youth and excitement. Her slim body, with its barely developed curves, was shown off to perfection in the dress she wore. She felt some magic in the air, some sense of something in the future she must move toward. Her thoughts were scattered but pleasant as they traipsed along into town, her toes growing numb through thin leather shoes—for there was never enough money for everything they needed.

  The theatre was lit up with lanterns and the large windows glowed with light. The murmur of voices raised in happy chatter greeted them as they moved toward the front door. The merriment of Christmas was in everyone’s faces, and the atmosphere was dazzling.

  Jane opened the theatre door and smiled, her heart pounding strangely. Tonight would be a special night, she was sure of it. How she knew, she did not care to examine, but know, she did.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Cupid held Jane’s hand and moved forward in the village concert hall, nodding politely to the townspeople. Rich, red velvet drapes shrouded the stage area in delicious mystery. He wedged himself into the crowd, pulling Jane along impatiently. He wanted a clear view of this strange event. They found a place to stand—there were no more empty seats, though they had left so early—exchanged greetings with the people closest to them and talked about the things that they would see.

  “Can you not see into the future, Jane?” one local farmer mocked gently, as she questioned him about the plays and performances. “Should you not be telling us what it is we are about to see?”

  Cupid tensed and prepared to whisper some clever retort in her ear. But Jane only laughed, for there was no malice in his words. The Cupid relaxed. The farmer’s eyes were bright and clear and full of good cheer on this pleasant evening.

  “I only see into emotions,” Jane said quietly. “Into the human heart.” She smiled into the villager’s eyes, and the Cupid thought that she looked beautiful tonight, and much more comfortable in her role. By now, he knew, it was her livelihood to play this part, which had become quite honest and natural over time. She gazed forward at the stage, and continued to speak.

  “Many things are still a mystery to me,” she told the farmer pleasantly, if a little dreamily, “as they are to you, and thank goodness for that.”

  She squeezed the Cupid close to her, picking him up and holding him like the child he appeared to be so that he could see the stage properly. She smiled over at the villager again and laughed. “What a sadness it would be to know absolutely everything!” she quipped. “Don’t you agree?”

  The farmer nodded sagely at her words as the theatre grew darker, and the voices began to grow quiet. The show was about to begin. He answered her in the near darkness, leaning toward her and whispering in her ear. The Cupid had to strain to hear the words.

  “Aye, imagine sorrows that lie in wait that we are blissfully unaware of.”
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  “And the joys, too, don’t forget them,” Jane whispered.

  The Cupid’s heart was light and fluttering like a butterfly that moved from blossom to blossom. He knew not why, but this night was important to Jane, and to him...so important: He felt it in his bones.

  * * * *

  Jane watched as the village schoolchildren came out and sang carols to warm up the crowd. Their sweet and untrained voices were reminiscent of the mermaid’s chorus, but Jane paid no mind. They lacked the ethereal quality and perfect intonation of Neptune’s courtiers, but still they made one feel the spirit, the soul, the other self, beyond simple appetites and the everyday.

  They sang for a long time, these children of all shapes and sizes, garbed in red and green. They seemed happy and proud to be performing in front of their parents and the people of the town. Luckily, her little Cupid was too young for such a performance. How he would have loathed participating!

  Eventually, the angelic and imperfect voices ceased. The stage was, once again, dark after thunderous applause. The children filed out one by one, and the audience was, once again, full of anticipation.

  Next, a young man walked out onto the stage and stood silently. Lanterns were arranged around him in a half-circle so that his whole being seemed to glow. Jane could not seem to catch her breath as she stared at the person on the stage.

  His tall body was clad simply in breeches and a white cotton shirt. His boots were polished so that they shone chestnut brown. The simple clothes he wore seemed to underscore a beauty that was so pure and so refined as to be breathtaking. There was natural elegance in his body with his wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and his long, muscular legs.