Lyle's Story

by Kay Berrisford

  “I never took a wife,” said Welwyn. “All our other siblings fled to the far corners of the seven seas, fearing they could be the next target of my wrath. I was so consumed with anger for you, anyway, so obsessed… I never saw Emmet’s challenge coming, not before it was too late. A century flew by, and he displayed nothing but fealty to me, never betrayed for a second that he’d cultivated magical powers that could challenge mine. By the time he struck, I was hated by all for how I’d treated you, and the curse had debilitated me. I couldn’t resist him.”

  “Still not going to bawl with sympathy,” muttered Lyle. “So what have I got to face? What is Emmet like?”

  “He’s every bit as powerful as I was,” said Welwyn.

  “Superb,” said Lyle. “Just another cruel, petty tyrant. I’ll kick his wimpy arse just as soon as I get out of here then.”

  “Be careful, Lyle.” Welwyn stretched a fin out, imploring. “I would hate—”

  “Don’t ever touch me!” Lyle jerked back before Welwyn could stroke his cheek, revulsion coiling in his gut. Still, as Welwyn flopped back like a discarded puppet, his dark eyes huge with sorrow, Lyle allowed him to complete what he wanted to say.

  “I would hate him to hurt you, Lyle, like I hurt you. I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here—decades, I suppose, maybe a whole century—but time changes one. Looking back into the haze of time, all I can see is what a sadistic fool I was. I wanted you dead for rejecting me, but you refused to die… and still I kept you imprisoned, tortured, so far from home. Can you ever forgive me, Lyle? My little brother?”

  Lyle knitted his lips. It seemed too soon to forgive. Seeing Welwyn again, even in such a reduced condition, had reawakened bitterness and anger that seared his insides, fresh and raw. Yet Welwyn’s initial mistreatment of Lyle had been the best part of two hundred years ago, and at least now he accepted Lyle’s true identity. Lyle couldn’t forget, but should he at least try to forgive? What would Benjamin advise him to do?

  Beautiful, calm Benjamin. What Lyle wouldn’t give to be back in Benjamin’s arms? He genuinely wished he were landlocked again.

  “I-I don’t know if I can forgive you. I just don’t know.” Lyle strove to keep his voice sure and steady.

  “I understand if you can’t.” Welwyn heaved his broad, bony shoulders in a shrug that rattled his chains. “And I’ll understand if you don’t heed my advice, but I’ll offer it all the same. Don’t waste all your energies trying to blast out of this prison. It won’t work. Believe me, I tried hard enough in the early days. Besides, Emmet already knows you’re here.”

  “How?”

  “When my strength failed, he took over the curse.” That made sense, Lyle conceded, as he’d felt the cruelty of the magic work against him right up until the moment he and Benjamin broke it. “He’ll have sensed its rupture, and it will only be a matter of time before he comes here to confront you. Save your powers for that battle.”

  “How long do you reckon it’ll be before he comes?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a year. Maybe a century.”

  “I don’t have that long! I broke the curse, remember. I’m engaged!” Lyle sat down beside Welwyn and showed him the ring. “Welwyn, I’m in love. I have to get back to my fiancé sooner rather than later. He’s human, so he doesn’t have that sort of time to wait for me.”

  Oh Gods, Benjamin. Lyle needed him more than ever. What would Benjamin do if he were here? He and Benjamin had always muddled through best if they… worked together.

  Yes, together.

  “I’m truly sorry,” said Welwyn.

  “Great.” Lyle clonked his head lightly back against the rock, regarding Welwyn sidelong. He wondered if the words he was about to force out would choke him. “But you’re going to have to prove it. You’re going to stop moping about and summon all your strength back from the ocean. For me. And then, together, you and I are going to get out of here.”

  ~~*

  The first few days passed, languid and slow. While Lyle pulled apart the shackles that tethered Welwyn to the wall easily enough, Welwyn showed little enthusiasm for raising himself from the festering heap of his misery. Instead, while the days ticked up toward a week, he lazed there, nursing the weeping sores on his wrists and ankles. Lyle paced and seethed, trying to coax rather than curse Welwyn. Keeping his impatience in check proved hard.

  “I understand how you feel, but for Goddesses’ sakes, move!” said Lyle, on the eighth day, as he brought Welwyn salt water from the pool. Welwyn splashed the liquid from Lyle’s cupped hands to his brow, but showed no more interest than ever in getting up, let alone reconstituting his once-formidable abilities of enchantment. He let out a pathetic whimper.

  “Right, that’s it,” snapped Lyle. “I’ve had enough.”

  He grabbed Welwyn by the upper arm and heaved Welwyn to his feet, which took a fair effort. Even as a wraith of his former self, Welwyn was stocky and Lyle hadn’t forgotten how tall his brother was. By human reckoning, Lyle stood well over six feet, but Welwyn towered at least six feet five. Forced upright for the first time in eons, Welwyn wobbled like a jellyfish. Lyle had to brace a shoulder against Welwyn’s chest to stop the colossus of a merman collapsing against him and crushing him.

  Lyle uttered a trail of bitter curses until Welwyn found the wherewithal to stand unaided, relieving Lyle of the task of supporting him. Without delay, Lyle grabbed Welwyn’s wrist and dragged him to the far end of the cave.

  “Look!” Lyle stamped his foot for emphasis as he gestured toward the pool. “Salt water—fresh salt water, dripping from the cave, just sitting there for you. You can hear the ocean from here. It’s so close; you can drink of its power through the ether. I felt it the moment I got here, surging in my veins.” He released Welwyn, who swayed precariously then grabbed a sturdy-looking stalagmite for support. Lyle pointed up through the slim crack in the roof of the cave. “Now look up there.”

  High above, all but lost in the haze of a grey afternoon, shone a dim crescent moon.

  “The Goddess Moon, the tide’s distant cousin,” hissed Lyle. “She’s all I had for years and years and years, till I lost count. That’s all you left me with to sustain me—that, and thick brick walls and unyielding loneliness. Yet I didn’t lie down and die. I didn’t give up. I might’ve lost hope the curse would ever be broken, that anybody would ever love me, yet it took nearly two centuries before I even considered letting it break me. From what I gathered, you’ve barely been here a hundred years and the sea is but yards away. So buck up, Welwyn! Suck it up!”

  Lyle stamped again, so caught up in his wrath that it took a few moments to register that Welwyn had smothered his face with both hands and fins.

  “There’s been nothing to try for,” sobbed Welwyn. “I was hated. I realized that soon enough. Nobody grieved my downfall. Nobody came for me.”

  “Nobody came for me,” said Lyle, softer now. “Not for a very long time, at least, and then they came by happy accident.”

  “Till you arrived,” sniffed Welwyn, who didn’t appear to be listening anyway, “I hadn’t spoken to a soul in decades. I’ve lost count of the years, so I don’t know exactly.”

  “I lost count of time when I was landlocked too,” said Lyle. “But not this time. It’s been seven days and around twenty-one hours since I left my love. Every second, I’ve missed him so hard I’d rip my fins off and scratch my eyes out just to feel his touch again. Just to hear him say my name. It hurts, Welwyn. I miss him so much, it’s agony.”

  And, to make things worse, his age-old doubts had seeped back, like the slime that oozed from the walls of the cave. Would Benjamin really wait for somebody as odd—not to mention fishy—as Lyle? Benjamin would chide him for even thinking it, but he couldn’t help himself. Old habits were hard to kill.

  Welwyn peeped up, eyes puffy. Lyle fought his own tears now. He clenched his jaw and glared, yet couldn’t prevent his lower lip trembling.

  “He’ll wait,”
sniffed Welwyn. “Who wouldn’t wait for you, Lyle? Only a fool would hurt…” He frowned and rolled his shoulders so the joints cracked. “I’ll do better,” he growled. “I promise. I’ll get you out of here.”

  “We’ll get out of here,” corrected Lyle, though his words caught on hateful sobs. He screwed his eyes so tight, battling his emotions, that he never saw Welwyn close the space between them. Welwyn enfolded his arms around Lyle in a tentative hug.

  Lyle stiffened, yet Welwyn’s renewed tears wracked through them both, and the offer of solace proved impossible to resist. He buried his face in Welwyn’s shoulder and allowed their sorrows to flow as one.

  “Never do that again,” spat Lyle, when he finally pulled away.

  Apparently cowed, Welwyn nodded.

  In the coming days and weeks, nevertheless, Welwyn followed through on his promises. He stopped moping among his broken chains and joined Lyle near the pool, where Lyle liked to sit, reaching out to the ocean and channelling its mighty swell. Eventually, they discovered power poured into them all the stronger when they linked hands and intertwined the feathered tips of their fins. Lyle recoiled a little from the prolonged contact but couldn’t deny the effect was potent.

  By the eleventh week, Welwyn had regained much of his former vigour; his physique was as chiselled as the granite in the cave, and his hair curled and shone. When he and Lyle weren’t meditating on magic, he paced around the cave like a lobster railing against its wicker pot. Lyle, meanwhile, spent an increasing number of hours with his head in his hands, fighting the dark shadows of depression that threatened to overwhelm him. He snarled angrily at Welwyn’s encouraging cries of, “Cheer up, little brother!”

  He missed Benjamin so much, it’d passed beyond the realms of pain; he almost longed for death again. If he was stuck here another century, Benjamin would pass anyway. Sleep, when it came, brought desolate nightmares. Falling into Benjamin’s arms, he found himself in the deathly embrace of a chalky skeleton. Then, once that horror had fled, he ran up the beach in search of his love, only to find the grave of an old man who’d expired angry, betrayed, and alone.

  “Shhh, it’s alright, Lyle. I’ve got you.”

  Lyle awoke, breathing raggedly, his heart lurching toward his throat. But… oh thank the Gods and Goddesses, it had all been a dream. Somehow, someway, Benjamin held Lyle tight, cradled Lyle’s body against him with Lyle’s head against his breast. Lyle snuggled a little closer, inhaling deeply of…

  No, that manky seaweed odour wasn’t Benjamin’s warm, familiar scent.

  Lyle struggled against the steely arms that held him. “Welwyn, let me go!”

  Welwyn did as Lyle requested. Lyle scrambled away. Panting on his hands and knees, he glowered.

  “You were having a nightmare,” said Welwyn. “I wanted to comfort you.”

  “It’s two hundred years too late to act the caring sibling, me thinks.”

  “I’m sorry!” Welwyn raised his large palms defensively. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Chant it forever. It won’t be enough.” Lyle curled himself into a tight ball, listening carefully as Welwyn rose and began pacing the cave again.

  He tried to ruminate on Benjamin, but it was no use. His old fears of Welwyn, which had lain relatively dormant these past few weeks, burgeoned, the trickle threatening to become a flood. He’d no doubt Welwyn was physically stronger than him again. While Welwyn’s attentions had so far been chaste, brotherly even, Lyle still didn’t trust him.

  When Lyle had planned his revenge on Welwyn while landlocked, he’d always relied on the element of surprise he’d have had. That was thoroughly gone now. If it came to a fight between them, and Lyle’s magic faltered even slightly, Welwyn could easily overpower him. He could beat Lyle like he used to. The matter that Welwyn had never actually bedded him back in the day didn’t detract from the fact that the evil intention had been threatened. And the old Welwyn was back in bodily form, if not in spirit and determination.

  On the other hand, Welwyn continued to appear contrite. Was Lyle being a bastard, not being able to move on?

  He swallowed a lump from his throat and pulled himself up the wall till he stood. “Welwyn,” he said coldly. “I’ve had enough of waiting, and we’re nearly to the next full moon. Surely, if we pulled together now, today, we could blast the hell out of here?”

  Welwyn crouched between the stalagmites, dabbling the tips of his fins in the pool. He turned suddenly, determination etched on his bold features. “I agree.”

  Lyle staggered. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, though unease twanged through him as Welwyn rose to a mountainous height.

  “Let’s unleash,” said Welwyn.

  Chapter Five

  Welwyn outstretched his hands toward Lyle, who approached with caution.

  “Remember, little brother—”

  “Less of the little,” hissed Lyle, standing ramrod straight and jutting his chin. “Unless you want me to stuff your silly hair down your throat and choke you on it.” Welwyn dropped his hands to his side, his doe eyes seemingly innocent as a seal’s. Lyle moderated his defensive stance and the venom in his tone. “Brother is fine, though.”

  “Very well,” said Welwyn. “But you need to know this. Emmet took over the curse from me to demonstrate how much stronger he was. To keep it up till now, he must see you as a threat.”

  “Why?”

  “You survived all that time, for a start. Emmet will’ve surmised your powers of enchantment rival his. And what’s more… Er, you’re not going to like this, Lyle.”

  “Get on with it and tell me then!” Lyle fidgeted on the balls of his feet. He still couldn’t warm to the idea of standing shoulder to shoulder with Welwyn, as comrades.

  “Before he even imprisoned me here, Emmet had married and then been deserted by six wives, all while failing to produce a child. If he still has no heir, there will be whispers about who should succeed him. While he is our cousin, both you and I have a stronger claim to be ruler of our clan. He will either see you as a rival, or he might regard you as I once did: as a potential mate.”

  “So it’ll be fuck or die, will it? Fan-bloody-tastic!”

  Lyle glared so furiously at Welwyn, and Welwyn looked so guild-ridden and cowed, Lyle simply couldn’t keep it up. He burst into laughter. Welwyn, apparently seizing gratefully at any easing of the tension between them, chuckled so hard he clutched his belly.

  “None of this is in the slightest bit amusing,” Lyle pointed out, gouging his nails into his palms in an attempt to control his mirth. He giggled again. “Why are we laughing?”

  “I don’t know,” said Welwyn. “I just wish… I’d realized before, what great company you are. It could’ve been so different between us.”

  “Yeah, well, that was your call,” mumbled Lyle. “Instead, you cursed us both to a long spell in solitary confinement. You’re not the brightest starfish in the constellation of the seas, are you, Welwyn?”

  “Probably not. But I can see what I need to do now, thanks to you… brother.”

  Welwyn reached out toward Lyle. Lyle regarded him placidly for a moment, letting Welwyn wonder whether he’d be rejected yet again. Lyle realized he enjoyed making his brother suffer a little too much. Slowly, hesitantly, Lyle clasped Welwyn’s proffered hands and fins.

  Power sparked, fizzing from Lyle’s core and into every point of contact with Welwyn, arcing between them like streaks of lightning in the places they didn’t touch. Lyle gasped and fixed on Welwyn’s eyes, finding a stolid serenity there that fortified him.

  As the magic built and built, Welwyn furrowed his hoary brow and let loose a roar. Lyle joined him, yelling with all the yearning in his soul. This had to work. If he didn’t see Benjamin again soon, he might as well expire.

  “The time has come,” said Welwyn, his voice gravelly with exertion. As one, they raised their gazes toward the fissure in the cave roof. Two masses of grey cloud smashed together, obscuring the waxing gibbous
moon. Electricity crackled through the sky, and a lightning bolt scythed toward the cave.

  “Take cover,” shouted Welwyn. They broke their link and threw themselves in opposite directions. Dust saturated the air. Lyle covered his head, but when he peeped up, no more moonlight trickled into the cave than previously, and the opening was only a fraction larger.

  “It hasn’t worked.” Lyle’s voice broke on his misery. “We’re going to have to spend the rest of eternity in here.”

  “It will work,” said Welwyn, his resolute tones echoing through the settling dust. “Let’s try again. Don’t desp—”

  A loud rumbling from behind startled them both. They spun about. A door appeared in the seamless rock wall and swung open. A figure stepped through, and the portal closed again.

  “Emmet!” At the appearance of their cousin, Welwyn stepped forward and squared his mighty shoulders. His fins straightened like four jutting spears. Acting on instinct, Lyle rushed to his side and adopted the same defensive posture.

  Emmet appeared… totally unfamiliar. It struck Lyle that he’d long forgotten what his cousin looked like, and he could understand why. Emmet was around the same height, although stockier, than Lyle, and his hair possessed the same claret streaks. His features resembled Welwyn’s but with none of the doe-eyed ruggedness that made Welwyn a striking presence. He carried a weapon—Welwyn’s old staff—but his fins trailed limply.

  “And how are the siblings getting along?” said Emmet. “I expect it’s been a joyful reunion for both of you.”

  “We can take him, easy,” muttered Lyle to Welwyn, beneath his breath.

  Welwyn threw Lyle a subtle wink.

  “My, my!” Emmet raked Lyle with a lascivious gaze. “You’re even more ravishing than you used to be, Lilly.”

  “My name is not Lilly. It’s Lyle.”

  “A moot point, dear,” said Emmet. “Either way, you would make me a decorous consort.”

  His ire elevating toward boiling point, Lyle reached for Welwyn’s hand. Together, they could blast this idiot to oblivion—or at least, singe that smug grin off his face. Instead, Welwyn shoved Lyle backward so roughly, Lyle tumbled between two stalagmites and splashed into the pool, landing on his arse.