Child of Flame

He was so tired that his drifting mind wove those noises into intelligible language. Were the merfolk simply beasts? Stronghand had not thought so. Stronghand had negotiated with them, trading blood for blood, the currency he knew best. They had shown signs of intelligence, and here lay greater evidence before Alain’s eyes: a vast city.

How was it possible to know what was truth and what was falsely seen, the outer seeming that concealed the inner heart? How could one person ever pull aside all the veils that shrouded his sight and muffled his hearing?

At last the whorled city passed away and the swarming seafolk dropped behind, diving back to their home, all but the ones who towed their craft. At intervals a new pair surfaced abruptly to take the turn of ones exhausted. In this manner, as night passed, they went on, and at last Alain slept.

3

DAWN bled light over the waters and, as the sun rose, Adica saw birds, the harbinger of land. Driftwood bobbed thoughtfully along the swells. Whips of kelp slithered along the hull before being left behind. A trio of porpoises surfaced, blowing, and vanished.

Adica turned away from this appealing vista to examine Alain’s hand and arm. Although the skin was still swollen to a bitter, nasty red, it looked no worse than it had yesterday. Surely, if it meant to kill him, he would be suffering more by now.

“There!” cried Laoina.

White flashed along the horizon. Was it land?

“It is a ship,” said Alain.

“They will kill us if they catch us.” Laoina hooked her elbow around the mast. She shinnied up the bar, trying to get a better look, and swore vigorously. “It is ship of the Cursed Ones.”

Two Fingers did not falter, although he looked exhausted. The merfolk swam on, plunging through the waves with the ropes taut behind them. The ship creaked and moaned as it hit choppier waters.

Adica fumbled in her pouch, her hands cold and stiff and sticky with salt. She blew on her fingers to warm them before struggling to open the strings of the pouch, now swollen with brine. Inside, she found her tiny bundle of precious Queen’s Broom and a braid of dried thistle. She twined the Queen’s Broom into her bodice so that it wouldn’t fall, and with some effort struck flame, with her flint, and set the braid of thistle alight.

As it burned, she sang a spell:

“Flee now, thistle,

The lesser from the greater,

The greater from the lesser.

Let there be no meeting

And no bloodshed.”

Fighting the rocking ship, she lurched toward the stern. The ship plunged down a high swell and she fell hard against the sternpost. Alain caught her with his good hand before she fell overboard. Hanging there, she watched the distant ship heave to and change direction. Had they spotted them?

Quickly, she fastened the Queen’s Broom to the sternpost and, with the sting of the burning thistle still in her nostrils, sang the spell again.

As they watched, it became apparent that the other ship had not seen them. It came no closer and in time vanished over the horizon.

Shoreline rose in the distance, more green than brown. They hit the first line of surf just as the ropes went slack and the merfolk rolled away, letting the swells carry them toward shore. The sea creatures lolled in the waves, watching. One bold merchild swam so close that Adica saw the tiny mouths snapping at the ends of its hair, like eels. Beady eyes studied the ship with greedy anticipation just before the merchild dove under the boat. Its back jostled the hull, rocking them enough that Two Fingers had to grab at the sternpost to keep from being thrown over the side. Abruptly, the merfolk swarmed menacingly around the boat, only to retreat as the waves dissolved into breakers.

With the breaking waves throwing spray over them, Alain made to jump out of the ship and guide them in, but Two Fingers grabbed his good arm.

“Stay!” Laoina was quick to translate. “Beware the water. The merfolk have sharp teeth and do not wish us any kindness.”

“True enough.”

The merfolk stayed beyond the breakers, but one coursed in, in their wake, rolled, and spun away again, letting the outgoing waves drag it off the shore. When the ship finally scraped bottom, Alain leaped off, followed by the rest, and they dragged the boat up onto the shore, out of reach of the tide. The dogs yelped and bounded around, chasing their own tails, barking and racing.

Two Fingers waded out to his knees in the waves, facing the sea. The waters hissed and ebbed around his legs. He raised both hands. “Thank you, sisters and brothers. You, also, have done your share, if unwillingly. I return to you this bone that once belonged to your queen.”

He flung the bone flute high and long. It disappeared into the waters. A swarm of bodies churned the sea where it had fallen. As suddenly, all trace of the merfolk vanished. The sea sighed in along the beach, and the morning sun drenched the sand with gold. The only sound was the water and the bubbling song of a curlew.