She pushed one to the side and used the other as a pail to scoop water from the pools. Liquid streamed from the basket’s holes, but enough stayed in for Brida to gently pour it over the merman. He gasped, a convulsive shiver rippling along his tail and up his torso. The muscles in his arms, chest, and midriff flexed, and blood streamed off his skin in pink ribbons. Still, he didn’t let go of the merchild.
The little girl twitched and mewed as Brida trickled water across her body. Brida crooned to her in a sing-song voice, words of reassurance she’d sometimes used to comfort her younger nieces and nephews after a spill in the garden or a nightmare during a nap. “Easy, love. You’re a brave girl. We’ll get you home soon.”
Lies always hung sour on the tongue, even when told with the best of intentions. Brida didn’t know if she could fulfill that implied promise to the merchild. Even if she managed to get her in the water, without the merman there with her, she wouldn’t survive. Some sea creature had already attacked the merman, gravely wounding him.
Overwhelmed with sympathy, Brida forgot caution, set the basket aside, and reached out a hesitant hand to push the lacy locks of seaweed hair away from the merchild’s face. Another shrill whistle nearly burst her eardrums. She had only a moment to catch a glimpse from the corner of her eye of an arching fluke before a powerful force slammed into her, flinging her sideways. She smashed into the rock face concealing the pools. A shockwave of pain bolted down her spine and up the back of her head while black stars exploded across her vision.
She sprawled on the wet seaweed, breath knocked out of her lungs. Moot’s frantic barking sounded far away, though the dog’s face was so close, they nearly touched noses. “Moot,” she whispered when she could finally breathe. “Stop.”
The dog whined and leaned forward to nuzzle Brida’s cheek with her wet nose. Brida turned away, wincing as the movement made her vision swim and her stomach roil. An odd set of clicks and pops sounded nearby, punctuated by a series of softer whistles that held the unmistakable tones of inquiry and regret. She must have hit her head harder than she thought if she was imagining such things.
An exploratory touch to her scalp told her she’d have a lump, but there was no blood. Her vision rapidly cleared, and her nausea faded as the pain dulled to a throbbing ache.
She met the merman’s wide-eyed stare. He’d drawn the merchild closer to him, sheltering her even deeper into the cove of his body. His mouth moved, emitting more of the clicks and short whistles that carried the ring of apology.
Brida clambered to her feet, swaying. She raised both hands toward the merman in a supplicating gesture. “Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She grabbed her basket and staggered to the pool for more water to pour on the pair. She bore no resentment toward the merman. He had only tried to protect his charge from an entity who might be a threat, despite the benevolent gestures she’d shown so far. Had she been in his place, she didn’t doubt she would have done the same. The fault was hers for being so careless.
Laylam would soon notice Brida wasn’t helping to fill the family wagon, so she split her time. After each trip to the beach with loaded baskets, she poured more water over the merfolk, and cut kelp, discarded plan after plan for returning the pair back to the Gray, alive and unnoticed.
“I’ll be right back,” she assured the merman. Even knowing he probably didn’t understand a word she said, she hoped the tone of her voice conveyed some of her intention not to abandon them.
This time her sister-in-law, Norinn, had joined the harvesters and met Brida at the back of the dray with a full basket of her own. “You didn’t tell Laylam about that nobleman accosting you last night, did you?” Disapproval dripped from every word. “Haniss told me when the children and I got here.”
Brida scooped out bits of kelp stuck to the bottom of one basket. “I wasn’t accosted. He didn’t even touch me, although I think he was on the verge of accusing me of stealing my flute. His lordship sent him on his way.” She shrugged. “What’s there to tell?”
The memory of Ospodine still made her uneasy. There had been about him an unnatural intensity. She’d been almost surprised not to find burn marks on her back this morning when she dressed, his regard of her had been that scorching. That hostile. Still, she didn’t think it either useful or necessary to worry her brother. His lordship had expertly diffused the situation, and Brida doubted she’d ever cross path with Ospodine again.
“Laylam won’t like that you didn’t say anything, Brida.”
Brida stiffened. She liked Norinn very much, though the woman sometimes had a bad habit of expecting Brida to report everything in her life to Laylam. “He’ll adjust. He’s my brother, not my keeper.”
The other woman sighed, reaching out to pat Brida’s shoulder in a gesture of truce. “You’re his only sibling, Brida. He’s just protective.”
“I know, and I love him for it, even when he’s being his most annoying.” She offered Norinn a quick smile before shouldering her empty baskets. She didn’t have time to chat. “I’ll talk to you later. Over tea. I still have a lot to harvest at my allotment.”
“Do you need help?” Norinn called to her as she left. Brida waved and shook her head, leaving Moot behind this time. She desperately needed help, just not the kind Norinn offered.
The dread building inside her from the moment she left the title pool eased a fraction when she discovered the merman and child still breathed.
Brida had emptied one small tidal pool trying to keep her charges wet and cool and started on the second one. The merman’s closed eyelids fluttered but didn’t lift as she poured water on him. Her mind raced as she did the same to the merchild.
Merfolk obviously communicated with a series of whistles and clicks, a language of the sea both mysterious and yet familiar to her. She’d heard something similar years earlier. Brief, sadly beautiful, and a balm to her soul when she was at her most wretched. She’d never forgotten those four tuneful whistles drifting off the night surf.
The whistles the merman and child made were different, frightened instead of mournful, yet Brida guessed they came from the same origin as the ones she played on her flute. She didn’t have the instrument with her now and could only attempt to reproduce those sounds with her mouth
She set her basket aside to ease a little closer to the merman’s head and stay out of striking range of his powerful tail. Either he heard her approach or sensed her nearness, because his eyes opened, and the muscles in his torso visibly tensed.
Brida held up her hands once again to signal she wasn’t a threat. She pursed her lips and tried to echo the four whistles she’d heard years earlier. The merman’s eyes widened, his narrow nostrils flared hard, and his entire body twitched in reaction.
She had no idea what she just said and prayed it wasn’t some vile insult or promise to visit some violence on the merman or merchild. She eased back a little more, away from the tail and the reach of those muscular arms and webbed hands.
The merman’s chirp carried a wealth of question and surprise. Brida dared not show her relief that he didn’t react with anger and kept her expression neutral. She patted her chest with her hand. “Brida.” She repeated the gesture. “I’m Brida.” She pointed to the merman. “You?”
His answering whistle differed from the previous ones he’d uttered. Deeper, drawn out, with a stutter in the middle. His brow knitted in a frown.
Now we’re getting somewhere, Brida thought. She repeated it as best she could, only to have him shake his head and whistle again, this time without the stutter. The effort left him panting.
