“She lives,” she told the merwoman. “For now.”
Slender hands lifted the girl from Brida’s embrace. The merwoman spoke in a series of soft clicks, and the child’s eyes opened for just a moment before closing once more. The merfolk surrounding them trilled as the merwoman passed her to a mermaid who snatched her away before disappearing into the deep. Three more merfolk followed, but the rest stayed behind, their regard unwavering as they watched Brida.
She braced a hand in the sand to keep the waves from knocking her over. She considered standing, but something warned her to stay put, at least for now. The merwoman whose voice had haunted her all these years whistled again, a single note ending on a question, and Brida recognized it as the merman’s name.
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. I can’t know, and I can’t help unless I go back ashore.”
The two stared at each other for long moments before the merwoman nodded as if she understood what Brida said. Careful to act as if negotiating with merfolk was an everyday event, Brida stood and waded steadily back to the beach where the water glossed the sand like a thin shield of glass. Here she was safe from a drowning. Here she could gather her sodden skirts in her hands and bolt for the safety of the salt grasses, leave behind a beached merman and the danger of being drowned by angry merfolk if she delivered their kinsman back to them, dead. The thought crossed her mind, brief as a candle flame flicker, before she cast it aside.
She was scared, terrified even, but she wasn’t a coward. She returned to the tidal pools.
The merman was as she’d left him, sprawled across the filling pools, tangled in bloodstained seaweed. His wounds still trickled blood and a small cluster of sand fleas gathered around the jagged line of flesh that marked where sharp teeth had torn into his tail. Brida approached him far more cautiously than she did the merchild, whistling his name in a steady repetition in case he lived and could hear her. His neck, under her palm, burned hot instead of cold, and a pulse beat in a thready rhythm just below his skin.
“Thank you,” Brida said, not dwelling on whether she thanked the merman for not dying on her or the gods for being merciful in keeping him alive this long.
His oddly handsome face tightened for a moment, his breathing growing louder. He convulsed, one hand digging into the seaweed beside him.
Brida stroked his smooth cheek. “Shh, your daughter is returned to your kinsmen. They’re waiting for you now.” His eyelids lifted a fraction, giving her a glimpse of his eyes, no longer pale, but glowing with the same eyeshine she’d seen from the merfolk in the water. She offered him a smile and whistled the merchild’s name before pointing to the water.
Her heart jumped in her chest when his eyes rolled back and his body collapsed, as if her words offered not only succor but permission for him to die.
“No you don’t,” she snapped, her gentle caress on his cheek changing to a pair of quick slaps that made his eyelids flicker.
Inquiring whistles sounded behind her. The merwoman and her people were growing impatient. And concerned.
Brida stared at the merman. Now what? She couldn’t wait for the tide to move farther inland. It would be at least two more hours before it had filled the pools enough for her to float him into the deeper surf, and by then it would be too late. He was far too heavy for her to lift, much less carry.
There was nothing for it. She’d have to drag him across the sand, risking more injury to his already battered body, and no doubt a terrible amount of pain. Brida prayed the gods would remain merciful and keep the merman unconscious through the ordeal.
Her soaked skirt impeded her movements. She stripped down to her shift, shivering hard in the cold breeze that blew off the equally cold water. The flute joined her shawl on the rocks. Her teeth clacked together as she maneuvered behind the merman and bent to slide her hands under his shoulders.
“Mother’s mercy,” she said between grunts. “You are heavy!”
He was dead weight in her grip as she she slowly turned his body. Her discarded skirt became a useful tool when she wove the material under his armpits, and gripped the excess to tow him toward the surf and the waiting merfolk. His head lolled, and more than once she stepped on his trailing hair, jerking his head back so hard, she feared she’d broken his neck.
Brida laid him down and straightened, pressing her hands to the screaming muscles of her lower back. Her exertions made her forget the cold, and she swiped a forearm across her sweating brow. The whistles from the surf grew demanding and ever more impatient. She spun to frown at the figures patrolling the surf. “You’ll kindly hold down that racket and keep your flukes in the water, mind. This is even harder than it looks.”
A sharp click followed and the whistles stopped. Brida lifted the merman’s head and gathered his hair to drape it across his chest where she quickly wove it into a loose braid and tied it into a knot. That done, she resumed her task, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
This time the merfolk didn’t wait for her to wade deeper into the surf. A half dozen mermen suddenly surrounded her, and she fell back on her haunches in the water as they lifted their brother’s limp body and floated him into the waves. The rest followed, their excited whistles and clicks resuming once more.
Short of breath and exhausted, Brida watched them go, both relieved the merman and merchild were no longer her responsibility and happy that she’d done all she could to save them. What a story she had to tell to her nieces and nephews, even if they thought it only an imaginative yarn spun by their eccentric aunt. Only she would know the truth of her tale or how the memory of the merman’s face would haunt her for many days to come.
She was thoroughly drenched in salt water, as was everything she wore. If she didn’t develop a cold after this, it would be a blessing. Dark memories of the now deadobludamotivated her to hurry out of the surf even more than the cold did. The merfolk hadn’t tried to drown her, but that didn’t mean she was safe from some other lurking danger that swam along the Gray’s shores at night.
Sand slid beneath her feet as she trekked to the rocks where she’d left her skirts, shawl, and flute. A clear whistle made her turn.
The merwoman who’d approached her directly bobbed in the waves, moonlight plating her skin in dappled argentum. She raised a hand, in thanks, farewell, or both. Enchanted, Brida offered a nod and returned the gesture, watching as the merwoman turned and dove, disappearing beneath a rising hillock of water.
“You’re welcome,” Brida said softly, with only the wind and the moon to hear her.
It was time to go home.
Chapter Three
Brida walked barefootamong a flock of gulls patrolling the beach. Some followed her in hopes of reaping scraps she might drop as they hunted for crabs and darter fish at the edge of the surf. She kept a close eye on those winging above her, grateful for the kerchief she wore around her head to tame her hair and protect her head from bird droppings.
Some of the villagers had begun giving her odd looks, pitying ones even, and she’d overheard a whisper or two floating amongst the crowds during the busy market day. They worried the solitude of her widowhood had brought on a dangerous melancholy. She walked the beach these days far more than a body should, especially now that colder temperatures had seeped in and settled, and the autumn sky was often bleak.
