Chronicles of the Mermaid

Book One of the Trilogy

“A truly great story that is quite memorable on its own merit standing against the one thousand plus sci-fi/fantasy novels I have read in my lifetime. I will remember this tale.” - Z. Summers

EXCERPT FROM PROLOGUE

Muffled cries and sounds of splashing water shook the merman from his daydream. 

He gazed suspiciously about. All around him towers of green kelp with twisted rubbery pods climbed from the sand all the way to the surface. Calico fish—speckled brown and red—swam by in zig zag patterns. Pale blue bubbles danced up from their mouths. 

Curious, he scratched the scales below his hip and shook his tail a few times to propel himself towards the surface. 

“Ahhh!” the cries (no . . . screams) grew louder.

It was the cry of someone imperiled—a landwoman’s voice. He snapped his fluke twice in the direction of the sound. With a powerful gyration, he surfaced a short distance away from the commotion.

A white fin protruded from the water, followed by another. And another.

Sharks. I should have known.

The landwoman was frantically attempting to swim away from the vicious predators, but lacked strength. She was screeching with desperation. Tiny hairs on his scalp bristled in response. She did not want to die. All around her the sea shifted from a deep blue color, becoming purplish, then fully red, as blood flowed freely from the freshly slain bodies of two other landfolk. Their corpses were rolling about on the surface—while a handful of sharks struck the mangled shapes. Some of the white-finned killers were honing in on the woman and it was clear to the merman he had to act—or forever live with the knowledge he let her be devoured. True, she would be returned to the sea as a rich meal, as is the natural order of things. But she would suffer greatly. Should he intervene? After all, she’s just a . . . 

But he was enchanted by this landwoman—and admired how hard she fought against her dire circumstances. Her long, dark ribbons of brown hair lashed behind her as she swam for her life, coughing, sputtering, cursing and kicking. Her brave spirit reminded him of his own kin.

The merman saw his moment to pounce slipping away. But it really wasn’t his place to interfere . . . 

He made his decision to act. Just as one of the smaller juveniles took a nip of her defenseless shoulder, he charged in and whipped the next would-be attacker hard with his tail directly into its gills, smashing the cartilage underneath, tearing through to the organs, sending the beast catapulting away to die. The next shark tried to swim up underneath her to sneak a bite without being accosted, but the merman was too dexterous. He flipped upside down, putting himself directly in the shark’s path, and punched it in the nose, square and solid. There was a dull crunch as its face split all the way to the skull. The half-dozen other sharks on the verge of joining the frenzy bolted, choosing instead to circle back for the easier meal and get what they could from the stringy remains of the other two victims.

Red streaks poured from the wound above the landwoman’s shoulder blade, and she was unable to keep her head above water. She coughed and gurgled the saltwater before finally submerging. Panic gave way to shock, as the landwoman’s eyes closed. Blurred blue colors at the edge of her vision faded into blackness. Before losing consciousness a stirring final image crossed over her, the dark outline of a long-haired man swimming before her, superimposed by the sunlight glazing down on the sea from above. But . . . the body did not have legs below the torso. In their place swept a great long tail. With glistening aquamarine scales.

* * *

Coughing wickedly, the young woman jerked up out of her cot, throwing off blankets and with them the tea cup and bowl of gruel poised there. As she looked around, bug-eyed and confused, blood began to trickle out of her nose and dripped down to her lip. A sharp pain below her left shoulder jarred her memory, and she reached back and pressed against a wound dressing: a sopping wet, reddened cloth. Her surroundings became familiar again. She found herself sitting up in her cot, in her bedroom at the family homestead. Sweating profusely, and nauseous, she could not help wincing from the ache of her damaged flesh.

“She’s awake!”

“What? Oh, dear Sea Gods, thank you!”

“She’s awake! Call for m’lady! Go!”

A few family members had taken turns presiding at her bedside, reading her stories from old hemp-twined books with crackled brown covers, sitting in creaky wooden rocking chairs by a fire, hoping for the best. For the past two days, since she had been miraculously saved—while the family mourned the death of her father and brother—they all held the prayer she would be spared from the awful carnage. A cousin stood and went to fetch the woman’s mother and give her the good news.

“Where . . . are my brother and father! Where are they?” fully awake, the morbid truth confronted her. She had been haunted by nightmares while unconscious. Images of the attack seemed no more than dreams. But these were memories, they were real. “No! No! Nooo!” Despite the pain she curled herself into a ball and covered her eyes with her hands, sobbing.

Her attending cousin reached over to console her. “I’m so sorry my dear, I’m so, so sorry. We will all miss them terribly—but, we are grateful to have you still with us, alive . . . and well! Come, now.” They embraced and a loud bustle in the hallway belied a small group of family and friends—practically bursting through the door to see for their own eyes she was awake and talking again. A great bout of crying, hugging, laughing, smiling and sighing ensued, although they took great care to be gentle when touching the young woman so as not to disturb the wound on her shoulder.

As she was still coming to her senses, the lone survivor was struck by an image. It was the last thing she remembered . . . a mysteriously beautiful shape. A man and a dolphin, all in one form. Was he real?

“Dear ones, how was I spared the fate of my beloved father and brother? Why did I not perish with them?” she saw consternation cross her mother’s face. The deep, channeled wrinkles in the older woman’s tanned skin widened as she looked away, refusing to answer. From her bed, the young woman searched the faces of the others in the room. They had all witnessed what her mother had the other day at dusk on the sandy beaches north of their homestead. “What is it, mother? Why are you looking at me that way? Have I been cursed despite surviving the ordeal? Why will no one speak?”

A silence filled the chambers. The stench of her wound and the spilled tea on the stained wooden floor permeated the air. She looked at each person in the room and, one by one, they avoided her quizzical gaze. She coughed into her hand, tasting blood in the back of her throat. When she looked at her palm, there was a dark red spattering.

“Where . . . is he?” she asked, quietly at first, blinking her eyes slowly. But after asking a second time and receiving no reply, the third time she shouted it—“Where is he?” She tried to jump out of bed, but nearly fainted. She was so weak she had to be caught by two of her cousins, lest she collapse to the ground.

“Where . . . is . . . the merman?” she softly asked once more, supported by the arms of her family members.

Her mother looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to find the right words to say. But instead of answering, she stood and walked over to a window cut from the seaward-facing wall. The little square door hung open and rhythmically tapped the outside wall as the breeze pushed it back and forth. When she was standing close enough, she peered across the expanse, trying to spot something specific in the distance. Her daughter watched her mother’s eyes as they scanned the sea. The older woman pursed her lips when she found what she was looking for. She turned back at her daughter and pointed out the window. 

With her strength beginning to return as her heart beat faster, the young woman hobbled to the window to try to see why her garrulous mother was speechless. At first there was nothing out of the ordinary, from her vantage point. The blue shoreline lapped upon the yellow sands of the beaches. A floating dock at the south end of the channel held two magnificent vessels, sails folded down, bobbing gently in the small swell. Black petrels and white gulls cycled in the sky. Warm salty air, tinged with decay, met her nose. She coughed again. She could still taste the blood of her near drowning. Her weary lungs were still trying to expel the last of the seawater. They must have bled from the inside, she thought. Squinting in the mid-day sunlight, her eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after being unconscious and bedridden for days, she panned over to the breakwater on the north end of the beach where something caught her eye. A forceful splashing was disturbing the otherwise calm waters inside the protection of the stone jetty. Her heart dropped to somewhere below her gut. What appeared to be a large sea animal swimming in the shallows had turned towards the window. Even from far away she could see his curved tail hammering the top of the water, slapping down with a regular rhythmic pattern, as he looked up at her face in the window aperture. 

She gasped and staggered back from the window. Everyone in the room froze, staring at her to see how she would react. She had no choice. There was an ineffable magnetism pulling her towards the shoreline. She stumbled towards the door and began to shakily descend the stairs from her room down to the courtyard. Her family followed her in awe of the scene unfolding. They called out to her to be careful, and her mother rushed past everyone to stand behind her to support her in case she fell. Mere moments ago, they feared she would die in her cot . . . now she was leading them determinedly across the beach. 

Splashing around in the waters near shore was the handsome merman. There was no denying his existence now. Sightings of merfolk were believed to be fantasy. But it was real. It was true. Right there in plain sight was a living merman! And he had saved their beloved daughter from a brutal death. Despite their fear and trepidation in approaching the extraordinary sea creature, their affection for him grew as he dazzled them all with a few acrobatic flips and spins. Each time his face came out from under the water he wore a brash smile across his bearded face, the hair clustered with indigo star-shaped shells, glistening with a sheen unlike anything they had ever seen before. He beckoned to her—after he had finished his impressive display of aquarian athleticism—to come to the water’s edge. She looked over her shoulder to the congregation of a dozen landfolk trailing her on the black sand beaches. Strewn everywhere were light grey pieces of driftwood and piles of shredded dark green kelp. The sound of buzzing flies and lapping water filled the air. Her family stared back at her with wide eyes. She turned and met his gaze, bravely limping forward, still shaky on her legs. She shivered despite the warm autumn sun.

“I . . . I don’t know if you can understand me, but . . .” she began, her cheeks flushing bright red. “I want to say thank you. You saved my life. My family mourns my father and brother, but you have prevented them from even more sorrow. I owe you a debt of gratitude.” She looked at his face closely. It was unearthly. A wild mane of black hair, hardened and coiled together by saltwater, draped across his shoulders and back. An equally wild black beard and mustache covered his elegantly smooth lips and forehead, and his eyes were a piercing light blue color, a pair of sparkling royal grade sapphires. His eyelashes were long, curled stamens concealing the oval blue flowers within. His deep black eyebrows connected all the way across, boxing in the smooth mounds of his cheekbones. His teeth were sharp, but shined a pearly white when he smiled. Upon his thick neck was a lattice of kukui shells. Never before had she seen a more heavenly physique—definitely not on a landman. She could not help but stare, wondering if he could understand her if she spoke to him. What were his intentions? Why was he still swimming in the harbor waters near her family home?

“I understand you well, landwoman. You owe me nothing. I am happy I could deliver you safely home to your family, but I regret not being able to save your loved ones. I am truly sorry for your loss. I wish I could have acted earlier,” he said, with his head tilting down to avoid her eyes. 

His voice was a soothing tremolo to her ears. His words seemed to pour from his lips and she was touched by his earnest acknowledgment of her bother and father. He’s so handsome and graceful. So Regal. A true king of the sea.

“Well, thank you again for saving my life and for your words of remorse . . . you are a merman, yes? Isn’t that what you call your kind? Merfolk? We have stories about your people, and your lives below the depths of the sea. Some of the stories claim your kind once lived upon the land. Are you from there? The deep blue depths?”

He nodded, and smiled. But his smile left his face when he looked over at the rest of the small gathering of people. His eyes narrowed and he gestured to her by putting both hands on his heart and opening them towards her, dove down below the surface, and disappeared. The last thing to sink out of sight were the curved tips of his fluke. When he popped up again he was far off shore. Loud clicking and whistling noises broke up the high pitched cries of the local sea birds. 

“Wait!” she shouted out into the misty sea spray. The sky seemed to be floating away from their little beach with him, propelled toward an infinite horizon. She dropped to her knees, the sand catching her with a light crunch. She reached forward and grabbed two handfuls of the shining black beads, clawing forward until she met the tideline. Lapping seawater softened the sand in her hands, melting it away to nothing, leaving her palms empty again. Tears burst from her. She wept for her dead father and brother. She wept for the confusion of meeting death at its dark and breathless door, and passing through unscathed. She wept for the uncertain emotions arising for her savior. The sharp knifing pain in her bite wound came on again, and she convulsed. Grayness crept into the corners of her perception. She lifted her head and looked across the great blue green expanse of the sea, hoping to see one more agile leap from her savior—the dashing merman. Then she succumbed to the darkness and nodded out, her body splayed upon the black sand.

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 33

The line to get into the Royal Hall was miserably long. It snaked around and through the Great Courtyard, weaving in and out of the manicured arbors and immaculate lawns.

A true sanctuary protected by the high castle walls. A large, misshapen rectangle, the Great Courtyard was a small city of its own, housing well over five hundred inhabitants. A buzz of voices mingled  in anticipation—the Desert Rose, she’s singing tonight! Visitors from afar stood gazing up at the tall castle walls, amazed by the architecture; while the prominent local nobles were busy sharing the gossip of the day, careful not to say too little or too much. But the long wait and the slight smell of animal dung on the evening breeze tempered the crowd’s enthusiasm.

The sun was low, and a full moon was rising above the horizon, although, for those waiting in line, it was hard to tell with the breaking fog. At dusk, royal guards would open the doors, at last, and the crowd could enter. Once inside, the attendees could walk the lengthy rug-covered hallways to the banquet room and smell the incense burning on the hearths. The food would be better than the usual roast mutton, boiled turnips, and day-old bread, tonight the Royal Chef would be serving swordfish and fresh vegetables, with fresh-baked bread, no less, and a never-ending supply of wine to fill one’s cup. The king likes to share his vice with his patrons, they all said. And once the feasting ended, the show would begin! A comedian as the opening act, or maybe an acrobat, followed by the singer.

“Oh, the singer!”

“She is a marvel!”

“Her beauty only overshadowed by her voice!”

“Have you heard anything like her before?”

“Far superior to Sawtooth!”

But far from the bustling crowd, as the musicians were playing a warm-up tune on the stage in the Royal Hall, Naias sat in a dressing room to the side of the stage, despondent. She had no desire to sing, whatsoever. Not tonight. Tonight it’s the last thing I want to do, she thought. Instead her mind was a hornet’s nest of fears and doubts. Her handmaiden had not attended to her late in the afternoon, and had not accompanied her to the Royal Hall, as was always the case. What was even more odd was not one of the servants or guards that she asked could account for Augusta’s absence. Not one. In fact, most barely made eye contact with Naias. She debated canceling the concert. But what would it say if she did not perform?

“My beautiful Princess!” Stephen pulled aside the tapestry across the door and entered with a dashing smile on his face and a hand behind his back. He was dressed in his best trousers and barely-worn formal cloak. “Look what I have for you my, love,” he brought his arm around from behind his back, revealing a single rose perched between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed it forward slowly. “For you, my darling. A rose after your own name, hee-hee,” he giggled, thinking they were the only two who were privy to the secret—that she was not a woman of the rose, but a woman of the seaweed.

She took the rose gingerly, and forced a smile.

“What is it, my dear? You’re nervous? Don’t you know that every time you sing, the Sea Gods themselves weep for joy! You must know that!” he tried to cheer her up with his excited tone. He was positively jubilant. To be the very object of her affections? The greatest siren in the world? he smiled at her broadly. But it faded fast, along with his joyful disposition, when she spoke.

“Something is wrong, Steph,” she rocked back in forth in her chair, staring down at the ground. “Something’s very wrong.”

“What do you mean? What could be wrong? Let’s not think about the squalor of Gold Bay, tonight. We will make our waters and land healthy again, someday. Tonight you deserve to celebrate your talents!”

“Steph, I’m being serious. I haven’t seen my handmaiden since this morning.”

Stephen was confused. Why is that a big problem? “And?”

“And . . . it’s—it’s just not like her. She always helps me dress and accompanies me from my quarters to the Royal Hall, especially when there is an important event. The only time she ever missed she fell ill and notified me right away that she wouldn’t be coming.”

“Well, what if—”

“—Stephen, listen to me! I asked every single servant I could find. For a good part of the afternoon. Not one of them had seen her! How is it possible, Steph?”

“I—I don’t know,” his playfulness and jovial mood had now completely faded, as he began to realize there could be something wrong after all.

“Where could she be? How could she have snuck off the castle grounds, Steph? With no one seeing her?”

“Did you ask Sir Ryan or one of the Royal Guard?”

“Of course. I asked everyone. Not one squad leader has seen her since she returned to the servant’s houses to see me, late morning.”

“Hmm. That does seem odd. Considering she’s your closest companion. And you had a big performance to dress for . . .”

“Exactly.”

Prince Stephen looked at his lover with a furrowed brow. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. I wonder if Tristen—” her sigh stopped him. “What? Is there something else I should know, my love? Something to do with my brother?”

“Stephen,” Naias began to cry lightly.

He rushed over and enclosed his arms around her. “My dear, my love, don’t cry! Why are you crying?” he pet her hair and held her closer. “I’m sure Augusta is just fine.”

“I may have done something . . . idiotic . . .” salty tears glistened on her cheeks. She coughed and looked for a vase of water, the Prince stood to fetch one when there was a call from outside the door.

“Prince Stephen?” the voice was muffled behind the tapestry.

He walked over and slid aside the tapestry—but only enough to stick his head out. “Yes?”

The Queen was asking for him. She was as eager, Stephen assumed, as every other living soul, to hear the dazzling voice of the Desert Rose. The messenger notified him that the musicians had already gone through all of their warm-ups and were now standing around. Waiting.

The Prince dismissed the man and turned to Naias. They looked at each other, both uncertain of what to say or do. Finally, he broke the silence. “Well, shall I say you have turned ill? That you can’t perform? I’m sure I can get some guards to escort us through a side hall without too much of a stir?”

“No,” she replied. She had no choice but to go through with it. “It would draw more suspicion . . .”

“More suspicion?” Stephen looked concerned, sat beside her again and took her hand. “You were saying something—before we were interrupted?”

She sighed deeply, laying her forehead on his shoulder. He did not urge her, but waited for her to compose herself.

“I told Augusta . . .”

“What?” Stephen let go of her hand and stood, abruptly.

“I told her everything.”

“What do you mean, everything?”

“Everything.”

The Prince sighed, and turned around and paced the small dressing room, pleating his forehead with his fingers. If the handmaiden is missing . . . that could mean . . . “Princess, I think we should—”

This time the voice interrupting them from behind the curtain was Queen Iris. She was checking on them personally. Stephen recognized the tone of her voice, it was her way of saying ‘you better get out here.’

Naias shook her head, bit her lip, put on the best possible face she could, and allowed the Prince to open the curtain for her to lead her out from the dressing room.

Right away they both knew they had made a mistake.