TIDE: Retelling the Little Mermaid by Alydia Rackham
A lone, black figure stood upon the crest of a hill, astride a muscular horse—equally black. The young rider’s cape twisted out behind him, borne on a cantankerous wind that had wound its way up through the craggy valley from the sea. That same wind disturbed the long, rolling mane of the horse, sending it writhing across the rider’s gloved hands—and it troubled the rider’s shoulder-length, ebony hair.
The young rider turned his pale, scarred face toward the towering forest wall to his left, as his steed’s shod hooves shifted and scraped against beaten stone. Even at the distance from whence he stood, he could feel an unearthly cold wafting out from between the gnarled fir trees. And though steely clouds covered the sky, he could glimpse the dark sparkle of frost amongst the branches.
The young man narrowed his black eyes and set his jaw.
“Cryck!” The throaty, creaking cry echoed through the shallow valley from above. The rider glanced up to see the familiar form of a large, tattered raven swoop past, and glide ahead of him toward the deepening of the cleft in the hills. The rider adjusted his grip on the reins, and, giving one last black look at the border of woods, urged his horse down the hill.
He balanced easily as his mighty horse trotted down the wide gravel road, ignoring the cut in the wind—so different from the sun-soaked, sweeping hills he’d recently left behind. He passed down through the gully, and urged his steed into a canter. The long sword at his side beat a rhythm against his thigh, and his cape slapped the horse’s hindquarters. The raven overhead gave another absent squawk, and flapped his wings against the breeze.
Within an hour, they left all sight of the woods behind, and the gully opened up to a broad moor dotted with rugged heath and exposed stone. The sun shattered the clouds here, spilling down in waterfalls upon the earth below. And at the edge of this moor, the earth fell away, and the sea spread like a glittering carpet all the way to the horizon—interrupted only by a set of islands, the foremost island striking a vast and soaring form against the brilliance of the water.
The rider leaned back and gently tugged on the reins, slowing his horse to a walk. He paused, taking a deep breath of the briny air, then glanced again to his left, and found the white road that wound down to the fishing village.
The rider gave a sharp whistle.
The raven cawed, and swung around midair, dove, flapped his great wings, and landed expertly on the rider’s right shoulder. The raven pecked at the rider’s long hair, and ruffled his feathers.
Without giving more than a cursory command to the horse, the rider sent him into a canter again, and the three of them started down the rolling hills. Hooves clashed steadily against broken rock, and the roar of the wind increased, rushing through the rider’s clothes.
At last, they dipped into the shelter between two cliffsides, and old trees rose up around them. Ahead, the rider caught sight of smoke rising from chimneys. The road turned to packed dirt, and to either side, two-story, grey-stone houses appeared, with bright windows, and blue, red or green doors. The scent of smoked fish soon rolled out to meet him, along with the smell of burning wood. Bustling noise arose, accompanied by the dull, deep roll of the ocean swells.
He turned a corner and entered a broad lane busy with working people and carts and horses and donkeys. The plain-clad folk carried wood, grain, ropes and fish in baskets, they shouted to each other, they rang silvery bells that hung from doorframes.
He slowed his horse. The raven gave a quiet cluck-cluck-cluck. The horse lowered his head, and stepped through the crowd, careful where he set his mighty hooves.
They followed the curve in the road, and at last achieved a downward ramp that led to the broad beach, where crowds of women in hiked-up skirts plied the sands for clams. Seagulls flitted like wisps of cotton, diving and swirling over the breakers, crying and calling into the sky.
The rider and his raven maneuvered all the way to the end of a stone dock, where several beaten sailing vessels were moored. Hooves now clattered on stone, and the gusts of wind billowed out the rider’s cloak. He made his way to the very end of the dock, where a single, larger ship, much more finely-painted than the others, swayed with the tide. Several sea-battered, ruddy men stood upon the deck, winding rope and polishing the wood. They wore dark blue uniforms and white kerchiefs, and three of them heartily sang a sea chantey that the wind tried to steal away from them.
“Oh, the work was hard and the wages low
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
I guess it’s time for us to go
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, the voyage is done, and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.
I thought I heard the old man say
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Tomorrow you will get your pay
And it’s time for us to leave her
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her…”
One of the three singing men caught sight of the rider, and stood up straight. He had a short-trimmed white beard, and curly white hair that stuck out from beneath a brimmed cap. He stopped singing, and beamed a wide smile that wrinkled his weathered face as he cast his blue gaze up and down the horse and rider’s towering black forms.
“Well…What a sight,” the sailor remarked. “What a sight, indeed.”
The other sailors immediately stopped what they were doing and looked up, as the rider gazed back down at them, his great cape rolling behind him, his raven hunching upon his shoulder, and his horse lifting his proud, grand head. Their mouths opened, but none were able to speak.
“You’re…you’re Galahad Stormcrane,” one of the younger sailors finally spoke up, stepping forward. “The Curse-Breaker. The one we’re to take to Metern?”
“I am,” Galahad said, sat back, and swung down from the saddle. He landed easily, his raven flapping to compensate. He turned and unstrapped a saddlebag, reached in, and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. He stepped up to the side of the small ship and handed the scroll across to the older man—the captain.
“Thankee,” the captain said as he took it. Gripping hold of it with both hands as the wind tried to snatch it from him, he unrolled it and read it. “Aye, yes,” he concluded, looking back up at Galahad with another smile. “I’m Captain McNeil, and this is His Majesty’s the Essa.”
“Thank you,” Galahad nodded, turned and grasped his horse’s bridle, and led the great animal toward the edge of the boat. Alarmed, the sailors stepped back.
“Do he need a—” McNeil started—
And the huge horse kicked off, leaped over the rail and onto the deck with a shaking thunder. The raven squawked in comment. Galahad hopped in after, as the horse snorted and tossed his head.
“What great black beasties ye have,” the younger sailor comment. “What be their names?”
“This is Thondorfax,” Galahad slapped the horse’s neck. “And this is Scraw.”
At the sound of his name, the raven let out a loud crack sound. The sailors laughed breathlessly, still shying clear of Thondorfax’s massive shoulders.
“You’re a tall lad yourself,” the captain noted, glancing him up and down. “A good head taller than my son!”
“How long till we make sail?” Galahad asked, turning to scan the sea.
“Not but a few minutes,” the captain answered, tugging on his cap. Galahad just nodded, reaching out to grasp Thondorfax’s reins again.
Comments and gasping were quickly replaced by the bustle of activity on deck as they reeled in the anchor, pushed away from the dock, and made sail. The white canvas flapped slack in the wind before the captain turned the rudder and the sails snapped to. In no time at all, they had pulled away from the dock, fore into the waves, and the little ship rocked smoothly like a galloping horse. Cold spray splashed up over the rail, dotting Galahad’s cheeks.
As the crew worked, they gave Galahad and his animals a wide berth, but soon they began laughing amongst themselves again, and once more started to sing.
“The wind was foul an' the sea ran high,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
She shipped it green an' none went by.
An it's time for us to leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, the voyage is done, and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.
The grub was bad an' the wages low,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
But now once more ashore we'll go.
As it's time for us to leave her!”
They picked up speed as the waves and wind arose.
Gusts blasted across the deck, but the sailors only sang louder.
“Oh, leave her, Johnny, an' we'll work no more,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Of pump or drown we've had full store.
An it's time for us to leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, the voyage is done, and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.
Leave her, Johnny, an' we'll leave her with a grin,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
There's many a worser we've sailed in.
And it's time for us to leave her!”
On either side, several smaller boats floated or sailed,
the men aboard throwing nets out or pulling them in. The Essa sailed between them, toward the great island that waited about two miles off shore. As they passed over the surf, the sea smoothed, and the little ship leaned easily as the gale carried her. Thondorfax braced his shoulder against the mast, and Scraw huddled down against Galahad’s neck. The chilly gusts tried to slice through his clothes, but his heavy shirt, trousers, boots, tunic and waistcoat wouldn’t allow it. Galahad rested his free hand on the silver butt of his sword, lifted his chin, and fixed his eyes on the far shore.
In swift time, the ship approached the coast of the island, but the captain pulled her to port, and they skated the edge of the jagged shore northward. Huge white cliffs leaped up from the beaches, and waves shattered against toothy rocks. Galahad’s gaze swept the green upper edges of the cliffs, and he said nothing.
An hour later, they rounded the curve of the island and headed northeast. They sailed past a little fishing village in a cleft—one that the captain pointed to, and declared it to be called Megipesk. Another half hour brought them around a short peninsula…
And there it rose up before them.
Galahad drew in a slow breath.
Atop the height of a great hill by the rim of the cliff stood a white castle. It had domed-roofed towers, elegant archways, and pillars that looked like unicorn horns. The domes shone blue, with tiles of lapis lazuli. Stripes of gold shimmered atop the lintels of the arches. Tall windows, paned with unbreakable silvery glass from Spegel, flashed back the sunlight. Designs of ships and great sea creatures adorned the smooth walls in relief. Seagulls soared around its peaks like snow.
“Perlkastel,” the captain announced, the pride evident in his voice. “Only to be rivaled by the Palace of Glas in Spegel. Or so they say. I’ve never seen that one, myself.”
“Nor I,” Galahad murmured, his attention still fixed on the ornate battlements.
The captain shouted orders, the sailors adjusted the canvas, and the ship turned toward shore—toward a carefully-built harbor lined with fine stone buildings. They drew up to the dock’s side, and let down the anchor.
As soon as he could gauge it, Galahad leaped out of the ship and landed on the dock. With a great heave and another snort, Thondorfax followed, crashing down right beside him, throwing his head. Scraw barked at him.
“Thank you,” Galahad said to the captain, hopping back up into the saddle, setting his boots in the stirrups and taking up the reins. “I will tell His Highness you performed your duty well.”
“Thankee, sir,” the captain tipped his hat. “Good luck, sir.”
Galahad didn’t respond. He just turned Thondorfax’s head and clicked to him, and the horse took off at a brisk trot up the dock. Scraw beat his wings and took off, sailing ahead again.
Galahad trotted onto the beach, up the white rocks, and onto the central lane of the village. The people here wore much finer clothes, of sea-green and blue colors, with hats on their heads. They didn’t shout, but walked beside each other—and all of them turned to watch Galahad as he passed through their midst. Scraw crowed, and Thondorfax picked up his speed.
Together, they worked their way up the ever-inclining, windy road, following the cliffline, occasionally passing shepherds driving their white herds. Then, the road turned to paving, and trees flanked it. Old trees, with thick green canopies. The wind rushed through their leaves, and unseen birds chirped in their branches. Galahad lost sight of Scraw as he soared over the leafy heights.
The wide lane wound gently across the hills, leading ever upward. And at last, the trees opened up to a huge terraced garden. A large fountain stood in the center of each terrace, each fountain taking the form of a nymph or a sea god or a mighty fish. Blooming roses surrounded the fountains, each terrace a different color. The heady scent washed over Galahad as he started up the drive toward the massive, waiting arms of the castle.
He followed the lane directly through the gardens, onto a large, paved yard, and drew up on front of the tall, elegant, iron black gates tipped in gold. Two guards, wearing shining silver helmets and white uniforms, stepped out from their towers to meet him.
“Greetings, sir. State your name and business,” said the guard with the mustache.
“I am Galahad Stormcrane, Curse-Breaker,” Galahad answered him. “I must speak with Prince James.”
He saw the guard’s eyes go wide, and he exchanged a glance with the other soldier.
“Stormcrane?” he stammered. “Yes, yes, right away, sir. If you’ll dismount, I’ll personally have your horse—”
“No,” Galahad cut in. “He comes with me.”
“What—inside the palace?”
“Yes.” Galahad leveled a look at the mustached guard. “Or are your doors too small?”
“Why…Why no, sir, they’re quite wide—”
Galahad turned from him toward the palace.
“Yes, sir,” the guard hurried back, and with his comrade, they opened the gates. Not waiting for them to fully open, Galahad and Thondorfax marched inside, with Scraw flapping overhead. The raven then dipped down and landed on Thondorfax’s head. Galahad dismounted, let go of the reins and strode forward. The great horse followed right behind, his head ducking low. More guards quickly heaved open the double doors and Galahad passed through, Thondorfax and Scraw after him, into a large, white, pillared hallway with gorgeous mosaiced floors. At the far end waited a vast room flooded with light off the sea. Thondorfax’s heavy hooves clacked loudly against the smooth stones. And together, they entered the room.
The ceiling soared. Murals of ethereal humans dancing through the clouds covered the spaces between the arches. Glittering crystal chandeliers—more glass from Spegel—hung like a rain of diamonds. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up the entire wall, looking out over the glimmering channel and then the green, misty mainland. The floor was polished tile, alternating black and white squares. Galahad moved to the center of the room, turned to his right, and faced the head of the room, where a golden dais stood below a wall-covering tapestry. Thondorfax drew up behind him, and his shoulder touched Galahad’s. The horse’s great neck curved, and his body enshielded Galahad on all sides save the fore.
And the two people that stood upon the dais twisted to see them.
One was clearly an advisor—a middle-aged man dressed in simple, floor-length red robes.
The other was a young, vividly-handsome man—perhaps five years younger than Galahad—whose countenance shone like the light off the water. He had short, golden hair, brilliant blue eyes, and laughing features. He wore a silvery blue doublet, blue trousers and white hose, with diamonds sparkling on the buckles of his shoes. He saw Galahad, who stood encompassed by his towering beasts—and dropped his book.
The volume smacked against the steps of the dais, and the young man jumped.
“Good lord,” he cried, scrambling to snatch it up, then gripped it in both hands as he gaped at Galahad. “It can’t be.”
“Prince James, son of the late king Orion, nephew of King Leonardo?” Galahad said, his low voice echoing in the tall chamber.
“Yes,” the prince nodded earnestly, frowning.
Galahad solemnly met his eyes and evened his tone.
“I have come to warn you that your kingdom will soon be attacked.”
The prince almost dropped his book again. He exchanged a startled look with his advisor, then stepped down the dais toward Galahad.
“Truly?” he said. “What…What news do you have to suggest that?”
“I’ve come from the Fortress of Maith,” Galahad answered. “The masters there watch over Edel’s Seven Seals—the seals laid down by the first Curse-Breakers to guard Edel from Curse-Makers from other shores.”
“Yes, I have heard of them,” the prince nodded earnestly. “There is supposed to be one just out my window, in fact. In the sea.”
“Yes, there is,” Galahad replied. “And on a clear day, I imagine you can see it under the water. A huge circle, perhaps a mile wide, of dark stone?”
The prince watched him intently.
“Each of these seals has a guardian,” Galahad told him. “His life is bound to the seal, and he’s to guard the seal and keep it strong.”
The prince glanced back at his advisor again before turning back to Galahad. His pale face had flushed red.
“That…is the first I have heard of that,” he confessed. “Is it…Is it supposed to be a member of the royal family?”
“On the contrary,” Galahad said. “The guardian only has one task. And, for some reason that none of the masters can understand…your guardian has vanished.”
The prince blinked, and his eyebrows shot up.
“What? Who is it? What happened to him?”
Galahad shook his head again.
“I don’t know the answer to either question. But one thing is certain.” He took a step closer to the prince. “Without him, the seal—and also your kingdom—are vulnerable to the dark powers of the sea, and whatever may lay beyond that. And it may be…” he lowered his voice. “…that the reason for the guardian’s disappearance is an imminent attack.”
“I see,” he murmured. He shifted his weight. “You should know that my erm…My uncle, the king, is ill.” He looked up at Galahad, his eyes bright and open. “He is…He is not here.”
“Yes, I know,” Galahad said flatly. “He is at the Halls of Healing, but he is not doing well.”
The prince watched Galahad, the color leaving his face, then nodded slowly.
“Which is why I bring this news to you,” Galahad finished. “And to request your permission to stay in the kingdom of Mhuirlan, and even on Metern, until I can uncover what has happened to your guardian.”
“Oh, good lord, yes,” the prince said in a rush, and slapped the spine of his book. “Yes, please, please stay. As long as you like. Erm, in fact…” he glanced at his advisor again before taking a deep breath. “We have accommodation for a Curse-Breaker. My uncle made me aware of it last spring. It’s a house called Euryor, just down the hill, on the cliffs. It’s kept up by a groundskeeper and a maid, furnished and everything.” The prince tried to smile. “It’s only about a mile away.”
“I’m sure it will be sufficient,” Galahad said.
“More than that, I hope,” the prince laughed. “In fact, I’ll ride with you myself, and show it to you. You must be ready to take some rest.”
“Thank you,” Galahad inclined his head slightly.
“Garrick, have them ready my horse,” the prince ordered his advisor. The advisor bowed and left the room through a side door. The prince looked past Galahad at Thondorfax.
“And what a magnificent animal you have here,” he remarked—and without reserve, stepped right up to Thondorfax and vigorously petted his neck. Galahad’s attention instantly sharpened…
But Thondorfax just nickered and bumped the prince lightly in the chest with his nose. Scraw hopped nimbly down to the horse’s shoulders and gave a squack. The tension in Galahad’s shoulders eased.
“Scraw believes you were talking to him,” he noted.
“And so I was!” the prince grinned up at the large bird, then slapped Thondorfax’s flank. “Both are equally splendid.”
Scraw replied with a frank “blick!” and canted his head, studying the prince with one bright eye. Then the prince briskly turned to Galahad.
The prince, astride a sleek white horse with black mane and tail, decked out with grey tack, led the way down the terraced garden lane, with Galahad, Thondorfax and Scraw just beside. They turned a slightly different direction than Galahad had come, and passed into a cultivated wood of firs and beeches. Thondorfax huffed, pranced, and strained at his bit. The prince glanced over at him.
“Is he not tired from his journey?”
“Thondorfax is never tired.”
“Well then,” the prince sat up and gathered his reins in his gloved hands. “Stell hasn’t been out in a few days. Do you mind if I stretch his legs?”
Galahad looked over at the prince, and quirked an eyebrow.
The prince grinned at him in challenge.
“Hyah!” the prince slapped his horse’s rump, and the steed took off.
“Blahk!” Scraw barked, and took off straight into the trees.
Without urging, Thondorfax lunged after Stell.
Galahad easily leaned forward and wound that thunderous mane through his fingers, his own body flowing right with his horse’s as the great Friesian caught up to the prince’s smaller steed. The rumble of their hooves echoed through the wood, and hundreds of surprised birds burst up out of the hedges and branches.
They raced up and down several short hills, then passed through a gate in a large stone wall, and out onto the moors. The wind whipped through their capes and the manes of their mounts. The road turned into a beaten carriage track, and each man rode upon one wheel mark, side by side. At a full gallop, they swept over the rolling, heathy wilderness, passing copses of gorse, the salty wind ripping across the hills.
Galahad glanced over at the prince. The other young man kept his seat extremely well, riding with familiarity and comfort, even at this blinding speed. The prince looked at Galahad, and Galahad instantly saw the prince was gauging him in the same way. The prince’s smile broadened, and he leaned forward…
And the horse Stell shot forward—even faster.
Galahad blinked, then lightly squeezed Thondorfax’s flanks with his heels.
Thondorfax whinnied, tossed his head, and blazed after the other horse, immediately catching up. The prince laughed out loud, let go of the reins, and threw his arms out to either side. Stell kept galloping at full tilt, as his prince kept his seat as easily as if their bodies were one.
Scraw’s shadow crossed over them, as the two riders began their descent, down the face of a hill toward a gathering of four weathered trees, and a stone house and barn standing amongst them. The prince gathered his reins back up again and leaned back a little in the saddle. Stell snorted but slowed down. Thondorfax followed suit. They passed between two short trees and into the yard in front of the house.
It was a simple, old-built, two-story house of light brown stone, with a simple front door and narrow windows. It had a slate roof and two chimneys, one of which puffed smoke out to be instantly carried away by the wind. Ivy crawled up one side of the house’s face. Across the yard from the front door stood a stout, thick barn with a thatch roof. Chickens clucked and pecked at corn meal in the yard, and a goat wandered through the barn door.
Galahad drew Thondorfax up in front of the door, and cast his gaze up across the house. To the right stood a leaning woodshed, to its left, a walled garden with a wooden front gate. Galahad’s hands relaxed on the reins, and he let out a small sigh.
“This is Euryor,” the prince declared, swinging his leg back and hopping off his horse. “Come inside.”
Galahad stayed where he was for a moment, then climbed down and clapped Thondorfax on the shoulder. The horse rattled his bridle, then turned to nose the chickens out of the way to eat some of the corn meal. Scraw landed on Galahad’s shoulder, and Galahad followed the prince up to the front door. The prince rapped his knuckles against the black-painted wood. A few moments later, the door swung open, and a short girl stood there, perhaps sixteen years old. She had brown hair bound back under a white cap, and wore a grey dress and white apron. She had a pleasant, round face, large brown eyes, and freckles. Freckles that were immediately drowned in a blush as she dipped into a low curtsey.
“Your Highness!” she gasped, and then threw herself out of the way, holding the door open.
“Thank you,” the prince said, stepping up into the entryway. Galahad stepped up after him, his head barely passing beneath the low lintel. Scraw ducked, too.
Galahad paused a moment to let his eyes adjust. The floor inside the entry hallway was polished flagstone, covered by a pale, plain rug. It was dim, just lit by the outside light coming in from other windows.
“Galahad Stormcrane, this is Little Emblyn, the housemaid,” the prince gestured to the maid, who dipped another curtsey, her eyes wider than ever.
“S-Stormcrane?” she gasped. “The Curse-Breaker?”
“Yes,” the prince chuckled. “He’s going to be staying here as long as he needs, to conduct business. Please make him comfortable.”
“I will, Your Highness,” she promised, redder still.
“Here is the sitting room,” the prince said, passing through the doorway to their left and into a small but airy room with a carpet and a few pieces of furniture, and a painting of Perlkastel hanging over the white mantel. The walls were whitewashed stone.
“Through here is the library, which I think you will find the most interesting,” the prince remarked, striding on ahead through the wide doorway. Galahad followed him into a tall-ceilinged room filled with dark-wood shelves that were positively packed with volumes. The ceiling had been painted with a mural of a cloudy sky cut by streams of sunlight. Cherubic figures had been carved into the posts of the shelves, and several of them held out lit lamps in their hands. The far wall bore two tall windows, with long curtains. A fine woven rug covered the floor, and padded leather furniture stood around the strong stone fireplace. A fire now burned in the hearth, and above the mantel hung a broad painting of a battered, torn ship rolling upon a stormy sea.
“That’s the Cygnus,” Galahad noted quietly, stepping closer to peer at it. Then, he turned and regarded the prince. “The ship your father was aboard when it was lost.”
“Yes,” the prince offered a brave smile. “My mother never wants to see that painting again…but I couldn’t bear to throw it out. So I brought it here.” He shrugged stiffly. “My aunt tells me it will bring bad luck to the family.”
“Nonsense. It’s just a painting,” Galahad murmured, studying the lines of the art again.
“My father collected all kinds of books,” the prince said with a short sigh, stepping back and glancing around. “And, as you probably know, he was friends with Clanahan Curse-Breaker, so Clanahan sent him a good many volumes.”
“Did he?” Galahad faced him, then frowned up at the hundreds of tomes that lined the shelves. “That could be useful.”
“Come, let me show you the rest of the house,” the prince beckoned, and left the library the same way they had come in. Scraw croaked, and jumped off Galahad’s shoulder and perched on the back of a chair. Galahad flashed his eyebrows at him, and left to follow the prince.
They trailed back through the sitting room, into the entry hallway, and across into a medium-sized dining room, with a simply-made, rectangular table with benches and adorned with candlesticks and garlands. An iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, and light came in from the window to Galahad’s right.
“Dining room, and through here is the kitchen,” the prince pushed the door aside to reveal an old-fashioned but large kitchen.
Little Emblyn stood at the sink, and when the door swung open, she yelped and dropped a pan straight into soapy water, and splashed all over.
The prince ducked back, letting the door fall shut, and chuckled.
“Poor girl, she’s too used to being by herself.”
With that, he left the dining room again. Galahad gave the room another cursory glance, then came after the prince into the entryway and then up the creaking flight of stairs that led directly to the second level. They turned to the left and into a narrow, whitewashed passage. They passed one door on the right, turned a corner, and then found a door to the left. The prince opened it, then gestured to Galahad.
Galahad dipped his head, and entered.
“This is the master bedroom,” the prince said. “I hope you find it comfortable.”
“Mm,” Galahad grunted as he looked around.
The walls had been whitewashed and then painted a faded red, with no windows, just paintings of faraway landscapes, lit by lamps. A narrow fireplace stood in the far left-hand corner, and a four-poster bed stood to his right. The carpet on the floor and the blankets on the bed were deep scarlet. A chair and writing desk sat near the fireplace, and a trunk at the foot of the bed.
Galahad stepped inside, unstrapped his sword from his belt, and laid it across the bed.
“You sound as if you believe what your aunt said about bad luck,” he mused, crossing the room to look at a painting of a copper mine standing upon a cliff, its smoke stack reaching to the leaden sky. “Yet you ride as recklessly as a schoolboy.”
Behind him, the prince laughed, then cleared his throat.
Galahad turned and looked directly at him. The prince’s smile faltered.
“I might say that…my aunt’s experiences and my own differ somewhat.”
“How so?” Galahad wondered.
The prince suddenly looked paler, a trapped look in his bright eyes. He swallowed hard, and he pinched the thumb of his left hand in the fingers of his right. Galahad waited.
“A fortnight ago,” the prince began—much unsteadier than before. “I was traveling home from the island of Hanter-broder, and my ship was caught in a storm.”
Galahad’s brow furrowed, and he came back toward the prince, listening.
“Between the islands of Hanter-broder and Hanter-hwor there’s a ring of protruding stones called Serpent’s Pass,” the prince went on. “It’s difficult enough to navigate in calm waters…but it was night, and the seas had picked up, and it had begun to rain. It was impossible to see them.” The prince swallowed again. “The ship was driven straight into them. Completely smashed to pieces. All the crew lost.”
“How did you survive?” Galahad pressed.
The prince suddenly laughed, and shook his head.
“I…I don’t know,” he admitted. “The next morning, I found myself lying on the beach of Hanter-hwor, unharmed. And the only thing I remember…” he trailed off, and gave Galahad a hesitant look.
“I remember…arms,” the prince said quietly. “Arms taking hold of me. And a voice. Singing. And when I heard it…I forgot to be afraid.”
“The voice and arms of a man?” Galahad asked carefully.
“No,” the prince answered. “A woman.”
Galahad said nothing. For a long moment, he held the prince’s gaze. Then he nodded.
“I see. And this is why you feel you can be reckless.”
“Well, not reckless,” the prince corrected. “But…ever since then, I have looked at the world through new eyes. Before this happened, I used to fret over petty details, and treat people carelessly. Now, small, simple things give me pleasure, and I see beauty all around me.” The prince now searched Galahad’s face. “Do you understand what I mean?”
“I do,” Galahad nodded. “That feeling will pass.”
Galahad considered, then nodded again.
“Let us hope not,” he said. “But I am thankful you survived.”
“You believe me, then,” the prince wanted to clarify. “I’ve…I haven’t told anyone what I’ve just told you. I feared they would think I’d gone mad.”
Galahad lifted an eyebrow and tugged off his cape.
“Of all the tales I have ever heard, and the things I have seen,” Galahad said. “That would be the least strange.”
“Truly?” The prince’s eyebrows went up. “Well…I should like to travel with you sometime!”
“Unfortunately, I never travel with anyone,” Galahad replied, tossing the cape onto the bed. “Would you mind showing me the barn?”
I have arrived safely on the island of Metern. The journey was uneventful, and I met with no trouble on the road. Passing by the southern border of Spegel, however, I did pause to look past the trees, and I could see frost inside the wood. I confess I am still uneasy about sending little Rose Melhorn to address that curse—especially if she is to deal with an ice fairy in the full height of her power. I am not far from Spegel’s eastern border, even now. Should she need my assistance with anything, she, or you, need only send word.
I have met Prince James, who is amenable, and open. He accepted what I told him without any pretense, and seems willing to listen, even if he is naïve. He has personally installed me in a house near the palace, and it is comfortable, and well-stocked with many of Clanahan’s books—as I have learned from the prince that the former king and Clanahan were close friends.
I plan to ride to the palace tomorrow morning and speak to the prince again, and ask him for a guide to take me round the island so I may better navigate on my own. I must work quickly. As we discussed, I have every expectation of finding the guardian of this seal to be dead. I will waste no time in discovering how he died, and why. If you hear of anything, send it on.
Give my regards to Effrain and Clanahan.
Galahad set his quill aside, folded the letter, and sealed it with the red wax he had pulled from his writing kit—stamped it with his family crest: a hammer and anvil. Then, he left the study, strode out through the sitting room, into the entryway, and out the front door. His boots crunched on the gravel.
Scraw trotted through the front yard with the chickens, pecking at the corn meal. Galahad took a breath and whistled sharply.
Scraw’s head came up, then he took to flight. He blazed straight toward Galahad, Galahad held the letter out to the side—
Scraw snatched it in his beak and shot up into the sky. As Galahad watched, the bird gained a sweeping height—
And with a blinding flash like lightning, he shot off and disappeared. He would arrive at the Fortress of Maith within the hour.
The soft evening light swam across the waves as Galahad and Thondorfax walked down the beach. Galahad moved ahead of his horse, who followed him without saddle or bridle. The waves rushed over the sand, foaming around the rocks, as the ocean breathed and sighed and muttered. The wind had calmed, and the sky had cleared. Galahad’s booted feet made shallow prints on the high, smooth sand as he gazed out across the channel to the rolling green mainland of Mhuirlan. White sails dotted the faraway water, and seagulls followed the boats.
Galahad paused, taking a deep breath of the cool, salty air, letting the absent wind rustle through his clothes and hair. Thondorfax pressed up next to him, and both regarded the west, where the sun dipped below the horizon.
Sensing a soft light behind him, Galahad turned and caught sight of a full moon, faint and pearly in the pale blue of the sky, but even as he gazed up at her, her light brightened.
Thondorfax made a noise. A high, quiet whinny.
Galahad’s head came around, his attention flashing to his horse.
Thondorfax’s ears had perked up high, his attention fixed on something near the point where the beach met the feet of the cliffs. The horse drew in deep breaths, his nostrils flaring, his eyes unblinking.
Staying still, Galahad followed the horse’s captivated gaze. For a long moment, though he scoured the edges of the rocks, he saw nothing.
A figure. Huddled back against a large rock.
Thondorfax made another plaintive sound, and eagerly followed him. Galahad’s pace quickened. He maneuvered around a group of tall rocks coated in lichen, then stopped.
A young woman. Sitting curled up with her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her middle. Her bare arms and legs were white as the moon, as was her face. She wore nothing. She had long, knotted dark hair that hung down all around her, covering her chest. She stared at him. She had large eyes, grey as the winter sea; long lashes, and black eyebrows. She had delicate, elegant features—a perfect nose and full lips, but they were colorless.
“Hello,” Galahad said carefully.
She twitched, and then started to shiver. Her wide gaze flickered past him, to Thondorfax.
Galahad turned his head slightly, and exchanged a glance with his horse. Thondorfax whuffled, lowered his head, and let his lips go slack as he shuffled toward her. He kept nickering softly, his nose almost on the ground, and nuzzled her knee.
Though her face remained deathly white, the expression lit her features with unexpected beauty. Shakily, she reached out and touched the horse’s muzzle. Her smile faded.
Galahad slowly pulled off his cape. He held it out in front of him, but did not move forward. She looked up at him again. He gazed back at her, and lifted his eyebrows.
Her lips parted. But she didn’t speak.
Galahad took one step forward. Her breathing picked up, but she didn’t move. He took another step forward. She slid her hand up, and tightly wound her fingers through Thondorfax’s forelock. Cautiously, Galahad knelt down before her, and just held the cape up. She breathed quickly, like a rabbit, her attention flicking between him and the garment. Galahad waited.
Finally, her attention stopped flashing back and forth, and found him again. Her brow furrowed. He leaned forward, and draped the cape over her knees. Then, he let go, and sat back.
She blinked, and released Thondorfax. Gingerly, she stretched out a hand and grasped the edge of the cape, and drew it closer to her chest. She pulled the hem up to her face, and pressed it to her lips, all the while, watching him.
Galahad sat back on his haunches, studying her. As he did, he tugged off his gloves, and pushed them into a side pocket of his trousers. The girl focused on his long, bare hands, now, as he rested his wrists on his knees.
Then, Galahad held out his right hand—his sword hand—to her, palm up.
Thondorfax whuffled again, leaned out and lipped his hand, mistakenly searching for a sugar cube.
The sound reminded Galahad of the waves upon the sand.
Galahad’s own lips parted as he looked at her, but he didn’t say anything. Thondorfax realized that there was nothing in Galahad’s palm, and shuffled back, but not before nosing him in the shoulder. Galahad kept his hand where it was.
After a moment, the girl leaned forward slightly, frowning down at his palm. Then, she risked her own right hand, and brushed his fingers. Her touch was cold. He didn’t withdraw.
Her interest sharpened, and her left hand joined her right. She lightly grasped his hand, and turned it to reveal the deep scar on the back of his hand between his thumb and his forefinger. Her fingertips wandered over it, and then found the scar on his smallest knuckle. Galahad just watched, chills washing up his arm.
Her hands stopped moving, and she lifted her face. He met her eyes. Her eyebrows drew together, and something like decision marked her features. Then, carefully, she turned her own right hand over, palm up. Galahad looked down…
To see a black rune upon the palm of her hand.
He instantly snatched her hand, his eyes going wide, and stared down at it. Then, his attention flew to her face.
Her breathing hitched. She swallowed.
Galahad swooped over her. He swiftly took up his cape and bound it around her body, then scooped her up in his arms. She grunted, but she didn’t kick or hit him. He turned, and in three steps he mounted one of the tall rocks, then leaped off the peak. He landed astride Thondorfax, securing his hold on her. Thondorfax waited for him to settle her before starting forward at a smooth gait.
The sky darkened all around them, and the moon shone bright in a purple sky as they swept back up the beach, and started up the steep and winding road to Euryor House.
“Little Emblyn!” Galahad called, kicking the front door out of the way and striding into the house. The housemaid emerged from the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron, and gasped.
“I found her on the beach,” Galahad said, stepping past her and into the dining room. “She is cold, and wet, and I doubt if she’s had anything to eat for several days.”
“I’ll make up a bath for her!” Little Emblyn cried, shoved back through the kitchen door, snatching it open so that Galahad could follow. He felt the strange girl shivering in his arms as she looked wildly all around her.
“She’s terrified!” Little Emblyn realized. “Here, set her on this bench by the range—I’ll fetch the bathtub—”
“Where is it?” Galahad interrupted.
“In the pantry, there,” Little Emblyn pointed.
“I will get it, you start warming the water.”
Galahad bent down and set the girl lengthwise on the padded bench, and tucked his cape closer around her. Her frightened gaze caught his for an instant before he left her and crossed the stone kitchen floor to the back room and pulled open the door. There, against the far wall, beside the larder shelves, stood a small copper tub with claw feet. He bent over it, picked it up and hauled it back out the door. It was heavy. He set it down in between the girl and the range, even as Little Emblyn heaved a large crock of water onto the stove.
“Do you have clothes that will fit her?” Galahad panted, straightening up.
“Erm…no sir,” Little Emblyn glanced over the stranger’s form and then shook her head. “She’s a deal too tall for my clothes. But there are lady’s clothes in one of the upstairs bedrooms, sir. Some of those dresses are bound to fit.”
“Which bedroom?” Galahad asked, swiping his hair out of his face.
“The first door you come to, sir, straight ahead from the stairs,” Little Emblyn answered.
Galahad didn’t answer, just left the kitchen, and headed up the stairs to dig through the trunks.
Galahad stood over a table in the library, his hands braced on the wood. His head hung low, and he stared down at the large, open book before him. A glass oil lamp burned beside it, casting all the rest of the room into deep shadow—and light upon the ancient pages.
A map of Mhuirlan, and the Teylu Crown Islands…
And the great seal on the bottom of the Sira Channel.
Its perfect ring stretched from the coast near Perlkastel all the way across the channel to the shores of the narrow part of Mhuirlan.
And right in the center of it stood a single rune.
And he had been staring at it ever since he opened to this page.
Galahad straightened, turned and looked toward the open door of the study. He saw Little Emblyn silhouetted against the lamp in the sitting room.
“Sir, I’ve dressed her and sat her down at table, but she doesn’t seem to know what to do with the soup or the bread…”
Galahad didn’t answer, just shut the book and picked it up, and carried it toward the door. He stepped past Little Emblyn, his jaw tightening, moved through the sitting room and into the dining room, his heavy footsteps ringing on the floor.
The girl sat on the other side of the table, in front of a steaming plate of food. She wore a plain maroon dress with fitted sleeves and scoop neck. Little Emblyn had somehow worked out all the tangles and knots in the girl’s dark, twisted hair—doubtlessly with a handful of olive-oil—and her tresses now hung in gentle waves down to her waist, shining in the candlelight. A little color had come into her cheeks, and her grey eyes had brightened.
When she saw him, her mouth opened—but again, she said nothing.
Galahad stopped, took a short breath, and inclined his head.
And he spoke in an entirely different tongue.
“Greetings Princess Meira—daughter of Strom, King Under the Water.”
Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07HD175K7?notRedirectToSDP=1&ref_=dbs_pwh_calw_0&storeType=ebooks
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