No Way Back | Cederic and Líadan
When Líadan first heard the rumours, she didn’t think anything of them. What would someone searching for a criminal have to do with her? But then the words Durham and Colville reached her ears, and the fear she thought had finally gone crashed back over her, filling her lungs until she couldn’t breathe. It was happening again, they were looking for her again. She would never be free. Not unless she finally did what she should have done weeks ago.
She didn’t bother packing what few things she had acquired; she wouldn’t need them. All she took was the string of pearls that had come from her home to begin with, and a single hairpin. A memento of sorts. She left a letter for Emma, including a note that she asked be passed on Cyra, and then, once it was dark, made her way out of the city and into the dark of the forest.
It was a pitch black night, even the moon covered by a thick haze of shadow. All the better, to keep prying eyes away. She shed her cloak and dress, hiding them beneath a rock near the river. By the time anyone found them she would long away, but they might still raise awkward questions. And then she slid into the water, feeling the strange magic of her legs knitting together into one, powerful tail, webs sprouting between her fingers and her skin hardening with scales. As she gills open she gave a kick of her tail and started swimming - away from Camelot, away from those searching for her, away from all the things she wished to see and do and the tentative sense of belonging, and swam for home.
It took a few hours to reach the mouth of the river and the open sea. She tasted the salt beginning to bleed into the water as she came to it and, despite the sadness at leaving so much behind, the part of her that longed again for the ocean sang out in joy. Oh, but it had been too long. Too long! She picked up speed, eager to be fully out in the water.
But as she came out into the bay, the water started to turn. The sea was never warm, but as a mermaid she had never suffered its coolness; now it felt cold, like icy fingers clawing her with razor sharp talon. The waves rumbled and thundered and she felt herself pulled and tossed like a piece of driftwood caught in the tide, unable to direct herself, powerless against the rage of the ocean. As if in response to its anger the sky overhead crackled and rain began to pour down.
Harsh screeching, like the sound of a thousand wails of terror filled Líadan’s ears. She cried out in pain, lifting her hands to cover them, but she couldn’t escape the sound. It seemed to sink into her very bones.
Líadan ... A whisper beneath the wailing, like the exhale of a breath. Líadan. Daughter of the ocean. Tainted by men.
Fear filled her heart as she suddenly understood. This was indeed the wrath of the ocean; it was the wrath of Lir, the god who ruled the ocean and was the ocean. She shivered. She had feared the sea god, a shadow even among her people, whispered about but never seen, and her heart broke to know her fear had not been in vain.
You gave up my gift. You chose them. Your brothers and sisters mourned you.
“No, no,” she sobbed, “I didn’t mean - he lied, deceived me, it was taken from me, I didn’t want it -”
You did. A part of you did.
There was no way to lie to Lir. He knew all. Her shame, her betrayal.
You have their magic on you still.
“It could not be undone.”
It must be. Or you cannot return.
“If I do not, they will kill me.”
Then that will be your punishment.
The voice was cold, stern, as unforgiving as the ocean itself. And all Líadan could do was let out her own wail of sorrow as the waves battered her back, refusing her entry. Briefly she was flung above the surface, but could see nothing through the relentless veil of rain. Then there was nothing but the grey iron of sea lashing at her, the howl of the waves and the wailing, still, echoing in her ears.
She had no idea how much time passed before she realised the storm had eased, and she was halfway back up the river, where Lir’s power waned - he was god only of the open water, not the rivers and lakes that wound through the earth.
Every part of her ached, and she felt frail and weak as she half-slumped over the riverbank. Where was she to go now? She could not return home. Could never return home, unless she found a way to permanently undo the spell that had been placed on her. Colville’s men were still looking for her, but Camelot was the closest to home she had ever found and the only place where there were sorcerors powerful enough that might help her.
Cyra might be able to protect her ... or perhaps ... perhaps she could go to the Saxon man she had met in the forest, the one who had learned her secret but been kind and helped her back to safety. Maybe he would hide her.
Exhausted and in pain, half-delirious, she pushed herself back into the water and forced herself to start swimming. But the joy she had felt was gone, replaced by a numb hollowness. Even the water was no longer a comfort, knowing she truly was an exile.
The sun was risen by the time she found her way back to Camelot’s forest. With shaking arms she dragged herself from the water and rolled on to her back, no energy or inclination to move and make her way back to the city. What was the point? The sun beat down on her, but where it had before seemed warm and pleasant now it felt harsh, mocking, working its cruel magic until she her tail split again and her scales receded, leaving bare, vulnerable flesh that could burn beneath the light.
Eventually she had enough presence of mind to crawl to the rock she had hidden her clothes under and pull her dress back on. Then she collapsed again, lying on her cloak and staring into nothingness, heartbroken, desolate, with nowhere to turn.
