Authors: Jim C. Hines

The Mermaid's Madness (23 page)

BOOK: The Mermaid's Madness

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She passed Morveren, clearing a path. As they swam deeper, she activated the magic of her choker, surrounding herself in soft, blue-tinged light. She floated in an endless forest of undulating plants, which concealed both sky and seabed. Small yellow fish flitted through the leaves.

A clump of seaweed looped around her tail. Snow turned her song on the weeds, but nothing happened. Twisting about, Snow saw another tangle of red reaching past her toward Morveren. The leaves and vines twined together, their form almost human.

Snow grabbed her knife from her belt and slashed at the vines. The figure held its shape, squeezing Snow’s tail while it stretched to grab Morveren. This would be one of the other dangers Morveren had mentioned, then.

Snow stabbed her blade into the center of the form and flicked a tiny catch on the cross guard. A metal plate in the center of the guard swiveled aside, revealing a small mirror. Snow sang again, using the mirror to carry her song into the heart of her attacker.

The seaweed shuddered, then relaxed. Leaves began to drift away. The vines Snow had cut before fell through the water.

Morveren swam down and plunged her hands into the figure from behind. Snow caught a hint of something cold and hungry, and then the seaweed unraveled completely, becoming simple plants again.

Morveren clasped Snow’s arm, then swam lower.

Snow continued to sing a path through the seaweed. Twice more they were attacked by the strange figures. Her scales protected her tail, but her arms burned where the leaves cut her skin. Each time she used her knife to enhance her song, stilling the attackers long enough for Morveren to destroy them.

Eventually the plants began to thin. Snow’s light broke through the forest to illuminate a wrecked ship on the rocks below. Debris covered the seabed: old barrels, a length of chain, even the bones of the former crew. Mollusks covered the ship’s hull. Both masts were broken near the base, and a large gash tore through the port side, near the back.

The shape and size of the hull marked it as a Lyskaran cargo ship. From the position and rakish angle of the foremast, this ship had to be close to a hundred years old. Nothing grew around the wrecked ship, and as Snow swam closer, she could see where Morveren had set white stones in a ring, a magical fence to keep her plants from devouring her home.

The water was colder here, and it tasted of silt. Snow followed Morveren through the broken hull into what would have been the main hold.

Morveren was already racing about like an oversized minnow, shooing away an eel, wiping silt and sand from crude shelves, and inspecting every bit of her former home.

The lay of the ship meant the starboard side of the hull served as the floor. Shelves made from broken planks lined the walls, nailed into place wherever the structure of the ship was still strong enough to support them. Jars and bowls lined the shelves. Dark algae covered most of the wood, making the water taste thick and sour. A white patch on the walls and floor near the far corner turned out to be an overgrown bed of those flowering worms Morveren liked. Several of the jars had apparently fallen, their remains broken and half buried.

Morveren turned to Snow, her hands and fingers dancing. She hummed a quick-paced tune with no consistent melody.

Was this how the undine communicated underwater? Snow spread her hands and shrugged.

Morveren swam to a nearby shelf and grabbed a small, sealed jar. She scraped away a layer of algae with her thumbnail, then held the jar to Snow’s light. Apparently satisfied, she turned and smashed the jar against the wall.

Bubbles of air exploded from the jar. Morveren poked a finger into the largest. Slowly, the bubble expanded until it filled the upper part of the hold.

Morveren spat great lungfuls of water, then gasped for breath. “I apologize. I forgot you wouldn’t know how to speak.”

Snow was too busy coughing to answer. Water exploded from her mouth and nose. She felt as if she were vomiting up half the sea.

Morveren chuckled and swam toward the back of the hold, where strands of blue ropes formed a crude curtain. Snow felt the tickle of magic as Morveren passed through the ropes.

Snow floated on her back and waited for her stomach to stop spasming. Eventually, she felt well enough to look around. She could still feel water in her chest, but so long as she didn’t think about it too hard, it didn’t seem to bother her in this body. She just couldn’t inhale as deeply as she was used to doing.

She pushed toward the shelves and brushed her fingers over a slender green jar. The magic worked into the glass made her jump. She could feel—no,
hear
—the presence of life within the jar, though it appeared empty. She picked it up and inspected the lid, which was sealed in place with some sort of wax.

“Don’t open that,” Morveren said as she returned. Her voice was stronger than before, and her face was flushed. She appeared almost euphoric. She set a small sack on the floor and swam over to join Snow.

“What is it?” Snow asked, cradling the jar in both hands.

“Some of the ship’s crew refused to abandon their ship after passing on. Nasty, vindictive men who did everything they could to interfere with my work and drive me away. I hate to think what they were like in life.” She took the jar from Snow’s hand and returned it to the shelf. “That’s what tried to kill us out there. A few of them must have escaped since the last time I was here.”

“I’ve never felt magic like this.” Snow had fought spirits before. The last time had cost her seven years of her life. Yet Morveren had dozens of such jars, not counting any that might be hidden in other parts of the ship. A vessel this size could have carried a crew of a hundred.

“The soul jars keep them from mischief until they’re ready to move on,” Morveren said. “These spells are the basis for the knife I made for Lirea.”

“Do all of these jars hold trapped souls?”

Morveren laughed. “Not all. Some are ingredients for various spells. Others are more mundane.” She grabbed a clay pot and offered it to Snow. “Dried snails. They’re delicious.”

“No, thank you.” Snow was still studying the soul jar. She could see bits of hair or string pressed into the wax. “How do you know when the souls are ready to move on?”

“So many questions.” Morveren dragged a metal chest from just beyond the curtain. “I promise I’ll teach you what I can. But not here. Your friends are waiting, and you don’t want to be trapped this far from the surface when your spell wears off.”

“What’s in there?” Snow asked, pointing to the chest. When Morveren turned away, Snow grabbed another soul jar and tucked it into the front of her shirt. The jar pressed uncomfortably against her chest, but the added fat of her mermaid form provided some cushioning.

“Memories.” Morveren ran a finger over the pitted metal, then opened the lid. She pulled out a tiny necklace of yellow and green stones. “This was Lannadae’s. I made it for her when she was born, but she kept trying to swallow it.”

She looped the necklace around her wrist. Next she retrieved a tiny doll. The upper torso appeared to be made of woven seaweed. The lower portion was covered in tiny purple scales, ending in a thin shell carved into the shape of the tail fin. “These were the first scales Lirea shed. Her mother collected them, and I sewed them into this doll. Baby scales are softer and much easier to work with.”

“It looks like it’s missing a head,” Snow said.

“My sewing was no match for Lirea’s teething phase. I never got around to fixing this.” Morveren smiled as she shut the chest. “She was such a sweet child. So loving, with such potential. Her voice held incredible power. I’m afraid she took advantage of that gift. Her parents spoiled her shamelessly. Even I had a hard time resisting her.”

“Did you ever teach her magic?” Snow asked.

“I tried.” Morveren brought the doll to her mouth, using her teeth to tighten a loose thread. “Lirea had talent, even more than her sisters, but she lacked the desire. Magic requires more than mere skill. It requires love. I hoped she would change her mind as she grew older. There was so much I wanted to pass along.”

“I wish my mother had felt the same way. She would have killed me if she knew I was sneaking in to read her spellbooks.” There were times Snow wondered if that discovery was what had first led to her mother’s attempts on Snow’s life. The stories claimed she was jealous of Snow’s beauty, and that was certainly true. But had jealousy of her daughter’s power played an even greater role?

“She didn’t want you to learn?” Morveren sounded surprised.

“My mother didn’t like to share.” Pushing those memories aside, Snow reached out to touch the doll. “If these are Lirea’s scales, we should be able to use them to find her.”

“That’s right.” Morveren released the doll. The carved fin sent it spiraling through the water to the floor. “But the scales are old, and the connection is weak.”

“Blood creates false life,” Snow said. “That should strengthen the bond long enough for us to cast our spell.”

“Very good.” Morveren gestured for her to proceed.

Snow hesitated. “Normally I would use my mirrors to—”

“No mirrors.” Morveren yanked Snow’s hand away from her choker. “You’re too strong for such shortcuts.”

Snow’s face grew warm. “Thank you.”

Morveren squeezed her hand. “Thank
you
, child.”

CHAPTER 8

D
ANIELLE HAD REMOVED HER BRACELET and now cradled the small mirror in both hands. She sat with her back to the oil lamp, her body blocking the flames from the mirror. “Does Nicolette know you’re still awake?”

Jakob’s response was clear, confident, and completely unhelpful. “Mama!”

“That’s right.” Danielle smiled. Snow’s magic allowed her to see Jakob clearly, even in the darkness.

“Tala?” Jakob asked, leaning forward until his face pressed against his crib. He had started looking for Talia as soon as he realized Danielle was there. Snow still hadn’t figured out how he was able to see through the mirror. Danielle longed to let her study the bracelet again, to determine whether this was a trick of the mirror or something to do with Jakob himself. But Snow continued to spend all of her time with Morveren.

After following the small mermaid doll for the past day, Snow and Morveren now believed Lirea was hiding on the northern coast of Hilad. Not the safest place for the
Phillipa
to go, but northern Hilad was mostly uninhabited, and Hephyra was confident she could get the ship in and out without being seen.

They had crossed into Hiladi waters earlier this evening. How Captain Hephyra could tell one patch of ocean from the next was beyond Danielle.

“Tala,” said Jakob, standing up in his crib. “Tala!”

“Go to sleep, little prince.” The sweaty spikes of his hair meant he must have slept for a time before awakening. Danielle hoped it hadn’t been her peeking through the mirror that had awakened him.

“No. Tala now, now, now!”

The cabin door opened, and Talia peeked in side. “Captain Hephyra said you were looking for me?”

“Tala!” Excitement lit Jakob’s eyes.

“Yes, thank you.” Danielle passed the mirror to Talia.

“He’s been asking for you.”

Talia’s dark skin almost hid her blush. She squinted into the mirror. “It’s late, Jakobena. You should sleep.”

“Jakobena?” Danielle asked.

“It means ‘Tiny Jakob.’ ” Talia started to return the mirror to Danielle, but Jakob yelled again.

“What does he want?”

“I think he wants me . . . to sing to him.” Her glare all but dared Danielle to smile.

A year’s worth of training in court manners helped Danielle keep her expression under control. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing.” The unspoken question hung between them.

“I visit the nursery at night sometimes,” Talia admitted. “There’s room for me to work out undisturbed, and I’m quiet enough to avoid waking him.”

Danielle wasn’t buying it. “The armory is large enough to practice in. So is the great hall, or one of the guest rooms in the southern towers, or—”

BOOK: The Mermaid's Madness

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