Author's Note: Eheheheh... So, my week is up, and I have found myself one of those terrible, terrible online fic writers who LIE. LIE!!
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Yup. No rewrite. No revision. Sea Foam threatened to throw up and hold its breath until it turned blue if I attempted to go over it again mid-process. Apparently it wants to be written, not re-written, and it wants to be written NOW! (This story feels very much alive to me, and it has a bossy sort of personality!)
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I guess I'll revise after it's done then...
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Meanwhile, we're back to our regularly scheduled programming! I will be going back to my day job here again soon, but I will try to have updates up two or three times a week. (Hold me to it, guys!!)
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Very long chapter ahead!
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Youngest cupped her face with her palms, trying to keep her bearings. After what must have been hours there was still no light in the cave, and therefore no way to tell if she was sitting on the grotto floor or its ceiling. The thought was dizzying.804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8iIjGgfrbj
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The sea witch was moving things around in the dark, humming tunelessly to herself. Occasionally her long tail would brush against Youngest's, leaving behind soft, rotted scales that the princess hurriedly brushed away. Tail rot was contagious—the afflicted mermaid's scales would gradually loosen from her tail, leaving behind oozing wounds. It affected the elderly and those with bad grooming. Youngest crinkled her nose, wondering which category Mathis fit into.
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Her mother's voice split the silence.
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“Tell me about your human.”
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Youngest squirmed. “He's a prince.”
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“What sort of prince?”
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“A kind one. Beautiful. Brave.”
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The witch cackled. “You needn't be so reticent, dear. Tell me how you came to know this prince of yours. There's hours yet before the magic you need will be ready.”
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Somewhere in the cave, steam hissed. In the brief flash of light that accompanied it, Youngest saw Mathis crouched over a small table of vials. She was grinding something black and slimy with a large pestle.
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Youngest shuddered and turned her eyes to her lap. The light receded.
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“I rescued him from a shipwreck. Not long after my fifteenth birthday. I came up to the surface one night before a storm...”
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The sky danced with colors Youngest had never seen before. Brilliant corals and luminescent violet painted the sky at the edge of the sea. The little mermaid watched, enchanted, from just below the surface. Seagulls cried out in the dusk, sweeping over the ocean, sometimes letting a wing brush the water for sport.
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Just as the sun was about to sink completely into the sea, a sharp sound suddenly shook the water. Youngest dived, terrified. A small school of fish swam past her, escaping to the calmer deep waters. Youngest swam back through their ranks cautiously, returning to the surface and popping her head out above, searching for the source of the great noise.
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It came from a ship not too far away. Youngest peered at it. By human standards, it was a grand vessel, a large three-masted barque carved from dark, shining wood. The sails were drawn, leaving the ship looking strangely skeletal. On its sides were several small cannons, one of which was still bellowing smoke from its recent shot. Shouts and laughter came from the deck, where stood a small crowd of sailors huddled about something Youngest could not see.
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Curious, she approached the ship, diving beneath to get to the other side. When she glanced up, she was delighted to see that the starboard side had a clear view of the deck. If she kept her head above the surface she could see and hear the celebration aboard without being visible to its guests.
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The sailors, it appeared, were gathered about a young man with dark hair and flashing black eyes, who held a thin brown packet. While the other sailors wore the same uniform of a flat cap, striped shirt, and white breeches that Youngest had seen on every other sailor that passed, the youth they cheered and shouted for wore a long navy coat lined with silver buttons, a pair of shining black boots, and a crimson scarf loosely strewn about his throat.
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The little mermaid blushed upon seeing him. The boy's face was ruddy and angular, with full lips stretched in a gentle smile. He glanced about at his friends with dancing eyes as he unwrapped the little package to reveal a slender chain. Lifting it from the paper, he showed the sailors a small brass compass.
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He turned to grasp the hand of a man in captain's garb. “Why, it's the most excellent birthday present I've received, Kennedy. Thank you!”
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The bearded captain clasped the boy's hand with both of his. “It's our delight, Peter. The barque is yours, of course, but you ought to have something to navigate by, no?”
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Peter laughed. “Yes, I suppose one cannot always use the stars and a guess!” This drew great guffaws from the sailors for reasons Youngest couldn't fathom.
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Turning to the others, Peter raised his arms. “And well now, where are those pipes? I believe there is still a contest to be had!”
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Chortles and chuckles from the sailors, and a sharp protest from a reedy sailor holding a small silver flute. “Not the pipes, Peter! That's not fair, now! 'Tis not the same instrument, even!”
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Peter grinned. “Now, Flanagan, that's something you ought to have considered when you worded the challenge ashore!”
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The sailor laughed good-naturedly. “I did say I could best you playing any tune I suppose.” He scratched his scruffy chin. “Very well then, little beast. You may have your pipes. But I'll choose the tune.”
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“You may have your pick, Flanagan,” said Peter, accepting his pipes from the captain. He blew into them, playing a short scale. Youngest's mouth opened into a grin, pleased with the clear, fluid sound.
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“We'll play the 'Fiddler's Green,'” declared Flanagan, a glint in his eyes.
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Cries and protests met this announcement. “We've no fiddle! It wouldn't be proper, now!”
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The captain raised his hand for quiet. “Now, men, 'tis Flanagan's choice.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But it is a pity to play the Green with no fiddle.”
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“I'll play, cap'n!” piped up one short sailor with a shock of red hair. He had just emerged from below deck, where he'd dived as soon as he'd heard the name of the song. “I left me fiddle in me bunk.” He seated himself on a crate near Peter and Flanagan, drawing a short bow across his instrument. It rang forth sweetly.
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“Right then! No more excuses! Flanagan, as the challenger, you'll start.”
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“And you'll start the singin', right, captain?” The sailor wiggled an eyebrow. There were many shouts of joy at this.
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“Alright, alright!” roared the captain, trying to quell the noise. “Quiet! Gerald, if you'll start!”
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The fiddler began with a sweet, low, and swinging introduction that Youngest vaguely recognized. She had heard a similar tune on passing ships. The captain sang in a warbling baritone,
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As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJu7dHpIJym
To view the salt water and take the sea air804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsqL2uR9zHK
I heard an old fisherman singing a song804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUGrBtfXfBN
Won’t you take ma away boys me time is not long.
At the chorus, the men joined in, as did Flanagan's flute, weaving in with the fiddle beautifully:
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Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfqkc2IRRds
No more on the docks I’ll be seen804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBbp7DhkOrP
Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaWnDEVfyMe
And I’ll see you some day in Fiddler’s Green.
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Flanagan exited gracefully at the end of the chorus to make way for Peter's pipes. The young man entered with a finesse and energy that made the little mermaid gasp and clap her hands with delight. She felt the sea around her growing unsteady, but ignored it as the sailors began the next verse.
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Now Fiddler’s Green is a place I heard tell804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ263GPc0mQD
Where the fishermen go if they don’t go to hell804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk2Kgf3mvCZ
Where skies are all clear and the dolphins do play804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKa0Na4vqKa
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away.
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Somewhere, thunder rumbled, and a few drops of rain began hitting the deck, but the sailors were too merry to notice as the roared out the chorus again. Flanagan grinned and shook his head, hearing Peter's pipes.
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“Never should've challenged you, Peter!” he called over the singing. “You blessed fool!”
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When you get on the docks and the long trip is through804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhQEAWuo8xT
Ther’s pubs and ther’s clubs and ther’s lassies there too804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmCnH4fWP4X
When the girls are all pretty and the beer it is free804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1rMBdWjvWe
And ther’s bottles of rum growing from every tree.
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Peter smiled against his pipes and only played the louder, ornamenting his melody so that the notes seemed to shimmer and dance. Youngest, her face aglow, swayed as she sang the final chorus with them quietly:
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Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFCPazdTztD
No more on the docks I’ll be seen804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdUk7nUrDYH
Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates804Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu9Bl6rbZ6e
And I’ll see you some day in Fiddler’s Green!
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At the final note, the sky burst open and a torrent assaulted the deck. The sailors scrambled about in a panic as the waves began to churn. Youngest, used to the tossing of the sea, was dazed by the activity aboard. Within moments the captain was at the helm, barking orders every direction. Gerald abandoned his fiddle and scurried up the mast to the crow's nest, wiping rain from his eyes.
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“What do you see?” called Captain Kennedy, fighting to be heard against the wind.
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“We're being pushed away from the shore!”
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The sailors' faces were set grimly as they pulled ropes, trying to free the sails. They cursed the storm. Peter held onto the railing, watching the sea.
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“How far out are we, captain?” he called out.
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“Too far, Peter! I couldn't see the shore even before this cursed wind took hold of us!”
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A sudden wave jolted the barque. Even Youngest found herself struggling to remain steady in the high waves. She tumbled beneath the water and came up sputtering to hear panicked shouts:
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“The prince! The prince has fallen overboard!”
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Youngest's eyes grew wide and she searched around herself for signs of the young man that had just been leaning so precariously over the railing. A group of men clustered about the side of the ship, staring into the water.
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The little mermaid dived below, forehead furrowed. The storm had roiled the waves, kicking up sand and making the water cloudy. She squinted, swimming beneath the ship, carefully avoiding the bottom, which rocked wildly in wide, dangerous arcs.
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A small dark shape was sinking fast somewhere below.
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Youngest darted towards the shape, long tail flicking. She could barely make out the shape of the prince as the sea sucked him away.
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She frowned, swimming faster. Peter's face slowly became visible as she caught up. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open loosely. There was a sharp wound on his forehead where the waves had thrown him into the bottom of the barque. Youngest reached for him with relief, grasping his coat. She pulled him into her arms just in time to hear a sharp crack above.
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The little mermaid glanced up to see bits of the ship falling into the water. The princess gasped, pulling the prince out of the path of a sinking beam. Men were jumping into the water as the barque split into pieces. They swam desperately only to be tossed at the sea's whim. Youngest winced at their cries. Some grabbed pieces of the ship, managing to keep themselves afloat. Others began to sink as Peter had, dragged down by the undercurrent.
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Youngest tucked her arms beneath the prince's and swam to the surface, looking about. The prince coughed, vomiting sea-water. She patted his back, holding his head to her shoulder as she viewed the remains of the ship with horror.
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Within minutes, the violent storm had torn the giant vessel to pieces. It appeared that two or three large waves had assaulted the barque from all sides at once, causing the masts to snap and cracking the ship in two. It was sinking slowly, bits of the railing falling into the water where the mast had splintered it. Men were jumping from the ship in droves. Captain Kennedy stood aboard, still searching the waters and calling for Peter. After a minute or two, however, he shucked his coat and hat and dived over the side with his men. Several had begun grasping arms and swimming towards bits of wreckage.
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Youngest regarded Peter. He was still unconscious, and didn't seem at all capable of holding onto one of the boards that the other sailors were grabbing at. She held Peter tightly, considering. The shore was only a few miles away—a mere minute or two of travel for a mermaid. In the storm, however, it would be tricky. Peter needed to be above water.
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She maneuvered his limp body so that he had one arm slung around her shoulder. She grasped the wrist as tightly as she could, and plunged into the waves.
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Bits of wreckage churned in the sea, sometimes barely missing her. She struggled to swim so close to the surface and the broil of the wave. It wasn't possible to dive, however, with Peter on her back. Gritting her teeth, she flicked her tail harder.
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The twisting sea seemed to go on for hours. Her arms grew tired and her tail ached. The rain and thunder became deafening combined with the roar of the sea.
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After what felt an age to the little mermaid, shore slowly became visible, and the sea somewhat calmer. Youngest took advantage of the lapse to dart ahead towards the sandy beach, her breath labored. The shallows caught her tail in the sand. She wriggled free, dragging the prince beside her towards dry land.
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She finally deposited him beside her, collapsing with her face in the sand, coughing and choking from the effort. Beside her, the prince was still, chest barely rising and falling.
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Youngest watched him with a quiet smile. Now ashore, she could see the beginnings of a small beard forming along his jaw. She touched the stubble with one fingertip, then took her hand back quickly when she found that it was rough and spiny. The hair on his head was like hers—soft and wavy.
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She ran her fingers through his hair for a few moments before blushing and returning her hands to her sides. She laid her head on its side, preparing to take a quick nap before returning to the sea.
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Just as exhaustion began to close her eyes, the little mermaid felt something warm touch her hand. She glanced down to see the prince's hand had clasped her wrist. Peter lifted his head to vomit sea water once more, squeezing Youngest's wrist in pain. The little mermaid wriggled out of his grasp. The prince was beginning to wake.
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She cast one last look over her shoulder as she pulled herself back towards the water. Peter was sitting up, staring blearily at her. He rubbed his eyes, then reached out a hand, trying to move towards her.
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“Wait!”
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With a soft cry of surprise—or regret—she ducked into the sea, and disappeared.
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