-
Cerce's every sense flooded instantly. The sound of the waves and the crash of blades and yells of combat were blunted down to echoes as she sucked in a deep breath and water closed over her head, the battle behind her and suddenly so, so far away.
The water wasn't shallow, and Cerce's feet kicked at nothing, a horrible absence that felt like it went on forever.
But the weight of her Halberd dragged her down. She could feel the water trying to take hold, pull her down to the sea floor or toss her forward towards the rocks, but her grip on the artifact kept her steady.
Cerce had gambled her life, but came up lucky. The power that gave the weapon its impossible density planted Cerce down to the sandy floor beneath the waves, and held her steady as the invisible force of the tides pulled against her.
All around her were clutches of shining white orbs, smooth along the sea floor, their colours and shapes as varied as the Merrow on the decks above. She began to stride, placing one foot slowly and steadily in front of the other, avoiding treading on the colourful clusters. She knew she was moving as fast as she could, but as the air began to burn in her lungs it felt like the moments stretched with every heavy step.
There was a sound beneath the waves, a horrible bird-like warble with a high pitched whine threaded through it. Cerce couldn't identify it at first, but soon realized it was the Merrow talking to each other; it was what they sounded like in their own realm. Shadows moved just out of Cerce's field of vision, darting shapes moving swiftly through the murky waters.
She gritted her teeth and strode on. The solid lines of cliffs were visible somewhere up ahead, but Cerce's blurry view through the surging sea made distance impossible to tell.
There was a noise in Cerce's ear, a sudden sharp whistling rushing up on her. She turned, raising one arm defensively as fast as she could through the weight of the sea. The jagged little stone knife that the Merrow wielded dragged a line across Cerce's flesh, and red blood blossomed through the water, only to be immediately sucked away as quick as it had bloomed by the surges of the tide.
It was a small one, fast. Her skin blue and glittering in the dappled light from above, her slim frame darted side to side, her movements unaffected by the water that hampered Cerce's movements.
Cerce thrust out with her halberd desperately, and the Merrow took the bait, slipping up underneath the huge head of the weapon to come in close. Cerce let the weapon sink on to the would-be assassin's tail. The Merrow was close enough to slice with her dagger at Cerce's gut, drawing more blood, but Cerce pulled the girl in close, closing her fist around the smaller girl's hand, and jamming her own fist up hard behind the Merrow's jaw. The soft gills were a glaring target, and though Cerce didn't have speed on her side under the waves, she had strength. She jammed her fist into them again and again while the creature thrashed and flailed.
Gripping tight the bare waist of the Merrow with one hand, Cerce tugged at the shaft of her weapon with the other, unanchoring herself and her assailant, and found herself lurched along as the creature thrashed for escape.
Cerce momentarily lost awareness of her place in the world as she spun through the water and her air left in her lungs dwindled. The powerful back of the Merrow she clung to bucked and tossed madly, spinning Cerce around, upside-down and over her own feet faster than she could see.
All of a sudden the wind was crushed out of Cerce in a great crash, as her back came into contact with the hard rock of the cliffs and the dregs of her lungs bubbled from her lips. Sunlight blazed down from above, the water level so close above her head.
She'd lost her grip on the Merrow during her collision with the rocks, a blessing she realized allowed her to reach up with one arm, claws scratching desperately for grip above the waterline. Cerce's lungs were on fire, and she had the momentary vision of her corpse merrily floating face down into the filthy waters of the Foul Mouth for everyone to have a good laugh at.
Just when she was about to spend her dying breath cursing Red Tom's common sense, her fingers found purchase and she pulled.
For one brief, blissful moment, Cerce sucked in a gasp of crisp sea air, felt the flash of sun on her skin, before her head bobbed back below the waves.
Tugging herself loose of the water's grip almost ripped her shoulder out of its socket. She tried to keep hold of her halberd, awkwardly maneuvering her body to balance it anywhere, but without both hands on the cliff face, the sea threatened to pull her back in. Cerce dropped the weapon.
The forgotten Merrow made herself remembered, thrashing at Cerce who suddenly found claws in her face.
Without the weight of her halberd, Cerce was able to grab the nearest flailing limb and smash it hard against the rock, sending the dagger flying from the crushed hand, and the Merrow darting away for easier prey.
Cerce summoned the last of her strength to pull herslef up the cliff side, coughing up water and belching. She almost laughed as she rolled onto her back and found a moment of respite on the flat crest of rocky cliff.
Cerce's clothing was soaked, the laced front of her jerkin ripped open and ruined by the Merrow's dagger and scales. The garments stuck to her skin, heavy and itchy. She muttered a few choice words of frustration and climbed to her feet.
The sea cove Cerce found herself facing was dotted with rocky pools of unclear depth, disappearing into the darkness of the overhanging cliffs. The sunlight sparse and speckled. There was no way down here but to swim, or to fall a hundred odd feet from the precarious edge above.
It was quiet for a moment, the echoes of battle ringing low across the waves, but Cerce felt eyes on her from the darkness of the cove.
"I know you're there, I'm here to talk," she called into the shadows.
Cerce's clothes were so heavy her pockets could have been filled with rocks, but she felt naked all of a sudden without her weapon. On the ground nearby was the tiny stone dagger, and she knelt to snatch it up.
There was a slither of movement in the cove ahead, shadows upon shadows that squirmed just out of the harsh light. Her eyes failing to adjust, Cerce had the horrifying momentary image of multiple huge snakes, coiled and folded in on each other. She gripped the paltry blade and bore her fangs.
"Show yourself!" she hissed.
The voice that came in return was unlike anything Cerce had ever heard. Deep and rumbling like the guttural bluster of a barrel chested horse, but piercing to the ears like a dolphin squealing in a fisherman's net. It was a horrid cacophony, and Cerce stumbled a step back as a loop of thick pink flesh unfolded and slapped down heavily onto the rocks.
The wet coils were as thick around as a tree trunk, hot pink in the sun. From them, fin-like extensions flickered and flailed, glittering with the light. The longest tip of the coil began to extend, slithering a tapering point around the cove edge. The awful mental image of snakes moving in reverse persisted, before the movement in the cave all of a sudden clarified, and Cerce could see that there were not multiple creatures lurking within, but only one.
The Merrow that lurched from within the overhang of the cove must have been forty feet long, her massive frame held upright on coil after coil of her serpentine body. Her visible flesh was striped with white bands, and rows of long twitching ribbons of flesh extended from her broad body. Cerce watched as muscular arms reached for purchase, dragging the huge frame forward. The upper chest and highest loops of the Merrow's body protected in a gleaming white armour of spiky coral.
While some Merrow features mimic those of human women to the point of mockery, the face that Cerce now stared into was inhuman and repulsive. Beady black eyes stared out of a long sloping skull, and a jaw circled with needle-like teeth leered open wide enough to admit a child whole. Baubles of jewelry were pierced through the flesh of the creature, and proudly hanging down over the huge swell of her chest were three necklaces of partially shattered bones.
There was a slither of movement in the cove ahead, shadows upon shadows that squirmed just out of the harsh light. Her eyes failing to adjust, Cerce had the horrifying momentary image of multiple huge snakes, coiled and folded in on each other. She gripped the paltry blade and bore her fangs.
"Show yourself!" she hissed.
The voice that came in return was unlike anything Cerce had ever heard. Deep and rumbling like the guttural bluster of a barrel chested horse, but piercing to the ears like a dolphin squealing in a fisherman's net. It was a horrid cacophony, and Cerce stumbled a step back as a loop of thick pink flesh unfolded and slapped down heavily onto the rocks.
The wet coils were as thick around as a tree trunk, hot pink in the sun. From them, fin-like extensions flickered and flailed, glittering with the light. The longest tip of the coil began to extend, slithering a tapering point around the cove edge. The awful mental image of snakes moving in reverse persisted, before the movement in the cave all of a sudden clarified, and Cerce could see that there were not multiple creatures lurking within, but only one.
The Merrow that lurched from within the overhang of the cove must have been forty feet long, her massive frame held upright on coil after coil of her serpentine body. Her visible flesh was striped with white bands, and rows of long twitching ribbons of flesh extended from her broad body. Cerce watched as muscular arms reached for purchase, dragging the huge frame forward. The upper chest and highest loops of the Merrow's body protected in a gleaming white armour of spiky coral.
While some Merrow features mimic those of human women to the point of mockery, the face that Cerce now stared into was inhuman and repulsive. Beady black eyes stared out of a long sloping skull, and a jaw circled with needle-like teeth leered open wide enough to admit a child whole. Baubles of jewelry were pierced through the flesh of the creature, and proudly hanging down over the huge swell of her chest were three necklaces of partially shattered bones.
"Par...parley. I'm here to..." Cerce stammered and faltered, her voice fighting to escape the tightness of her throat.
A long tongue extended from the black depths of the creature's gullet, and tasted the air in front of Cerce's lips. The angle of the maw warped slightly, tilting irregularly.
Cerce had seen familiar expressions on Merrow before. Snarling rage and anger was common and unmistakable on any species, but staring up at the creature that leaned over her now, Cerce felt she was seeing one grin for the first time. As if to confirm the thought, a noise emitted from the thing's wide gullet, a slow and choking cough that came over and over again in the horrid mimic of a laugh.
Shaaaa...kaa...kaa
Shakka the She-Beast roared into Cerce's face.
Cerce leapt in time to avoid the crushing coils as Shakka flexed her body and drew her tail inward in a death embrace. The flailing sails all along the monster's body flashed and darted as Cerce spun, jumped, and landed crouched on Shakka's coils, aiming the tiny knife at Shakka's eyes.
Shakka thrust a powerful arm out, shoving Cerce so hard in the gut that the wind was knocked from her with a grunt of pain. Before she had flown far, Cerce was struck in the back by a roiling coil that lifted and tossed her straight back into close range with the She-Beast. One of Shakka's talons reached out to snag Cerce by the front, taking a huge handful of clothing and twisting. The wet clothes tugged up around her throat, and Cerce was lifted entirely from the ground, feet kicking helplessly.
One of Cerce's hands thrashed at the claws gripping around her collar, trying to dislodge the black talons that were ripping through her clothes and holding her aloft. The other still gripped the tiny knife, and Cerce jammed it into the fleshy pink wrist and twisted.
Shakka's flesh was like boiled leather, the knife barely penetrating, and Cerce resorted to stabbing wildly at the huge hand that was holding her aloft, digging the twisted little blade into Shakka's knuckles. If Shakka felt pain, she didn't show it. Cerce kicked out, going for the distinct lines of gills visible beneath Shakka's deep set jaw. The incredible reach of Shakka's arm left Cerce only grazing her bare feet on the sharp edges of the Merrow's coral armour, sending droplets of blood across the pearly white covering.
Cerce finally got purchase with the knife in a crevice of flesh and twisted, and Shakka recoiled her wrist, tearing loose Cerce's clothing. The tangle of wet garments ripped from her body, Cerce was deposited on her arse on the ground of the cove. Circled again by Shakka's huge body, Cerce scrambled to escape the coils as they moved to enclose her.
The huge loops rose and fell, writhing as they coiled inwards. Cerce screamed as Shakka's immense body rushed inwards from all sides. The muscular loops coiled her from knees to shoulders, and Cerce's body was raised fully from the floor of the cove, her feet dripping blood and her chest compressed tighter and tighter. She desperately tried to suck in one shallow breath after another as she was slowly lifted towards Shakka's leering face.
The Merrow exaled stinking breath into Cerce's face, and the eyes above the massive maw glittered with anticipation. Cerce heaved in a shaky breath, aware it was possibly her last, and coughed out words as fast as she could.
"I know what you want and I can help you!"
Shakka continued to stare, the wide yellow eyes gleaming. The coils gave another squeeze, but then loosened, and Shakka's brow jerked upwards once, as if in encouragement. As if the Merrow urged, go on.
"The ship came through your new home, I know. I've seen the eggs. You're just trying to protect them."
Shakka's tongue lolled from her mouth, and she gave a deep guttural bark.
"I can make sure this land is yours. This island. I can make sure you're safe here and that no ships will pass. This island will belong to your people! You fled your old home because the waters were poisoned."
Shakka's face leaned in closer, so close that the rough texture of her scaly flesh was clear to Cerce's watering eyes.
"If your people kill all of us, they'll just send more. More ships next time. They'll poison the waters here too. We don't have to do this. We can end the bloodshed, you and I. If you don't attack any more ships, I'll make sure the island is yours."
Shakka leaned back, her huge head tilting to one side, eyes keenly staring at Cerce. She uttered a quick croak with an upward inflection, jerking her jaw forward.
"The island will be yours, and no one will come around these waters again, I promise."
Shakka stared deep into Cerce's eyes, and gave a long, slow blink, before tilting back her whole body and letting loose a bellow that shook the cavern. Cerce's body dropped to the rocky ground as Shakka's coils relaxed, and she scrambled to her feet.
There was an eerie silence, with nothing but the slapping of waves against the cavern walls reaching Cerce's ears. The cries and clash of battle had stopped.
Merrow faces were peering from the water as Cerce stumbled to the mouth of the cave. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she yelled at the top of her voice over the waves to the Adamas.
"Put down your blades! Peace!"
---
Cerce was hoisted onto the boat in the arms of two heavy Merrow that lifted her as if she were a child. Her remaining clothes sagged with water and hung about her in shreds. Her skin was so covered in grazes and scratches and blood that at first glance, Red Tom thought the Merrow were delivering Cerce's body.
Stepping off onto the deck, Cerce gave a half-hearted smile, before collapsing into Tom's arms as he ran to receive her.
The Merrow were motionless on deck, their weapons down. The Silver One seemed to be uttering orders. The crew were still gripping weapons, warily balancing the battle blood in their veins against the urge to collapse from exhaustion.
"They'll call off the attacks," Cerce wheezed, "It's over."
Cerce's vision was blurry, and she watched as if through the veil of a dream as the Merrow began to slip from the deck of the Adamas. Some were slithering, weak and defeated, some carried bodies of their slain sisters, and some gave dark looks at the pirates as they began to drop into the water off the side of the ship.
The giant siege Merrow took the help of several of her sisters to heave her massive bulk over the side, where the resulting splash sent the whole ship swaying in her wake.
Before long, the last remaining Merrow was the Silver One. She stood with one hand held to a gouge in her side from which thick blood was oozing. The crew were helping one another up, many bleeding, many barely walking. A few clearly never to rise from where they lay on the wet boards.
The Silver One extended a long fingernail and thrust it at Cerce. There was silence on deck, but for the moaning of the injured.
Cerce fought to stand on her own, and shook loose Tom's grip from her shoulder as she took a step towards the Merrow commander.
The Silver One gave an inquisitorial croak and cocked her head towards the island and the cave. Cerce gave a shrug, not knowing what to do. After a moment, the Silver One fiddled with a bracelet on her wrist, a pretty thing of pearls and dangling shells, and detached it. She extended it out at arm's length, to Cerce. Hesitantly, Cerce took it.
"Thank you. It's beautiful," she said quietly. The Silver One made a gesture with the outstretched hand, clutching her fist, and pulling it towards her chest. It took Cerce a moment to realize the meaning of the gesture.
"Oh...I haven't got anything...I..."
"Allow me, girl," said Red Tom as he approached. He had a dagger in his hand. The Silver One looked to him expectantly.
"I'm the Captain here. I'm the one whose men you killed." Red Tom said. He reached into his hair and cut loose a tangle of matted black locks. Sewn into the tangle was a large silver coin. He extended it to the Merrow. She gave a chirp as she took it.
"Looks like we done for a few of your girls too," Red Tom nodded at her. The Silver One gave an incline of her own jaw, barely.
She turned, silvery tendrils hanging behind her, and moved to the edge of the deck. Before she dropped, she turned to look at Cerce. She gave a trill, and there was movement that answered below the ship. An echoing whistle, somehow high and deep at the same time. It was a haunting sound, and Cerce had the sudden awful gut feeling of something below the ship, far greater than anything seen above the waves. A massive coiling tentacle rose beside the ship, white flesh semi-translucent in the sun. Coiled amidst it, rescued from the waves, was Cerce's halberd. She moved to reclaim it.
She knew she should feel grateful to have it back, but there'd been a moment there when she'd been free of it, and the weight gone from her shoulders for just a little while.
The Silver One croaked to get Cerce's attention. She placed a clenched fist to her own mouth, and opened it, her splayed hand flashing out in a quick gesture, then back into a fist before her face. Then she dropped silently into the waves.
"What was that?" Cerce asked, cradling the bracelet in one hand and shouldering her halberd with the other. Red Tom brushed blood from his chin and turned to go to his crew.
"Your word, girl. She told you to keep it."
Epilogue
It was well into the second day, lying in her bunk somewhere between restless sleep and aching wakefulness, that Cerce finally had the strength to return to the deck.
Her body was sore and covered in bruises and half healed scabs, and she wore a simple white shirt that Red Tom had provided for her. It hung to Cerce's thighs and tied with string at the collar, and Tom had told her now that she had a cheap frilly shirt she made a proper pirate.
The crew were on deck as usual, sweeping and shaking down the ship for the close of the sunny day. The breeze was brisk, and Cerce held her shirt down as she walked over to where Red Tom sat, bottle in hand, in one of the little hammocks set up to lounge in.
"The beast awakens," he said, raising his bottle to her. He smiled, but there was a shadow behind his smile.
Where the men worked, there were spaces in the line. Here and there, Cerce noticed them. Where three men before had been leaping amidst the rigging, trading shouts and laughter, now there were two. One man sat up front at the stern, drinking from a big metal tankard that a few days earlier had been shared between three.
"The ghosts never quite leave. They stay with the ship," Red Tom said, nodding at his men.
"I'm so sorry, I..." Cerce began, but Red Tom shook his head.
"Nah, not on you, girlie. You show me one pirate who actually retired at the end of his days and I'll be damn surprised. Nah, it's what it is. Each man who went down fighting earns us a bonus from the guard. That's shared between the crew. Burials at sea go cheap, luckily. Rest of us plod on 'til the next time."
Cerce looked up to the crow's nest, where Ben the Black was leaning, looking down over the sea before him. A long ragged piece of white material was strapped around his head, stained black with old blood from his missing ear. He coughed up a mouthful of brown spit, and sent it spiraling down towards the deck where it disappeared into the hole left in the boards by the huge Merrow. Ben gave a half-hearted cheer.
"Promising an entire island to the enemy," Red Tom gave a chuckle, and whistled appreciatively. "Being the one who's going to have to tell Wib that...don't envy you much girl."
Cerce gave a shrug.
"Seemed the only thing to do. Can't always just go on killing, can we? Everywhere we go. Got to end sometime. When I was a kid the Orc war was still going on. Now, Orcs live everywhere. The best food in Penryan is that Orc place that does the turnips."
Red Tom gave a theatrical shrug.
"That question is well above my pay grade, I'll tell you that much. What I will say is, Wib's gonna say someone has to go give the news of the deal to High Chairman Adze."
At saying the name, Red Tom took the time to make a show of spitting over the deck. The captain fought to his feet, and gestured with a wave of his arm for Cerce to claim pride of place in the comfy hammock. As she climbed in and lay back in the hanging white sheet, Tom gave her a wink.
"And I'd be willing to bet that Wib says that someone is going to be you." He gave a reassuring pat of her bare leg before he went, "Not too long 'til home shores now."
She watched him go.
The breeze was cool over Cerce's face, and in silence she watched the crew go about their work. She idly toyed with the bracelet around her wrist, rolling the pearls between her fingertips.
One of the men near her, barely older than a boy, was sitting cross legged on the deck, making repairs to a violin. The instrument looked ragged and homemade, and Cerce watched his calloused fingers fixing the strings on the little thing. The man she'd seen leading the rowdy songs on the journey before was usually upon the rigging, but she looked now and realized that his was one of the faces missing from the crew of the Adamas.
After a while, Cerce called the boy over to her, and whispered to him.
"I know it," he responded, lifting his little instrument and placing bow to strings. He waited patiently; he knew the voice started the old song.
Cerce lay back in the hammock, closed her eyes. She felt the salty sea spray on her face, and began:
I dreamed a dream the other night
Lowlands, lowlands away my john
I dreamed a dream the other night
Lowlands away
The boy began to play. The reedy sound of the string instrument echoing over the sea, matching the slow croon of Cerce's voice.
I dreamed I saw my own true love
Lowlands, lowlands away my john
He stood so still, he did not move
Lowlands away
I knew my love was drowned and dead
Lowlands, lowlands away my john
He stood so still, no word he said
Lowlands away
Around his form, green weeds had hold
Lowlands away
Cerce's singing voice was the stuff of softly spoken bar legend up and down the coast. It rose over the crash of waves. Her accent lyrical, her words clear.
I will cut away my bonny hair
Lowlands, lowlands away my john
No other man will think me fair
Lowlands away
For my love lies drowned in the windy lowlands
My lowlands away
The sea was smooth, the endless clouds filled the sky, split here and there to spill sunlight like gold dust across the world. In the distance, the first shadows of the southern coast could be seen among the blue waves.
-
For Andy
