Dance of the Mermaids

Chapter 3 - Sea Tragedies

Alexander

I was still stunned when I returned to the palace. What began as what I believed to be a chivalrous act on my part ended with me flustered and agitated. The ball was still in full swing upon my return. It was not exactly how I wanted it.

What would I tell my brother, then? That I had punched him because I thought I was saving what – a monster? Well, he did deserve it, whether there was a mermaid or not.

“W-well, you’re back, my brother,” Evan slurred. “After the little stunt that you pulled. After you practically messed up my face. Let’s see what Father has to say about this. Where’s that tasty little morsel that you stole away from me?”

A young countess stood too close to my brother for my comfort. I suppose everyone would be willing to stain their reputation if it had to be with the future king. She looked at me with one brow raised as if she had the right to criticize me right then. She was fortunate that I did not hit women, even ones that felt like they deserved it. Even the monster swimming in the water right now deserved the utmost preparation.

For some reason, though, the countess irked me more than the mermaid did. She had this look on her face I often saw in young women trying to get on my brother’s good side. Evan was not even actively looking for a wife.

Let’s see what happens when my brother chooses someone else. You will have no other choice but for me, unless you want someone with a lower rank, like an earl or a lord.

Shaking away my bitter thoughts, I took a glass of wine from one of the servers. Mild, yes. The bottle of rum in my room still waiting. Damn this night. It had become too long.

I wanted to tell Evan about the girl being a mermaid, but something in me told me to keep that thought to myself. Hold it close. Like a weapon. Something I could use on him. Something I could use on her.

“I brought her home,” I said drily, telling the truth at that point.

“So, did you at least get a kiss?” Evan asked, mockingly, his split lips pursed at me. “You didn’t take long. I would have expected you to have at least made some progress with any woman at all, even that one. She looked like a homeless wretch.”

I wanted to tell her to check a mirror, see how purplish his eyes were then. How swollen. At least, that night had gifted me with some memorable moments. I did not regret hitting Evan. We had never been close like brothers. One dark, one fair. It was almost like we were meant to be at odds against each other.

Right now, I saw something strange on his face. It almost looked like the skin underneath his eyes was cracked. I expected the change in color and the possible tenderness, but I did not expect him to look like an egg about to split its yolk. The color was not yellowish, either. Instead, his skin seemed almost scaly. Green. His eye, the one I hit, almost looked reptilian. Perhaps the wine was not as mild as I thought. It made me see things. Did I see what I saw by the seashore? Suddenly, I was filled with uncertainty.

“Of course not,” I grunted. “Why would I risk some young woman’s reputation?”

“You already did that when you accompanied her home. Where does she live, anyway? It did not take you long to return.”

There it was again. One eye seemed almost reptilian, bulging to the point that it seemed to have created a little bubble that popped not too long afterward. Suddenly, it chilled me to the bone. What if I had hurt Evan more than I meant to?

“Brother, you called her a homeless wretch when you were the one who brought her inside the palace. Where did you meet her, anyway?”

“By the shore, prancing about. She was quite a beauty, but I know that you’ve noticed that. I saw you watching her when I brought her in. You had it planned all along, stealing her from me.”

The countess whose name I forgot – or chose to forget – flinched at what my brother said. My brother and I might be different, but we noticed the mermaid’s charms. It was probably just a second skin, a fabrication. I would willingly bet that she changed into her monstrous form once fully immersed in water.

Yet, I had no more time for Evan’s nonsense. It was time for that rum. Father was not too happy about me spending so much time on my own. It was not always that way. There was a time Evan was not an ass like he was now, and there was a time when I smiled all the time.

Our mother’s drowning was the catalyst.

Some people claimed there were signs in the days leading to her death. There were more storms than usual, three within a week.

“The sea was calling her,” one of the old duchesses had said. She would often tell her story with her hand on her chest as if it was too much for her to say anything about my mother’s death. “She answered.”

It did not make sense. Why would my mother answer such a call? They said it was an enchantment. But why would she be chosen for something like that? I thought that sirens sang songs of seduction to make sailors crash onto huge rocks. They were supposed to seduce men, old and young alike. My mother was a woman in her prime when she died. I was only nine when she drowned.

I could remember some details of that fateful day. Evan and I planned to play on the shore with their paper boats. My brother no longer enjoyed it as much as he used to, or so he claimed, complaining that I was too much of a baby to like it still. Yet, he still ran with me, ready with the paper boat he made for himself. It was haphazardly colored with crayons, but he was ready.

“Where is Mother?” I asked him then.

“Why do we need to look for mother? We’re big enough to play on our own. We can swim well, too.”

“Do you see that right there, Evan? The waves are high. Maybe we will be getting another storm.”

“Another? I hope not. It’s terrible to stay inside the palace all the time.”

“You’re always bored! Maybe you should learn how to read, Evan!”

Of course, my brother could read, but he never really had a use for the skill. Even now, he would rather waste all his time with his friends, drinking and cavorting with women. Perhaps I was an aberration here because most of our social standing young men mostly did what Even did. Well, there were a few exceptions, like my two treasonous friends, Karl and Robert, who had somehow disappeared. I could not blame them. They probably were in a rush to leave after I had downed my brother and fled with the mermaid.

Suddenly, I was back to that afternoon by the seashore. It was one of the last times my brother and I were on better terms. We still played, then. We still longed for bedtime stories from our mother after she had tucked us in for the night.

She would say,” Good night, little angels. Swim deep into your dreams. Let the mystical water wash over you and fill you with strength.”

They said that Mother was strange for saying those things. Even Father would sometimes hush her when she talked about merfolks and sea magic. She would smile and say that she could feel them guiding her, watching over her, and wanted the same for us.

I did not want to drown. I did not want the waters to claim me if that was what it took for me to immerse myself in the magic and strength of dreams.

“Let’s look for seashells,” I remembered telling Evan.

“Now, look who’s bored?” Evan teased as he looked at my limp paper boat. I dipped it on the edge of the water, wetting it thoroughly. He took it from me. I was ready to complain – not to cry, mind you – but he gave me his own. Then, he took mine, let it float, and got carried by the water, never to be seen again.

“Thank you, Evan,” I gratefully said, examining the paper boat he gave me. The coloring was not as masterful as mine, but who was I to complain? Beggars could not be choosers.

We then hunted for seashells. As a child, I was silly enough to think I could fill my new paper boat with shells and I would be able to gather and bring hundreds home. Of course, it was not the case. I saw Evan fill his short pants pockets with more. So, I did the same. We were delighted. It was looking out to be a wonderful day.

When twilight fell, we decided to head home. We could already imagine our Father warning us with his whip. I would have gladly taken my punishment, but I knew that it would be Christopher, my whipping boy, who would be getting the lashes. Evan had Simon. At a young age, I knew it was unfair, but it was how it was in our privileged world. Father said we should watch how our whipping boys got their lashes to remember that we had caused someone so much pain.

I tried my best to behave. It had been a long time since Christopher had gotten his lashing, I was proud to say. Even Simon had rarely gotten his. We were basically good boys, then.

The catalyst was our mother.

Happily headed home with seashells weighing down our pockets, we saw our mother wearing her nightdress. She was walking serenely towards the sea, eyes glazed and unfocused. She did not see us.

“Mother!” I called excitedly. I wanted her to see the shells in my pockets.

Then, we heard a howling sound coming from the sea. The rain started to pour like bullets, pricking our skin with its force.

“Mother!” Evan joined me in calling our mother, who continued her little march towards the sea.

I ran towards her, but somehow she was faster than she looked. I could swear her feet were not touching the ground. That was why she was too swift for us, gliding over the sand. I tripped, burdened by my shells and not used to running on the sand. Some of the shells spilled out of my pockets. I wanted to cry, but Evan had already grabbed the back of my shirt to pull me up.

“Mother is going to the sea,” he cried. “I’m going to run towards her. She does not look well, Alex!”

She had not looked well for the past few days, getting even worse with each storm. Her moods seemed to change with the weather, with the sea. It was one of the reasons the wise women said the mermaids were at fault.

I rose and tried to run after Evan. He was faster than I was then, but our mother was quicker. She had walked into the sea, the water slowly swallowing her up as she continued her seemingly mindless immersion. I started crying, the salt from the wind and my tears mingling in my tongue. The rain continued to pour down on us, stinging me but hiding my pain.

“Mother!” Evan called, but she was deeper in still, and he knew that he should not follow. He might not survive it, either. As I caught up to him, I saw the cracks on his face. Green and yellow. I remembered that it was the first time I noticed it on him, that color change.

“Evan, I’m going to fetch Father,” I said, my heart pounding. I felt so helpless, but I needed to do something. I knew then that she would not make it, but I still had to do something.

When we did get dried up hours later after our own sea tragedy, Evan said that the howling sounded like words saying, “Come to us, Irina. Come to us.”

Soon, word had it that mermaids had called upon our mother to go in the water. We were mourning, and it was so much easier to say that the mermaids took her than to consider the other possibility – that it was suicide.