Daughter of the Sea

A Novella

Stanza I

Now gather 'round, children, and I'll tell you a tale.
A tale as incredible as can be.
A story of joy, and of sorrow, and tears,
Of a man who loved a daughter of the sea.

He knew from the first moment he saw her that she had ensnared him, that she would never let him go—nor, in his heart of hearts, did he desire for her to do so.

The warm, orange rays of the early-morning sun cascaded upon the rolling surf of the beach, the steady ebb and flow of the waves sending its soothing tones to his ears as he walked along the soft sand. This was his favorite time of day: the few precious hours in which he could be alone, not having to concern himself with affairs of state, with learning from his father how to be the king he would one day have to be. No, he thought to himself as he savored the salty scent of the breeze blowing in with the tide. None of that matters while I am . . .

His pace slowed, his head cocking to the side as an unfamiliar sound cascaded toward him from the cluster of rocks just ahead. His curiosity piqued, he cautiously pressed forward, the sound becoming clearer with each passing moment. It was a sound he knew did not belong with the gentle panoply of tones he had grown accustomed to hearing over the years on the beach, and yet the sound did not seem alien, unwelcome. Rather, it seemed to blend in with the gentle, dulcet noises of the beach, its pitch rising and falling with the omnipresent motion of the tide, growing in intensity before relaxing, only to repeat the cycle again and again.

As he drew near to the rocks, he felt his breath catch in his throat, his mind entranced with the aural beauty that caressed his ears. A wordless song drifted through the air, wrapping itself into his brain, a single syllable—pure, untainted by language or dialect—washing over his spirit, the melody foreign to his ears, yet simultaneously comforting, each pitch sounding in a perfect sequence, as if it was the only tone that could follow the one preceding it. He stood unmoving, any notion of time escaping from him, his fingers wrapping around the rocks as he finally, ever-so-slowly peered over the rocks, hardly daring to make a sound lest he interrupt the song.

A young woman—perhaps a few years younger than he, he speculated—lay upon the sand, the rocks serving as an enclosure, concealing her presence from prying eyes. Her hair was red as flame, long, luxurious, cascading down her back, as if cushioning her, enfolding her. Her eyelids were closed, her face the picture of innocence as she continued to sing her song. Her legs were nowhere to be seen, her body from the waist down enveloped in the water that lapped upon the surface of the beach.

Who is she? he thought to himself, his mind completely taken by this young woman's carefree behavior. It was not proper, after all, for a young woman to venture alone this far from the village, especially this early in the morning. Nor, he contemplated as his eyes took in every detail of her features, was it proper for one such as she to be dressed in such a fashion. He swallowed, realizing that to use the word "dressed" was to imply she was wearing clothes, for her pale skin was on display for all the world to see, the indigo . . . seashells? . . . upon her breasts her only apparent concession to societal expectations of modesty.

Not wanting to interrupt her, yet at the same time wanting to make her acquaintance, he nervously cleared her throat, stepping slowly into the cluster of rocks. Summoning all the princely bravado he could muster, he spoke: "Ex– . . . Excuse me . . . Miss . . .?"

The song disappeared as she started, shooting upward, her eyes opening as she looked upon him, panic evident upon her face, her pupils of purest blue staring at him in fright. She folded her arms across her chest, her breathing coming rapidly, her shoulders heaving as she eyed him suspiciously.

Raising his hands above his head, he took a single step toward her, silently cursing himself for having frightened her. "I . . . I'm sorry," he apologized, his words sounding weak, inadequate to his own ears. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just . . . I heard you singing, and I . . . I wanted to—"

In a flash, the young woman was gone, her form disappearing beneath the surface of the water. Rushing toward the water's edge, he took several steps into the sapphire liquid, his eyes scanning about for any trace of her. Several moments passed by in silence as he continued his search in vain. He frowned in confusion, his heart pounding within his chest, as he realized she was not surfacing for air, confusion quickly giving way to panic as he frantically looked about. Oh, no! he thought to himself. She can't have any air left! Where the hell is she? It's all my fault . . .

His mind suddenly made up, he dove beneath the water, his legs kicking furiously as he scanned about for any sign of her. The salt stung his pupils as he looked about for any sign of the young woman beneath the surface of the water. Not seeing her, he surfaced, his lungs filling themselves with air as he pushed himself back beneath the water. Swimming further and further from the beach, he continued his search, his sense of guilt growing by the moment.

A thought suddenly crossed his mind. What if she's back on the beach right now? What if you missed her?

Doubling back, he thrust his arms forward, preparing to pull himself back above the surface, to swim back to shore. Just as his hands were about to break through the waves above, he suddenly felt his body pulled against its will toward the ocean floor. Panic setting in, he flailed and kicked, desperately trying to escape the iron grip of the onrushing rip tide. His lungs burning, he struggled with all his might, his every move only dragging him further from the surface. Unable to escape the ocean's grasp, his vision began to fade, his struggling slowing down as exhaustion began to set in. As he lost his tenuous hold on consciousness, he thought he felt something take hold of him, but the last remaining vestiges of his rational mind were certain it was merely a figment of his imagination . . .

The warmth of the morning sun was the first thing he felt as he began his slow return to consciousness. Rolling his head to the side, his eyes still closed, he felt a gentle touch upon his cheek, moving toward his hair, then toward his ear.

"Stop it, Max," he groaned, shaking his head until the touch disappeared. "It's not time to get up yet—"

The events of earlier that morning suddenly rushed through his mind. Eyes shooting open, he sat up quickly, squinting as the bright sunlight nearly blinded him, a loud shriek sounding in his ears.

Turning toward the source of the sound, he felt his jaw drop against his will. The young woman was there, her hand pulling back from the side of his face, her eyes regarding him with a mixture of fear and interest.

Not wanting to frighten her again, he sat up slowly, his hands coming to rest in his lap. "Hi," he said, hoping he didn't sound as awkward as he perceived he did. A thin frown appeared upon his lips as he looked out toward the water, realizing for the first time that they were still on the beach, rather than home in his palace. "Did . . . Did you rescue me?"

The young woman angled her head slightly, her brow furrowed as she watched his lips move, as if she was trying to make sense of what he was saying.

Maybe she doesn't speak our language, he thought to himself. Taking note once more of her unusual mode of dress—or lack thereof—he shook his head. Make that "probably doesn't." She's obviously not from around here.

Pointing toward the water, he brought his finger back until it was angled toward the girl. "Did . . ." He paused, doing his best to make his intentions crystal clear. "Did you pull me . . ." He pointed to himself, then back to the water. "From there?"
Something about what he said excited the young woman. Nodding exuberantly, her eyes shining with excitement, she pointed back to the ocean. "Da vanda e thérewhen altúleney!"

It was his turn to look at her in confusion as he realized he had no idea what language she was speaking. Clearing his throat, he thought for moment. "Um . . . You probably don't understand me, but I . . . Where . . . are you from?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide, a puzzled expression on her face. Realizing he would have to be more direct, he pointed to himself once more. "I am from . . ." Turning to his side, he pointed toward the outline of the palace in the distance. "That is where I live." Looking back at her, he gently took hold of her hand. "Where do you live? Is it close?"

Suddenly seeming to comprehend, she smiled and took hold of his hand, pointing excitedly with her free hand back to the ocean. "Altúleney! Altúleney!"

Running a hand through his hair in exasperation, he frowned. "No. That's . . . That's not what I mean. I don't mean where you just came from, I mean where you—"

He drew in a sharp breath, his hands trembling suddenly as he looked down for the first time. Blinking, rubbing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind of what he was certain was a figment of his imagination. I'm seeing things! I'm seeing things! This isn't real! This isn't—

His face slowly drained itself of color as he stared intently at where the young woman's legs should have been. Instead of smooth, white skin, his eyes were greeted with glistening scales of emerald, cascading down a single limb, the radiant display ending with a splayed tailfin of thin, gossamer-like flesh that gently came to rest upon his own leg, delicately moving back and forth of its own accord.

God Almighty! he thought to himself, the world around him beginning to spin. She . . . She's a—

For the second time that morning, he lost consciousness, his head making contact with the smooth sand of the beach as darkness overwhelmed him once again.

The weight of something upon his chest is what brought him back to wakefulness once more. What a strange dream, he ruminated as he forced his eyelids to open. I don't know where that came from, but—

His thoughts trailed away as his eyes made sense of what was pressing into his torso. The young woman was still there, her cheek against his chest, her curtain of red hair draped about her face, framing it in radiant, crimson light. She was staring at his shirt, studying it, her fingers marveling at the smoothness of the fabric, the lightness of its weight against her palm.

Awkwardly, he shifted his weight, feebly trying to think of something to say to her. "I . . . I'm sorry about that. I . . . I must have . . ."

Realizing he was awake, she pulled herself to a sitting position, her eyes darting back and forth between him and the water nearby.

His gaze fell upon the shimmering jade scales of her fluke, confirming beyond a doubt that what he had seen was all too real. I don't believe it. All these years . . . All the stories sailors would tell about . . .

Leaning forward, he raised his hands in what he hoped was a nonthreatening posture, pointing toward her. "You're . . . You're a mermaid . . ."

The girl from the sea raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word, her face betraying an expression of displeasure.

Great, he contemplated. Now I've insulted her. "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you. I mean . . . Oh, God, you have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"

Think, you idiot! his mind snapped at him. Use your diplomatic training. Pretend she's a girl from some run-of-the-mill foreign culture. What would you do?

Straightening his back, he pointed to his chest. "Eric," he said slowly, deliberately. "My. Name. Is. Eric."

A puzzled look fell upon her countenance momentarily before shifting into an excited grin. "A– . . . Ah– . . . Ay-rick!"

He let out a small shout of surprise as she suddenly threw herself forward, her face pressed to his chest once more, her fin curled about him as she tugged at his shirt. "Ay-rick?" she repeated, looking at the garment expectantly.

Despite himself, he found himself laughing. "No," he said, delicately taking hold of the sea-maiden's hands. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked into the wide, innocent pools of blue that were her eyes, his heart racing. Dear God, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!

She frowned, confusion falling upon her face once again. "Ne délethen . . . Ay-rick?"

Forcing himself to focus, he gently brought her hands to his face, allowing her fingers to touch his skin, hoping this would help her understand. "Eric," he repeated as he brought her hand to his chin. "That's who I am. I mean . . . Oh, God, this is so difficult to explain . . ."

The sea-maiden stared deeply into his own eyes for several silent moments, thinking, analyzing. Finally, she nodded excitedly, taking hold of his shoulders. "Eh– . . . Eric!"

He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized she understood the concept. "That's right," he said. He started as he felt the delicate flesh of her tailfin brush against his leg, the furthest recesses of his mind recognizing that it was warm to the touch, in no way unpleasant, unlike the feeling one received from touching the cold clamminess of a fish.

Focusing, he looked at her. "What is your name?" he asked slowly. "I mean, what should I call you? Can you even understand—"

"Ariel."

His eyes widened in amazement as she pointed to herself again and again. As he sat in stunned silence, she suddenly seemed irritated, as if he was unable to grasp the simple concept. Thrusting her finger at him, she shook it before his face. "Eric," she stated matter-of-factly before pointing at herself once again. "Ariel."

"Ariel . . ."

Allowing the name to glide off his tongue, relishing the beauty of each syllable, he smiled. "That's . . . That's a beautiful name."

Hoping he was not presuming too much, he took hold of her hand again, stroking her fingers delicately. "Thank you for saving me . . . Ariel."

She suddenly pulled her hand away, a worried look on her face. Looking up toward the sun, she shook her head, murmuring to herself in her own language. Using her arms, she pulled herself back toward the water as he stood up in surprise.

"Wait!" he called out as her form became enveloped by the surf, his mind suddenly realizing he might never see her again. "Don't go! Don't leave! I . . ."

Her green tailfin rose above the surface of the water, flicking once as it propelled her deep into the sea once more. His heart sank in his chest as he realized she was gone, most likely forever. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned back toward the beach as he left the small cluster of rocks, his feet carrying him back toward the palace, a sudden sense of emptiness washing over him as he walked along the familiar path.

Ariel . . . Ariel . . .

AN: More to come!