The Sea Bears a Forgiving Heart

A Short Story

The wind howled and screamed in her ears as the young woman walked along the smooth sand of the beach, her flaming red hair whipping about her face as she stared impassively at the foaming, choppy water of the ocean before her, her hands clutched tightly together as they pressed against the bosom of her dress.

To an outside observer, the young woman appeared merely to be observing reflectively at the waves that crashed about the rocks and sand, hardly an unusual pastime, even considering the dark storm clouds that had begun to blacken the sky above. For the woman, however, her apparent bemusement at the water's activity was anything but.

She stretched out her hand in silence, a pained expression falling upon her face as her fingers groped longingly toward the water just before her. So close, and yet so far . . .

The water had been her home once, she reminded herself. Years earlier, before she had forsaken her birthright for a chance at love with a human male. She had been so certain she had made the correct choice, for she had wed her love, taken her place as his queen, lived with him, made love to him, mourned for him . . .

The vice around her heart tightened as her fingers grazed across her flattened abdomen, her womb as empty as ever, not even a child growing within her to remind her of her husband who had been cruelly taken from her, his brave spirit thwarted easily by the illness that had consumed him in a matter of weeks. She had wept the day he had died, she recalled, more than she had ever wept before. And now, here she was, a widow at such a young age, consumed with regret, surrounded by well-meaning people who knew nothing of the true pain tearing through her soul, uncertain of how to live—not knowing if she even wanted to—in this world upon the land, a world that had once seemed so intoxicating but in actuality held no place for her, now that she was . . .

A chill ran down her spine as she realized she had stepped into the water, the gentle tide lapping against her ankles, reminding her of the days before she had ever possessed legs, when she had travelled within the waters as men of the land sailed upon them, when she had been unmatched in speed, in gracefulness, in spirit. So desperate was she to experience but a taste of that feeling once more that she continued further and further into the water, stopping only when the waves had reached her waist, her nostrils filled with the salty scent that she knew oh so well. Her eyes closed of their own accord as she permitted her imagination to carry her away to the world beneath the surface that had once been all she knew, to a time when she was innocent, when she was—

My daughter.

She started, her eyes opening, darting about wildly as she heard the voice: feminine, maternal, rising to her as if from . . . Shaking her head, certain she had been hallucinating, she looked about one last time. "Hello?" she called out cautiously, if only to reassure herself that the voice she had heard dwelled entirely within her imagination.

My daughter, listen to me!

She lost her balance in surprise, her legs giving way, carrying her body into the water, the current pulling her further from shore until her legs no longer could reach the sandy bottom below. Before she could even contemplate responding, the voice returned, louder this time, more assertive.

You have forgotten me.

The accusing words echoed in her ears as she treaded water, her legs kicking furiously as she fought to keep her head above the surface as the waves around her grew more tempestuous.

"No!" she whispered, her eyes growing wide as she realized just who—what—was speaking to her. "Never—"

You have forgotten me, my daughter, the voice repeated, harsher this time, as if chastising her. I who am your mother, who carried you, who caressed you in my soft embrace, who lulled you to sleep with my gentle touch all these years. Oh, yes, my daughter. You have indeed forgotten me.

She shook her head, fighting to deny the truth in her accuser's speech. "I never forgot you!" she pleaded, coughing and sputtering as a sudden onslaught of surf sent a torrent of water into her throat. The temperature of the waves seemed to drop with each passing moment, becoming colder, more threatening as her body—now alien, unwelcome within the water in its current form—fought to stay afloat.

You did!

The voice was louder now, punctuated by bolts of lightning streaking across the sky as the rains began to fall, the wind whistling more violently than ever before, sending the waves crashing down upon her from all sides.

Do you understand now, my daughter? Can you deny me any longer? Can you continue to deny your heritage—the heritage that you traded away for the useless limbs of flesh you call legs?

She was now barely able to remain afloat as the waters threatened to devour her, her sopping wet hair clinging to her face, blinding her as the weight of her dress pulled her, dragged her downward into the abyss below.

"Please!" she choked out as another rush of salty liquid flowed into her mouth, her gag reflex fighting against the bile rising within her throat. "Please! Forgive me!"

Your words mean nothing to me, my daughter, when weighed against your actions.

The churning waters appeared to relent momentarily, as if the sea itself—herself, the woman considered—was conflicted, torn as to what its—her—next course of action should be.

How do you feel now, my daughter?

The voice was softer now, still tinged with disappointment but, like an understanding mother, eager to forgive her child's indiscretions. Was it worth it? What exactly do you desire of me?

The woman bowed her head as she treaded water, her limbs aching from her exertion. "I am hurting so deeply," she whispered, her eyes wet not only with water from the sea but from her own tears. "My husband . . . The man I left my home for is . . . is—"

I see.

The waters were now gentle, the waves brushing against the woman's skin, the temperature still cold, yet no longer hostile.

Now that you are alone, my daughter, tell me what you desire. Do you no longer wish to live among those who were born upon land?

"No," she admitted, shaking her head. "No, I . . . I do not. I . . . I don't belong there any longer." Her cheeks turned red as she suddenly understood. "I never belonged there in the first place."

The waters grew silent, the voice considering the implications of the woman's words. Finally, after what seemed to the woman an eternity, the voice spoke once more.

I have seen what is in your heart, my daughter. What you dare not ask me yourself for fear of my wrath. You know of what I speak. So, tell me once for all: What is it you wish of me? Speak now, my daughter. My patience wears thin . . .

"Please."

The woman's voice was nearly inaudible, her chin pressed to her collarbone in supplication. "Please," she repeated. "I wish to come home. Please, Mánatulen. Retúletheme . . ."

The voice did not acknowledge her request. Instead, the waters suddenly become rougher than ever, the waves crashing all around her, sweeping her further out to sea as her heart began to pound faster and faster in abject terror.

"Please!" she cried out, fighting with all her might to keep her head above the surface, her clothing clinging to her, heavier than ever as the human fabric absorbed more and more water. "Please, no! I am begging you—"

Her voice disappeared as a trio of impossibly high waves crashed down upon her, sending her flailing form deep beneath the surface. Her lungs were overwhelmed, deprived of air, as she kicked with all her might, her strength failing her as the surface loomed above, silently mocking her human body, a body that had no place in this world among the waters.

Blackness began to overtake her mind as her movements slowed, her body inching ever closer to the sandy floor of the sea. As consciousness slipped from her grasp, she dimly noted that nothing seemed as it should, that her legs felt constricted, bound together by some invisible force that prevented from even attempting one final, futile kick. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her oxygen-deprived lungs utterly spent as, at long last, she welcomed the darkness and whatever awaited her in the life to come . . .

Awake, my daughter. Rise. Awake . . .

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, the light from above nearly blinding her as she brought her hand before her pupils in an involuntary bid to prevent her eyes from losing their sight. Casting her gaze to the side, she frowned, her still-confounded mind unable to discern just where she was. Strange, she thought to herself. This looks just like . . . Just like . . .

Her heart pounded within her breast as she realized she was under the water, that the glimmering light from above was the sunlight streaming through the ocean's surface high above. She was beneath the surface, she realized, her mind racing, and yet her lungs were not screaming for air, the water flowing into her mouth and down her throat was not choking her but instead was gifting her life-giving oxygen. Scarcely able to believe what she was experiencing, she felt her hands begin to tremble as she cast her eyes downward, recognizing for the first time that she was naked as she saw—

A cry erupted from her lips, her shaking hands coming to rest upon smooth, warm scales of emerald and jade, scales that glistened in the ethereal light that surrounded her from above as they cascaded across not human legs, but a long, powerful fluke capped with a tailfin of soft, delicate flesh—a fin that was all too familiar.

You have been reborn, my daughter.

The sea herself seemed to speak to her once more, no longer abrasively, but in gentle, dulcet tones that set her soul at peace. Before she could reply, the voice returned, surrounding her, caressing her, comforting her.

You are my child once more, the voice whispered in her ear. I have brought you back into my embrace. Your life upon the land, your trials, your pain . . . All is but a distant memory now, my daughter, if you wish it to be so . . .

"Yes."

She brought her fingers to her lips as she realized she had spoken without thinking, a broad smile falling upon her countenance as she realized she had truly been given a second chance. The water around her was no longer cold and uninviting, but now felt like a warm blanket enfolding her, pressing lightly upon her as if to reassure her that she was safe.

The voice spoke to her one final time. Then go, my daughter. Take my gift. Be who you were created to be. Be free!

"I will," she murmured, closing her eyes as she felt a surge of energy and life erupt from the center of her being, rushing through her limbs, down her spine to the tip of her fin. Something within her suddenly erupted, mandating that she could no longer be still, that she simply had to move.

Before she realized what was happening, she felt her fin move as if of its own accord, its powerful thrusts propelling her at incredible velocity through the water, muscles that had been unused and misshapen for so long working as if they had never forgotten their function, her lithe form twirling and corkscrewing through the waves until—

With a shout of exhilaration, she burst through the surface, her scarlet locks billowing behind her as she soared through the air, all her anxiety, fear, and depression disappearing forever as she reentered the water. Again and again, faster and faster she skimmed the surface of the sea, growing bolder with each passing moment, not caring a whit if the entire world heard her cries of exultation until, at last, she sank to the bottom of the ocean, her fingers embracing the softness of the silt as she turned her gaze eastward, toward her nearly-forgotten home.

I am not afraid anymore, she reminded herself as she embarked upon her journey, her fin kicking relentlessly through the waves. Thank you, Mánatulen. I know where I belong now. Thank you for allowing me to come home.

AN: An idea that just came to me out of the blue. The language used for the foreign words is one of my own invention, created for my other story "Daughter of the Sea" and some other writings. Here are the translations of those words:

Mánatulen = Mother-sea

Retúletheme = Lit., "return me." In context, "Permit me to return."