Seagulls screamed overhead, their rasping cries echoing in the fresh salt air. The sea rolled in gentle heaves which did not disturb the ship bobbing atop its surface. A faint breeze cooled overheated skin, but it was not enough to fill the sails hanging limply from the mast.

Manus shaded his eyes staring out at the horizon. It was always the same. A small sliver of hope, the slightest glimpse of land, and a ship that wouldn’t move.

Such was the life of a sailor. The sea tossed and turned, storms tore at ships and men, and dehydration tore at their bodies. They all did it for one reason.

Adventure.

Danger dogged them at every corner, yet each man returned month after month to climb atop the great ship and set sail for new horizons.

He lifted his face to the wind and breathed in the salty air. It didn’t matter to Manus that they were sitting ducks on the ocean, that their water supply ran low, nor that their food was slowly disappearing.

As long as he was on the ocean, he could take any beating. Always did, even when he was a child. The old sailors used to call him the street rat born in the arms of the ocean. The boy who was meant to live on a ship.

“Manus!”

He glanced over his shoulder at the boatswain. The sturdy man was intimidating on a good day, frightening on a bad one. Oisin knew how to order the men about and get them moving without complaint. It was a talent Manus intended to learn someday.

“Get yer arse moving, sailor! The wind is bound to blow again!”

The wind wouldn't move anytime soon. Manus had always felt the weather deep in his bones. Faerie touched, some might call it, although he would never admit to having any marks on his soul. Faeries hadn’t mingled with his family line in a long time.

But there was one grandmother whose tipped ears made people question how truthful he was when he denied having faerie blood. The ancient crones remembered his loving gram spending hours making certain everyone was well-fed and content. They still thought she was cursed and wanted nothing to do with her, even though she’d bent over backwards to make them happy.

Shaking his head, Manus tossed the long mane of his hair back and made his way up the netting.

“Wind,” he grumbled as he climbed up the mast. “As if there will be any wind in these waters.”

Not for a few more weeks, at best. He’d suggested last night they put all the men’s backs to use and row. The other sailors nearly shoved him overboard for that proposition.

The ropes tugged hard, and his feet slipped from their hold. He grasped the horizontal post, glared down at the laughing shipmate, and swore under his breath.

Manus had bribed his way onto the ship, and now everyone knew because a loud-mouthed shipmate had shouted it during a drunken revelry. He laughingly revealed Manus wasn’t meant to be here at all, but the Captain let him stay for a little bit of coin.

All chances of a fair trip had shattered at that moment.

No one wanted a man aboard who didn’t know his way around a ship. Manus told them, time and time again, he knew how to sail. He’d known since the first moment his mother dipped his toes into the water and pressed a kiss to his head.

They didn’t believe him.

There was also the slight problem of Manus’s big mouth. He didn’t take shit from any man and solved problems with fists rather than words. On the streets of Uí Néill, it was far easier to push and shove his way out of a bar.

On a ship? That was a different story altogether.

He heaved himself to the top of the mast, wrapping his legs around the smooth wood to anchor himself in place. His ribs protested as the stretching movement pushed against the raw bruises blooming across his dark skin.

Another beating, another day. How many had he endured so far?

He couldn’t count that high.

If this was how they wanted to deal with him, then so be it. But, he would be back for the next trip, and the next. When the Captain wouldn’t have any more of him, he would look for another ship.

The sea called to him like a siren. It wanted him to ride her great swells and feel the kiss of sea spray against his skin.

Manus whipped a cloth out of his waistband and scrubbed the mast. It wasn’t doing anything. The boatswain kept saying how it was good to clean the mast of salt, but Manus knew it wasn’t that.

They wanted to keep him away from the real work. Scrubbing the deck put him in the way of everyone. He was a big man, and a ship wasn’t a place for big men. So, they sent him as high up as he could go, out of their line of sight and their hair, told him to clean, and forgot he was there.

He didn’t mind too much. If anything, this was where he wanted to be. He could see every bit of the water spread out like a blanket around them. Seagulls soared above his head, dolphins leapt into the air with chattering cries, and the clouds created patterns only he could decipher.

Who wouldn’t love this life?

Manus spent the rest of his day in the crow’s nest, only descending when the sun dipped below the horizon.

The rest of the crew slept beneath the deck, other than a single man on watch who sat at the bow and stared out to sea. Manus recognized his face. The only man who didn’t take part in the regular beatings that made Manus’s ribs creak.

He silently crept up the main deck, readying himself to grab the other man.

“Don’t, Manus. I don’t have the humor for it tonight.”

Sighing, Manus slumped next to him on deck. “And why not, Arturo? The world is a grave enough place without people losing their sense of humor. Where shall you go when you can no longer laugh?”

Arturo sighed, scraggly blonde hair dipping in front of his eyes. “I wished to be home a week ago.”

“We can’t all have our wishes granted.”

“My wife was with child when I left. I should be by her side.”

Manus stared at the dirt underneath his nails. “Why? That is women’s work.”

“Just because I cannot help her doesn't mean I shouldn’t be there.” When Manus didn’t reply, the sailor leaned down and cuffed him. “Take note! Someday you’ll have your own wife to tend to.”

“I don’t expect to marry.”

“Whyever not?” Arturo exclaimed. “Women are wondrous creatures, and they give us a reason to return after a long voyage.”

“Like what?”

“A warm bed at night, a willing woman after a long trip, children, food, a clean home. What more shall I tell you?”

“I can find all of that at a brothel.”

Arturo rolled his eyes. “Aye, you could. But none of those women are yours. They belong to every man who presses a coin to their palm, and there’s something sweet about knowing a woman is yours alone.”

“Is it worth that much? I don’t care if a woman stays true, as long as she’s there when I return.”

“You don’t understand,” Arturo replied, shaking his head.

Manus gestured to the sea, the ship, and the sky. “What more is there? We’re all here for a reason. The ocean calls to us. She is our mistress and our wife! Why would I need another woman in my life?”

“Because the sea cannot give you sons!”

He scoffed. “I have no need of sons. I don’t plan to leave anything behind and wouldn’t be able to give them a comfortable life as children deserve. My father was a brute with a heavy hand. I will not continue the cycle.”

“Why should you? Stop the cycle and become a good man.”

“That isn’t an option for me.”

“Isn’t it?” Arturo looked him in the eye. “Why not?”

“The same reason I just said. The sea is my mistress.”

He heaved himself up and leaned over the edge of the ship. Manus reached out a hand, imagining icy spray numbing his fingertips as it did when they sped across the sea with sails full.

“The sea isn’t a real woman,” Arturo grumbled. “The older you get, the more you’ll realize that.”

“A woman deserves a faithful husband. I would run away at every chance, just to let my mistress rock me to sleep at her breast.”

“You haven’t slept on the right woman’s breasts,” Arturo said with a chuckle. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had.”

They laughed, making certain the others didn’t hear. The sailors would put an end to it if they knew.

Shaking his head, Manus patted the sailor’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep watch tonight.”

“The captain won’t like it.”

“He won’t know, now, will he? Go, sleep. You look like you’re about to keel over, my friend.”

Arturo lumbered below deck, and Manus stared out at the still sea.

He meant every word he said. The ocean was more a person to him than many he’d met in his lifetime. Frightening, consuming, and wondrous, it was his life’s calling to devote himself to salt waters.

Manus stared down into the murky depths and felt a tension ease inside him.

Sometimes, in the very dead of night, he wondered what was beneath the waves. The great unknown of the ocean was baffling and frightening. There could be creatures staring up, looking right at him even as he stared down into the abyss.

* * *

Saoirse stared up at the silvery light filtering through the surface of the ocean. Its rays pierced through the depths until it was swallowed by the ocean and disappeared. She wished it didn’t.

Moonlight was so beautiful and less dangerous than its sunny counterpart.

Merrows weren’t supposed to go to the surface. Too many things hunted them there; humans, ships, sharks, even the occasional faerie would attack the delicate little creatures.

She nudged aside a strand of hair that floated in front of her eyes. The strand was so inky dark that no one would ever know it was green. Her father called it a shame. She would have been infinitely more beautiful if she had hair like her mother and sisters.

Saoirse much preferred her dark hair to the vibrant green of her people. She didn’t like the way theirs looked like seaweed waving in the shallows, and besides, she stood out in a crowd.

The other merrow men didn’t seem to mind her oddities. In fact, most found her differences thoroughly interesting. They lifted their webbed hands to touch the strands whenever she passed.

Saoirse did her best not to shiver in disgust, but the merrow-men were not attractive creatures. Their giant red noses were a beacon that attracted attention to their frog-like faces. Webbed hands and feet kept them firmly at the bottom of the ocean, though their strong tails could propel them forward when needed.

In contrast, merrow women were beautiful. Their long sleek tails came in a variety of colors, and their smooth skin shimmered in the sunlight. Rainbows danced in the slick webbing between their fingers, and the green hue of their hair mingled with vibrant fish that swam through the long locks.

She drifted on the currents, letting them drag her deeper and deeper into the abyss. That was where she lived, where her father and his many children waited for her to return.

Warmth faded from the waters. An icy chill wound around her shoulders and pulled harder, deeper, until darkness covered her vision and even her sensitive eyes were blind.

This was the part of the ocean that frightened her. Squid could tangle her in their tentacles without her ever seeing them. Saoirse had bumped into whales a few times, terrifying her so much that each time it happened, she remained in her undersea home for a very long time after.

But she always returned to the surface.

A tiny light bloomed in the darkness, small but enough that she knew precisely where she was.

Long ago, when she was very little, Saoirse had stolen a tree sapling and dragged it down with her. The scraggly, dying thing didn’t stand a chance in the deep salt water. Her mother had felt such pity for the daughter who longed for a tiny piece of the land, that she wove a tapestry of magic around an abandoned grotto.

White pillars surrounded the small outcropping, the remains of a once great kingdom. A barrier held the ocean back between the pillars. Within that tiny space, her mother coaxed glowing coral to grow. She breathed life into the sapling, planted it in the center, and taught her daughter how to will the tree to stretch its roots and lift branches towards the sky.

Now, the great oak reached the ceiling of the grotto and spread wide leaves almost as large as Saoirse’s head. Her mother kept saying she needed to tell the tree to slow down, but Saoirse couldn’t.

It was an impossible thing growing at the bottom of the ocean. She would never tell it to change.

She didn’t hesitate as she swam towards the grotto. Her shoulder slammed against the surface of the shield which made an audible pop and spat her to the ground. Landing hard on her arms, she blew out a relieved breath.

Grace certainly wasn’t required to enter the grotto. She shook her head and winced as her legs tingled. Exposure to air caused an immediate reaction. The silver scales of her tail melted into a thick mucus that slid from her smooth skin.

Legs were such strange things. Saoirse didn’t know how humans and merrow-men could stand having two appendages. They moved separately from each other, independent and infinitely difficult to control.

She stumbled to her feet, groaning with frustration before finding her balance.

The tree glowed in the dim light of the coral. She sighed in happiness and stepped towards the worn bark. She knew it as well as her own skin.

Its rough texture abraded her palm as she slid her hand down it. Saoirse reached up and framed the branches with her arms. They were nearly as thick as her new legs.

“Hello,” she whispered.

Sometimes, she thought she heard a whispered greeting from the old tree. It would bend just so, as if a wind blew past. It was, perhaps, a rather fanciful thought, but she liked to think the tree knew her as well as she knew it.

She swayed side to side, getting used to her new body. Saoirse was fascinated by the changes merrows could undergo with little pain.

Magic was a strange thing. It allowed her to become something new and allowed this grotto to exist. It was wonderful, and fanciful, and so bright.

Saoirse closed her eyes and hummed under her breath. If she hit the right tone, faint and quiet, it almost sounded like there was wind. She could mimic birds as well.

The tree liked that. She was certain he stretched his roots deeper into the earth when she made bird sounds.

Pursing her lips, she trilled a few notes and stared up at the tree as if it were a man. She wouldn’t mind kidnapping a person and bringing them down here.

Once in a great while, a ship would pass through their waters. She’d only seen a few men in her life, but they captivated her.

Their bodies were so different from her own and from the merrow-men. Humans grew hair in the strangest of places. Their arms were far stronger than she would have expected, and their bodies trim and muscular. It was a shame their skin was so strange. Pale white and faintly blue, they swelled as soon as they touched the ocean.

Granted, she’d only seen them after they were dead. The guardians wouldn’t let them get too close to any ship that carried harpoons.

The great guardians, larger than most whales, traveled with the merrows when they left their homes. They escorted them from place to place, sometimes even just to stretch their tails.

They were kind, sweet, and thoughtful in a way most things under the water weren’t. Saoirse loved them dearly. It was a shame her father didn’t.

She glanced over her shoulder at the tree and saw instead a strong man with hair as dark as hers, reaching out his arms. Dark thoughts forgotten, she batted her eyelashes and asked, “Who? Me? Dance? Why I haven’t danced in years.”

She didn’t really know what dancing was. A passing merrow, who had once shed her tail at the surface, spoke of humans tapping their feet to music.

Dancing wasn’t the merrow way, and not likely something she would ever participate in.

Instead, merrows listened.

She had seen hundreds of females all gathering around a whale singing its haunting song. They floated, still as death with their hands pressed against their chests, listening as quietly as possible.

Why would anyone stomp their feet and not hear the music?

Still, it seemed rather interesting. She stamped her feet against the ground a few times, humming a tune that echoed the whale song. It was too slow, too simple, too quiet.

Frustrated, she shook her head and looked back at the tree. “I can’t do it. You must have seen dances, even in your young life. What were they like?”

The tree seemed to sway, bowing to her.

“Oh! Were they all so polite? Did the men look at the women with their hearts in their eyes? Did the women sway?” Saoirse lifted her hands into the air and spun. “What do human women look like? Their men are quite handsome, so I cannot imagine what they must be. Are they ethereal creatures whose beauty burns?”

It was the only life she knew. Merrows were painfully more attractive than their counterparts. Humans must be the same, otherwise, what kind of creatures were they?

She bit her lip, looking the tree up and down. “Were you a handsome prince? If you were, tell me, right now. I simply must know!”

She didn’t expect it to respond, not really. But there was always a bit of hope in her breast that someday she would meet a real prince. That he would sweep her off her feet, fall in love, and save her from marrying a merrow-man.

The tree didn’t respond. Instead, all she heard was the sound of someone’s muffled laughter.

Saoirse spun around so quickly her ankles tangled together. Tripping into a heap, she landed in the roots of the tree with her long hair wrapped around her body. She pushed the dark length away and stared between two of the closest columns.

Her brother and father hovered just beyond the border. Their ugliness made her wince in pity. Her father was covered in warts, his froggish feet so large they were longer than her arm. Her brother was slightly more attractive, for a merrow-man, at least his nose wasn’t quite as bulbous as the others.

He chuckled again, bubbles frothing from between his hands pressed against his mouth. “Saoirse, really?”

“What?” she asked defensively. “Mother gave this to me to do as I wish.”

Her father shook his head. “You are too old to be playing pretend.”

“I am not that old.”

“You are well beyond the age of marriage. I have been looking for you all day, and here I find you with this damned tree.”

“It’s not a damned tree!” She pressed her hand against the bark. “It’s mine and it means something to me.”

“I should have had your mother take these walls down a long time ago. They have made you fanciful.”

“I am allowed to have something which is mine and mine alone.”

“You won’t for long!” he thundered. “You are going to have to accept marriage sooner or later, Saoirse. Most girls your age are already married, and still you will not pick a husband!”

She should have known that was why he was here. Her father wanted her to marry more than anyone else, although she couldn’t understand why. There were other sisters for him to focus on, seventeen to be precise.

Her mother and father were prolific, desiring to be the family with the most children so they might have more bride prices. It wasn’t difficult as a merrow. They had the choice to carry their children within them, or within an egg sack which was anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

Most tried to keep the babe within them. But, if one wanted many children, it was easier to place the eggs on the ground and forget until they hatched.

Saoirse helped take care of the eggs when she could. The number of her siblings were ever growing.

“I have no wish to marry,” she informed her father, tight lipped and angry. “I have already told you this.”

“And I have told you it is not acceptable. You will marry, and if you do not choose a husband soon, I will choose one for you.”

Saoirse stumbled to her feet, cheeks flushed with anger. “You can’t do that!”

“I can, and I will!”

“Athair!”

“Enough!” Her father held his webbed hand forward, treading water with an unreadable expression on his wart covered face. “Listen to me child and listen well. You will be married by the next turn of the tides, whether you wish it or not. I would suggest you choose a husband soon.”

He swam away, frog-like legs kicking rapidly as he fled the sadness in her eyes.

Saoirse pressed her fingers to her face, the remaining short webs glistening with her tears. She had never noticed the leak when she was underwater. Tears mixed with the sea until everything tasted like salt.

Not so when she was in her little grotto. Her sorrows were all the greater when the ocean did not cradle her in its embrace.

Her brother chuckled and floated closer to the grotto. “Little sister, when are you going to learn that arguing with Athair is a waste of time? He always gets what he wants.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“What are you going to do? Run away?” He gestured towards the surface. “Do you think life above the sea will be any better than it is down here?”

She turned away from him, sniffing loudly. “How would we know?

“The rumors aren’t true, you know. All those fanciful, romantic tales you whisper to yourself at night. Our sisters hear you, Saoirse. They listen to them and think you are foolish. Humans don’t care about us, and they certainly don’t care about the sea.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!”

She flinched as his heavy fists struck the magical bubble holding back the ocean. The sound echoed through her head, then stilled as he pushed hard and slid through the shield.

The wet slap of his feet sent shivers down her spine. The merrow men were ugly in the water, but without the buoyancy of the salt water, they were monstrous.

Saoirse steeled herself and glanced over her shoulder. Flesh sagged from his form, dripping down his body like the slimy glow worms she’d seen in caves. Grayish green skin did little to enhance his appearance.

She swallowed hard. “What are you doing, bràthair?”

“Enjoying your little haven. Mother built it for all of us, after all.”

“You’ve never liked this grotto.”

“I think anything from above is not worth our time.” Water dripped from his shoulders to land with wet plops on the moss she had carefully cultivated. He glanced slyly over his shoulder. “You know father will pick the worst of them.”

“He wouldn’t do that. I’m his favorite.”

“You like to think that, but he thinks you’re too wild. A husband with a heavy hand is needed to control you, we all think so.”

“A heavy-handed man would break me. I am more delicate than Athair knows.”

“Is that so?”

Her brother padded around her, peering around the tree with unnaturally dark eyes. “Who do you think he’ll pick, piuthar? Craig? His hands are large enough to crush your skull.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“I always thought he would make a good match for you.”

She liked Craig even less than the rest of them. He enjoyed the hunt too much. Saoirse couldn’t count the number of times she had caught him floating in a blood-stained current. He liked to inhale the metallic scent.

“No, it won’t be him.”

Her brother arched his brow. “That almost sounds as if you’re considering choosing.”

She didn’t like the shrewd look in her brother’s gaze. He was too smart for his own good and read her too easily. He had no right to know her thoughts, but she was bound to tell him.

As a faerie, she couldn’t lie. Her tongue twisted into knots the moment she tried. But, she could twist the truth. And she was fragile, she felt like the thinnest of shells beneath the weight of the ocean.

This world wasn’t for her. She longed for the sun, for waves, for seagulls screeching above her head. The darkness and silence didn’t fit the glowing light of her soul.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear I have no other choice.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing at all. I am trapped, though you didn’t say it in so many words. If I do not choose, I will be forced. And I will not submit to whatever brute father chooses for me.”

“This is unlike you.”

Saoirse sniffed. “Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think.”

“No, I know you better than any of our siblings. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Saoirse. You won’t do anything foolish to compromise this family.”

With a hard look, he stepped back through the bubble of magic and into the water. She waited until he disappeared into the murk before huddling against the tree. Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions.

Married? To one of those disgusting creatures?

Her mother would say that looks weren’t everything. Saoirse needed to set up her future so she would be happy and comfortable. A lone merrow in these waters didn’t have the protection they all required.

She hated it. She hated them.

The mere thought of a merrow man touching her skin made her shudder. Her scales weren’t thick enough to shield her from their warts and wrinkled skin. What was she to do?

A few leaves floated down from the branches above her head and gently rested against her shoulders. She plucked one off and rotated it. The weak light from the coral shone through the fine leaf and made the veins glow.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “There is always another way.”

She stared through the bubble towards the surface. Darkness obscured her vision, but she knew it was up there. The sun would touch her skin again, and it didn’t matter that her brother thought her foolish.

If they would force her to marry, then she would see the sunlight one more time.