Tears of a Sea Maiden

A Short Story

It was days like this—when the sky above the waters was gray and ominous, when the wind whipped ferociously across the ocean's surface—that made Ariel thankful she had forsaken the world of men in exchange for her birthright. For no matter how dark and foreboding the weather above, within the bosom of the sea, she was safe.

Her lithe form cut through the waters effortlessly, her tail of purest green propelling her faster than any human woman could ever hope to swim, her hair as red as "fah-eye-er" framing her features. She had lost track of how many moons it had been since she had been reborn as a véldenmaína, as a daughter of Mánatulen; the long life she had willingly sacrificed to be with her prince of men had returned to her. It may have been a year by the human reckoning, two, or even ten. So much of that life I have forgotten, she thought to herself as she continued her solitary sojourn. So much except . . .

Her brisk pace slowed to a stop as she came upon a sunken vessel. The ship was one of the largest she had ever seen; its mammoth size filled her entire field of vision, a silent leviathan maintaining its eternal watch over the recesses of the deep upon which it had come to its final rest. It was—had been, she corrected herself—a merchant vessel, one of the great trading ships that sailed the seas above. Its size was sufficient to transport valuable commodities—spices, "suh-ihlk", gold—from every corner of the globe to markets in all the known kingdoms. Just like Eric showed me, she thought, a slight pang of sadness tugging at her heart for the briefest of seconds.

Ariel felt the familiar thrill of discovery wash over her, as it had long ago when she was naïve and carefree, when the prospect of finding priceless treasures from the world above filled her with joy beyond all measure. She was no longer that véldenmaína, she reminded herself, turning to swim away, to return to her home.

And yet . . .

Glancing about, making certain she was alone, Ariel allowed herself to indulge her curiosity. With a flick of her fin, she swam through one of the port holes, her eyes squinting as they adjusted to the darkness within. Her brow furrowed with concern as she swam through the tomb that was the merchant ship, a sense of unease washing over her. Something was not right, but just what that something was, she could not discern. Brushing a lock of hair from her eyes, she made her way toward the bridge of the ship, the light from far above growing brighter as she exited the interior—

A flurry of bubbles erupted from her lips as she gasped in horror. The wood of the bridge was stained red with blood, blood that had not yet had time to be washed away by salty waters of the sea. Clinging to the wheel was the unmoving form of a man, his skin pale, his face smeared with crimson liquid from an untold number of wounds. Her hand trembling, Ariel stretched forth her hand, hoping against hope he might still be alive, that she could save him.

But the man's flesh was cold, his pulse extinguished like the "fah-eye-er" of a candle flame in a gust of wind. For a moment, Ariel was transported to another time, another place; she saw her husband, the man who had been so strong, so filled with life, breathe his last, his hand falling from her grasp into the dress adorning her lap as the illness that had afflicted him finally triumphed—

No!

Shaking her head, Ariel brought herself back to the present, back to the situation at hand. Her heart pounded within her chest as she deduced what had transpired. She knew now what had disturbed her before within the bowels of the ship. There was no cargo: no gold, no spices, no anything. Eric had told her of pirates, how ruthless they were, how they would murder any man who dared refused to give up his cargo. They were men without honor, he had told her, men without principle. "Not even women and children are safe from them," Eric had said, his fists clenching with outrage.

She had not understood, she had told him. She could not fathom why men would do such things to one another; for a véldenthem to murder another was unthinkable, unheard of. "Why?" she had asked her husband. "Why do humans do this to one another, Eric? Why?"

He had not been able to answer her question that day, nor had he ever been able. And now, it was her turn to clench her fists in worry and anger as she swiftly propelled herself toward the surface. This couldn't have happened more than a few hours ago, she thought, the crystalline boundary separating the deep from the surface growing nearer with each motion of her fin. Maybe, just maybe, there are survivors . . .

Her head burst forth above the surface, the cold wind whipping her waterlogged hair about her face. Her stomach sank as her eyes beheld the destruction the vandals of the waves had wrought. Jagged pieces of timber floated aimlessly atop the surface, their presence serving as silent testimony to the brutal assault that had taken place. Flame danced upon some of the larger planks, the orange glow serving as a counterpoint to the charcoal sky above.

"Hello?"

Ariel's voice rang out across the waters, disappearing into nothingness. For several tense moments, she held her breath, desperately awaiting some sign—any sign—that there were survivors somewhere amidst the wreckage. But she received no answer, no plaintive cry for help. Nor did she find any evidence of what had happened to the dead. A chill ran down her spine to the tip of her fin as horrific possibilities assaulted her imagination; if the bodies had not drifted toward the horizon, then perhaps the sharks . . .

The wind howled louder now, its caterwauling almost mocking her—Turn back! You cannot save them! They are lost! You are too late . . . véldenmaína—

"No . . ."

She felt her cheeks grow damp, not from the waters of the ocean but from tears falling from her eyes. Her heart was breaking, this much she knew . . . breaking for the cruelty men showed to one another, for the lives that had been lost unnecessarily, for the bitter realization that her beloved Eric may have been an exception, not the rule. Her soul despairing, the véldenmaína prepared to disappear beneath the surface once more, to return to her home far away from the violence and the bloodshed of the world above, to mourn her husband's memory once more, when—

"Please . . ."

At first, Ariel was certain she had imagined the voice. The wind had not relented its blistering assault upon her ears; if anything, it had only grown louder with each passing moment. Shaking her head, she turned away.

"Help . . ."

Ariel's head snapped to her left. The voice was louder this time; weak, but most certainly louder . . . desperate. Her eyes widened as she saw a figure clinging to a piece of driftwood in the distance. Kicking her fin furiously, she swam toward the figure, her heart pounding in her chest, her pace quickening as she realized the figure was that of a young woman.

The girl could not have been older than seventeen human years, Ariel calculated, as she arrived at the piece of driftwood. Ariel felt her stomach churn as she studied the frightened young woman's features. Her light skin was marred by streaks of red, as the captain of the sunken vessels features had also been, evidence of cuts and lacerations all over her body. The girl's chestnut hair clung to her scalp, soaking wet, as was the tattered remains of her dress.

Not caring a whit that the girl would discover what she was, Ariel took hold of her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm here," she said quietly, calmly.

The girl's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Ariel's voice, her eyes widening in confusion and astonishment. "How . . ." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible now. "How are you . . . How can you—"

Ariel brought her finger to the young woman's lips, her other hand delicately stroking her hair. "You need to rest, ángelfiëla," she whispered, a bitter smile tugging at her lips as within her memory stirred the voice of another who had used that pet name for her so many years ago. "Mustn't dilly-dally, ángelfiëla. I'm a very busy woman, after all . . ."

The young woman, exhausted and injured though she was, shook her head. "N– . . . No! I . . . My . . . My parents! I . . . I need to . . ."

Ariel frowned as she realized just how warm the girl's forehead was, that the young woman had most likely sustained serious injuries and would not last much longer. "What is your name?" she asked.

"Maria," the young woman responded, her eyes closing as exhaustion began to set in.

"Maria? That's a beautiful name!"

Ariel felt her heartbeat quicken once more. The last thing she wanted was for the girl to fall asleep, to never wake up again. Her eyes darted about toward the horizon, searching in vain for any sign of a human vessel, of the shoreline. To her dismay, she saw nothing but water in all directions. The girl is not going to make it, Ariel realized. I can't save her . . .

"Maria!"

Ariel shook the young woman's shoulders, doing her best to avoid touching her injuries. "Maria, don't fall asleep!" she shouted. "Maria!"

Maria's eyes opened once more, her gaze unfocused.

"What happened, Maria?" Ariel asked, hoping to keep the young woman talking while she tried to figure out what to do. I will save her . . .

Maria's speech was slurred as she responded. "Mother and . . . Father . . . We were sailing . . . with Father's company when . . . pirates . . ."

The memories of her ordeal seemed to awaken Maria once more. Her head shot up, her eyes darting about in desperation. "They . . . They attacked us! The whole crew! Everybody! I . . . I was so scared, and . . ."

Her face twisted in agony as she remembered. "Father! They . . . They killed him! And Mother, she . . . She told me to run, but I . . . the ship . . . they used their cannons before I could . . . ."

Maria's shoulders trembled from fear and from the chill of the wind as she began to weep, her teeth chattering as she tried to continue. "They're . . . gone! All of them . . . Gone!"

"It's . . . It's okay, ángelfiëla."

Ariel did not know what more she could say, how to comfort the poor girl who had suffered so greatly. Having never had children of her own, unlike her sisters, she had no experience with soothing a young one, with offering comfort even when there was none to give.

Maria looked up at Ariel. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes growing heavy once more. "Thank you . . . for listening. For trying . . . trying to help . . ."

"Maria, no!" Ariel cried, shaking her. "Maria! Wake up!"

But the young woman was too exhausted, too injured, too spent to comply. Her face peaceful, at rest, she smiled dreamily, lost in the delirium of the fever that had overtaken her. "I always . . . knew . . . they were real . . ."

Ariel felt a lump growing in her throat. "What, Maria? What is real?"

The girl sighed, lost in her own thoughts. "Sea maidens . . . That's . . . what you are . . ."

"Yes," Ariel admitted, her fin brushing gently against Maria's legs, her own hands clinging tightly to Maria's to keep the young woman from losing her grip on the driftwood keeping her afloat. "You're right."

Maria's breath was shallow now, barely perceptible. "Tell me . . . Tell me what it's . . . like . . . down there . . ." She inhaled deeply, coughing as she exhaled. "It . . . It must be so . . . beautiful . . ."

Why? Ariel thought to herself. Why am I here? Is this the only reason I found you, young one? To comfort you before your death?

Clearing her throat, Ariel nodded, not wanting to upset Maria. "It is," she whispered. "I almost forgot just how beautiful. Everything is so clear, and so warm. It's . . . It's . . ."

Maria's smile widened in her delirium. "I can see it, too," she murmured. "In . . . my dreams . . . Ever since . . . I was a girl . . . I've always wanted to . . . be . . . and see . . ."

Maria breathed deeply, her body stiffening, her peaceful expression replaced for an instant with a grimace. The moment passed as suddenly as it had arrived. She exhaled one last time, the peaceful expression returning once more as she succumbed to her injuries.

Even though she had known it was coming, Ariel shook her head in disbelief, her flaming hair cascading about, the wind now stronger than ever, as if mocking her. You couldn't save Eric, it seemed to whisper to her. And now, you couldn't save this girl. Why? Why . . .?

"I don't . . . I don't know!" Ariel cried out, her hands still clinging firmly to Maria's wrists, holding on to her as if that very act would bring her back. "Why, Maria?" she whispered, her eyes moistening. "Why did I find you if I couldn't help you? I don't understand!"

She released her grip on Maria's left hand, bringing her fingertips to Maria's brow. The fever that had ravaged the girl had evaporated as if it had never existed, leaving cold, death in its place. Leaning forward, closing her eyes, Ariel brought her lips to the young woman's brow, two teardrops falling from her cheeks onto Maria's pale skin. You will see what I see, Maria, she thought to herself. I will take you home with me. I will bury you with the veldres of old. You can rest with us . . . ángelfiëla . . .

So preoccupied was Ariel with her mourning that she did not notice the delicate, gentle streams of golden light that began to flow from the teardrops upon Maria's forehead. It was not until the girl's face began to grow warm once more that Ariel opened her eyes, her breath catching in her throat as she beheld Maria's body wholly engulfed in gleaming radiance.

What . . . What is this? Ariel thought, fear mingling with a strange sense of hope. How . . . How is—

Her mind raced as something her father, the great Sea King, had said to her several moons ago arose to the forefront of her consciousness. "There is something different about you now, Ariel," he had said, smiling paternally at her. "Ever since you have come back to us. I do not know if the witch's magic has left its mark on you, or if there is something more. But I sense something powerful within you, waiting to be released when the time is right."

He had never mentioned it again, and she had completely forgotten about his words until now. But as she watched in disbelief and amazement, as she saw Maria's body rise from the waters to float impossibly before her, she wondered in pure astonishment. How, Mánatulen? How am I doing this? Is it really me, or is it something—

The light was blinding now, forcing Ariel to shield her eyes. Through her fingertips she could barely make out that something was happening to Maria's legs. They were changing, lengthening, reshaping themselves into something else entirely until—

The radiance seemed to explode outward across the waters, disappearing into nothingness as Maria's form sank back into the water. Ariel shook her head, desperately trying to reacclimate her vision to the gray skies above, when she saw Maria's head fall beneath the surface. Panicking, Ariel dove into the deep, positioning herself to pull Maria's body back above the surface when she stopped.

The first thing Ariel noticed was that Maria was breathing. Her eyes were still shut, but she was breathing. Overcome with joy, it took Ariel several moments to realize that Maria was alive and breathing . . . under the water.

Ariel gasped, her hands flying to her lips as she beheld Maria's unconscious form for the first time since the light had subsided. The young woman's injuries had vanished, as had all traces of blood. Maria's tattered dress had likewise disappeared, no longer weighing her down, restricting her movements among the waters. But the greatest shock was what had happened to Maria's legs. They had joined together, merged into a long, powerful fluke like Ariel's own. Dark blue scales covered Maria's new limb, from her waist to the tip of her long, powerful fin of light, delicate flesh.

Maria's eyes fluttered open, squinting, confused. Her gaze fell upon Ariel, a broad smile forming upon her lips. "I knew you were real," she said softly.

It was Ariel's turn to smile as she took hold of the young woman's hand. "Maria . . . You . . . You're alive! And . . . And you're . . . You're . . ."

Maria glanced downward, a cry of shock emanating from her throat as she beheld her tail. Eyes wide, she looked up at Ariel. "How . . . How did . . . Did you do this?"

Ariel felt her cheeks flush as she nodded, uncertain of whether Maria was ecstatic or furious. "I . . . I think I did. I don't know how, and . . . and I didn't mean to. I just . . ."

She squeezed the young woman's hand tightly. "All I wanted was for you to live and be happy. I had no idea I could . . . and I didn't know I would turn you into—"

Maria let out a cry of pure bliss as she flicked her fin for the first time, delighting in how she propelled herself through the water faster than she had ever thought possible. "This . . . This is incredible!" she exclaimed.

Her ecstasy evaporated as her thoughts turned to the earlier events of the day. "I . . . I don't have any family now, do I?" she asked Ariel, her smile turning to worry. "Mother and . . . and Father are . . . and now I'm . . ." She looked at Ariel, confused, frightened. "What am I going to do?"

Ariel cleared her throat, choosing her words carefully. "You're not alone, Maria. If you would like, you can come with me. I can help you learn what you need to live in our kingdom. You can stay with me . . . for as long as you would like."

Maria embraced Ariel, propelling the older véldenmaína back several feet. "I would love to," she said softly. "Except . . . I don't know what to call you. You haven't told me your name."

"Ariel."

The emerald-finned sea maiden smiled as she spoke her name. "My name is Ariel."

"Ariel . . ."

Maria repeated the name, her eyes brightening as she did so. "That is a beautiful name. Thank you . . . Ariel."

Ariel swam before Maria, gesturing for the girl to follow her. "This way, ángelfiëla," she said. "This way toward home."

As the two swam away, another memory stirred in Ariel's mind. "You'll be a wonderful mother, Ariel," Eric had said to her one night not long after their marriage. "I know you will. You may not believe it, but I do."

Yes, luvánathem, she told herself. I think . . . I think I believe it, too.

AN: This story is a sequel, of sorts, to my earlier work, "The Sea Bears a Forgiving Heart." It also contains references, in the language and culture of the véldenmaína, to my story "Daughter of the Sea" (which I intend to resume shortly). Thank you for reading. I know it has been a long time since I have written.