A Wilderness of Glass Read online

The little girl twitched and mewed as Brida trickled water across her body. Brida crooned to her in a sing-song voice, words of reassurance she’d sometimes used to comfort her younger nieces and nephews after a spill in the garden or a nightmare during a nap. “Easy, love. You’re a brave girl. We’ll get you home soon.”

  Lies always hung sour on the tongue, even when told with the best of intentions. Brida didn’t know if she could fulfill that implied promise to the merchild. Even if she managed to get her in the water, without the merman there with her, she wouldn’t survive. Some sea creature had already attacked the merman, gravely wounding him.

  Overwhelmed with sympathy, Brida forgot caution, set the basket aside, and reached out a hesitant hand to push the lacy locks of seaweed hair away from the merchild’s face. Another shrill whistle nearly burst her eardrums. She had only a moment to catch a glimpse from the corner of her eye of an arching fluke before a powerful force slammed into her, flinging her sideways. She smashed into the rock face concealing the pools. A shockwave of pain bolted down her spine and up the back of her head while black stars exploded across her vision.

  She sprawled on the wet seaweed, breath knocked out of her lungs. Moot’s frantic barking sounded far away, though the dog’s face was so close, they nearly touched noses. “Moot,” she whispered when she could finally breathe. “Stop.”

  The dog whined and leaned forward to nuzzle Brida’s cheek with her wet nose. Brida turned away, wincing as the movement made her vision swim and her stomach roil. An odd set of clicks and pops sounded nearby, punctuated by a series of softer whistles that held the unmistakable tones of inquiry and regret. She must have hit her head harder than she thought if she was imagining such things.

  An exploratory touch to her scalp told her she’d have a lump, but there was no blood. Her vision rapidly cleared, and her nausea faded as the pain dulled to a throbbing ache.

  She met the merman’s wide-eyed stare. He’d drawn the merchild closer to him, sheltering her even deeper into the cove of his body. His mouth moved, emitting more of the clicks and short whistles that carried the ring of apology.

  Brida clambered to her feet, swaying. She raised both hands toward the merman in a supplicating gesture. “Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She grabbed her basket and staggered to the pool for more water to pour on the pair. She bore no resentment toward the merman. He had only tried to protect his charge from an entity who might be a threat, despite the benevolent gestures she’d shown so far. Had she been in his place, she didn’t doubt she would have done the same. The fault was hers for being so careless.

  Laylam would soon notice Brida wasn’t helping to fill the family wagon, so she split her time. After each trip to the beach with loaded baskets, she poured more water over the merfolk, and cut kelp, discarded plan after plan for returning the pair back to the Gray, alive and unnoticed.

  “I’ll be right back,” she assured the merman. Even knowing he probably didn’t understand a word she said, she hoped the tone of her voice conveyed some of her intention not to abandon them.

  This time her sister-in-law, Norinn, had joined the harvesters and met Brida at the back of the dray with a full basket of her own. “You didn’t tell Laylam about that nobleman accosting you last night, did you?” Disapproval dripped from every word. “Haniss told me when the children and I got here.”

  Brida scooped out bits of kelp stuck to the bottom of one basket. “I wasn’t accosted. He didn’t even touch me, although I think he was on the verge of accusing me of stealing my flute. His lordship sent him on his way.” She shrugged. “What’s there to tell?”

  The memory of Ospodine still made her uneasy. There had been about him an unnatural intensity. She’d been almost surprised not to find burn marks on her back this morning when she dressed, his regard of her had been that scorching. That hostile. Still, she didn’t think it either useful or necessary to worry her brother. His lordship had expertly diffused the situation, and Brida doubted she’d ever cross path with Ospodine again.

  “Laylam won’t like that you didn’t say anything, Brida.”

  Brida stiffened. She liked Norinn very much, though the woman sometimes had a bad habit of expecting Brida to report everything in her life to Laylam. “He’ll adjust. He’s my brother, not my keeper.”

  The other woman sighed, reaching out to pat Brida’s shoulder in a gesture of truce. “You’re his only sibling, Brida. He’s just protective.”

  “I know, and I love him for it, even when he’s being his most annoying.” She offered Norinn a quick smile before shouldering her empty baskets. She didn’t have time to chat. “I’ll talk to you later. Over tea. I still have a lot to harvest at my allotment.”

  “Do you need help?” Norinn called to her as she left. Brida waved and shook her head, leaving Moot behind this time. She desperately needed help, just not the kind Norinn offered.

  The dread building inside her from the moment she left the title pool eased a fraction when she discovered the merman and child still breathed.

  Brida had emptied one small tidal pool trying to keep her charges wet and cool and started on the second one. The merman’s closed eyelids fluttered but didn’t lift as she poured water on him. Her mind raced as she did the same to the merchild.

  Merfolk obviously communicated with a series of whistles and clicks, a language of the sea both mysterious and yet familiar to her. She’d heard something similar years earlier. Brief, sadly beautiful, and a balm to her soul when she was at her most wretched. She’d never forgotten those four tuneful whistles drifting off the night surf.

  The whistles the merman and child made were different, frightened instead of mournful, yet Brida guessed they came from the same origin as the ones she played on her flute. She didn’t have the instrument with her now and could only attempt to reproduce those sounds with her mouth

  She set her basket aside to ease a little closer to the merman’s head and stay out of striking range of his powerful tail. Either he heard her approach or sensed her nearness, because his eyes opened, and the muscles in his torso visibly tensed.

  Brida held up her hands once again to signal she wasn’t a threat. She pursed her lips and tried to echo the four whistles she’d heard years earlier. The merman’s eyes widened, his narrow nostrils flared hard, and his entire body twitched in reaction.

  She had no idea what she just said and prayed it wasn’t some vile insult or promise to visit some violence on the merman or merchild. She eased back a little more, away from the tail and the reach of those muscular arms and webbed hands.

  The merman’s chirp carried a wealth of question and surprise. Brida dared not show her relief that he didn’t react with anger and kept her expression neutral. She patted her chest with her hand. “Brida.” She repeated the gesture. “I’m Brida.” She pointed to the merman. “You?”

  His answering whistle differed from the previous ones he’d uttered. Deeper, drawn out, with a stutter in the middle. His brow knitted in a frown.

  Now we’re getting somewhere, Brida thought. She repeated it as best she could, only to have him shake his head and whistle again, this time without the stutter. The effort left him panting.

  “I understand,” she said. That stutter had been inadvertent, a product of his pain and the weakening state of his body. She tried a second time, and was rewarded by a weak nod.

  When Brida pointed to the merchild, the merman replied with a another higher whistle, one that made the child open her eyes and chirp at him. He chirped back, lifting one hand to cup the small face in comfort.

  Brida’s eyes teared up, and for a moment she could neither whistle nor speak. Somehow she had to find a way to save these two. With a series of hand gestures, spoken word and the whistling of their names, she tried to convey the beginnings of a plan to get them both to the water.

  He passed out in the middle of her oration, and Brida gasped when his body went slack. The merchild echoed her alarm, tiny fl
uke slapping the seaweed mounded under her. Brida promptly forgot the last consequence to her mistake of getting too close and rushed forward to lift the merman in her arms. He was monstrously heavy, and her arms strained under the weight as his head lolled back.

  “Oh no,” Brida whispered. “No, no, no, no. Don’t you dare die on me.” She bent lower to listen, tears streaming down her face when no sound issued from his nose or mouth. She shook him as much as her strength allowed. He didn’t even flinch, body limp as a sack of grain. The child’s anguished mewing was nonstop now and growing louder.

  “It’s all right, little one,” Brida lied. “He’s just sleeping.” The long sleep. The death sleep. Brida shook him even harder, panic giving her strength. A faint gasp followed by an even fainter exhalation gusting across her cheek sent a surge of relief—no, joy—coursing through her. She whistled his name, and his eyes opened. This time his pupils had changed shape, dilated so they converged to create a black horseshoe that almost eclipsed his pale irises.

  Brida braced his torso on her knees and gently turned his head so that he faced the frightened merchild. His slippery hair spilled through her fingers where she cupped the back of his skull. “Show her you live.”

  Whether or not he understood her words, he comprehended their intentions and issued a series of weak chirps that calmed the merchild. Brida carefully lowered him to his side on the seaweed, noting for the first time the ridge of a small dorsal fin that ran the length of his spine. The change in position exposed more of the grievous bite wound but also eased his breathing.

  The merman reached for the child, and Brida helped him, careful only to touch his arm as he nudged the mergirl onto her side as well. Like the adult, the child’s breathing grew less labored. Brida sat back on her haunches and exhaled. Maybe, just maybe that small position change had bought them time.

  She had an idea, one that held no guarantees of saving the pair, but it was better than nothing, and leaving them here on the beach. They’d be dead by the next day. If she could get both back in the water, they at least had a chance.

  She spent the next hours keeping the two wet and cool with water from the diminishing tidal pools and hauling cut seaweed to the wagons farther down the beach. Brida declined offers to join others for lunch or a quick rest when she emptied her baskets at the wagon. By the time the harvesters called it a day, she was nearly seeing double from exhaustion. Still, her charges clung to life.

  Cloud cover pillowed a sky the dull color of flint. Brida was grateful for it. Right now, the sun was an enemy, its warm rays punishing splinters on the beached merfolk. She briefly considered covering them both with a blanket of wet seaweed but discarded the idea. Their bodies gave off a feverish heat now, the shimmering sea colors streaking up their skin nearly gone, leaving their bodies and faces ashen. Piling on wet seaweed might camouflage them from passersby, but they’d overheat even more without the cooling breeze from the Gray drifting over them.

  Brida crouched before the merman and whistled his name. His eyelids twitched but didn’t lift. She touched his cheek, unsurprised at how hot it felt beneath her finger. “I’ll be back when night falls. Hold on a little longer. Both of you.”

  It was hard to walk away from them, even harder to pretend with her brother that nothing unusual had happened while she harvested. She glanced up at the dreary sky, silently counting the hours until nightfall when she could return to the shore unobserved.

  Laylam side-eyed her curiously as he drove his wagon back to the village, its box piled high with dripping seaweed. “You’re far away in your head, Brida. Quieter than usual. You feeling peaky?”

  She patted his arm, offering a tired smile and a yawn that was far more sincere than affected. “Sorry. I’m just sleepy. I might even nod off on your shoulder before you drop me home.” She resisted the temptation to look back to the beach slowly disappearing behind the feathery barricade of salt grass.

  “Janen kept you and the others at the castle too long last night. He knew we had harvesting to tend to today.” Laylam flicked the reins, coaxing the horse into a faster clip. “Don’t worry about feeding me supper. Norinn said she’ll have a plate ready for me when I get home. One for you too if you want.”

  “I just want to sleep. Tell Norinn thank you and that I’ll see her tomorrow to help you both with laying out the seaweed to dry.” She didn’t lie. If she didn’t have two merfolk to try and save, she’d fall into her solitary bed without undressing and sleep until one of her nieces or nephews pounded on her front door the next morning. But slumber was a luxury that would have to wait.

  The obscured sun bloodied the western horizon by the time Laylam delivered her to her door. She waved to him from the doorstep until the wagon turned a corner and disappeared behind a row of houses along Ancilar’s market road.

  Hinges squeaked softly as she pushed open the door and paused. A scent of exotic spices mixed with perfume teased her nose. She’d smelled that scent before, though the memory only skated the edges of her mind before flickering away.

  The house she once shared with her husband Talmai was small and sparsely furnished, the line of sight from the door stretching into parlor, kitchen, larder, and bedroom. Silence rested within the empty rooms as if waiting to greet her the moment she crossed the threshold. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the last bits of fading light that speared the front window. The pair of buckets she’d set out to catch the rain from her leaking roof stood undisturbed, nor had the book she’d left in her chair by the fire been moved. Still, she hesitated at the doorway, sensing a difference in the feel of the house from when she’d left it hours earlier.

  She crept across the parlor on quiet feet before easing the poker from its stand by the hearth. Only her heartbeat sounded in her ears, and she gripped the makeshift weapon with both hands, ready to bash or stab anything that leapt out at her. Fear sent a trickle of sweat down her spine despite the house’s chill, but anger at the thought of someone robbing her pushed her deeper into the rooms. She refused to abide a thief. If she caught one, they’d regret ever crossing her doorstep.

  No one. There was no one. Neither in the bedroom nor the larder. Not lurking under the kitchen table or hiding behind the two thorny bushes in her garden. Still she couldn’t shake the sensation that someone had been here, creeping about, touching things. The thought made her skin crawl.

  She closed her door and threw the bolt home. Ancilar was a small village where most everyone knew each other. People didn’t steal from their neighbor, not if they wanted help for some calamity later. That someone might have done so here didn’t bode well for her or anyone in the village.

  Sick dread roiled in her belly. She returned the poker to its spot by the hearth and strode to the bedroom. The floorboard under her bed hadn’t been moved, and she exhaled a hard breath when her hand dipped into the hiding space beneath the floor and felt the pouch of coins.

  Her relief died a swift death as the memory of Lord Frantisek’s aggressive guest blossomed in her mind. The nobleman named Ospodine had stared at her flute with the fixation of a zealot.

  The scent. She knew it now. Ospodine had reeked of it.

  “Oh gods,” she muttered. “Not the flute! Not the flute!” She raced from the bedroom into the kitchen, stopping in front of the cupboard where she always stored the instrument. It lay as she’d left it, still within its protective cloth. Brida’s hand closed around it in a death grip, hesitating when more of the perfume and spice combination buffeted her nose.

  She almost tossed the flute from her then, furious at the idea that anyone would dare enter her home and rifle through her things while she was gone. It didn’t matter that nothing was taken, she felt violated. The urge to torch the house warred with her reason that reassured her a hard day’s worth of scrubbing, mopping and washing would take care of the smell.

  Still clutching the flute, Brida double-checked the bolt on her front door and did the same for the back before inspecting the latch at every w
indow.

  She could tell the village council what happened, but who would believe her? Her intruder left no trace except for a distinctive scent. He’d stolen nothing except her peace of mind and sense of safety, intangible things as precious as her flute. What did he want if not the flute? Why had her practice notes drawn him like a shark to blood in the water?

  Any drowsiness she suffered burned away under the heat of her rage. She almost regretted not finding Ospodine still lurking in her house just so she’d have the pleasure of beating an apology out of him with the fireplace poker.

  The image of the beached merman and merchild rose in her mind’s eye, cooling the fire of her anger and replacing it with an urgency of a different kind. She’d somehow deal with Ospodine later. She still had the flute, the key to her half-mad plan in saving her charges. Nightfall couldn’t arrive soon enough.

  Evening brought a clearing of clouds along with colder temperatures as Brida hurried through the village’s deserted streets toward the distant beach. Even if she owned a horse, she’d still go on foot, unnoticed as she flitted between houses and skirted the pools of candle light spilling from windows as people settled in for the night.

  She huddled in her heaviest shawl, teeth chattering as the damp breeze blowing off the Gray cut through layers of clothing to raise gooseflesh on her skin. She glanced over her shoulder every few steps to make sure no one had seen her, or worse, was following. Once past the village’s perimeter, she broke into a sprint, cutting a swath through the salt grass toward the shore. Part of her prayed the two merfolk still lived, another part cautioned her not to put much hope in the notion.

  The tide had come in, black waves capped in white foam creeping farther and farther up the beach with every purl of the surf. Wet sand sucked at her bare feet, and cold water swirled around her ankles as she ran toward the tidal pools concealed by the short ridge of rocks.

  A chorus of whistles, carried on a brine-scented wind, rose above the surf’s thunder, and Brida stumbled to a halt at the eerie sight of small, greenish lights flickering in the troughs and peaks of the waves like fireflies. Swatches of clouds floated past a bright half moon that paved a silver road on the water’s surface.