Page 26 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
Wait — Aunt Maeve hadn’t meantthat, had she? Sorcha shuddered. Being stuck near a human was bad enough; no way did she want to wed one. She’d never be able to return to the ocean if that were the case.
Arick reappeared and handed her a small pocket of food. She cupped it in her hands, absorbing the warmth. She followed his example and bit into the edge. The pastry flaked to the ground. The inside was filled with rich sauce and bites of food that melted in her mouth.
“Pie,” he told her, after swallowing his own first bite.
She nodded her understanding, too busy enjoying it to try the new word.
After they finished, he offered his handkerchief for her to wipe her hands, then tucked her arm under his elbow. With an apologetic tone, he spoke as he pointed to a far building. She grasped his arm tighter and readied herself for the long walk.
It was her longest distance since gaining her human legs, and she was quite proud of herself, even though her legs were shaking from exhaustion by the time they arrived. If she stepped firmly, the stabbing pain came and went faster, so she focused on not being afraid to walk. They passed through a door, and Arick guided her to a bench and pointed to a nearby cave that opened off the larger one they were currently in. He stepped inside and greeted an older man. A boy brought her a cup of the hot fragrant beverage Elsbeth had given her. This one smelled different, and wasn’t quite as enjoyable, but the warmth was soothing.
Sorcha sipped the drink and watched the people around her. A line of people waited near a long shelf. The officials on the other side looked harried. Most were men, but a few women mingled in the busy space as well. The noise rose and fell, and she wondered if it would be rude to cover her ears. She turned her attention back to Arick.
The older man held an air of importance, his voice authoritative. As with his other conversations, Arick often turned to face the ocean and gestured to the sky as he spoke. The older man looked grave, shaking his head. A few times she heard the word Thomas had taught her —storm.
Were the humans as bothered by them as the merfolk? Of course they would be. They were the ones who lost ships in the storms. And if it weren’t for the Watchers, they’d also lose their lives. She listened for the other word “magic,” but she was too far away to distinguish much of what they said, most of which she didn’t understand.
Arick’s shoulders drooped as they left. They were silent on the walk back to the cart. He joined her on the bench and covered his face with his hands.
After a few minutes, he looked up and spoke in a quiet tone. The pain in his eyes made her want to sing to take it away, but she could find no song that fit.
He pointed to the ships tied to the piers, repeating the word “ship” each time. He then put his fists together and turned them away in a quick motion. “Broken,” he said.
These words were important to him, so she concentrated on his face and what he was trying to tell her, repeating each word as he said it.
“Water.” This time he pointed at the harbor, then moved his hands side to side as he wiggled his fingers. She frowned, not sure what he was indicating. “Water,” he said a few more times, repeating the movement.
“Wah-der,” she tried cautiously. The word was easy, but what part of the harbor did he mean?
He moved on to one last sign, holding one hand flat and moving the other under it. “Under.”
“Un-der.”
He gave her a slight smile, and she found she missed it when it faded. A light breeze teased his curls. He held up one hand, fingers splayed. With his other hand, he tapped each finger, counting up to seven. She filed away some of the words, but this didn’t feel like a language lesson.
Next he pointed at the ships. “Seven ships.”
The fists together, then snapping apart. “Broken.”
One hand tucking under the other. “Under.”
Fingers wiggling back and forth. “Water.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she put the words and their meaning together. Never before had she heard of so many ships being sunk in one night.
Memories of the chaos of the storm threatened to choke her. She pointed at him, her hand shaking, then repeated his movement for “under.”
He shook his head, not understanding.
What was the human word for “human”?
Or “death”?
“Arick — Ta-mas — El-bet.” She strung the words together in quick succession. “Under?” She followed the hand movement for the word by holding her hand out as he had for counting the number of ships.
Understanding filled his eyes, and he caught her hands in his, stilling their agitated motions. “None.” He shook his head and smiled softly. Shifting to hold her hands in one of his, he pointed at himself, then her, then the men walking by. “People.” He shook his head again. “No people under.”
She sank back in relief. Father and the Watchers worked so hard to rescue the humans. She hoped none of them had been hurt saving their lives last night.
