Page 43 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
A chorus of voices cut across his, some crying in fear, some demanding he stop.
Stop.
That wasn’t a word she knew in their tongue. It wasn’t spoken in the human language.
It was said in hers.
She untangled herself from Ailsa and ran, limping, to where Arick stood at the end of a dark body of water. “Who’s there?” she called, eagerly searching the water.
Chains rattled.
“Here.”
“How do you speak our language?”
“Stop.”
The voices drowned out her words.
She spotted one of the speakers at last. A merman lay half immersed in the underground lake, his arms chained above his head. He glared at her, his chest rising and falling as he fought for breath. His pale skin was beaded with sweat, and the flickering candlelight cast deep shadows under his eyes. The face was familiar, though ghastly altered.
She fell to her knees, her heart thumping against her ribs. “Why are you here?”
“The humans blame us for the storms,” another voice answered as a younger merman drew closer. He still wore the armband of the Watchers, but she didn’t recognize him.
“Merfolk can’t…”
He nodded. “But they don’t believe us. They…” He swallowed, unable to speak further. He motioned to the one chained up, unable to reach the water he so desperately needed to breathe properly.
“Can you not free yourselves?”
Damp pale heads shook all around her. “Many of us are chained,” the Watcher explained.
“And there’s no path to the sea,” another added. “Only stones. We’re trapped.”
She turned to Arick, her eyes wide. She fought to find the words, her mouth moving but no sound coming. “What did youdo?”She managed at last, forgetting to try his language.
Arick stared back. He reached for her. “I…”
She spun out of his reach and ran. Tears blinded her, and she stumbled toward the first escape she could see. Pain wound its way around her chest, but she ignored it. She wanted nothing to do with Arick ever again.
Even if it killed her.
Sharp rocks jabbed through the soles of her boots, combining with the never-ending stabbing at every step. Her shoulder bounced off the uneven wall of the tunnel. Ahead, the glare of daylight beckoned her forward. She stumbled through the tunnel, her entire body aching. Gasping for air in between her sobs, she staggered out of the darkness onto a rocky shore.
She fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Was this pain because she was too far from Arick? Or a deeper hurt?
The image of him standing in front of the imprisoned merfolk cut across her memory, and she let out a cry of rage.
How could he? She had trusted him.
A soothing voice filled the air, a melody that offered comfort she couldn’t reach. The singer drew closer, and Sorcha battled her sobs to see who it was.
“Oh, my dear little guppy.” Her aunt’s voice carried healing magic, but this was no physical ailment that could be mended with a song.
Sorcha threw herself into the water, desperate for comfort. “Oh, Aunt Maeve! They have merfolk in chains!”
Maeve patted her shoulder. “I know, I know.”
