The Fisherman's Tale

by hermonthis (aka dragon faere)

Prologue

you belong to the sea

There is a story told not so long ago but forgotten all the same. Only the seamen continue to sing songs about the sea gods and it strange creatures as they rise before dawn and sail out towards the ocean blue. They hum shanties under their breath, forming rhythmic clouds of white as they throw their nets overboard for the day's catch. In and out, up and down, they flow with the tune of the water. Music to appease the hard labour.

They think of the storms to come as they haul cargoes of fish from the sea, one blistered hand over the other, as they pull the ropes on deck and watch the silverbacks slap their tails against their scales, gasping for water. The ocean spray strings against cuts and bruises on their arms but the men grit their teeth, there have been worse days. The men throw out those flapping things that they don't want; the small ones with rainbow stripes and shiny, shimmering colouring, for those are not eating fish. All the men know that. The pretty things belong to the sea and the reefs where they do not belong on dinner tables, to be served on a plate with a bowl of stewed cabbage on the side. They are like pets, and pets will miss their owners and their owners will miss them. So the bright yellow one fluttering wildly against a black boot is cupped in large, calloused hands and dropped over the edge of the boat. That one is the lucky one.

The dawn starts to break and slowly the waters are changing from the black waters to a lighter shade of blue. Small, choppy waves beat against the fishing boats and promise a good day for sailing. The men break for a hot drink and warm bread that their wives gave them before they left their homes in the morning. Large steaming mugs of tea are handed out and drunken solemnly for the wind is cold and the air is still bitter. The men huddle together, each lost in their own thoughts of the fish they would bring home tonight and how the kids will jump with joy when they see their dear 'ol daddy arrive at the door with a bulging sack over his shoulder. The missus will 'tut tut' and take the sack from his hands and say, "how was the boat today?" and he will say, "the boat was good'" and then they'd all gather around the table for supper.

One of the men sneezes and it echoes on deck. The men laugh and start to talk gaily. Between the rising sun and the hot drink on their lips they break the bread and share stories of their seafaring adventures. Some of them are new, some of them are not. Some are young and worry about their firstborn child on the way and some are old with long histories of their daddy's and their gran-daddy's treasure hunting days when pirates ruled the seas and there were foreign empresses to save. A young man with no grey in his hair laughs and says that he'd like to meet an empress someday. A greybeard looks at him sternly and claims that there's nothing better than kissing the hand of an empress and gaining her favour. He's got the silk handkerchief to prove it.

They talk about drink, food and women. The air around them gets warmer and the white clouds around their noses and lips fades away. They start to gut and pack the fish into wooden crates of sale to avoid the meat from spoiling because rotten meat means no trade at the marketplace. Fishing is not an easy way of life but they make the most of it. They take what they need from the sea and give back everything that they don't. They take pretty shells washed up on the shore to give back to their daughters but take care to avoid the waters when dark clouds loom over the horizon and the lightning cries overhead. Out of respect for the ocean, they don't talk about the fish at their feet, not when the knife is in their hands. It's simply not done. Instead, they talk about the land owners and the tax collectors and the lords and ladies of the inner cities, a place that is just as strange to them as the watery depths. A place that they sometimes catch glimpses of but don't understand with all their white buildings and stiff red uniforms. So unlike their way of life.

"The wind god's happy today," a greybeard comments and most of the men nod. "Lady Katara must be back in the ocean with her kin." This time only some of the men nod. They raise their eyebrows and look at each other puzzlingly, is this another one of the pirate-hunting tales? The one with the firstborn on the way picks up his courage and asks the elder who this Lady Katara is. The greybeard smiles and the dark leather of his face crinkles into deep lines of thought and amusement. He hums a ditty as his knife goes quick-quick and the fish is thrown into the hands of another and into the crate. Grabbing another silverback, the greybeard smiles again and throws out a rhyme for the other sailors to catch.

Once there was a lone fisherman who lived by the sea
Happy and content in his ways was he
When one day the East Wind decided to play a trick
And blew him far, far away

The fisherman's boat came across a secret cove
And what should he find?
A foreign creature of sea and shore
A mermaid by his side

So startled by her beauty that he
Knelt down and begged for mercy
She would grant him three wishes for a promise
That she be allowed to return to the sea

But the lonely fisherman wanted her to stay
They said that she trusted him
He took her to his boat and carried her in his arms
They said that it was love

The mermaid gave him fish, pearls, gold
To add to their happy existence
One day he rode into town on a white horse
And became lord of the land

They said she became a queen
But the Wind and the Moon missed her so
The land and shore were calling, telling her
"Don't give your heart away"

Once there was a lord who never came home
And a lady who never went outside
The distance between them grew far and wide
With a memory of home on the mind

Homesick and tired, the mermaid told the fisherman
"Three wishes for a promise"
Everything that he always wanted – he thought he had, he agreed
For a promise to visit her when the tide ran high

When the time of the promise came
The lord had turned cold with greed
He forgot about the promise and forgot about the sea
And the mermaid who loved him

The Wind upturned all the lord's boats
To forget the one who gave him so much
With a cold breath he blew away
Everything that he thought he had, he lost

The fisherman cut off his hair and went to the water
Blaming the mermaid for his lost fortune
He disappeared under the wave
And became the first grey eel

The men nodded in silence and some laughed. "The fool of a fisherman," they cried, "he should have stayed at home and given her pearls!" and the greybeard smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. The story of Lady Katara has not been forgotten, not while he's here to tell it. The sun broke through the clouds and bathed the fishermen with rays of warmth, telling them it would be a bright day ahead.

But the greybeard's eyes clouded over with mist as the light hit his face. As with all good storytellers, he heard of this tale when he was younger he too laughed when he heard of the fisherman's mistake. "A truth within a truth," his uncle had said to him, "Take this story and make it your own. Takes these lives and weave them around each other, until fact and fiction are so intertwined that there are birds that can no longer fly and fish that wish to soar. Then you will realize why all tales begin with 'once upon a time'."