Written for Season 4 of the QLFC, Round 4.
Title: The Sky is Falling
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Creature: Merperson
Position: Chaser 2
Optional Prompts:
4. (poem) "The Peace of Wild Things"
7. (setting) lake
10. (image) Snowy Mountain [ webneel wallpaper/sites/default/files/images/04-2013/snowy-mountain-wallpaper. ]
Word Count: 2,750
Beta(s): NeonDomino, CrazyRopeDragon, Firefly81 (Thankyou!)
Go Wanderers!
The Great Lake had been their home for a thousand years. It was said that their ancestors chose the Great Lake because it was so black and still, no amount of thrashing on the surface could disturb its depths. This, of course, was not true.
Their Merchieftainess Murcus watched over her colony; her yellow eyes were distinct in the gloom. The subdued daylight, which usually reached them in a bottle-green stream, was nearly absent. The colony awaited the return of a seasoned scout. The Merpeople were signing to each other with rapid movements, no one dared make a sound lest they drown out the scout's call. Eventually they heard him. He sang of air thick with smoke which covered a wall of fire. The sky above had turned blacker than the lake.
The castle on the hill above them was falling. That was when they heard the first blast. The younger members of the colony flinched. Through the gloom a turret was just visible, joining them in the deep. This crash was the first of many. By the time each stone reached the murky depths of the village, it had lost much of it's momentum. Like a wading human, the blocks creased the delicate silt as they found the floor with a thud.
Maud was young, but she did not flinch. She was one of three adolescents to take the rights to follow Murcus into a position of leadership. These three Selkies were all in direct competition. They were the foundation of their generation's chain of command. They were aligned side-by-side, still as stone, swayed only by the current. Their grey skin was wrapped in the woven black reeds of their station. Maud, Morcant, and Trámhor.
They had played together as children, but in that moment it was forgotten; they were grown. They began to sing together, and Murcus signalled to the other adolescents to join. They sang for still water and beckoned peace.
Maud led them in a lament for simpler times, when hours were spent tending to nature's fragile things. Their voices rang out across the dark water's expanse, soothing creatures into their dens, luring the weary to their rest.
The colony elders swam out across the waters to tend what they must. Once they were out of sight Maud saw Trámhor reach for Morcant. Trámhor gripped his hand, and he glanced in her direction through the gloom. He did not pull away. The melody was uninterrupted, but Maud moved her hands in a warning signal. This was no time for their inane sentiment. Perhaps Maud was still stung that Morcant had chosen Trámhor over her, but it was not why she told them to focus now. They had a duty.
Trámhor waved her off and pointed at her throat. A sign of disrespect that intoned that Maud should sing-up because she was weak-voiced. Maud's face twisted and she ran a hand across her forehead. A reply which warned Trámhor that it's better to be weak-voiced than strong-faced. Trámhor was named for the ocean, as her mother had come from the North sea. She had the fairness of the sea-people. Maud had made a habit of insinuating that this beauty was Trámhor's only quality of strength, but she had never spoken her mind so blatantly. She knew she wasn't being totally fair; she had been Trámhor's friend once. She knew the Merwoman was caring, but it wasn't enough to lead. She needed strength.
Trámhor's eyes narrowed and her voice wavered. Maud raised her eyebrow and tapped her throat a little smugly. Trámhor would never make it past the ice trial when the time came. No amount of arctic blood could salvage someone so spineless.
Their foolishness was interrupted by a sickening shriek. It was a warning from the Grindylows in the shallows; a warning to take shelter. The last thing Maud saw was Trámhor's beautiful face before everything went black. There was a deafening bang from above. It was as though they were under a roof which had given away. So much rubble came tumbling down at once that they were all forced to scatter. A massive part of the castle's structure must have given way.
Maud shot forward in a streak of bubbles and tugged two infants into her arms. She swam away from the village so quickly that she beat the ripples to the opposite bank. Once she released the wide-eyed children, she signed that they must stop shaking. She pulled at the reeds at her arm and wrapped a portion around each of their wrists. It was understood that she was telling them to be strong. They were in lighter, shallower waters. She knew the warmer water would help the younger ones with their shock, but she was also concerned that they might not be far enough from the land-conflict to take such a risk. Maud hoped they would be safe, but she had never broken the surface before and was hesitant to do so.
The smaller child opened her mouth and sang but Maud heard nothing. She gave the girl an enquiring look and the child repeated herself, but Maud heard only silence. She realised her hearing had been damaged by the crash. She did not let her fear at this revelation show. She nodded as if she understood and decided to take the kids as deep as she could without returning to the castle-side. They were obedient as she led them down. They struggled to pass the water through their gills as it was clogged with particles churned up from the falling piles of rubble.
She would have to leave them. She had to go back and help. She found a crevice and placed them in. They settled among the river weeds. She signed to them in the gloom, telling them to sing for their families. She told them they were brave and then swam away. When Maud reached the village her hearing was still impaired, and it was hard to sign through all the blinding sand churning in the water. The crashes from above sounded distant, but when she looked up she saw dozens of black masses rushing down.
Everyone was swarming around rapidly in the darkness like a school of fish in a net. Maud had returned to find more children; it was her primary duty when the colony was in peril. She cursed herself for getting lost in the haze. Eventually she began to sing out, but she was sure that if she could hear, she would find her voice lost in a cacophony of useless keening.
She stopped swimming as the other Merpeople flitted around her, bumping against her shoulders and bruising her tail. She needed to focus. In a moment of good fortune, a beam of light penetrated the surface, illuminating three small bodies huddled together. With two powerful stroked of her tail Maud had them in her arms and was returning to the crevice where she had left the others. The weight of the infants clinging to her and the effort of swimming so quickly at such a depth made her fins burn, but she persevered. The children were right where she had left them, and the other three joined them without fuss. For once, the young Selkies were too subdued to cause trouble.
She looked at the children she had just pulled from the village and reached over to the eldest. She ran her finger from his left temple to his right, bestowing on him a position of leadership until she returned. His bottom lip was quivering but he looked determined. Maud was satisfied. In this clearer part of the lake she made a gesture to ask if he knew where she might find the rest of the children or if he'd seen anyone injured.
He bit his lip, his yellow teeth pulling on his grey skin. Then, in one swift movement, he reached forward and lifted her chin so that she faced the surface. No!
Merpeople didn't often repeat themselves, but she couldn't accept it. She returned her gaze to the children and shook her head, disbelieving. As one, they raised their eyes upwards, confirming her fears. All thoughts of reassuring the children were wiped from her mind as she turned and sped away.
Unfortunately, she hadn't made it half a league before she crashed into another Selkie. She pushed the Merwoman off of her and recognised Trámhor.
Trámhor signed frantically, demanding that she take shelter, criticizing Maud for getting in her way. The fair girl pointed at her ears and bared her teeth, the Grindylows had sent a second warning and Maud hadn't heard.
Only then did Maud understand. There was another major hit coming. She directed Trámhor toward the crevice and rushed away. Please, no.
She ignored Trámhor's effort to drag her back. She felt a total disregard for her personal safety. If the boy was right, the other infants had made for the surface, perhaps thinking they were suffocating as silt filled their delicate gills. She hadn't been fast enough. Stupid children. Stupid Maud.
She was so close to the surface now that the flashes of wizarding violence lit up her face. She was going to do it. Break the surface. Feel the air. She stopped short of the mirror-like meniscus. Her own yellow eye reflected back at her. Rushing into the light caused a sharp pain in her head, but it wasn't what had stopped her. Floating just above her, face-down, was a red-skinned corpse covered in a black shroud. Drowned.
There were more of them drifting about with the rest of the debris. They were bleeding into the water. She could see through the flickering haze that some of them were still on fire. If the children had made a break for the surface, they wouldn't have remained once they had seen this.
Something shifted in her peripheral vision, and she turned so fast her neck cracked. Her body flooded with relief. A group of Selkie children were swimming together just below the surface. Clinging to one another and tugging at their hair. They were attempting to stay in the clearer water but also make their way toward the safer bank.
She hurried toward them. For a bizarre moment, her tail breached the surface, and she felt the bite of a flame. She shouted after them. One warning note, and they stopped. In a heartbeat, she was among them. Her face split with a smile. It was as though a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. She had them link hands and make their way down, one after another. One of the eldest girls in the group approached her. She handed Maud a bundle. She had brought a baby. Maud was at once thankful and furious. The girl must have realised because she rushed below. They had brought a baby?
Maud tied the reed-wrapped newborn to her torso and followed the fin of the last young Selkie. It was a boy. She recognised him as Morcant's brother. She took his hand and pulled him down. When she reached the front, she found the girl who had given her the baby. Nostrils flared, she took her hand as well. The chain of children spread out behind her, and they eventually reached the crevice. Her chest tightened, the five children she had left behind were gone. She should have been reassured when she spotted Trámhor settled just beyond an outcrop, but the feeling didn't come. The children she had led settled down around her, their gills strained against the pollution in the lake.
She approached the other Merwoman wearily. How had they ever gotten along? Trámhor began to gesture in a frenzy, once again criticizing Maud's inability to pay attention. Asking why she ignored the call to evacuate. She demanded to know why she didn't bring the children to the area where Murcus could be heard singing. An area which had been made into a temporary shelter. Maud quickly explained that she had been deafened, and Trámhor's expression darkened. Maud felt like that sinking turret. She was heavy and useless.
Maud had been put in charge of the children when she had performed best in the trials which measured sound temperament. She had outstripped Trámhor easily, but she was supposed to defect her position to the other girl if she became unable to fulfil her duties. Which, evidently, she had failed to do. Trámhor finally had her by the fins, and she knew it.
Maud scowled and eventually reached across and ran a finger from Trámhor's left temple to her right. Trámhor pulled the strap of the baby-carrier over Maud's head and swung it over her own. She held the bundle close, and the children followed her as she swam away. She didn't look back.
Maud wanted to scream.
The wizards had found what little peace they could, and after two seasons, the Merpeople's colony had returned to its old rhythms. Maud had been exempt from the running for any level of leadership. She had been allowed a brief opportunity to explain herself, but it had been a disaster. She remained partially deaf, and it made it hard for her to sing convincingly. When Murcus noticed the burn on her tail, Maud had been reprimanded further for breaching the surface without proven cause. The children's testimonials might have helped but Trámhor had pointed out that their statements had been extracted under duress.
When Winter came Maud swam at the back of the colony as they made their way to the White Mountain for the trial of ice. She had trained hard to compete in these games during the last fall of snow but now she was banned. Considered unfit to lead and generally irresponsible.
Morcant and Trámhor swam up to the mouth of the stream which fed the Black Lake. Each Winter it froze and several young competitors were chosen to crack it open. It was important that new fish could still find their way into the deeper waters. The task was grueling and could take more than a day. Usually the competitors worked alone until there was only one remaining. The victor was then joined by the rest of the tribe to complete the task. No victor had completed the ice trial alone since Mercheiftainess Murcus herself. It was probably a warm Winter, Maud thought mutinously.
The Merpeople raised their voices together in a harmonious chorus as Morcant and Trámhor lifted their arms together. They were poised to begin at the base of the immense White Mountain, which had witnessed more trials of ice than any creature living. In one motion, they dropped their fists and made their first strike on the ice, and so it began. Their hands crashed down together, again and again, Trámhor was predictably losing stamina fast, her teeth were gritted, and her fine brow was furrowed. Her beauty was proving useless as Maud knew it would. Maud suddenly felt a stab of guilt. She frowned at her own thoughts. She was being horrible.
When she returned her attention to her peers something astounding happened. The fools. Morcant and Trámhor had stopped and had turned to face the crowd. Hands joint and raised as though they named each other the victor. They were clearly singing. Maud struggled to hear what it was they sang, but she could guess it was silly and sentimental. Sure enough, Morcant then signed to Murcus that he and Trámhor hoped to achieve equality of leadership.
Maud raised a hand to her mouth in shock. The fools. The role of Mercheiftainess was solitary. Murcus had left her lover to take up the mantel, as was expected. It had caused her pain, but she had done it for the good of the tribe. If you wanted their trust, you must make sacrifices. You had to put them first. Maud had assumed her competitors would give up their dalliance when the crowning arrived but here they were. Idiots.
Murcus turned away from them in disgust, and her eyes found Maud. She signed without hesitating. She told Maud to do it, and do it alone.
This was it, a chance to redeem herself. The lovers moved aside as she approached. She could not hear it as she raised her arms above her head, but she felt the water shake as the colony began to sing as one behind her. When the water became still, her hands fell.
It had been a warm Winter.