Chapter eight: Nightingale

When she woke, it was pitch dark, and she was stiff and sore—and hungry, very hungry. She couldn't remember for a moment where she was; then she groaned as the sound of lapping water jogged her memory.

Serena sat up, rubbing her neck where it was particularly uncomfortable, and looked around. Her pebble had gone dark again, so her only light came from that line of phosphorescence along the shore. Still, it was enough to see that the merman had gone and she was alone.

She was grateful to realize that the stone beneath her was still warm, and that she had dried out while she slept. She stood, picking up her light-stone as she did so, and took stock of her situation. She was bruised, scraped, and sore, and her dress was in tatters, but nothing seemed to be broken. A quick look in her pockets confirmed that she hadn't lost anything, although a handful of berries, which she had intended to eat sometime during the day, were squashed into a soggy lump wrapped in a scrap of cloth. She was hungry enough to eat much worse, though; she swallowed the sticky substance, then rinsed her cloth out in the water and laid it on the warm patch of stone to dry.

She was still hungry, and she had no idea how long she had been asleep or which way she ought to go to get out of this place. The air was completely still, with no hint of a breeze to follow, and there was no light except that line along the shore.

Well, she could help the light situation, at least… Serena picked up her quartz pebble and drew light from it, as much as it could hold, then held it high.

The stone ran gently upward for about twenty yards, then hit a wall. The stone was smooth; the only difference from the floor was an abundance of tiny faceted crystals seemingly sprouting from the face of the rock.

Serena stood and hobbled—she was still stiff—over to the wall to inspect it more closely. There were no breaks or openings anywhere that she could see. But the crystals were really fascinating; they sparked like fire in the light of her little stone, in every color imaginable and some that she had never thought possible.

A splashing behind her drew her attention, and she turned in time to see the merman heave himself onto the bank. She hurried back, lest he try and haul himself up to her, and knelt down on the stone next to him. "Hello!" she greeted him with a smile.

"Heh-loh," he returned pleasantly. "Se taurma?"

"Um…"

He shook his head. "Ve-chk jongasta. Ronet?" He held up one hand; in it was a large, silvery fish, which he held by the tail.

"Um… you want me to eat that? I don't have anything to cook it with…"

He looked puzzled at her speech; then he pulled himself a little further from the water, coiling his tail underneath himself so he could sit in a more upright position. He dug two claws into the side of the fish, tore off a chunk, and popped it into his mouth, then offered the rest to her. "Freg. Se ronet, ve-chk?"

Serena stared at him for a moment as she tried very hard not to vomit. He ate raw fish? Then again, she thought fairly, he can't very well cook it underwater…

She reached out and took the fish. If he could eat it, she probably could too… She pulled her knife out of her pocket and peeled away a section of skin, then cut out a small piece. She looked at it for a moment, then reluctantly brought it to her mouth…

The merman burst out laughing at the look on her face, and even Serena had to grin—once she'd finished gulping as much water as she could out of the lake. It was terrible. How could he eat it?

She returned to her spot on the shore; then the warm stone beneath her gave her an idea. She pulled the fish over to her and plied her knife once more, as she had so many times in her home village. The merman looked puzzled but interested; he picked bits of flesh from the fish's head while he watched her removing guts and bones.

When the fish was cleaned to her satisfaction, Serena laid a hand on the stone floor. She sent out a jolt of power, then pulled away quickly, not wishing to burn herself on the piping-hot surface. She carefully spread the fish open on the spot; it sizzled merrily. The merman leaned close to investigate; Serena had to bat his hands away to keep him from burning himself.

She turned the fish over with the edge of her knife. It was really too bad that she had no herbs to cook it with, but beggars can't be choosers. Finally, she was satisfied; she slid the fish off of the hot spot and sliced it neatly into two portions. One she slid toward the merman. She sliced off a piece of the other, speared it on her blade, and started blowing to cool it.

The merman eyed his portion carefully, then picked it up. Apparently, it had cooled sufficiently to touch, because he didn't drop it, but he looked quite confused, as though questioning why anyone would want their food warm. Serena watched him as she ate; the fish really was good, but she wondered if he'd like it—part of her hoped that he might react as she had previously, so that for once she could have a laugh at his expense.

The merman sniffed the fish, then tentatively nibbled at a corner. He chewed on it for a very long time, Serena noted, but he found it at least tolerable, for he took another bite.

"Good?" she asked, and the merman smiled at her.

"Gud." He then wolfed down the rest of his portion.

Serena didn't take much longer to finish hers. She wiped her greasy hands on her skirt—it was beyond repair in any case—and then looked at the merman. She really had no idea what to do next; the unbroken cave wall did not give her much hope.

The merman came up with a short-term solution, at least. He placed a hand on his chest and said, "Regati."

Serena smiled, and repeated the name. "Regati." Then she indicated herself. "Serena."

"Siren-nah." He seemed to find this funny. "Ungi siren, se ve-chk?"

"No, Serena," she tried correcting him, but it was too late; he seemed to like his version better.

"Se to tisa-chk gle, ungi Siren?"

"I have no idea—I think the only thing I can do is start walking." She gestured vaguely down the shore, along that single glowing line. "I have to see if I can find a way out of here…"

Regati seemed to understand; he pulled himself back down the shore and into the shallows. "Mege-chk, glin!" He swam a few feet along the shoreline, then paused to wait for her. Serena scrambled to her feet, grabbing her light-stone; then she hesitated. "Wait a minute." It was unlikely that she could go around the entire lake before giving up, but just in case, she jogged up to the wall. Laying her hand on a small blue crystal at about the height of her shoulder, she poured a few drops of her power into it.

When she returned to the water, the crystal was glowing like a star behind her, and Regati looked at her as though she had just sprouted antlers. "Oh, come on, then," she told him, and set off at a brisk pace down the shore.

She soon settled into a rhythm, and the single glowing crystal retreated steadily behind her. She held her light-stone before her, switching hands when her arm got tired, and looked to the wall for any sign of change. Regati kept pace with her easily, and soon started to sing to pass the time.

Regati's song was unlike anything Serena had heard before. There didn't seem to be words, or a real tune, or even a rhythm, but his voice echoed hauntingly from the wall of stone in long notes that rose and fell like ocean waves, chiming high and moaning low and gliding and soaring in between. Serena was entranced; she almost forgot to look for a way out of the cave, and she stumbled often, not paying attention to her feet.

When Regati's song ended, he looked to her, half-expectant, and Serena struggled to come up with a song that might have even a fraction of the beauty of what she had just heard. In the end, though, she just let his music be his, and hers be hers; she began singing an old folk song from her village.

"It was a maid of my country
As she came by a hawthorn tree,
As full of flow'rs as might be seen
She marvel'd to see the tree so green.

At last she asked of this tree,
How came this freshness unto thee,
And ev'ry branch so fair and clean?
I marvel that you grow so green.

The tree made answer by and by,
I have cause to grow triumphantly,
The sweetest dew that ever be seen
Doth fall on me to keep me green.

Yea, quoth the maid, but where you grow
You stand at hand for ev'ry bow,
Of ev'ry man for to be seen,
I marvel that you grow so green.

Though many one take flow'rs from me,
And many a branch out of my tree,
I have such store they will not be seen
For more and more my twigs grow green.

But how, an' they chance to cut thee down,
And carry thy branches into the town?
Then they will never more be seen
To grow again so fresh and green.

Though that you do it is no boot,
Altho' they cut me to the root,
Next year again I will be seen
To bud my branches fresh and green.

And you, fair maid, cannot do so,
For when your beauty once does go
Then will it never more be seen,
As I with my branches can grow green.

The maid with that began to blush
And turn'd her from the hawthorn bush
She thought herself so fair and clean,
Her beauty still would ever grow green.

But after this never could I hear
Of this fair maiden anywhere,
That ever she was in forest seen
To talk again with the hawthorn green."

Regati seemed fascinated; apparently he had never heard a song with words in it. "Se urlula trem elalsei. Se urashee Siren, kre yura." Then he gave her a beseeching look. "Gigid?"

Serena guessed that he was asking for an encore, and started the song again; his pleased and attentive look confirmed the theory. Toward the end he tried joining in, not with words but with his haunting clear notes. He was a little off-key; the third time through, Serena went slowly, trying to correct him. By the fifth, Regati had discovered the concept of a harmony and was employing it enthusiastically.

"That was beautiful!" Serena told him, when she began to tire of singing. Then she fell silent for a while; the words of the song were running circles in her head, and pulling the tag ends of some very depressing thoughts in their wake.

"I wonder how it will be for me?" she mused. "I've looked like a child for twenty years and more, and I grow slower every minute, as though time is freezing on me. Will it stop completely one day, so that I never get old? Or will I age to infirmity and illness, and then find I can't die? It frightens me, Regati."

The merman seemed to understand this last, at least; he gave her a small smile, then flicked his fin so that a few droplets of water spattered against her cheek.

"H-hey!" she gasped. "That's cold!" She glared at the merman, who smiled innocently and waved his fins at her; then she ran to the water and kicked a spray of it in his direction. Regati flicked beneath the surface, then came up laughing at her, and Serena had to grin, too; what point was there in splashing a merman?

Her gloom properly dispelled, Serena started out again; but after a while she noticed that Regati was lagging behind. "What's wrong?"

The merman shook his head slowly, and gestured ahead of them.

"You don't want to come?"

He hesitated for a moment, apparently trying to think of some way to explain; then he scooped up some of the water in his webbed hand, gave an expression of utmost disgust, and pointed again ahead of them. "Te ve-chk yulse gra tsen-chk. Ya ti hulgena."

"There's… something wrong with the water?" Serena knelt at the edge of the lake and dipped up a handful of the water. It looked all right… she tasted it, and frowned. It was faint, but there was a taste of filth that reminded her of the time something had died in the village well.

She looked to Regati and nodded. "I understand. You can't breathe this, can you?"

Regati smiled faintly and shook his head. Then he gestured back out into the lake.

"You're right; this is where we part ways," Serena said, smiling sadly; then, on an impulse, she reached out and wrapped her arms around the merman's neck. "Thank you."

He returned her embrace, then slipped out into the water. "Enori se, ungi Siren. He lensa."

"He lensa," she repeated as he turned and, with a flick of his tail, disappeared beneath the surface.