The Merman and the Moon Forgotten

Five • Oaths and Agatha





Duke of Encylaene’s Merrow Fortress





Where in the name of Huron am I?” Yeri mumbled to himself as he stumbled from the stagecoach.

The plaza was filled with Merrows between various stages of amazement and bewilderment. Yeri’s expression shuffled through its own range of emotion.

The sound of spokes on spokes was followed by a guard fitted with automaton legs approaching the stagecoach. “Your grace?”

“See about my brother and his wife.” Lir pointed to the second stagecoach. “We’ll each need a velle. And fetch Captain Jonn immediately.”

Four ornate chairs on spindly wheels were being pushed toward them, which Yeri took to be velles. Some Merrows sat in the velles, others on automaton legs, and the rest were treading water in small pools. Even with all the curious forms of transportation, Yeri couldn’t imagine how they moved from floor to floor without some kind of stairwell. That’s when he saw large silicon tubes filled with water and dark, Merrow-shaped objects swimming through them. These tubes were all around—some disappeared into the ceiling, others in the small pools, while the rest threaded between walls and floor. The fortress itself seemed entirely made from silicon, traced with mollusks, sea anemones, and strange ocean creatures. The only handmade objects were brass braces securing the wall joints and edges. Yeri also noticed the sound of constant water drops, as if the fortress had been recently submerged and was shedding its ocean water.

“Oh, dear Nia,” a voice snapped Yeri from his observations. “Child, child, child. Gallivanting about with the local commoners, and in your condition?” The voice came from an elderly mermaid, who was being pushed in a velle by her attendant. The elderly mermaid wore a large, powdered wig, had a fake mole just above the right side of her lip, and was covered in makeup bordering on clownish. Maybe Yeri was being unfair, he never went for the more garish fashions.

“Had quite the ride, Mother.” Nia said as her shaky hand gripped the velle. She lifted herself to the seat, her fin slipping into a small catch. “You would’ve been proud of our driver, Yeri Willrow.”

The elderly mermaid’s velle squared with Yeri, who was surprised to find himself looking eye-to-eye with her. It seemed the velle was designed like a small tower, so no Merrow could be looked down upon.

“Yeri—” Nia held a hand out. “—my mother, Hydan. Mother, Yeri Willrow, our hero of the evening.”

Yeri nodded, “My lady.”

Hydan smiled at him, like a dog that had just learned to fetch. “Humling. We are very grateful.” She pointed her chin back to Nia. “I cannot believe Lir would condone such a silly excursion, against my advisement, nonetheless.”

Lir’s velle spun around. “Forgive my lapse of judgment. It seems I have again forgotten my humble position as Duke of all Eynclaene coastlands, to the detriment of your esteemed position as mother-in-law, nagger of all things great and small.”

Hydan’s eyes shrunk icily. “How dare you paint me a malagrug for loving my only chil—?”

Nia breathed heavily. “Please, Mother, do not be upset. It was my idea. I refused to stay bound to the fortress another moment.”

“Nevertheless, Nia,” Hydan said, refusing to address Lir again. “You should head straight to your chambers.”

“Lir needs me,” Nia said. “We were attacked, again.”

“Your grace,” said a merman in armored automaton legs. “Forgive me. I was being debriefed by our scouts.”

“Captain Jonn,” Lir said, “we must make way for northern Eynclaene at submersion level. And alert any other Merrows to evacuate the Eynclaene coast. We were assaulted by no less than four fouls down the—”

“Fouls, sir?” said Captain Jonn.

“Yes, yes. We must undock and move the fortress immediate—”

“That will be entirely impossible, sir,” said Captain Jonn. “My scout bore witness to a fleet of ships bearing the Dujinnin’s crimson flag along the coast line, sir.”

“The gypsies?” Lir’s eyes widened.

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid so, sir,” said Captain Jonn. “Their Nesses make for the offshore treasures while a winged—”

“Nesses?” Yeri shouted. “Loch Nesses? Here?”

Captain Jonn looked quickly at Yeri, sizing him up. “And a winged foul was seen among the crew, sir.”

“They mean to trap all Merrows along the coast and . . .” Lir’s voice trailed off for a moment. He snapped to attention. “Reinforce our fortress and alert the others. Do not delay, Captain Jonn. Our very lives might come down to minut—”

A mermaid’s scream rang. Several other Merrows ran to the chamber’s outer edge.

“Dear Mon!” Lir was fixed on something behind Yeri.

Yeri spun around. Instead of Lir’s brother and sister-in-law adjusting themselves into velles, some gelatinous substance shrouded in clothing lay in clumps at the foot of the stagecoach. The substance looked like skin, devoid of all its innards.

“Brother!” Lir said quietly. “Yeri cannot see this yet, not until he takes the oath. Get him to the main chamber, now!”

Yeri tried to get a better look at the second stagecoach, but Captain Jonn spun him away by the shoulder.





The Duke’s chamber wasn’t a chamber at all, but a pool. Yeri stood on the only dry surface in the room—a whale bone bridge spanning the breadth of the pool. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the strange sea creatures stirring underneath his feet. They were a bit monstrous, a bit mysterious, and altogether fascinating.

A pair of mermaids broke through the surface and grabbed two silver cords. Like a harpist’s gentle stroke, they pulled the cords methodically until a platform emerged carrying two ornate thrones; Lir and Nia were the occupants.

“I cannot leave you at this hour.” Nia’s hand interlaced with Lir’s. “The headaches will pass.”

“What is all this business?” Yeri called out. “As senior driver of Fungman, Zedock and Josiah, I demand an explanation this very moment.”

“If we were to tell you,” said Lir, “you would be put under the strictest of oaths, one that would require your very life.”

“Well, then,” Yeri’s tone shifted from demand to farewell. “I will be on my way. Very sad you’ve run into trouble, but it’s got nothing to do with me and my horses. Good day, your Grace and . . . er, your Grace-ness.”

Pain, deep and bottomless, filled Nia’s eyes. “Please, Yeri Willrow. You are the Merrow’s only means of salvation. Our enemies mean to exploit our weakness and will do so if none come to our aid.”

“So . . . I, well—” Yeri’s heart turned doughy. He never could manage himself around a beautiful woman, even the half-aquatic sort. “You have bits of treasure tucked here and there? As the old tavern toads tell it, anyway.”

“Yes.” Nia’s hand glided along the silicon armrest. “It is about the treasure; it’s always about the treasure. You are familiar with sulmare? The most precious metal of the brother worlds? Merrows have been endowed with the gift of sulmare-making.”

Nia rubbed her fingers, giving the universal sign for money. Three sulmares clinked into her open palm. She flung them at Yeri’s feet.

“I’ll be . . .” Yeri held up the sulmare. They felt rough and smooth, heavy and light, all at the same time. These three pieces would feed him and his mother for a month.

“Because every Merrow is endowed with the power of sulmare-making, we are tasked with its protection and distribution, both here and on Earth. Merrow fortresses patrol all coastlines, protecting the sulmare banks. Lir and I were charged with the Eynclaene offshore accounts.”

“They want your powers?”

“More than that, I’m afraid. They want—” Nia stopped to looked at her husband, then back to Yeri. “Tell me, Yeri. Have you ever visited the fair city of Huron?”

“Of course, ma’am. Who hasn’t? We go at least once a year. I’ve a fine map of it hanging on my bedroom ceiling. Know every borough and alleyway and byway. My father was born there, you know, Mon rest his soul,” Yeri paused. “Anyway. Yes, in short.”

“Permit me one more question,” said Nia. “Are you a hero, Yeri?”

“A hero, my lady?” Yeri slipped the three sulmares into his knee-breeches.

“Yes. Have you ever heroed?”

“Well, uh, er, I mean, Father thought I showed promise, but schooling was a trifle expensive, and there wasn’t one to apprentice me. And now—” Yeri rubbed a slightly bulging tummy. “—afraid I’m not quite in the condition for heroism.”

“Would you like to be one?”

“Agatha would like it.”

“Agatha?”

“Yes,” Yeri said. “Agatha is my sweetheart. But she won’t marry me on the account of, well, my belly, to be honest. She will marry nothing less than a hero. And Agatha made it quite clear that a hero does not have an “amorphous midsection”. Afraid I’m destined to live out my days with Mother.”

“I need a hero of high quality to take a message to the Huron City Council,” said Nia. “It must be someone who is not Merrow, one whom the fouls could not smell.”

“Oh . . . well, honestly, ma’am, it being the holidays and all . . . and, er, my dear mum. I mean, I . . . forgive me. When you asked for my help, I imagined a ride free of charge or lending a horse. But all this? More than I can handle. Nuus doesn’t see too much in the way of adventure. Once, when I was no bigger than a leviathan’s pimple, there was the scourge of the three-headed chicken. It was a bit frightening at first. One head breathed fire; the other two breathed chicken feed and pond water. But it turned out when the first two heads spewed out fiery chicken feed, the last one would put it out. Counterproductive in the end.”

Nia leaned in. “Agatha, right? Well, Yeri. You will trim up that hero’s physique within the month.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Yeri paused, saw Agatha’s flirtatious eyes flash across his mind, and then clapped his hands. “Always wanted to holiday in Huron!”

Nia smiled and reached out to her husband. “Love. The greatest motivation.”

Lir squeezed her hand and immediately picked up a squid pen and scroll. “Because our kind guards the treasure of the brother worlds, we carry a special citizenship under the city of Huron, and with it, the protection afforded her citizens. The Merrows are in need of that protection. Within this scroll is a secret to which only Merrows are privy. Our enemies, the Dujinnin, have discovered it and mean to exploit this secret. If we are exposed, it will destroy all Merrow kind. I now entrust this secret to you and to the Steward of Huron, Nikolas Lyons. He sits on the city council under The Roggen Tree.”

Yeri noticed a guard moving toward him, holding a large pearl.

“We must have full assurance you will not betray us, Yeri.” Lir’s voice dropped. “This is a pearl-of-devotion. It will rest itself in the lining of your stomach. If you betray us in any way, this pearl will turn your skin to algae and your insides to seaweed. It will be a long, painful death, to be sure.”

Yeri looked at the iridescent hand of the guard. Something like a conscience reminded the stagecoach driver he was about to take another oath. Was this really a good idea?

“Big bugger, isn’t it? Heh, heh,” Yeri said.

“If you are loyal to our kind,” said Lir, “then take, Yeri, and swallow.”

With a sigh, Yeri picked up the pearl. “A bit of harjuice?” he asked the guard. “Or maybe a swallow of harchoco to wash it down?”

The guard’s face remained stolid.

“Right. I see.” With a sigh, Yeri set the pearl-of-devotion between his teeth, hoping it was chewable.

Krrekkkk.

It wasn’t chewable.

So, with watery eyes, Yeri swallowed.

“Now,” Nia breathed in deeply, “you may read the message.”

Yeri bit his bottom lip as he slowly unscrolled the seaweed parchment.

To Your Honor, Steward of the City of Huron and its surrounding provinces, Nikolas Lyons. This document contains the folly of the Merrows.

Yeri began to read out loud. “This secret is the shame of our kind. To state it plainly, we are—”

Yeri choked on the words. “We are . . .”