Husbands Lost: A Legend of Mermaids

In a time when the world was new, before The Rending and before the tide varied the depth of the ocean, the ocean waves were created by the love making of the god and goddess of the ocean.  The goddess Squall is the mistress of the ocean sky: its weather and its birds.  Surf is the god of the waves and all the life that lives below it.  The only gods they had to answer to were the Mother and Father Creators, gods of life and the elements, respectively.  The sea gods did not think much of the creatures which traveled in wooden vessels.  They did not think of them until the repetitive prayers of a female elf caught their attention.

The grey cloud-cover was a slab of marble pressing down toward the equally gray, liquid pumice waves beneath it.  The twin scents of brine and salt perfumed the air.  Waves crashed against the face of a sheer cliff, persistently beating the barrier in vain.  Gulls cried out in longing as if there was something crucial that was lost to them forever.  Perched on the summit of the cliff sat a lonely stone house whose tired windows peered eternally toward the sea.

Behind one of these windows sat a young elf woman, pining for her husband.  In the two years of her marriage Marin had only spent one week by his side.  Since then she had mourned the death of her two day old child without his comfort.  Her hope had been unraveled by feelings of grief and abandonment.

The sailor’s wife sat in a chair worn by hours and days of sitting and watching for her love to return.  The chair's arms shone with the oils of her hands worrying away at each surface.  Her once golden hair was in a simple braid, dull and untidy from days of neglect.  The wind teased her hair as it snuck into her home.  Although evening approached, her plain white nightgown hung wrinkled and loose about her body.  She hadn’t bothered to cook any meal that day.  Instead, she ate some day-old bread and drank some stale water.  Eating this scant meal was a force of will.  Hunger seemed to have left ages ago along with her hope.  From her vantage point, Marin could see the ships of the nearby port city of Merra as they came and left.  Tears, which had seemed depleted, began to flow again, silent.  They fell upon her night clothes unheeded.

Whether out of habit or desperation she didn’t know, but the sea elf began to pray to the gods of sea and life.

“Mother of all life, preserve the life of my husband.  Guardian god of the sea, carry my husband safely back home.  Goddess of the ocean sky, be kind to my husband’s ship.  Provide his ship with a steady wind that will carry him home.”

The words had become rehearsed but each was pronounced with fervor.  Prayers had become her lifeline.  It wasn’t as if Marin had much hope that the gods would answer, but the sound of a human voice returned some of the life which she felt leaching away from her. 

Her sad, lonely, gray eyes drifted away from the window and toward the bed behind her.  It was one of the few items that could be seen in the dwindling light coming from the window.  The four-poster bed looked too large to sleep in, too empty.  Once it had been filled with a couple in love and full of dreams.  Now it felt like sacrilege to use it.  It only reminded her of what she once had, of what she should still have.  He was only supposed to be gone six months and now it had been two years.  Most of the townsfolk had presumed that he was dead.  The lonely elf woman could not accept their assumption, regardless of her lack of hope. 

With one last glance to the sea, Marin slowly stood.  Turning, she plodded to a bedroll she had placed next to the bed.  Sliding inside, she curled up in the fetal position, staring at the dimly glowing square of window that was her only friend.  In time, she found herself sleeping.

As the sky began to brighten, Marin sat up and realized that hope had returned to her.  She wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but she woke with an idea, a plan.  It didn’t make much sense, but she was sure that she was going to do it.  With a hop, the elf woman vaulted into the standing position and went to her dressing table.  The mirror showed that her gray eyes had softened, revealing the blue beneath.  Color had returned to her cheeks.  She was too anxious to sit, but she found her hairbrush and began the long overdue work of untangling her hair.  As she did so, Marin found herself humming a song of joy.

By the time she was done, the sun had made its full appearance and the gulls were singing.  Today, they didn’t sound quite so forlorn.  She felt as if they were calling for something they knew was just over the horizon. 

Once she was dressed, she grabbed a lined bread basket, a few coins, and began walking to the city.  It was not a long walk, but it invigorated her.  The sea elf continued humming all the way.  Yesterday's marbled sky was nowhere to be seen.  The sun shone across the buttermilk sky.  Around her, heath stirred in the sea breeze.  Her loose hair flowed from her like streamers on an unattended maypole. 

The buildings of the elven-city were crowded closely together, as if for warmth.  The streets were bustling with busy adults and carefree children.  Marin’s surroundings somehow seemed to diminish her cherished purpose, so she hurriedly flew off to the bakery.  The baker’s wife was surprised to see her. 

“How are you, Thalassa?” Marin asked her. 

Thalassa stuttered, “Ma… Mar-in?  Is that really you?”

“A loaf of bread please.”

Thalassa exchanged bread for money and Marin left.  She went to a few more stores.  At each destination, the merchants were just as surprised at her appearance, but Marin did not stay behind to converse.  When she was finished, she left the city with lantern oil, needles, thread, a diminutive knife, cheese, bread, dried fruit, and dried meat. 

Returning to her house, the sailor’s wife went into her husband’s chest of belongings.  She pulled out his small tent, water skin, lantern, and backpack.  She packed the bag and set it next to the door.  The next leg of her journey would take some time.  The day was beginning to wane, she would head out tomorrow. 

There was still time to work, so the elf brought her newly purchased treasures to her chair.  She left them only long enough to retrieve her wedding dress.  She hadn’t worn it since her marriage.  However, it was an integral part of her plan.  She selected the small knife from her basket and painstakingly began to cut the stiches holding the panels of blue-green fabric together. 

The next week was spent traveling and laboring.  She traveled to the beach which was a half a day’s journey away.  There, the elf spent a few days gathering a large number of small shells that had been scrubbed smooth by the sand and surf.  Each one was no larger than the tip of her finger.  Once she returned home, she carefully bored a hole in the center of each shell. 

The dress, which she finished dismantling, was cut, sewn, and reshaped into a much different form.  She attached each of the hand-made, irregularly shaped sequins to her creation.  Her hands were sore and calloused by the time she had completed her work. 

It resembled the back half of a great fish, greater than any she had ever heard of.  Along half of the length was a slit that cinched up with a verdigris cord zigzagging through strategically placed eyelets.  The mother-of-pearl scales glittered in rainbow shades when the sun played on them making the sea-green fabric seem to come alive.  The effect was reminiscent of sea foam.  It was exactly what Marin had envisioned, but what was its purpose?

That night, the light of the nearly full moon awakened her.  It seemed to fill up the entire frame of her window.  As she stared, she had a strong impulse to clothe herself in the sewing project that had ruled the past week.  Without much thought, she removed her night clothes and donned the handiwork.  It took her a while to cinch up the lacing, but once she had she found it fit her perfectly.  The bodice came up just far enough to enfold her bosom.  In the moonlight, Marin could have sworn that she had become one with the sequined fabric.  It was surprisingly comfortable. 

The next night was a repeat of the previous night, except for the moon had waxed closer to full.

On the third night, she didn’t even bother to go to sleep.  She took a chair and her handiwork to the precipice of the cliff and waited for the moon to rise.  As it rose, she sat bare-skinned with no more to cover her than the mother-of-pearl encrusted fabric draped over her lap.  Once the moon had risen above the ocean’s edge, she attired herself as she had the previous two nights.  With the help of the chair, she stood.  Her hair cascaded about her shoulders.  She looked up at the moon and began praying, but the words were fresh.

“Mother of all life, bring life to this garment.  Guardian god of the sea, carry me safely to my husband.  Goddess of the ocean sky, provide kind winds that will carry me safely to the home of my heart.”

Tears stained her cheeks while she spoke.  As the last word was uttered Marin jumped from the cliff, plummeting toward the ocean surface.  As the water enveloped her she was transfigured.  The cloth, shells, and sewing materials became one with the sea elf.  Her ears, which once came to a single peak, were now scalloped with several points.  Her lungs inhaled water as gracefully as they had once breathed air.  Her eyes could see through the ocean’s darkness as if the sun were still shining.  The heaviness of heart that had weighed her down like a millstone now floated gracefully above all cares but one: finding her husband.  Marin had become the first mermaid.

Like an internal compass, she knew exactly which direction would bring her closer to him.  With fleetness her fins carried her on.  The marvels and beauties of the sea gave her wonder, but they could not distract Marin from her purpose.  Marin was pleased to find that she could sing underwater.  The descant which she had hummed constantly for the last week had become a chorus.  The notes that she expected to be dampened by the water seemed to splinter into harmony in her ears. 

Before long she had company.  Dolphins and hippocampi were swimming abreast of her.  The dolphins sang along with her.  The hippocampi seemed to dance and occasionally neigh in time with the beat.  Marin had heard of hippocampi, but had never seen them before.  She never expected this cross between a fish and a horse to have a dorsal fin for a mane; it made the creature look even more majestic than its land bound cousin.  Periodically, the mermaid and her throng stopped to feast on a school of fish.  She was pleasantly surprised to find raw fish meat was sweet to her palate.  Astonishingly, she found that she did not need sleep as she had when she was an elf. 

Before she realized how much time had passed, she felt the needle of her compass shift.  Her husband must be close.  She followed its lead, detoured for a coral reef, and found herself on the shore of a small island.  There, on the edge of the surf, she found her husband.  With excitement she looked him over as she approached the beach.  His wet hair was tangled and unkempt.  What little clothing had survived his recently archaic existence was tattered and torn.  Marin called his name, but he didn’t stir.  After crawling across the sand to his side, she found his tanned sinewy body was clammy and he lay far too still.  He couldn’t be dead!  After mourning his loss, regaining hope, creating and becoming one with her fish half, and traveling a great distance it seemed impossible that she would find her husband so recently dead.  It was a tremendous blow.  She shook him.  The only movement that resulted was caused by the force she exerted on his body.  With angry tears, Marin began to beat his chest with her fists. 

Meanwhile, looking skyward, she asked, “Why merge my life with this fabric, leading me to believe that I could be with my husband again?” 

Without warning, he coughed, expelling seawater from his lungs.  This was followed with a sharp gasp as he sought for the air that his lungs were recently lacking. 

“Delmar!” she exclaimed with disbelief.

It took him a while to regain his senses.  Marin continued saying his name over and over.  Once he finally realized who was saying his name, he asked, “Am I dead?”

She embraced him tightly and laughed in relief.  “No, my love, you still live.”

Once he had become clear-headed, he noticed her change of form.  Despite his joy at seeing her, shock made him draw away from her clasp.  After explaining her transformation, she realized that she did not know if she could ever return to life on land.  Her scales were drying quickly in the full light of day and it was becoming uncomfortable.  Her lungs may allow her to breathe air or water, but her lower half was not as versatile.  They moved their tѐte-à-tѐte closer to the surf line so her scales would stay moist.  Swallowing what pride she had left, she suggested that she carry him back home.  This idea was quickly discarded when they realized the distance would result in his starvation.  Another thought was to create another shell-sequined wrap for him, but she did not have the materials necessary to complete the task.  She felt that she should have foreseen this even though she had no understanding of the purpose to her creation until she was in the ocean wearing it.  The night was spent mourning their defeat. 

As her husband slept, the waning moon made its appearance once more.  It reminded Marin of her last night as an elf.  Was it the full moon, the symbol of the Mother Creator, that had transformed her?  Was it her faith?  Was it her prayer?  If it was the prayer, then which of the gods gave life to the creation?  Which god had transformed her and granted her an internal compass pointing to her husband?  What was their purpose, if only to keep them apart?  It would have been better that he had died on this beach and that she had died from her seaward plunge.

Marin decided there was only one course of action with hope: to recreate the experience as much as possible.  While she waited for her husband to wake, Marin began to collect shells.  She found she could easily collect them beneath the surf.  Once Delmar awakened, she gave him the task of gathering and preparing hides.  She also had him set aside sinews, so they might be used as thread.  She saved fish bones from her meals for the purpose of creating needles.  This time, the hides were more difficult to work with than the fabric had been.  While she sewed, he bored holes in the seashells using nails that had survived his ship’s wreckage.  Without the tools of civilization, this last step was quite laborious and nearly as many shells accepted the alteration as split in the effort.  It was a good thing that they had the better part of a month.  The project was completed just in time for the full moon.  It was not as sleek as Marin’s had been, nor did it reach so high in the body, but it appeared to be sufficient.  Delmar donned the close-fitting wrapper and began to pray under the light of the full moon. 

“Mother of all life, bring life to this garment.  Guardian god of the sea, allow my wife and me to safely travel---wait!”  He abruptly stopped and asked his wife, “Do we want to go back home, or begin a new life in the ocean?”

“Above all else, I want to be where you are,” she told him.  However, if she had to choose for them both, she would decide to stay a mermaid. 

Marin’s eyes betrayed her.  Delmar had always felt the call of the ocean.  It was what had driven him to be a sailor.  He nodded his head in agreement and began again, this time with greater fervor.

“Mother of all life, bring life to this garment.  Guardian god of the sea, carry us safely to a place that will be our new home.  Goddess of the ocean sky, provide kind winds that will carry us safely to our ocean home.” 

Delmar used his arms to pull himself toward the water.  The garment grew heavy as it became soaked, but little else happened.  Together, they repeated the prayer.  The stitches began to loosen and the body covering began to fall apart as the sinews reconstituted.  Delmar began to panic, but Marin would not give up.  She urged him to completely immerse himself.  When the last hair on his head was saturated he finally transformed. 

The metamorphosis was not identical to his wife’s, but it was enough that the merpeople race was born.  His ears, eyes, lungs, speed, and palate were altered in similar fashion as his wife had experienced.  His scales were larger, thicker, and more brown than hers. His internal compass had two needles: one pointed north and the other pointed to his mate.  He did not gain fins like his counter-part, nor did his legs become one.  Instead, his hands and feet elongated and the spaces between his fingers and toes became webbed. The gods had blessed them once more.

The new pair created a home on an island riddled with sea-caves. They had many children and occasionally, they found a newly transformed soul to add to their number.  The songs of their people became legendary for the joy they created in others.  Their choruses spoke of love, family, and praised the three gods believed to be responsible for their creation.  It was said that their music could cure any mortal’s sorrow.  They were prosperous and happy, until the curse came. 

Many generations later, when The Rending occurred, the Mother Creator was thought to be destroyed.  Surf, the god of the ocean, mourned her loss.  He had been quite close to his mother.  When he heard tales of mortals who had conversed with her through dreams, he went in search of a method by which he might also commune with her, for gods neither dream nor sleep.  He found assistance through The Grandmother, goddess of wisdom.  She concocted a potion that would make him do both.  Unfortunately, she miscalculated the dosage.  The brew put him in such a deep slumber that he could only partially wake and only for short time spans.  His spirit now spends much of its time in the ethereal realm while his body sleeps.  If you listen closely to the waves, you can hear his breathing. 

Squall, the goddess of the ocean sky became jealous of her husband’s relationship with the Mother Creator and she felt abandoned by her Husband.  He became torn between his wife and his mother.  It is this duality of pull that creates the tide which we know today.  On those occasions when he is partially awake, the sea gods battle for each other’s sympathy, resulting in the ocean tempests and hurricanes.

Over time, Squall became immensely bitter.  At first, she looked at the merpeople and tenderly remembered similar feelings she had for her husband.  Unfortunately, the happy memories faded and all she could see was joy which had been denied her.  On one particularly stormy night, Squall took out her anger upon the merpeople in order to make them as bitter and lonely as she felt. 

She placed a curse on all the Mermen that they would no longer be able to live underwater.  Their bodies shed their scales and their lungs could no longer breathe water.  Their hands and feet were not quite so long, but the webbing was partially there.  Their ears forever marked them as being of the merpeople.  Some of the mermen did not make it to the surface in time.  Others could not bear to be kept from their mates and committed suicide.  Many of the mermaids who had lost their husbands to the curse were devastated.  The bitterness of their hearts tainted and poisoned their songs.  Their music would call any mortal male who is not pure of heart to their doom.  The poor soul would follow the notes into the ocean only to drown at unimaginable depths, never to return again.  From time to time, some other broken hearted woman has found herself joining the Siren throng because she can neither live with the pain, nor move past it.  If revenge upon the male sex is all she thinks of then she is destined to become one of their number.

Those strong enough of will found ways to be productive and to strengthen their community.  Some of the sea-caves were painstakingly extended to the surface and structures were built over them so families could spend as much time together as possible. Others purchased ships and began creating trading companies and trading routes.  Some apprenticed to learn trades that would help their above ground communities.  Once again, they found a way to flourish and to this day they sail the waters which many races fear.  They bring many treasures and news far across the sea to those who would otherwise be ignorant of the splendors to be had across the waters.  It is said that the merpeople still have their internal compasses and that once the bond is formed between one of the merfolk and their mate, it can never be severed.