Challenge Submission The Drowned Song

[chap]

I. THE OMEN​

O brothers, O sisters, O palsied wits and limpin' fates! Hie thee hither and hearken close to a tale wrought not of mirth, but by wave and wrath, by tattertorn sail and mast all askew; a sailor's lament, aye? Naught else and ne'er a mite more. Lend ear as I cry unto the void, my voice risin' like smoke to the very heavens above! Woe, woe, a thousandfold woe! Beset and befouled, breached and unmade! Mark me: there be no happy tellin's upon the sea.

I be Gauthier by birth, though names carry little weighin' 'gainst the tide. I've toiled upon shipboard near all my days, and thereupon a man is reduced to title alone: ropemaker or quartermaster, cabin-boy or boatswain, captain or chaplain or all in between. I took what role was offered, deckhand one day and cook the next, aught that might keep my belly full and my purse from goin' bare.

'Twas a night like unto any other, the stars prickin' in the firmament, all a-luster and alight. The wind moaned low and long, and there stood I upon that creakin' deck, peerin' out into a fateless abyss, me throat a-choke with pipe smoke and me heart burden'd with homesick. Out upon the swell we linger'd, month after weary month, no coast in sight nor solace granted. A heaviness clung to our vessel, a wayward melancholy seepin' into timber and sinew alike. However many years a man giveth to the briny vast, know this: his mind never strays ever far from the shore.

It was in that well of sadness that the whispers first began; soft-spoke words of curses and fates ill-turn'd. Some doom, unseen but keenly felt, slitherin' through the marrow. Ghost-lights in the heavens, songs upon the wind that no tongue could rightly claim, and shadows 'neath the froth what looked too long and moved too sure. Aye, and some 'mongst us found spellbound, eyes like anchors fixed upon the deeps, mutterin' nonsense and salt-curdled words. All this and more, as though the sea herself sought vengeance 'pon us.

Ol' Merrigan, our head cook, did swear by all the saints he'd seen a pair o' eyes a-glowin' up at him from the bilge, glarin' gold as a miser's hoard. He took to silence after that, rockin' in his corner with hands clasped tight in fever'd prayer.

Then Tam Delour, a beast of a man, arms thick as knotted lines, voice what could drown a gale… He began to sleepwalk and we found him more'n one standin' at the bow, arms stretched wide like he'd greet somethin' comin' from the sea.

And young Elias Ives, poor lad... Not a man by summers nor scars. Bright-eyed when we left port, quick with a chart and quicker with a jest. He took to hummin' a strange tune none had taught and none could name, soft and mournsome. One night, he vanished afore the supper bell, and we found him three nights hence, tangled 'mongst the riggin' like a fish in a net. His flesh was puff'd with brine, his sockets hollow'd, and his skin pock'd with sucker marks like some kraken's kiss.

After Elias, the crew began to split like green wood in frost. Some begged and pleaded to turn back, but their pleas fell deaf 'gainst Cap'n Wythe's iron will. Others took up spear and harpoon, preparin' as if for war, not with man, but with the very sea herself. Whispered words of mutiny passed themselves from ear to ear, a powderkeg primed, wantin' but a spark to see us all undone.

And there stood I upon that creakin' deck, me throat a-choke with pipe smoke and me heart burden'd with homesick, eyes fixed upon a shape swayin' in the tide just beyond the lantern's glow…

II. THE LURE​

At first, mine eyes scarce reckon'd the vision 'fore me. She was of both beauty and dread, her skin a-glimmer like moonlight upon oil. Her eyes, too wide and too dark, held depths unchart'd by compass nor star, and her smile… gods help me, her smile was a wrong-turned thing, stretched as if to hide the cruel rows of teeth within. She swam 'longside, keepin' pace as if our vessel were but driftwood, and cast her gaze full 'pon me. Though the sea 'round her were cloaked in shadow, she was lit with a light not of this world, her breasts bared and her tresses spill'd like ribbons of quartz and emerald. From the waist downward, her skin gave way to a glistenin' scale, a shift from flesh to fin 'til all that remain'd was tail, a dagger wrought of seafoam and forgotten tongues.

Ye've all heard the tellin', surely, of mermaids and their ilk. Tall tales and sailor's yarns. Some think 'em lovely maidens, lustful and kind, bringin' joy to weary mariners. Aye, such thoughts are naught but fool's balm. For the truth is crueler by leagues. Mermaids are the deep's own get, birthed not of love, but of loss; of drown'd babes and gods whose names were choked by time. They be hunger clad in flesh, sorrow giv'n voice. They wear beauty as a thief wears solk, maskin' the grave beneath. Nay, they are no daughters of sea-bless'd grace. They are storms with lips, ruin with a song.

They do not sing, they summon. They do not love, they lure. And when they come callin'...?

I felt it then. Nay, not a wound of blade nor bullet, but a piercin' all the same, straight through my heart and soul. And I knew, I knew, I were already lost. I did leave the railin' and wander'd to my cot, dreamless yet dreamin', adrift 'mongst the breathin' dead. In dreams, I swam beside her through the ink of the waves. She did whisper soft to me in my good ear, sugarspun words.

"Gauthier," quoth she. "Thou may'st walk on wood, but thy soul is water-claim'd. Come now, o sweet sailor. Thou wert chosen ere thy first breath tasted salt. The deep hath waited long, and I have swum ever toward thee and none other."

I woke gaspin' and reelin', sickened. I did retch upon the planks, my lips scorch'd, my mouth a grave of brine. The day passed like a specter, naught but a shadow in my mind. My crewmates quarreled, but I heard them not. Inch by painless inch, I drifted from all known, towards rocks and ruin and somethin' even worse. Night after night, she haunted me. Her eyes unblinkin', her voice oil-slick'd and silken. Her words were lullabies writ in blood. While I dream'd, others vanished. Some reappear'd, bloated, bloodless, their skin blackened with scale. Others we never found, swallowed whole by Mother Abyss, all and evermore, gone, gone, gone…

III. THE DESCENT​

It awoke me from my dreams, the sound of flintlock and cannon fire, of cutlass clash and of souls unshriven A ghost-born song rode the gale, not heard through ears, but tremblin' in the marrow. The wood of the ship groaned with the unnatural tune as I flung meself from my hammock and upward to the deck, where fires burned and lightning split the black, rain like stones peltin' our vessel.

There, 'midst chaos and smoke, my shipmates battled; some 'gainst each other, others 'gainst the dead themselves. Our missing brethren, the ones we'd mourned, walked anew, flesh mottled and given new life 'midst rot and damnation. Even young Elias Ives was amongst them, barnacles crusted to his cheeks, dagger clenched in white-knuckle grip as he scalped a screaming deckhand.

Then did I behold them.

Out beyond the railin', just 'neath the roil, they circled like sharks. Aye, a ballet of horror. Their song rose higher, threadin' through the air like a poisoned perfume.

The mermaids. A dozenfold or mayhap more.

Faces like to women, yet reef-riven, coral-borne and fanged. Gills split their necks like wound or scripture. In silence and with reverence did they ascend our vessel, not with rage, but with awe, as though each kill were a prayer. They moved like wraiths in some drowned cathedral, every motion divine, every slaughter a sacrament.

Thomlin was gutted in one such breathless instant, his innards spilled like wine across rain-slick boards, his mouth agape 'gainst the thunder and the roar. Vesper, poor fool, was drawn to the edge and kissed 'pon the lips by one o' their number. Her jaw unhinged like some wrathsworn serpent and he went limp in her arms, then overboard with her into the drink.

I stumbled backward, slippin' in rain or blood, clutchin' tight to the railing lest madness take me too.

One of their gazes fell upon me.

Her eyes were black pearls, fathomless and wide.

Her face that of a woman I'd once loved in some harbor long forgotten, but her teeth… gods preserve me, her teeth were spires of ivory, needle-sharp and true.

"Gauthier," she spake, though her lips moved not.

I dropped to my knees. The world reeled. The song climbed through my bones like a fever. 'Round me, men turned blades upon themselves, some laughin' and others weepin'. The dead danced with the living, indistinguishable in the flicker of cannonlight.

I crawled for the hatch, towards the black below. As I passed poor Cap'n Wythe, I saw he'd lashed himself to the wheel. His eyes gouged out. His tongue nailed to his own chest.

And still, still, still… he smiled.

Belowdecks were no haven. Men were dragged through gunports like calves to slaughter. Others clawed at their ears, eyes clenched shut, faces riven with terror. Saltwater seeped 'tween the planks, floodin' the decks 'til we stood knee-deep in brine; cold as gravewater, stinkin' of rot and the old dark beneath the sea.

From the shadows came sobs and whispered, voices crack'd and warped, speakin' in tongues not our own; whalebone dialects and deep-borne curses. I saw Jory laughin' as he carved symbols into his own chest with a marlinspike. He bowed to me like a gentleman as I passed and said, "She's a-comin', Mr. Gauthier. You'll see. She's a-comin'."

I staggered past him, hands upon the beams to keep myself steady. The wood was warm, as if the ship herself had drawn breath and now lived in pain. Each groan of timber was a cry, each drip of salt a tear. Somewhere behind me, the storeroom burst open and I heard the splash of the mermaids encroaching, crawling across the wood like crabs, clickin' and gigglin' in a wet, throatless way.

I found myself in the chapel, where once we'd sung hymns in calmer days. The cross had been torn from the wall and the chaplain lay as a babe in the womb, cradlin' it close, mouth movin' fast in fervent prayer.

"Too late," he murmured. "Too late, too late… She is the tide and the tide always returns"

I turned then, and from the flooded corridor behind, she came. The one. The first. From dream and railin' and hell-stung vision, she now stood flesh'd and real, glidin' through the brine that rose about her feet. Her hair floated 'round her like kelp and the very hull bowed inward at her passing.

I could not breathe.

My limbs were stone.

She reach'd forth, not with claw nor spear nor hook, but with gentleness, with pity. Her fingers traced my jaw and, with but a touch, I felt each memory I held begin to writhe away. My mother's lullabies, my father's voice, the name of my birthplace. All slipped into the dark, pulled down and drown'd. I know not how long I stood there, breathless and beholden 'neath her gaze. Mayhap a second. Mayhap an age. The ship had ceased its lurchin'. No more screams. No more shots. Just that slow, awful song, low and mournful now, like a dirge played on broken cellos and drowned bells.

But just as a felt myself vanish, my soul unmoorin' like a lifeboat cut adrift, she paused.

A shudder ran through the hull and the song ceased.

Not ended, no, but withdrawn, a tide pullin' back 'fore the break. Her head tilted. She looked through me, not at me, and then… she was gone. As quick as she came, retreatin' into the depths with her sisters, their voices fallin' into silence once more.

I came to hours or even days later, crusted o'er and near blind from the sun's glare.

The storm had passed. The fires were cold. The ship, half-sunk, bobbed with ghostly grace. Not a soul remained; no bodies, no blood, no sails upon the mast. Only me. The name of our ship had been scraped clean from her stern. I do not recall doin' it, but the blood and splinters 'neath my nails said otherwise. In those waning days alone, I found myself in some witless purgatory. Even as my stomach grumbled and my throat begged from water, all I did was sit within the captain's quarters, starin' wide-eyed into a looking glass puddle. My reflection sang to me.

A merchant brig found us adrift some leagues north o' the Azores, far from any charted lane. "Abandoned", they said. "Crew vanished." They hauled me aboard their vessel, swaddled in blankets, mutterin' like a babe. I told 'em naught. What words could wrap 'round such wretched truth?

Now, I walk amongst landfolk. Far from sea, far from storm.

Yet, I hear it still.

That song.

In the rustle of leaves, in the hush 'twixt heartbeats, in the wind slippin' 'tween shutters. Sometimes I dream of her, that pale bride of the deep. She sings to me, sweet and slow, promisin' peace 'neath the waves.

One day, I shall answer.

But not yet.

Not yet.