Chapter 13

Eridanys was nowhereto be found by the time Alba returned to the house that next morning, and stayed gone for three days following.

On the first day, Alba thought good riddance, even as he laid awake swearing he heard gargling, disembodied voices whispering from beneath the floor. Even as shadows caught in the corner of his eye when he wasn't paying attention. As if the drowned souls surrounding the lighthouse rocks emerged more eagerly than ever the moment the merrow who'd kept them away was gone.

On the second day, Alba's annoyance reached a peak as he stewed over how insufferable the merrow-man could be, beginning when he found a string of pretty shells hanging from the lighthouse door upon leaving in the morning. Made worse when a fat fish was unexpectedly thrown into the storage room from the hatch, slicing Alba's hands with a thousand little cuts as he attempted to grapple it, still flopping, into a basket. Then the additional crabs tossed over the rocks into the grass, which he knew with certainty were from Eridanys by the additional strings of shells tying them together. Alba would have gladly thrown them right back if his stomach didn't growl so greedily the moment he had them in his hand.

By the third day, Alba's anger had subsided, leaving room for embarrassment over getting so emotional to start with. Eridanys even seemed to harbor similar feelings as the sea-gifts continued, manifesting as more strings of pearls, more fresh fish and crab, then a new cane that looked suspiciously stolen straight from someone on shore. Admittedly, the thought of some poor old sailor walking on the beach being robbed of their cane by the sea made Alba laugh, but he still tossed it back while calling out for Eridanys to take it back.

On the morning of the fourth day, Alba waited on the edge of the rocks for Eugene Michaels' boat to reach him. Hoping that's what the signal light from the harbor office the night before meant, knowing he was going to run out of food soon enough even with Eridanys' occasional offerings.

"If you think standing there looking pathetic will get me to ask what's wrong, you're mistaken."

Alba jumped, searching the water until he found a moon-white face scowling up at him. He raised an eyebrow in question, before realizing what the merrow meant.

"Oh," he said. "I'm not here waitin' for you."

Eridanys scoffed, rising out of the water to rest his elbows on the rocks.

"You don't have to lie. What other purpose would you have to…" he trailed off, following Alba's finger as it pointed toward a distant rowboat headed their way. The merrow's long tail swished under the water in agitation.

"Why bother! You know you can't leave the town?—"

"I'm goin' for supplies. Remember? I told you about?—"

"Why haven't you been eating what I brought you?"

"I have. It's not enough. But thank you for the offerings."

Eridanys scoffed again, just like Alba expected him to, making him smirk in reply.

"S'not so hard, see? Sayin' thanks."

Eridanys' white tail thrashed a little more, making the water bubble.

"You should thank me for keeping the drowned souls away even while I wasn't there."

"Thank you." Alba decided not to mention how some still got through.

That annoyed the merrow further, for some reason only god knew, muttering and avoiding Alba's eyes.

"When will you be back?"

"Around sunset, probably."

"Then I will watch the house while you're away."

"Alright. Thank you."

More agitation. Like he'd emotionally prepared for a bigger fight. Alba teased a little further, adding: "I'm sorry for snappin' at you the other day, by the way. Was childish of me."

"Good!" The tail whipped back and forth hard enough to make the water lap against the rocks. "And I am sorry for leaving!"

"Alright. Thank you?—"

"And I am sorry for not being more grateful! For your help! Thank you!"

"You're—"

But Eridanys plunged into the water, making Alba choke on a sharp, surprised laugh. He watched the faint glow of the moonlit creature roll and writhe deep underneath, swimming fast in a dozen circles before surging back up to the surface again. Looking more agitated than ever, like uttering a single one of those words made bugs crawl under his skin.

"I would like to sleep in the house at night again!"

"Alright."

"And I will earn my keep! Like you insisted the last time."

"Sure—"

Eridanys dove back under, swirling around a few times before emerging again.

"I will wait for you in the house while you're away. Until sunset. I won't argue about it."

"Alright."

"And I'll do as I please while I'm in there."

Alba narrowed his eyes. "You will not."

"I'll do as I please," Eridanys snapped. "I'll crawl out of the sea and rip your head clean from your shoulders if I wish to!"

"Get a move on, then, if you really want an audience."

Eridanys glanced toward the arriving boat a second time. His jaw clenched tight when he turned back again.

"In the general store, if you find something called ‘licorice,' bring it for me."

"Wh—Excuse me?" Alba balked. Ignoring the fact a merrow had just asked him for candy, he was more put off by how Eridanys would ever think he'd be willing to do a favor for someone so goddamned insufferable. "I'm not using my already-limited change to buy you some overpriced sweets. Especially when I already know you won't be grateful."

Eridanys hissed at him, tail fin splashing again in the water. "After everything I've been through for you?—!"

"You've done nothin' but be a pain in my ass!" Alba snapped back. Eridanys' face contorted in fury, tail thrashing like an agitated cat. Alba glared back at him just as long, before finally rolling his eyes. Sighing.

"I'll bring you a snack if I get a chance, alright? Don't get your hopes up. You better thank me later if I do, too."

"Then do as we agreed and learn what you can about my kin as well, will you? Unless you insist on being a useless?—"

"Another word and I'll fry you."

Eridanys grumbled something in retort, but swam off anyway. Alba scowled the entire time, all the way up until Eugene rowed into reach. He asked what the look on Alba's face was for, but Alba shook his head. It was only the sea driving him mad.

Alba didn't misshow Eugene's eyes flickered to his arms more than once while rowing back to shore, though he never once mentioned the marks first. Alba almost wished he would, especially after the conversation he had with Eridanys in the lighthouse.

Warned to not mention outright he'd seen a merrow in the harbor, warned to not be too forthcoming with anything he knew, all the while knowing he couldn't pretend to not know anything forever. Especially if he wanted to figure out where his mother was, if she was coming back, if the people there were only pretending not to know her for any reason other than protecting her while she hid from the Warrens… None of it having anything to do with the newest merrow-shaped burden on his back.

God—Alba needed a drink. Maybe the bar was the first place he'd start once they arrived.

"Oh," he said upon remembering, patting around his coat pockets to find the cigarette cards he'd been holding onto. He handed them to Eugene, who raised an eyebrow in question, but still politely accepted them. Alba cleared his throat. "Erm—for your son. Last time you said he collected them?"

"Oh, right!" Eugene laughed, and Alba relaxed slightly. "‘Scuse me, mind's not quite what it used to be. That's awful thoughtful of you, lad."

Eugene went back to rowing, letting Alba's mind wander as he watched. Letting the rhythm of the boat sedate him, breathing in the fresh air, losing himself in the sound of the water lapping against the boat.

He would never admit it to Eridanys, especially after the snide comment that morning, but Alba actually had scribbled down ideas for where he might find information about the merrow that used to fill that harbor, as well as where he might find information about his mother. Town hall, where there might be birth records, or at least some sort of family record, as well as historical town documents; around the shipyard, or perhaps in the bar, where some fisherman or another may be willing to chat about the town stories or myths in exchange for a drink.

If all that failed, then perhaps giving Eugene Michaels all of his spare cigarette cards would be enough to earn good favor and a history lesson, or even just to question if the old man knew anything about the marks on his arms. ‘I've sailed a little more than a decade and never seen anything like this, what do you think it might be? Some kind of seaweed? Squid ink? I know some jellyfish stings can leave a man marked for the rest of his life…'

It sprinkled rain as they reached the dock, and Eugene hobbled off to tend to his own errands after agreeing to meet again later that afternoon. Alba, meanwhile, lingered, silently counting the boats that floated in place compared to the vacant spots he was sure he'd seen occupied upon first arriving. Fishing boats, trawlers, doggers, dinghies that likely left at the crack of dawn, where they'd stay working on the horizon until the sun set.

He wondered if they often caught the same sort of deformed catch he'd found in those crab pots, or if that curse was isolated to the lighthouse rocks—and upon spotting a group of people seated by the dock, he realized that was as good a place to start asking questions as any.

"Where can I buy some fresh catch?" He asked the cluster of old folk sitting on a circle of barrels off to the side of the dock, repairing a haggard net using fishbone and spun fibers. Interspersed were silvery threads as white as their own long hair piled into bundles on the backs of their heads, clearly in no mind to pluck out any of themselves that fell victim to the working circle.

All four of them looked up as Alba asked, but only one woman bothered to answer. The reply came with a scoff.

"Don't think you could right afford it, lad, even with that hefty wage Mr. Michaels offers ‘ya."

"What d'you mean?"

"Anythin' pretty caught in a net goes straight to bein' packed up and shipped off for sale," she spat. It was unclear if the vitriol was meant for Alba or something else. "If'n you want a fresh fish dinner, you either catch it yourself or barter for scraps."

Alba let those words linger.

"Sorry to hear that," he said. A few eyebrows quirked in curious reply. "Waters get overfished? Can't even pot a good crab out at the lighthouse."

"Somethin' like that," another muttered, given a look by his neighbor.

"S'nothin' to be done about it," the first woman said with a sense of finality. "Go'n shop the general store like the rest of us. They've got plenty to eat. Chopped fish in a tin, too."

"Thanks," Alba said, though didn't turn to leave right away. Over the heads of the netting circle, a row of silver pipes hummed against a mild sea-breeze, and a different member of the circle noticed him looking. Her face was gentler, rounder, hair draping in a long white braid down the center of her back and pinned from her eyes with clips donning misshapen pearls.

"Don't mind the pipes, lad," she said, voice friendly. "Nothin' more than an attempt to lighten the mood in this dreary place. Keeps overzealous fishers from goin' too far out at sea and gettin' lost, too. Always know which way to come back home."

"Oh," Alba said with a smile. "Definitely a prettier sound than foghorns. ‘Cept when they sound like singin' voices out at the lighthouse; reminds me of when I was sailin' up north?—"

"Ain't no singin' in this place," another man grunted. "A good sailor knows better than to chatter about sea-songs this close to the water, too. I'd mind myself better if I were you."

Clearly meant to end the conversation, salty enough to make any other young person clam up in embarrassment, Alba just kept his polite smile.

"Considerin' that fountain in the middle of town, I thought you folks would be more welcomin' to singin' mer-folk. Aren't they supposed to be good luck? Grantin' wishes and all that?" Said as innocently as he could conjure, in the tone of any other tourist who wasn't trying to stir trouble, who didn't know any better than the common stories told about mermaids and fishermen. The old man grunted, none of the rest of them saying anything else at first, though all shifted uncomfortably between one another.

"Big difference b'tween sirens and merrow, lad," the woman with the kind face finally responded. "Never met anyone who did dealin's with either and won out in the end, though."

"That's enough, Elena," another one nudged. "Don't go fillin' the boy's head with fantasies."

"Bad luck to chat about merrow close to the water," the man who warned about the singing reiterated.

"Sorry," Alba interjected again. "Not tryin' to bring misfortune on you. Just bein' friendly."

"Go on and get friendly with the store b'fore they sell out of tinned fish."

That was the gentlest insistence Alba was going to get, he knew, a part of him also reassured that learning anything about the merrow of Moon Harbor without drawing too much attention was going to be as difficult as he originally thought.

He wouldn't push his good favor, nodding and wishing them luck with the net. A chorus of mumbled goodbyes answered, and he had to swallow the sigh at the back of his throat as he turned to limp away.

Alba gotthe drink he wanted at the bar, then a second one, then had enough alcohol-induced charisma to smile a little too big at the tall, rugged, broad-shoulder bartender who just gave him a wary smile in return. Had Alba not already had a list of things to do while on that side of the shore, he might have stuck around to ask where the keeper got such nice alcohol from. How he kept his arms so big. If he heaved kegs and crates of rattling bottles all by himself. It'd been a long time since Alba had let himself swirl in thoughts about a handsome stranger, only clamping his mouth shut again when he nearly bragged about the big, strong fish staying with him out on the rocks.

Thankfully, the tiniest part of him still sober swiftly scruffed the nape of his neck and compelled him off the barstool, toward the exit before he said anything truly idiotic.

He channeled his nervous energy into wobbling over to the modest town hall across the road. Inside, a single attendant sat behind a desk, looking surprised, then suspicious, when Alba stumbled in. Alba spoke with more confidence than even he expected, asking if there were any historical records for the lighthouse as he wanted to know which parts made up the mechanisms in case he needed to order any spares. The man working the desk looked him up and down, perhaps seeing his flushed cheeks and slightly wavering balance, finally exhaling an exasperated breath and motioning toward a back room with a hand-written label reading records over the door. Alba thanked him, limping his way in and closing the door behind him.

Knowing he shouldn't be too liberal with the amount of time he took, Alba searched the single long bookcase running the length of the wall. The room was hardly more than a broom closet, moody daylight through a window in the ceiling offering just enough visibility to finger through the volumes.

Historical building records; shipping registers; fishing license records. When he finally thumbed over one labeled ‘Births, Deaths, Marriages', he pulled it free, only to groan internally when the names inside resembled handwritten parish records more than actual organized documentation. Without anything in alphabetical order, he was forced to skim lines as they were written, having only a general idea of when his mother was born.

Not knowing Edythe's maiden name, Alba could only go by her first name, though quickly came up short. There were a handful of births associated with parents either too faded by time to read or intentionally scribbled away, which made Alba uneasy, though he did everything he could to avoid falling down a drunk mental-spiral of why his mother's might have been one of them.

Flipping back another number of pages, a different name surprised him, making him pause and smile to himself: Edward Marsh. Alba always knew his father was also from Moon Harbor, that he and his mother had run away together after being sweet-talked by the Warren Sailing Company to move to Welkin and work under their flag. But that was the first time Alba had seen anything in writing that proved the man ever actually existed. More than just someone Edythe talked about while Alba laid in bed, under the the headboard painted with smiling mermaids who watched over him while he slept.

Seeing Edward's name gave Alba another idea, flipping to the marriages section to see if his mother might have been mentioned there, instead. When he did find Edward Marsh's name on a line—Alba's heart thumped in confusion when, sure enough, Edythe had been freshly scribbled out right beneath him.

A knock came at the door, and Alba slammed the book shut in surprise. He took only half a second to recompose himself before shoving it back onto the shelf, gathering his cane and going to the door. He didn't meet the man's eyes as he hurried by, just thanking him for his time. Wanting some fresh air. Trying to out-run the spinning confusion that nipped at his heels on the way out.

He nursedanother two drinks at the bar, then did as he was meant to and bought foodstuffs and other supplies at the general store, including a shoulder bag to stuff it all in. Also including three more boxes of cigarettes, already tapping one out of the box before he even made it back out the door.

Alba wouldn't think about why they would have scribbled Edythe Marsh's existence from their town records. He wouldn't wonder whether she'd been purged before or after she tried to return, and whether or not it really was a lie when they said they didn't know anyone by her name when Alba first asked.

Maybe they truly didn't. Maybe they were the ones who struck her from the page.

He wouldn't let himself dwell on something else that hadn't occurred to him until that moment, either—that, despite how vague Edythe always was with revealing where she came from, there was likely some record, somewhere, of her and her husband Edward first being recruited for the Warren Company. There was a chance someone, somewhere, would think to check Edythe's hometown to look for her, or Alba, or the both of them.

How, even if Moon Harbor had gone to such lengths to hide itself away, there might still be one recruiter or another who remembered how to find it. How that might have been how the first of Josiah's dogs ever thought to check the lighthouse for Alba at all. How, though they seemed to have left after that night, the other handful of men who came after would know how to get back and possibly where to find and surprise him again sometime in the future.

Christ—Alba burned through his cigarette in record time, swiftly lighting another right after it. Hoping it didn't ignite the thick vapors of alcohol on his breath with every inhale.

Closing his eyes, Alba wiped a flush of nervous sweat from his forehead. Perhaps he needed to be a little more honest with his merrow companion when he returned to the lighthouse; to tell him the extent of the danger he was in. How there was a very good chance if Alba was found and swept up off the road, he'd turn to salt in the woods by Eridanys' own curse without it ever being his fault. That wasn't fair. Eridanys would see how that wasn't fair, wouldn't he?

Considering the man's apparent obsession with debts and gratitude and apologies, Alba might have to take him something to offer in exchange for the plea of leniency. Anything, even the licorice he previously asked for, would be better than nothing.

Pushing off from the wall, Alba wasn't paying attention, and nearly walked straight into a new bride passing by—before realizing it wasn't a bride at all, but one of those people he'd seen spreading salt in the woods when he first arrived. They muttered a stiff apology and hurried away to catch up with three others making their way up the road, a basket of salt under each of their arms.

"They never stop anymore, why not?" One of them asked under his breath as they went, adjusting the opaque veil draping from pins on the back of his head. The basket of salt over his arm overflowed, sprinkling along the road behind them, and Alba's interest piqued. He waited just a beat longer before taking silent pursuit, salt-bearers none the wiser to the ghost on their heels

"… Mother said… traps… wickie washed up… marks," another answered, words muffled by humming flutes as they passed by. "Says… singin' for… out there…"

When one of them glanced over their shoulder, Alba halted to gaze into the window of what appeared to be an abandoned bookshop, though there was nothing through the dirty glass to the other side. The salt-scatterers didn't seem to realize, though Alba's curiosity ticked higher. Replacing the previous panic with thoughts of salt, singing, the mention of traps only he knew were for Eridanys.

Alba's heart thrummed. He waited for the salt-bearers to continue up the way, before following again. Not eager to make the climb on his stiff leg, but curious for what else he might learn.

The return of sprinkling rain dampened Alba's hair as he breathlessly reached the top of the hill, far enough behind those salting the earth that they forgot all about him. Fog rolled over the road from the wall of trees ahead as if to keep him from going too far off course, chilly breeze nipping at him under the cuffs and collar of his coat and making him shiver.

Turning off the main road, he didn't want to be noticed poking around anywhere he had no reason to be, while also keenly aware that he'd eventually reach the edge of Eridanys' curse and buckle into salt if he wasn't careful.

The worn footpath he followed through the grass and up another muddy incline eventually led to the gates of an old cemetery, and he stopped to catch his breath while peering inside. Headstones emerged from the rain-saturated earth like crooked teeth, most leaning to the east as if it was the wind's preferred way to blow. Long, tangling sea-grass carpeted most of the area, swallowing some headstones at the base and completely obscuring others that were flat markers rather than upright slabs. It was impossible to see exactly how far the cemetery stretched over the clearing, though Alba could tell by the distant sound of water that it must have halted suddenly over the edge of a cliff to the sea. He had no intention of wandering that far.

Pulling open the squeaking gate, Alba whispered a polite greeting to any souls who'd noticed his arrival, not wanting to catch them unawares. Not needing any more restless spirits following him back to the lighthouse quarters where he was already being harassed enough.

Searching for another path that would take him back toward the trees, he focused on the sound of distant bells, listening for the singing he recalled from the first time he witnessed the salt-ritual while arriving on the main road.

Eventually he found what he was looking for—a path that cut through the cemetery toward the woods, though he was surprised with how eagerly it shot straight into the heart of the forest. A single string of bells on rope dangled across the pathway at the entrance, dancing back and forth in the breeze as if inviting him for a closer look.

Fully aware of the moisture in his mouth, determined to turn back as soon as he felt the first sense of his tongue shriveling, Alba approached the jingling garland. In the distance, he caught the sounds of the salt-spreaders' chorus, closing his eyes to picture them. Wondering again what the purpose was of salting the forest, wondering if Eridanys would know, wondering if mentioning it would be enough to satisfy the merrow until Alba was able to return to town again in another week. A part of him knowing it really wouldn't be.

Alba bit his lip. He turned his tongue over in his mouth, determining he still felt completely normal. The merrow's curse hadn't taken hold of him, yet. He could step a little further in, to see if he could spot the salt-spreaders. He could faintly hear their song, after all, which meant they couldn't be too far.

He took a few steps, then a few more. Moving carefully, keeping every sense focused on his tongue, his hands, waiting for the moment he felt the first tingling of the curse taking hold. He walked to a tree flowering with white clusters of petals, pausing alongside it. Glancing over his shoulder, realizing it wasn't nearly as far as he first thought, he breathed a sigh of relief. The string of bells was still close enough that he could hear it in the breeze. The humming of the fluted pipes in the town were still rich and crisp in his ears.

He went a little further, stopping alongside a fallen tree speckled with mushrooms growing from a carpet of moss. Over his shoulder, he still hadn't gone much farther than he thought. He felt fine. No curse plucked at his insides, yet.

He went a little farther. Following the distant singing, searching for white-veiled ghosts salting the earth. Still hearing the whistling pipes, the sound a welcome companion between the trees. Urging him farther with its reassuring closeness. A little farther. A little farther.

"What pretty hair you have."

"Too bad about the color."

Alba turned quickly, but there was no one. Only the trees in every direction. His heart thumped at the base of his throat, trying to decide if he'd only imagined it—when something trailed up the nape of his neck into his hair. He whirled back again, holding his breath when still nothing was there to greet him.

"Who—?" The word raked painfully up his throat, tongue suddenly swelling dry and thick in his mouth. He stumbled backward, turning quickly to take a few steps back in the direction from where he'd come—but instead of the hard path behind him, he tripped over an upturned root, crashing to the ground.

Gasping, he clambered backward, kicking out his legs and only tangling himself further in roots and thorny brambles. He was—in the trees. Deep within them, far deeper than he thought, thick enough to block the rain and light overhead.

Searching for the path—it was gone from where he'd only just seen it. Searching for the mouth of where he'd entered—it was barely a spot of light in the distance. All the while, he nearly crumbled into dust as the merrow's curse clutched him hard and fast. But he—he hadn't?—

The path had just been there behind him. He'd seen it, he'd watched it the whole time?—

His ears rang. Musical laughter sounded out around him, filling him with the same sickening lure that Eridanys' voice first did, realizing with a twist of his gut that he could no longer hear the salt-scatterers in the distance.

Sweat broke out on his skin, shirt clinging to his back as he attempted to rush back to his feet, only to get caught in the loamy earth and dragged down again with the twist of his leg. Gasping, mouth dry and breath dusted, he threw out his hands, groping the undergrowth in search of his cane, giving up in favor of crawling. Desperate to escape to where there was just the smallest peek of the horizon through the trees. Impossibly far away. For him to have walked that far, without feeling a thing, without realizing, listening to the song of the salt-bearers?—

Salt-bearers, he realized with a thud of fear, that may have always been too far away to hear all along. Fluted pipes that were too far away to truly be heard so clearly all around him—pulling at his insides in a nauseating mix of horror and temptation, nearly the same as what he felt with cotton stuffed in his ears against Eridanys' song. Insides squirming with the faintest desire to be taken and touched, caressed, fondled by any hand that may emerge from the trees, not unlike all those times left flushed and itching for touch on the rocks?—

A song from the woods—a song of the sea?—

By some miracle, Alba reached the end of the path of his hands and knees. He tumbled out of the trees just as unseen hands groped at him, grasping at his hair, the back of his shirt, attempting to drag him back before he could go.

There in the grass—was his discarded cane. Never in his hand, despite how sure he was of it as he walked. No—as he was lured. He was lured, no differently than a man lured by the sea?—

Clutching the cane into his chest, Alba knew he had to move faster, further, lest that song hook into him again—but Eridanys' curse was only just loosening in his chest, allowing him to breathe, to piece thoughts together?—

Whispered invitations, soft laughter emerged from the trees again. Cooing at him. He risked a strained glance back over his shoulder.

Speckled between the shadowed trees, an audience of pale faces peered at him with expressions ranging from curiosity to disappointment. He may have thought them only ghosts—but every single one shared a resemblance to the ethereal, moonlit beauty of the stubborn merrow who haunted the waters around the lighthouse.

Something deep in the reaches of Alba's subconscious knew even before the thoughts pieced together—that those pale visages might have been exactly who Eridanys was looking for.