A Mermaid's Cry

Chapter 4-A Morning Like Any Other

As usual, I wake up before the rest of my family. Stretching out my weary muscles, I climb out of bed and quickly fold my blankets and stack my pillows into two neat piles. Then, I hurry over to the fireplace, glancing into the tiny sea glass mirror above it as I undo my braids.

Carefully, I place my ribbons into a small box made of delicate palm wood. Next to it, lies my brother's collection of various odds and ends. Seashells, fishing hooks, wire, rusty metal, and blocks of salt crowd the gray stone mantle. Treasures that grandmother would love to be rid of, but it is the one thing I fight fang and claw to keep.

With practiced ease, I scurry over to our tiny kitchen and clean it the best I can. Swiftly, I dry the dishes in our old copper basin and put them away in the old salt encrusted cupboards. Next, I set the table with mother's favorite lace table runner and three sets of metal plates, cups, and silverware. I don't place mine, I have too much work to do to eat at home.

Like clockwork, I grab my things from my own little chest by the door, and head out into the early morning darkness. Placing my clothes on the stone bench by the door, I then grab a nearby bucket of morning rain water. Tipping my head back, I poor the contents onto my face and body. The water, removing the last dregs of dirt and mud from my person.

Satisfied with my level of cleanliness, I shuck of my shift and throw on my ankle length brown work dress. I have no fear for who will see me undressed, as Mer when we change we don't always have proper clothing on hand. After covering myself with my dress, I throw my shift into the rusty metal washbin and then tie my sail cloth apron around my waist.

That done, I start on my chores in quick and hurried silence. I hang laundry on the old drying line, feed our chickens and goats scraps of kelp and leftover bread. Fetch water from the nearby well, tend the garden filled with plants uncle brought across the sea. Then, I relish the ache of my muscles as I chop and chop, a day's worth of firewood. Enough for cooking, warmth, and heating the tongs for grandmother to curl her hair.

When I'm done, the sun starts to peak through the branches and fronds overhead. Putting away my work tools, I then stoke the fire and pat down my hair before starting down the winding trail.
As I go, I can't help but fix small holes in my neighbor's fences, and lead rouge chicks and goats back to their yards. Lost toys I place on fences, shovels and axes I place by their owners' doors.

Mundane things that many have forgotten to do. Little things they will find already done when they finally wake. I continue along, basking in the quiet morning as I make my way toward Elder Isolde's stilted hut. Just as I make my way up her haphazard stairs, I stop and turn towards the jungle brush on the other side of the dirt path.

Someone is there, I can smell them. A skill that not many females use, but it is one I wish they did. Male musk wafts off the cluster of fronds, along with salty sweat and night jasmine. Only one male I've met smells like that, and he is the only one that would. The path to my pool, is the only trail where night jasmine flowers in potent abundance.

I growl a warning, a low rumble of my vocal cords as I try to make out Ares through the foliage. Go away I wish to say, leave me alone to get out of this mess you got me in. No other sound moves past my lips, the fronds don't move but I know he is still there. There is nothing else I can do, for now. Turning on my heel, I head up to the hut door and knock.

My ears catch the sound of Isolde shuffling over and opening the door. While I keep an eye on the cluster of fronds, waiting for him to jump out or attack. But nothing comes, not when Isolde greets me at the door and ushers me inside. It's only when I glance out the window, do I see him scurry out and leisurely walk down the trail. Now I will kill him, he has got to go. My hands turn into fists, nails turning to claws as he continues walking until he is out of sight.

"Easy girl," Elder Isolde croons, taking one of my hands and patting it. "We don't need to have a bloodbath, not yet at least."

Her words calm me somehow, while she leads me over to her table. After we sit down, she sets me to work. For the next hour I carefully write with reed pen and blackberry ink. Recording each chore onto the soft honey brown bark. Chores that will leave me tired, but filled with purpose.