The Land Below

Chapter One

Lir stares into the water just under the dock. Her toes curl around the rough wood. She takes a deep breath, making eye contact with her distorted reflection. The water laps at the base of the dock, not far enough to kill, but just far enough to hurt. 

The permanence of everything is weighing on her. She knows that if she were anyone else, there'd be someone at her side right now -- but she isn't anyone else, she's Lir Tethys, and she is all alone. 

In the night, the ocean is like a rippling black glass mirror. Lir sees her red and tear-streaked face, her messy and tangled hair, her pink-splattered night gown where she couldn't get the blood  out, the heavy chain she has around her ankles to keep her below. She wonders if her distorted reflection represents of how she is inside, if the water looks deep in her soul and shows her the truth. Something inside her says that there's a legend about this, but she laughs it off. 

There's legends about everything. She knows this. Even why her husband vanished. 

"No myth took my husband," she croaks, her voice dry and scratchy from misuse. "No, his death is far too real for that."

There is no response; somehow, that just makes her feel more strongly. 

~~~

"But surely you need not leave so soon," Lir says as she sets a plate down on the table. "It has been but a month since you returned."

Jacques grins, broad and energetic, and tucks his napkin into his shirt. "It's calling, m'dear Lir," he says. "You know how I cannot resist."

Lir rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, but..." She tucks her chair under the table and reaches for the salt as he does, purposefully brushing her fingers against his. "With the baby on the way... Surely you're aware of the dangers of travelling at sea." Snatching the salt from his hands, she sprinkles some on her vegetables and continues. "Storms, whirlpools, sharks, pirates..." She counts the hazards on her fingers. 

Her husband grabs the salt from the table and chimes in, "Don't forget the krakens, the ghosts, and those damn mermaids."  He shivers visibly. "Those are worse than any a storm."

"So you finally have seen a mermaid with your own eyes?" Lir asks incredulously. She slices off a chunk of fish and winces at the sound the knife makes on the plate.

Jacques hesitates. "With my own eyes, well..." he begins, and then he takes a bite to avoid answering the question.

Lir makes an "mhm" noise. "I see. Tell me, you still believe in those fairytales?"

"Well, why wouldn't I? Far too many of my mates've seen 'em themselves, you know." Jacques twirls his fork absently. "Plus, it's fun to scare the lil' cabin boys with." He grins again, and Lir knows that she can not change his mind. 

She has always known that, to be perfectly honest, but at this point, it has become akin to tradition for her to nag him about the myths. It is all a joke; just at the myths are to Lir, although those are more of the practical kind.

Impractical seems the better word, she thinks, but she says nothing about that. Instead, she says, "Poor cabin boys. And what did they do to you?"

"It's tradition, love," Jacques replies. "And you know how important tradition is to a ship." 

Lir rolls her eyes again. "What else did I expect?" she says. Despite her outward attitude, she is savoring every word he speaks like she would a rare dessert or a fine wine, she is memorizing every inflection, every syllable that comes out of his mouth, she is storing the sound of his voice for when he leaves again, for she knows she can not change his mind about that, either. That is entirely her fault; she could have married a dockworker, or a priest, or a schoolteacher, or anyone who stayed on land if she'd wished, but dockworkers and priests and schoolteachers weren't Jacques. She has come to accept this fact, that Jacques will always leave again, and so she prepares for these long voyages, storing up memories like ship stores provisions.