A Wilderness of Glass - Grace Draven Page 0,10

react with anger and kept her expression neutral. She patted her chest with her hand. “Brida.” She repeated the gesture. “I’m Brida.” She pointed to the merman. “You?”

His answering whistle differed from the previous ones he’d uttered. Deeper, drawn out, with a stutter in the middle. His brow knitted in a frown.

Now we’re getting somewhere, Brida thought. She repeated it as best she could, only to have him shake his head and whistle again, this time without the stutter. The effort left him panting.

“I understand,” she said. That stutter had been inadvertent, a product of his pain and the weakening state of his body. She tried a second time, and was rewarded by a weak nod.

When Brida pointed to the merchild, the merman replied with a another higher whistle, one that made the child open her eyes and chirp at him. He chirped back, lifting one hand to cup the small face in comfort.

Brida’s eyes teared up, and for a moment she could neither whistle nor speak. Somehow she had to find a way to save these two. With a series of hand gestures, spoken word and the whistling of their names, she tried to convey the beginnings of a plan to get them both to the water.

He passed out in the middle of her oration, and Brida gasped when his body went slack. The merchild echoed her alarm, tiny fluke slapping the seaweed mounded under her. Brida promptly forgot the last consequence to her mistake of getting too close and rushed forward to lift the merman in her arms. He was monstrously heavy, and her arms strained under the weight as his head lolled back.

“Oh no,” Brida whispered. “No, no, no, no. Don’t you dare die on me.” She bent lower to listen, tears streaming down her face when no sound issued from his nose or mouth. She shook him as much as her strength allowed. He didn’t even flinch, body limp as a sack of grain. The child’s anguished mewing was nonstop now and growing louder.

“It’s all right, little one,” Brida lied. “He’s just sleeping.” The long sleep. The death sleep. Brida shook him even harder, panic giving her strength. A faint gasp followed by an even fainter exhalation gusting across her cheek sent a surge of relief—no, joy—coursing through her. She whistled his name, and his eyes opened. This time his pupils had changed shape, dilated so they converged to create a black horseshoe that almost eclipsed his pale irises.

Brida braced his torso on her knees and gently turned his head so that he faced the frightened merchild. His slippery hair spilled through her fingers where she cupped the back of his skull. “Show her you live.”

Whether or not he understood her words, he comprehended their intentions and issued a series of weak chirps that calmed the merchild. Brida carefully lowered him to his side on the seaweed, noting for the first time the ridge of a small dorsal fin that ran the length of his spine. The change in position exposed more of the grievous bite wound but also eased his breathing.

The merman reached for the child, and Brida helped him, careful only to touch his arm as he nudged the mergirl onto her side as well. Like the adult, the child’s breathing grew less labored. Brida sat back on her haunches and exhaled. Maybe, just maybe that small position change had bought them time.

She had an idea, one that held no guarantees of saving the pair, but it was better than nothing, and leaving them here on the beach. They’d be dead by the next day. If she could get both back in the water, they at least had a chance.

She spent the next hours keeping the two wet and cool with water from the diminishing tidal pools and hauling cut seaweed to the wagons farther down the beach. Brida declined offers to join others for lunch or a quick rest when she emptied her baskets at the wagon. By the time the harvesters called it a day, she was nearly seeing double from exhaustion. Still, her charges clung to life.

Cloud cover pillowed a sky the dull color of flint. Brida was grateful for it. Right now, the sun was an enemy, its warm rays punishing splinters on the beached merfolk. She briefly considered covering them both with a blanket of wet seaweed but discarded the idea. Their bodies gave off a feverish heat now, the shimmering sea colors streaking up their skin nearly gone,