Song of the Sea (a fairy tale)

by Susan Chambers

   There had been no fish in his nets for three days.
He had just finished readying his hooks and lines for morning, when their voices rang out across the water raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The first stars were coming out. The sun was almost gone. He tied off the knots fast and hurried to shore, his boots sloshing in the tide.
   Three nights. They’d been singing for three nights.
   The fisherman had heard them before, when he had stayed late on the water fishing for striped bass, but it was only a fleeting note or two, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined it. There was no doubting it now. Their voices rose plaintively above the sound of the surf, like gulls far out to sea who have lost the land. It was surely a bad omen.
    He bowed his head to the wind, pulling his oilskins more snugly round him and made his way with haste across the dunes, to the cottage he shared with his sad, lonely wife.
   Nine long years and still he had given her no babes. She had nothing but her spinning wheel and his old dog to occupy the long days while he was out at sea. He wanted to give her so much more:  daughters to help her with the baking and sewing; sons to help her with the garden and wood pile; a house full of happiness and laughter to drown out the roar of the wind and the relentless sea. Instead, he had given her a hard, lonely life, far away from her land-loving people.
   If the moon had not been full and bright he would have missed it. As it was, he nearly stepped upon the slime-coated thing writhing in the tall beach grass. He took a step back and crossed himself before he swung his lantern to shine a pale circle of light on it. He had seen many things come out of the deep, but never this.
   It was a child. An infant maid from the sea, her shining scales fading before his eyes. He knew then why the sirens keened and sang their dirges these last three nights. He would pick the thing up, he decided, and deposit it back in the water. The sirens would be grateful, their singing would stop and the fish would fill his nets once more.
   He lifted the infant maid carefully with his sea roughened hands, not expecting her to feel warm like him. So tiny and delicate, she was, with a soft halo of pale fuzz covering her head. This was what sailors feared: a true monster from the deep. He should feel disgust. But, he didn’t. She somehow seemed more human with every step he took towards the pounding surf.
   When he reached the wet apron of the beach and the foam licked his boots, he stooped to release her into the dark waters. But, when he looked down at the small form in his arms, what he saw was only a helpless infant with a tiny rosebud mouth and round, trusting eyes. His heart beat fast as she gazed at him, and he felt an unexpected rush of protectiveness. By Our Lady, he could not cast her down into the black, angry water.
   Bewildered, yet determined, the fisherman turned his back to the waves and strode purposefully toward his cottage with the baby cradled tenderly in his arms.                                          
                                                                             ~*~
   He would never forget the look on his wife's face when he walked through the cottage door that night or how the joy-light came back into her eyes when she took the child from his arms. They named her Rinnah. All that night they sat awake making plans.
  They would leave immediately, before the sun rose over the western hills. For, that is where they would go--to the west, back to his wife's people, who were of the hills and the long lakes. He would fish there, although the lakes would never provide enough for a living. He would have to join the wood-cutters, too. These thoughts were a shadow upon his heart, for he had never lived away from the sea. But, he would do it. For her. It had been too long since he had seen her smile.
   He packed their belongings quickly, not daring to stop and think. His wife fussed over the baby and put together a bundle of things the child would need. While it was still fully dark, he hitched the billy goat to the cart and tied the nanny behind, as they would need her milk to feed the baby. His wife wrapped the infant in a shawl, and tied her to her chest. Then they set-off for the dark hills in the west, away from the dawning light and the sibilant sea.
                                                                             ~*~
   Years later, that night seemed like a dream gone hazy around the edges. Was it his daughter Rinnah that he had brought from the sea that night? Or had he returned the sea-maid, and received Rinnah as a gift from the sea sirens? He just didn't know. It became less and less clear to him how she had come to them. Besides, it hardly seemed to matter here in the far western hills anyway.
   Rinnah was a good girl, helpful, bonny and kind. She could spin fast and knit faster. She was skilled at repairing her father's nets and at helping her mother at the hearth. She picked berries all summer long, which she preserved and baked into pies. She carried baskets to the sick and the poor. And, she had the sweetest singing voice in their village, as her name implied. Rinnah was loving, and she was beloved.
   All was well in the fisherman's family, unless the east wind blew wild before a storm. The first time it happened was when Rinnah was five years old. She was in the garden gathering blossoms for the table, when the wind began to blow cold through her hair, and her mother called from the door for her to come inside. As the rain began to fall needle sharp against Rinnah's skin, she heard voices in the wind calling, calling. She stayed where she was, listening hard, straining to hear above the rain and the thunder. Lightning flashed and cracked loud, and somewhere a tree fell. Her mother came running, screaming for her to come, yet, Rinnah did not move. She wanted to stay and listen. She could not leave while they called.
   Afterward, her mother explained it away by saying that the storm had so frightened young Rinnah, that the little girl couldn't move. But, it wasn't true, as they soon discovered when other storms blew in from the east. As she grew, her parents were horrified to discover her in the garden on stormy nights, soaked through, laughing and dancing with her arms flung wide, while the wind whipped her wet skirts round her legs. She lifted her face to the wild sky. "Can you hear them singing?" she would ask, or she would lick her lovely lips and whisper, "The wind tastes of salt."
   When the rain stopped, she returned to herself. And, since storms seldom came out of the east, all would soon be forgotten.
    But, the fisherman was troubled. Deep in his heart, in that dark place between forgetting and knowing, he worried that her storms were a bad omen. They stirred within him old memories of the sea which he now struggled to recall: grass covered dunes, salt-damp air, the cries of gulls and the dark water rushing in, pulling him away. His memories were murky shadows, far over the hills, in another time. He could scarcely remember the sea. Surely it could not reach her here.
   And so, it was a surprise, when one day a storm appeared out of the east with a gleam in its eye, dressed in leather boots with a bird sitting upon its shoulder.
   The fisherman hadn't expected this at all.
                                                                             ~*~
   They came from the east, three men bearing important news for the Lord of the Lakes. Surely, the news was good, for there was to be a fete at the great hall. The entire village was in a merry mood, as it was customary that all would be invited to attend. The women baked pies and trimmed their best dresses with ribbon and lace, and the men sharpened their axes and tightened their bowstrings to make ready for the contests that would be held during the party.
     The fete was the talk of the village. But, all of the excitement made the fisherman uneasy. He told his wife that nothing good could come out of the east, but she was insistent that they should attend.
                                                                            ~*~
   Rinnah was out picking berries by the lakeshore to make into pies, when she saw the strangest thing: a large bird, like a winged sunset, sitting on a perch of driftwood talking.
   "Hello," it said, clear as day.
   She had never beheld such magic.
   Behind her a man spoke, "I see you have met my friend."

   That is how she met him.
   He was a man of many wonders.
   On the first evening of the fete, he found Rinnah looking out at the lake. "Have you ever seen the sea?" he asked. He took a shell from his pocket and held it to her ear. "Listen."
   And, she did. There was a storm swirling inside the shell, all the singing voices, calling, calling. Her heart filled.
   "Are you a magician?" she asked.
   He laughed, and the sound made the blood rush to her cheeks.    
  "No, I am a sea captain."
   On the second evening of the fete he found her in the garden admiring the way the roses held the moonlight. He opened her hand and pressed a pearl into it. "This is how moonlight looks upon the sea."
   On the third night of the fete he asked her to dance with him beneath the stars.
   "Are there as many stars in the sky above the sea?" she asked him.
   "Darling, there are stars in the sea." And he reached into his shirt and pulled a necklace of stars from around his neck and placed it around hers,
                                                                            ~*~
   When the fete was over, it was time for the captain to leave the green hills and return to the gray sea. The fisherman dreaded the knock on his cottage door when it came, for here was the captain come to ask for his daughter's hand. The fisherman and his wife were sorely aggrieved. They could not let him take her back to the sea.
   "Build your house here in the hills," the fisherman offered, "then our blessing will be upon you."
   The captain was stunned. "But, sir, the sea is my livelihood. I am a rich man because of it. I know not the ways of the land and could not support your daughter here. Would you have your grandchildren be poor?" He left the cottage with a heavy heart.
   But, that night, the sky flashed brilliant from a rare eastern storm, and Rinnah’s parents could not stop her from running out to dance in it.
   He found her like that, dancing in the rain with her hair unbound.  
   By morning they were gone.
                                                                            ~*~
   He first noticed the change in his bride when he felt the breeze turn. All the way east it blew dry from the land, and now it blew wet from the sea. Rinnah no longer would ride in the carriage, but insisted on running through the tall grass, all the while laughing and shouting, "Captain, my Captain, O, listen!"
   The closer they came to land's end and his home, the more unsettled Rinnah became. Her eyes, once so light, turned dark as if some storm brewed within them. And she sang all night.
   In his heart, the captain began to wonder why the fisherman had left the sea. It seemed to him a strange thing for a seaman to do. Would he leave it unless he had to?
   By the time they reached his home, night had descended like a raven. The sky was clouded, and there was no light. There was nothing at all to see. But, he had to cajole Rinnah to come inside, to prevent her from stumbling toward the rocks and the sound of the surf.
   In the morning, he awoke to find her gone.
   He found her on the beach, her skirts wet with seafoam, her eyes lost in eternity.
   "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said. He'd wanted to be with her when she saw it for the first time.
   She didn't care if he was there or not.
   As the days passed, she was never indoors. She sat upon the rocks singing, laughing, crying, with the gulls circling around her. He had to find her and beg her to come inside. "Your skin will burn,” he said. She often forgot to eat.
   At night, he would fight sleep for fear that she would slip out of the house and walk into the sea. It had already happened twice. He woke in the darkness to hear her singing in the distance. When he found her on the beach, her nightrail soaked and heavy around her legs, the waves pulling her out towards the deep, he was afraid.    "Darling, you'll drown yourself out here alone in the dark."
   And, when her songs became his dreams, and he saw her swimming away like a fish, he began to fear why the fisherman had left the sea and of what she might be.
   He did what any good husband would do. He protected her the only way he knew how.
   He sent for the wise woman.
   The captain paid the old woman dearly and did just what the hag told him to do. He built a magnificent garden, with great high walls. He planted roses, peonies and lilies. And, in the center he built a cottage. He put the potion in Rinnah’s wine at dinner and carried her out to the garden. He placed his sleeping bride upon the cottage bed and went outside the walls while the wise woman performed her magic.
   When she was done, he went inside.
   The next day Rinnah awoke to silence. There was no more singing sea. No more calling breeze. She rubbed at her ears and in a frightened voice, called for the captain. “Where have they gone? Why can’t I hear them anymore?” He showed her the roses, the peonies, and fountains--all of the delights of the garden--,but she wouldn’t have them. She wanted only the roaring waves, the crashing surf.
   Weeks passed, and he watched Rinnah fade before his eyes like the roses. He realized his mistake and sent for the wise woman.
   “Reverse the spell,” the captain commanded. But, the witch just cackled, for her spell could not be broken, not even by herself.
   The captain cursed himself and tore at his hair. He had the witch carve stones at the entrance of the garden to warn others not to enter. Then, with his back to the wild water, he went into the garden of his beloved.

Whosover
enters here
let him
Beware

For he shall
nevermore
escape nor
be free of my spell*

The End
 © 2011

*This inscription appears on the walled entrance to the beautiful Italianate rose garden at Lynch Park in Beverly, Massachusetts. Song of the Sea was inspired by a visit to that place.

Here is an excerpt from a journal entry I wrote after our visit:

    . . . Although it sits on the edge of the sea, it is almost unnaturally quiet within its walls. The roses and peonies are in bloom, along with one late lilac tree. We wandered along the brick paths and climbed the steps to the long colonnade, imagining another time, when there, off in the bay, a three-masted ship appeared large in the distance. "A pirate ship!" exclaimed my little boy, for, indeed, that is what it looked like. We smelled the flowers and watched a bird build its nest. We found a tiny bottle of soap bubbles at the foot of a stone bench, left-over from a weekend wedding and had great fun blowing clouds of bubbles with its tiny fairy wand. Then, we pet the stone lions and left the garden's walls, hoping to get a better look at the ship . . .