From This Moment

The tide had withdrawn from the cliffs. Lying on the floor of her cell, Risala distractedly played her fingers over the ridges of her pelvic fins as she watched the reflection of the sun off the water filter past the iron bars to dance over the worn stone ceiling. Soft, shallow waves trickled in and out in a continuous game of tug-of-war with the mermaids long red hair, and a sigh was expelled from her lips as she wallowed in how she’d grown to under appreciate the soothing feeling.

It had been six hundred and twenty-eight days since the council had begun delaying her hearing. Every few months another excuse was made up till finally she’d called them out, and the Merrow was simply told to wait.

She hated waiting. And the silence. It had been fifty years of waiting. Fifty years with no one allowed to visit her, and her jewel that gave her the ability to change form had long since been confiscated. If she wasn’t eventually executed Risala was certain that the small prison and boredom would be the end of her.

There was one benefit to solitary confinement. Aside from learning to tame the habit of talking to herself that she’d fallen into in the first few years, her magic had grown exponentially. Perhaps she could have even bypassed the powerful wards on her cliffside cage, but she didn’t dare try. She was in enough trouble as it was.

Her gaze flitted out to the sea beyond the bars. Five mer approached her cell. She could sense them far below the surf, swiftly swimming up the path from the ocean floor. Before she wouldn’t have given a care about anyone allowed to approach her cell, but their number was what motivated her to sit up. Usually there were only two. 

A minute later four monstrous forms of Merrow-men sentries breached the surface of the sea. Then a Merrow-maid with hair like a blood moon, armed with the formidable Spear of Albion and clad in full guardian armour rose from the water. Her tail melting away into sea foam, the ageless woman strode up onto the rocks and lifted a hand to shatter the spell over the prison bars.

Risala’s expression hardened, matching that of the Merrow before her. It took effort to not to self consciously brush at where she had once wore her token, and instead sat tall and proud on the wet stone. They wanted her to feel guilty, perhaps even to beg for as far as she knew, and at first her remorse was great indeed. After so long, however, she no longer cared.

“Mother.”

The woman rested the butt of the spear down with a dull thud and, looking down at her, tossed the thin circlet that was Risala’s token down to land within her reach. “The council has gathered. Come.” 

___________________________________________

There were far more Mer in attendance than she had anticipated. Six council members filling seats of stone and coral above her, the great chamber was lined with rows upon rows of Merrow. Hundreds of eyes gleaming in the half light gazed down, judging Risala as she waited on her judgement seat. 

She could have named nearly every one of them. Kin she had grown up with, fought with, hunted with; all of them were there. It had been hundreds of years since such a trial had taken place, and even as she sat composed with her gaze fixed on the high seat and the Matriarch of the city, Risala’s muscles ached at the thought that they were not there to see her pardoned.

“Having served your sentence of confinement as the council determined the best course of action, we are gathered to review your crimes before this body and these witnesses.”

Risala remained silent, hands clasped behind her, and looking back at her mother, Darya, with a dispassionate gaze as the Merrow addressed her.

Watching the younger Mer with an unreadable look, Darya held out a hand to accept a scroll that was delivered to her, and let it unfurl in the water. “You are accused of committing treason against the city, our great Matriarch, and your fellow kin. Aiding and abetting a criminal in escape, trespassing, and theft. Such betrayal of our ways and your kin are unforgivable by this court. What say you.”

She swam forward. “Perhaps you should have posted guards closer to his cell.”

A murmur trickled through the crowd.

“Are… you accusing this council of negligence?” an elder Merrow-maid demanded, half rising from her seat.

“I am,” Risala replied as she lifted her chin, almost making eye contact with the Matriarch. Almost. “If he was so dangerous he should have been better guarded. And if the little trinket he took was so important it should have not have been so easy to acquire.”

“How dare you speak in contempt of this court!” Darya hissed, swimming up close to drive Risala back to her seat.

Risala retreated, but leaned out of her seat, motioning to the council members. “How dare I? How was I supposed to know?!”

“We operate on a coveted system of trust,” spoke the Matriarch, her voice cool as an artic tide as it echoed through the chamber. “The creature was dangerous –”

“He was just a djinn. He wanted to be here no more than you wanted him to be.”

“They are our oldest enemies!”

“He meant no ill!” snapped Risala. “If I had not aided him he would have died!”

“And yet ill was still done. The worst of it by you,” replied the Matriarch.

“We had hoped,” her mother began, “that the years of confinement would temper you. It is easy to be misguided in our youth, but you, my daughter, show no remorse.”

“I just spent fifty years in confinement!” she retorted, frowning at Darya. “No, I do not show remorse.”

The Matriarch slowly rose from her grand seat. “And are you sorry that you made this mistake?”

Risala looked to her. “… No.”

A soft gasp echoed around in the crowd. Risala’s mother squared her jaw before turning to swim back to where the other guardians hovered before the council. Taking up her legendary weapon, Darya motioned out to the crowd. “Are there any that wish to stand and plea for the defendant?”

The chamber fell silent. Several terribly long moments passed by, and Risala could not help but look around, the few she’d hoped to defend her not even so much as glancing her way.

“Then we,” came the gravelly voice of a grizzled male council member as he rose to float beside the Matriarch, “the Council of Muir Menn, do convict you, Risala, of all aforementioned crimes. Your penalty, however, will not be execution.”

Risala frowned, finally looking worried as the Matriarch motioned to her mother. A second Merrow joined, bringing with them a pack, and Risala’s spear. Darya slowed to a stop before her, and the young Mer rose at her bidding. Whatever her sentence was there was no running from it. No matter how terrible, what could they do to her?

“I, Darya, Guardian of the Matriarch and protector of Muir Menn, by order of the great council, do exile you, Risala. For a thousand years you will not be allowed to enter, nor approach the city, and all but what possessions have been collected for you will be confiscated.”

She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps in protest, but Risala stopped short as her mother set the tip of the Spear of Albion against her chest. Her eyes grew wide with fear as tendrils of magic coiled down the length of the weapon and around the blade to wash against her. “Wha — What is this?”

“I –” Darya’s voice cracked, and red crept into the corners of her suddenly sorrowful gaze. “I hereby curse you before your kin, making an example of your betrayal as a warning to future generations. When death finds you there will be no peace beyond. From this moment you are forever denied joining with the magic of your people and any other life that might have awaited you. Eight deaths you will suffer, not knowing how many you have seen. Alone you will be, cursed to be reborn on these shores after every death, plagued by broken memories of what you have endured till your final death casts your soul forever beyond the reach of those you’ve loved.”

Risala could feel the magic creep over her skin and seep into her bones. Fear crept like a dull numbness through her limbs as she slowly realized what  exactly everything meant. Her wide eyes felt hot as the sea drug away unseen tears, and she knew there was no undoing what had just been done.

“Go now, and do not let me lay eyes on you again.”

That was the final blow. It was no great edict, but the whispered command from mother to daughter that became Risala’s first experience of heartbreak. In the silence the two stared at each other till the glow of magic abated and Darya lowered her spear.

Her body felt numb. Stunned, Risala bowed her head to her mother. Satchel draped over a shoulder and weapon in hand, she turned, and swam away.