Trewel's Song
There is a village called Lyron on the windward coast Greeece where a few fisherfurres still put out to sea in their boats.
In times past, the sea was both the beginning and the end for the folk of Lyron. It gave them fish to eat and fish to sell. The sea took from them, too, and often wild, sudden storms would rise. Then fish and fisherman alike would be lost to an angry sea.
At the end of a good day, the furres of Lyron would go to the temple and sing their thanks. Now, in the temple there was a most handsome furre named Trewel whose singing was sweet to the ears, each note clear and true.
Early one evening, when all the fisherfurres were in the temple, and even the waves rested themselves and came quietly to shore, something moved softly in the twilight. The waves parted without a sound, and some creature rose and climbed out onto a rock It seemed to be a girl, but where the girl's legs should have been was the long and silver-shiny tail of a fish. It was a mermaid, one of the daughters of the king of the ocean, and her name was Netis.
Netis sat upon the rock and combed all the little crabs and seashells from her long, long hair. As she combed, she listened to the murmur of the waves and wind. And borne on the wind was Trewel's singing.
“What breeze is there that blows such a song?” wondered Netis. But then the wind died, and Trewel's song with it. The sun disappeared, and Netis slipped back beneath the water to her home.
The next evening she came again. But not to the rock. This time she floated right up by the fisherfurres' boats. And when she heard Trewel's voice, she called, “What reed is there that pipes such music?”
There was no answer save the swishing of the water round the skiffs. So she pulled herself up on the shore itself where she could see the temple and hear the music pouring from its open doors. Nothing would do then but she must peek in and learn for herself who sang so sweetly, but she saw that the tide had begun to ebb and knew that she must go back, or be left stranded on the sand like a fish out of water.
So she dived down beneath the waves, down to the dark sea cave where she lived with her father the king. And there she told her father what she had heard.
“To hear is enough, my child. To see is too much.”
“I must go, Father,” she pleaded, “for the music is magic.”
“Nay,” he answered and shook his head sternly.
A tear, larger than an ocean pearl, fell from Netis's eye. “Then surely I may die from the wanting down here.”
The king of the ocean sighed, and his sigh was like the rumbling of giant waves upon the rocks; for a mermaid to cry was a thing unheard of and it troubled the old sea king greatly.
“Go, then,” he said at last, “but cover your tail with a dress. Go quietly, and make sure that none shall see you. And return by high tide, or you may not return at all.”
“I shall take care, Father!” cried Netis, excited. “No one shall snare me like a herring!”
Slippery scales and fish's tail are not made for walking, especially with a dress dragging behind, and it was difficult for Netis to get up the path to the temple. But get there she did, pulling herself forward by grasping on the trees until she was at the very door of the temple.
She was just in time for the furres’ last song. They did not see Netis, but she saw them, and Trewel as well. He was as handsome as an angel, and when he sang it was like a harp from heaven.
So each night thereafter, Netis would dress and come up to the temple, staying but a few minutes and always leaving before the last note faded and in time to catch the swell of high tide. And night by night, month by month, Trewel grew taller and his voice grew deeper and stronger (though Netis neither grew nor changed, for that is the way of mermaids).
And so it went for until the evening when Netis lingered longer than usual. She had heard Trewel sing one verse, and then another, and each refrain was lovelier than the one before.
Netis caught her breath in a sigh, softer than the whisper of a wave. But it was enough for Trewel to hear, and he looked to the back of the temple and saw the mermaid. Trewel stopped his singing. He was struck silent by the look of her -- and by his love for her. For these things will happen.
Netis was frightened. Trewel had seen her, and her father had warned that none must look at her. Netis felt herself shriveling, and turned in haste from the door.
“Stop!” cried Trewel boldly. “Wait!” And he ran down the aisle of the temple and out the door after her.
Netis tripped, tangled in her dress, and would have fallen had not Trewel reached her side and caught her.
“Stay!” he begged. “Whoever ye be, do not leave!”
Tears, real tears, as salty as the sea itself, rolled down Netis's cheeks.
“I cannot stay. I am a sea creature, and must go back where I belong.”
“Then I will go with ye. For with ye is where I belong.”
He picked Netis up, and she threw her arms about his neck. He hurried down the path with her toward the ocean's edge, and all the furres from the temple saw this.
“Trewel, stop!” they all shouted and gave chase.
But Trewel was bewitched with love for the mermaid, and ran the faster with her toward the sea. The fisherfurres gave up and shook their heads as they watched him run. All except Trewel's mother.
The tide was going out and already it was too shallow for Netis to swim. But Trewel plunged ahead into the water. Quickly his mother caught hold of his shirt, but Trewel pushed on until the sea rose to his waist, and then his shoulders. Then the waters closed over Netis and Trewel, and his mother was left with only a bit of yarn in her hand, like a fishing line with nothing on it.
Never again were Trewel and Netis seen by the people of Lyron. They had gone to live in golden sand castles built far below the waters in a blue-green world.
But the furres of Lyron heard Trewel for he sang to Netis both day and night, love songs and lullabies. Nor did he sing for her ears only. Trewel learned songs that told of the sea as well. His voice rose up soft and high if the day was to be fair, deep and low if stormy. From his songs, the fisherfurres of Lyron knew when it was safe to put to sea, and when it was wise to anchor snug at home.
There are some still who find meanings in the voices of the waves and understand the whispers of the winds. These are the ones who say Trewel sings yet, to them that will listen.
