Chương 111: Village of Merrow

When Eoin returned, it was with an older woman in tow. She was slightly stooped, but still seemed strong of back, unaided by cane or staff. She wore a simple red cap on her head, under which flowed a long gray ponytail.

"Miriam, this is Elder Derval. She is the leader of the village council and an old friend." Eoin said. Derval snorted.

"Old yes. Friend might be going a bit too far." Eoin continued as if he had not heard.

"And that," he said, pointing at Solas, still bound in his vine-spider, "is a rather long story. Suffice it to say that we have no intent to harm you. Or, well, at least Miriam and I don't. We're going to have to work on this one." Derval ignored him and approached Miriam.

"Eoin Daithi said you were lost to the Fetchwoods. Was he a liar, then? He has long been known to be one, so your affirmation will not change our opinion of him either way."

"He was not lying in this instance," Miriam said.

"I did indeed find myself in the Fetchwoods." The older lady frowned.

"That is distressing news."

"Distressing?" Miriam looked down at herself.

"I assure you, I'm fine."

"Exactly the reason the news is so distressing," Derval snapped.

"If the Fetchwoods can be breached and those who traveled it can remain unharmed, then our protections have become compromised."

"Ah," Miriam said.

"Well… I think I might be an exception. I don't think anyone else will easily be able to replicate my methods."

"Show me," Derval demanded. Miriam got the sense that few in the village would ever dare challenge her. She exuded authority in the way only a seasoned matriarch could. As she had been one herself in her former life, she could respect that. Miriam ignited the black flame in her palm.

"Death is a part of my… Ascendency?" She asked, looking to Eoin for confirmation. He nodded slightly.

"What they tried to use against me I have no reason to fear." Derval's eyes widened, but she nodded.

"Aye, that would do it. I don't think anyone with a Death-based nature has attempted the woods in all the years I've been alive. If we avoid it for as much time again, we should find ourselves well lucky. Anyway. You and Eoin are welcome, as per the old pact, which we hope not to come to regret even more than we do. Follow me and I will see you housed and fed."

"Thank you," Miriam said, with a slight bow.

"Ahh… what about…?"

"Oh, Solas?" Eoin said, frowning.

"There must be something about Sol's body that is not affected by my Sleep Mist. However, he has no usable fórsa that my analysis can see. If we can keep him bound, he should be no threat to us."

"Sol could drain my vines of their fórsa if he wanted," Miriam warned.

"And I don't know what abilities the Heart might have given them."

"Hmm, true," Eoin said.

"On the other hand, I don't have any other ideas at the moment. So far draining fórsa seems to be something only Sol is capable of." Miriam was forced to agree and simply bound Solas tighter. As they walked through the village, Miriam was thrilled to see what looked to be a happy community. Secluded in the same way as Lathair Maol had been, but this time they all seemed glad of it. She supposed there was nothing preventing them from leaving - this sort of seclusion might feel like solace, rather than prison.

Everyone they met waved a friendly welcome. The Fetchwoods must provide such a strong defense that they never doubted whomever could enter must be friends. Each member of the village looked more or less human, but all of them, from old men to young children, all sported some bright red accessory - a hat, or a hood. In some cases a flowing cape or cloak.

With the same casual nonchalance as she might have crossed a road back home, they walked or dived into the lake on whatever business they might have - and did not resurface. The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Are they all Selkies?" Miriam asked Eoin quietly.

"No, but we are cousins of a sort," he said.

"These are Merrow. They can move freely between water and land as I do, but they must store some portion of their power in an artifact to do so for any long period of time."

"All the red things," she guessed.

"Correct. Most of the actual village is underwater. They have sea-plant fields down there, and fish farms. They only come to the surface for the things they can't grow under the lake."

"And to get some sunshine!" Derval said, her eyes twinkling merrily.

"Gets a little depressing down there in the dark all the time."

"Why don't you need an accessory to stay on land?" Miriam asked Eoin.

"Most Sidhe I've met tend to get more… unusual as they get older and… well, you're really old but look human."

"Well for one thing, I'm not a Merrow," he said, his tone a little offended.

"And for another, the more Inward Rings bestow certain… benefits."

"Like aging incredibly slowly," Derval said, glaring at Eoin.

"When I last met this lying bastard he was not much different than he is now. I was a teenager."

"It's been a few hundred years," Eoin explained.

"But yes. Also, we Selkies… are kind of the reverse. We are born looking much more seal-like, and become more 'human' I suppose you could call it, as we get older."

"And you can just live in the water or the land with no problems?"

"Well, not all of us," Eoin explained sheepishly.

"When you first saw me coming out from the water I had used a technique to adapt my body to the conditions. Selkies are mammals - we breathe air, the same as you. What is the rule everyone keeps trying to hammer into your head? What is your body?"

"Fórsa," she repeated by rote.

"Indeed! When you have developed your technique well enough, you can even adapt your own body's fórsa to your needs. In my case, it was growing gills." Eoin shuddered.

"No offense, Derval, but I don't know how you deal with it. I found it most unpleasant." Derval huffed.

"I prefer it to lungs, if I'm being honest." The Elder showed Miriam to a hut that was more run-down than the others. She explained that they didn't get many visitors, so this was the home of a Merrow who had died of old age only a few years ago. As a result it was a bit musty, but Miriam found it to be cozy all the same, with a cabinet full of warm blankets and a closet full of moth-eaten clothes. There was a rather lovely - and she would have guessed expensive - mirror hanging near the closet.

She would have to do a thorough dusting, she decided. She might not be staying long, but that was no reason to live like an old hermit. Eoin was given the run of a larger building that apparently he had built himself when he was here previously and used as a workshop. They'd had to haul hay and other dried goods out to make room for him, as no one since him seemed to have an interest in research and it had a good solid roof.

Eoin would be at it for the rest of the day, sprucing up the space and making it workable, but he promised to begin her instruction the very next day. She had left Solas in his care, bound by layer upon layer of Entangle vines. Eoin could set several Mist Eyes to watch the prisoner, and could subdue him faster than Miriam could if it came to that. Which she was sure it would, at some point.

She had hoped that after all the trauma they had undergone in the Fetchwoods, that perhaps Sol would have found a way back out, but she'd seen no sign of it. Only Solas with his leering, caustic barbs. Not even Ultán had shown up again. She guessed that the Wisp's control over the body was difficult to overcome, given his expertise with the Mind. That reminded her again of the Fetch she had encountered. Experts of the Mind, fascinated with death. Why were they the way they were?

They were clearly intelligent, but they roamed the forest like ghouls, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting travelers. As Miriam had experienced what she now knew to be an Ascension, she had felt their fear… but maybe also their envy? They wished to be more like she was, but in what sense she didn't know. She carefully wiped the mirror clean with an old shirt from the closet.

She stared at herself, not the human-looking woman she'd last seen in the reflective shield in the Séarlait camp, but a Dryad, confident in her power, and comfortable in her new skin. This image was starting to seem more natural than the other had. Even her scars from the fight at the edge of the first ring seemed like they belonged. Hesitantly she brought her hand up and ignited her flame. It hugged her fingers like a black glove.

After a moment she pushed it further, up her arm, until it enveloped her entire body. Her eyes went full black and her horns began once more to char. Death, she thought, letting the flames die out. Then she let a thin stream of water wash over her, clearing her horns and skin of ash. Transition. Finally, her horns swelled green, fading into the familiar color of healthy bark and a warm glow blushed her cheeks. Rebirth. She knew the Ideal that had made her a Rebirth Ascendant, but she hadn't spoken it aloud.

Now she did, and it seemed to fit her and the story of her entire human life, her death and the new fae life she'd found here.

"Ends become new beginnings."