Sleeping Beauty's Daughters (7 page)

11

Of Beasts and Bravery

T
he look on Symon’s face alarmed me almost as much as the creatures themselves. “What are the Beasts of Gevadan?” I gasped.

“Later!” Symon urged. “Come, slowly. Quietly.” He took my hand and Luna’s, and we began backing toward the boat. As we inched along, the beasts pressed forward. My heart was beating so hard that I could feel it quiver inside my chest.

“Will they eat us?” I whispered.

“The stories say—,” Symon began, but then he stopped. I was glad. I didn’t really want to know the answer.

As we tried to move toward the place where the
Cateline
rested on the sand, the beasts advanced craftily with their snouts to the ground. Before we knew it, they had circled around and were between us and the boat. We had no choice but to retreat slowly inland over the beach grass, herded by the creatures as if they were sheepdogs and we their flock. We stumbled backward, up over the dunes, into a stretch of scrub that ended at a forest’s edge.

“If we reach the woods, we could climb a tree,” I said, low. “Surely with those legs, they can’t climb.”

“We would be treed prey then,” Symon replied. “I think that’s what they want. They could wait until we weakened and starved and dropped like ripe fruit.”

“Have you no weapon? You ought to have a weapon!” Luna said, and Symon shook his head.

“Only my fishing knife. It’s too short, and they are too many.” He paused, then said, “Do you see that stretch of sand along the edge of the forest? The woods meet the sea just past it. If we can get to the water there, we can wade out to where it would be over their heads. Then we can try to get back to the boat before they figure out what we’re doing.”

I could see that there was a sweep of bright, clean sand off to our right, and that, as Symon had said, it met the trees as they curved around to the water’s edge. Luna was a very fast runner, I knew. She always bested me in footraces and could escape from me when I tried to catch and punish her for her wrongdoings. I had no doubt that Symon was quick too. If the beasts were slowed by their stubby legs, perhaps the two of them could reach the water in time. But I was not speedy. And I was further hampered by my long skirts. Suddenly I envied Luna her boys’ clothing. We had no choice, though, and I readied myself as Symon said, “On my count, then. One . . . two . . . three!”

Together, we spun and sprinted with all our might. Surprised, the beasts stood stupidly for a moment, and then they sprang after us. As I’d suspected, though, they were not fast, and their pig noses made breathing difficult. We could hear them rasping and snorting behind us. In a moment Luna was ahead of me, and she reached the stretch of sand quickly, even before Symon.

But within a stride or two, it was clear that this was not ordinary sand. Her boots sank in to their tops and then over, and she seemed unable to pull her legs out. She thrashed wildly, and in a moment, she was up to her thighs in the sand.

“Quicksand!” Symon shouted. “Aurora, leap onto it. Land on your knees, and spread yourself so you lie flat!”

Without thinking, I jumped when he did, and we landed with a splat on hands and knees and quickly lay down, our arms and legs outstretched to spread our weight more evenly. My face was pressed against the wet sand, which surged under me almost as if it were water.

“Don’t struggle,” Symon called to Luna. “Don’t try to pull your feet out, or you’ll be sucked under.”

I raised my head and saw that Luna had stopped moving, and that stopped her descent. The beasts did not fare as well. They plunged into the sand after us and at once began to sink, yelping and writhing in their brutish panic as the sand drew them lower and lower. One of them had leaped almost close enough to me to touch, and I gazed into its dreadful piggy eyes as they rolled back in terror. It flung itself back and forth in desperation as first its stubby limbs, then its thick torso, and finally its vile toothy face were covered by the sucking sands. Three of the beasts died like this, with the others left pacing at the edge of the quicksand, their white-tipped tails flicking back and forth. When their companions had disappeared entirely, they opened their mouths and howled, an eerie, horrid sound that made goose bumps rise on my skin. Then they turned and lumbered back into the forest, leaving us to our fates.

“Luna,” I cried, “are you all right?”

“I’m still alive,” she called back, “but this monstrous sand won’t let me go!”

“Stay still,” Symon ordered. “Aurora, you and I must swim to the other side and find a long branch. Then we can use it to pull Luna out.”

“Swim?” I protested. “But it’s sand!”

“Sand and water, both,” Symon replied. “If you keep your weight evenly atop it, it can’t pull you down. Wriggle as if you were paddling in the sea.”

I had never paddled in the sea in my life, but I began to squirm across the sand. To my astonishment, it worked. Symon and I moved like snakes with wretched slowness to the far side of the lake of quicksand.

When I turned my head to check on Luna, I realized that she was sinking again, ever so slowly, though she was as still as a statue. The sand was now up to her hips, and her face was twisted with fear. “We must hurry!” I cried. “The sand is dragging her down!”

Symon got to solid land and scrambled out, hauling me the last few feet. He ran for the trees, searching for a branch that we could use to reach Luna.

Unwilling to let my sister out of my sight, I stood in agony on the shore. Luna held her hands above her head as she sank steadily to her waist. Her frantic eyes met mine across the sand.

“What if it should cover my nose?” she gasped.

“Hurry!” I shrieked.

Symon sprinted from the forest’s edge, carrying a long, sturdy branch. He stopped at the verge of the quicksand and said to me, “Slide back onto the sand.”

I took a deep breath and flung myself full length on the shifting lake of sand and water. Symon passed me the branch, and I held it out to Luna.

She could not reach it.

She stretched her arms out as far as she could, but the end of the branch was inches away from her clutching fingers. Her efforts caused the sand to grasp at her, and she sank still further.

Symon quickly saw the problem. He spread himself on the quicksand, with just his feet on the shore to anchor him, and took hold of my ankles. I moved forward. Then, as the sand covered Luna’s shoulders and crept up her neck, she reached again for the branch. Her fingers closed on wood.

Symon wriggled backward, dragging me as I held the branch that Luna also gripped. When he got to solid ground, he began pulling in earnest. I thought my arms would leave their sockets. I was sure that I could not keep hold of the branch, but somehow I did. Slowly, slowly, up Luna rose as the sands tried their best to keep her: Shoulders emerged, then waist, legs, then at last, with a gurgle, her bare feet. The hungry sand had eaten her boots.

It was quick work after that. We slithered to the far side of the quicksand, and in a moment I found myself sprawled on the hard ground with Luna in my arms. We were both sobbing, covered from head to toe in wet, sticky sand.

“I’m sorry,” I said again and again, hugging my sister as tightly as I could. “Oh, Luna, I’m so sorry!”

“But you saved me, Aurora!” she protested, her face smeared with tears and muck.

“It was my fault you were in danger at all. It’s my job to keep you safe!”

“We can’t stay,” Symon urged. “The beasts may return.”

Unsteadily, Luna and I rose to our feet. Symon put his arm around me, helping me to stay upright.

“I believe I’ve grown a few inches,” I remarked shakily.

Symon managed a grin, his teeth white against his filthy face, and Luna said, “I’ll miss my boots. I’d just broken them in!”

I laughed weakly. Then we stumbled the few yards to the shore, testing every step on sand to be sure it held us and glancing back often to check for the beasts. At the water we tried to wash off the sand, but it clung. Finally I just sat in the sea and let the little waves lap over me. My clothes were heavy with grit, and my hair was thick with it. There was even sand in my eyebrows. I dunked my head and rinsed and rinsed, and the others did the same. At last we stood, dripping but clean, and waded back toward the strand where the
Cateline
rested, Symon and I carrying our shoes.

The sun was warm and began to dry us as we walked along the curved shoreline, and I felt my strength returning. “Tell me, Captain,” I said, “what are the Beasts of Gevadan?”

“Well, I didn’t think there was any proof that they still existed—or rather, there was no proof before today,” Symon said. “But long ago, creatures that were thought to be part wolf and part wild boar attacked the town of Gevadan, a hundred leagues or more to the south of Vittray. I’d heard they killed dozens of people. It’s a tale told round the fire on a winter’s eve now.”

“Killed them how?” I asked in a small voice.

“Some say the victims were torn to bits. Other reports have the beasts sucking out their preys’ blood and livers.” I shivered, and even Luna faltered a little. I changed the subject quickly.

“And how did you know that was quicksand?” I asked Symon.

“I’ve seen it before,” he replied. “The marshes to the north are full of it.”

“Quicksand, the Beasts of Gevadan—we hardly need a tutor with you here!” Luna teased him.

Symon smiled, but I suddenly thought of Master Julien, perhaps locked in the castle dungeon. I hoped that Madame Mathilde had sent word to Papa and Mama that he was not to blame for our disappearance.

We reached the boat and the cold campfire and found our belongings undisturbed. “The beasts didn’t even take our food,” Luna said, pleased.

“That doesn’t mean they won’t be back,” Symon pointed out. “Let’s go, quickly.” We picked up our things, piled everything into the batteau, and pushed it into the water. When we were all on board, I drew a deep breath and looked back at the island. It looked peaceful enough—sun and dappled sand and forest.

“The Island of Beasts,” I said with a shudder.

“Luna, mark it on the map,” Symon instructed. “Now you are a cartographer, and this is your first discovery.”

Luna started to laugh, a little hysterically. “A cartographer—what’s that?” she gasped. “Someone who builds carts?”

Symon raised an eyebrow. “A cartographer is a mapmaker.”

“You should know that, Luna,” I added. “It’s from the Latin
carta
, meaning . . .” I paused, waiting for her to finish.

But by then Luna was laughing too hard to give the definition, even if she had known it, and I started to laugh too. Symon joined in as much with relief as amusement, and still laughing, he raised the sail as we glided over the waves away from the Island of Beasts.

12

Of a Siren and Her Song

T
he
Cateline
seemed a haven of safety after the Island of Beasts. When our wild laughter had died away, we sat awhile in silence, regaining our strength. Soon, though, I began to yawn, feeling the familiar pull of Sleep. I leaned over the side to splash water on my face, and was stopped by my own reflection. I looked nothing at all like a princess—exhausted and pale, my hair tangled, my kerchief lost to the quicksand.

Then I glimpsed again a shape swimming below us. Had the dolphins returned? The reflection of the sun on the water made it hard to see into the depths. The figure twisted beneath us. I squinted, and for an instant I saw the lutin clearly.

He did not move like a man. His legs swung up and down like a dolphin’s tail, speeding him along as quickly as we sailed. He turned his head upward. His face was beautiful, like a statue’s, and his eyes, the exact greenish-blue color of the sea, met mine as I stared from above. He winked, and I gasped, pulling back quickly.

“What is it?” Symon asked. “Are there sharks?”

I leaned over and looked down again. The lutin was gone. Why was he following us? Was he in Manon’s employ?

“I thought . . . no, never mind.” I didn’t want to scare the others. “It was just a trick of the light. But I am getting so tired—is there any way to make tea?”

Luna sprang into action, as much as she could spring in the confines of the little boat. She dug out a flask of fresh water from our bags, and I handed her the vial of devil’s shrub. “We can let the sun steep it,” she said, sprinkling some of the precious herb into the flask. “But there’s not much of the powder left. Drink as little as you dare, Sister!”

I waited for the tea to brew, resisting the temptation to look once more into the water to see if the lutin was still there. In the warm sunshine, our clothes soon dried, stiff with salt from our bath in the ocean. The scratchiness helped to keep me awake. At last Luna proclaimed the tea ready, and I took a gulp of the bitter elixir, grateful to feel a rush of wakefulness and energy.

“Luna!” Symon called from the stern. “Get out the map and compass and set us on our course. We’ll try for the next island.”

Luna pulled out the parchment map and looked down at it, a frown on her face. “That one looks dangerous,” she said. “See, the map shows that the coast is all rocky.”

“We’ll get close, and if it seems too risky, we’ll turn away,” Symon instructed. “But if your aunt doesn’t want to be found, it stands to reason that she would hide somewhere dangerous or difficult. If I had an enemy like Manon, I would hide in the most inaccessible place I could find.”

“You
have
an enemy like Manon—Manon herself,” I pointed out. “She’s no friend to you now that you’re helping us.”

“Aye, but she will never catch the
Cateline
!” Symon vowed, and I tugged the sail tight so it seized the wind and sent us speeding over the water.

We were becalmed for a time in the early afternoon, and it was terrible. The wind simply died, and we couldn’t move at all. The sun beat down, making us very hot and thirsty. I worried that I would become burned and pulled the hood of my servant’s cloak up for a time, trying to protect my face, but it was just too hot. Luna, of course, did not care; she even rolled up her sleeves, and her arms browned in the sun.

“Do you think this is Manon’s doing?” I asked Symon. He shook his head.

“It feels natural to me,” he said. “I know that she can raise a great wind, but I don’t think she can cause the wind to die. It’s a very different thing.”

“What do sailors do when they’re becalmed?” Luna asked, clearly bored.

“Oh, anything they can think of. Sing, drink, mend the sails and the nets . . . talk.”

“Well,” Luna said, coming back to sit next to me on my bench, “we’ve sung already, and we’re low on water for drinking. Nothing needs mending. I’m for talking.”

“When aren’t you?” I teased.

She made a face at me. “So, Symon, tell us: Isn’t it lonely living by yourself in your cottage? And in a cave on the shore?”

“Luna!” I was dismayed at her intrusive question.

But Symon didn’t mind. “I’m used to it now,” he replied. “At first, though, after my mother died, it was terrible. My friends were busy with their own lives. I’d no one to speak to at all. I talked to myself a lot. People thought I was a bit mad for a while. Then Madame Mathilde and Albert came to me and said I had to dine at their house of a Sunday, and that was enough to settle me. I just needed some people to be with.”

“Oh,” I said softly. I could hardly imagine such loneliness.

“How awful!” Luna said. “Sometimes I’ve wanted to be by myself, because we’re always watched, but that’s different. I don’t know what I’d do without Aurora to talk to.”

I was startled. Luna and I more often argued than talked. But when I thought about it, I knew what she meant. We shared our lives. We knew each other, even if we didn’t always get along.

“And you, Deckhand,” Symon said to me, “do you long for silence and solitude?”

“I love to be alone,” I admitted. “But it’s as Luna said—I think I only like it because I have others to be with if I choose. Sometimes, though . . .” I trailed off.

“What?” Symon prompted.

“Sometimes I think about when I’ll be queen. I won’t be alone ever then. I’ll be surrounded by courtiers, and I’ll always have people needing and wanting things from me. I fear it will be unbearable.” I didn’t mention the nightmares I’d had, where people I didn’t know followed me and grabbed at me, their faces desperate, pleading for help I couldn’t give them.

“I think you’ll be good at it,” Luna said, surprising me again. “You’re smart, and you’re kind. Papa is both those things, and he’s a good king, isn’t he?”

“When you’re queen, if you should need a respite, you can come out with me on my boat,” Symon said. “I’ll have a special cushioned, embroidered throne-bench installed just for you. We’ll sail away from your subjects for an hour or two.”

Luna hooted at this, but though I knew he was joking, I found the idea comforting. And then a small breeze fluttered into the sail and puffed it back into life. We cheered as once again we began to move. “West-northwest,” Luna proclaimed, back on her bench and working the compass with great concentration and self-importance.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, we sighted the second island. Its steep cliffs rose up from the sea, and there were enormous rocks jutting out of the water all around it. The island looked as barren and desolate as it had on the map, and I could see no way to get close to shore that would not be perilous.

“We’ll circle it,” Symon decided, “and see if there is a safer approach.”

From every angle, though, the island looked the same, ringed by a jumble of boulders that threatened certain disaster to the
Cateline
if we should draw near. Foamy breakers crashed against the tall cliffs.

“We’ll have to turn away,” Symon said regretfully. “There’s no strand, and no safe channel.”

“Wait,” said Luna. “What’s that?” She pointed at one of the tall gray rocks nearest the shore. Little waves lapped around it, and a figure perched on top. At first we thought it must be a bird; then, as we drew closer, we thought it a seal, but soon we could see that it was a woman, alone atop the stone, her long fair hair waving in the sea breeze.

“How on earth did she get up there? Oh, maybe she’s been shipwrecked!” Luna exclaimed. “We should rescue her!”

“Could it be Emmeline?” I grew excited. If this was her island, perhaps she waited there to welcome us!

“Listen,” Symon said, an urgency in his tone. The woman had begun to sing.

Though we were far away still, we could hear the singer as if she were right beside us. Her song was wordless, achingly beautiful. In tones as high and pure as the call of a lark or a celestial harp, she sang of desire and heartache, of love found and lost. I reached up and found my face wet with tears, though I did not know why I wept. We sailed closer to her as she sang, and now I could make out her willowy form, her full red lips. And I was shocked to see, curving around the column of rock, her long, silvery, scaled fish’s tail.

“Turn about!” Luna shouted suddenly. The
Cateline
had kept to its course, and I realized what Luna was warning against—we were fast approaching the boulders along the island’s coastline. The wind pushed us swiftly, and in a moment Symon was steering us among the enormous rocks. The boat twisted and turned, just missing one and then the next, and I flinched as we brushed by stone after giant stone.

“We must go back!” I begged Symon in distress. I saw that his eyes were glazed, his mouth slack. “Turn the boat!” I shouted. “We’ll hit the rocks and sink!” But Symon didn’t seem to hear me.

Luna spun in her seat. “It’s the song!” she said. “Somehow it’s enchanted him.” She shouted at him, “Idiot! Plug up your ears!” But Symon would not stop his ears. He was utterly mesmerized.

I tried to catch Symon’s eye, to bring him back to himself. His rapt attention to the mermaid disturbed me more than I would have expected. “Rouse yourself!” I urged him, reaching back to pull on his sleeve, then slapping his hand. He didn’t respond at all.

We were heading straight for the jagged pillar where the mermaid perched. If we hit it, the
Cateline
would shatter into bits, and we all would be thrown into the water and drowned in the crashing waves.

And then I had a sudden thought. Over the relentless song, I called out to Luna, “Do you recall when we read the story of Odysseus?”

“No,” she replied, her eyes on the mermaid.

“Oh, you must!” I cried in frustration. “He was returning home from the battle of Troy with his men. Don’t you remember when Odysseus’s ship approached the Sirens—the mermaid women who sang men to their deaths?”

Luna turned. “Wait, I do remember!” she said, excited. “The men had to plug up their ears with wax so they couldn’t hear the song. We shall do the same! Do we have any wax?”

We hadn’t brought candles. I despaired.

Luna stood up, rocking the boat. “The new mast! If it’s a pine trunk, there may still be some pine pitch on it—sticky pine pitch. As good as wax!” I recalled the tutor who had mysteriously found pine pitch in his hair, and realized that Luna knew this from experience. Again her troublemaking served a useful end.

Luna scrambled over her seat to the mast, and I ran my hands down it. It was rough, and sticky as well, the pitch oozing from places where small branches had been hurriedly cut in the rush to repair the boat.

“Yes!” I crowed. “Here, you roll it into balls, and I’ll stop his ears.” Quickly Luna scraped the black, tarry stuff off the mast and rolled it into little spheres. She passed them to me, and I climbed to the stern, where Symon sat hypnotized. He batted me away halfheartedly as I tried to place the pitch in his ears, but his attention was fixed on the mermaid. At last I managed it, pushing the pitch in firmly.

As soon as he could no longer hear the Siren, Symon blinked in sudden awareness of the rocks that now threatened on all sides.

“Hold the tiller!” he shouted to me.

He leaped to grab the ropes and lower the sail before the wind drove us into the boulders. I grasped the tiller, straining to hold it straight. I hadn’t realized how much strength it took to keep us on course. When the sail fell, we slowed to a near stop.

We were very close to the mermaid now, seated high on her pillar. Her glorious golden hair made mine look like straw, and her green eyes were luminous. How beautiful she was! She flapped her scaly tail against the side of the rock and furrowed her perfect brow. She seemed vexed that we had stopped our approach, and her song grew louder and more intense.

Just beyond her rock, something stuck up from the water, and I gasped when I realized it was the top of a mast. Another boat had been drawn here by the mermaid’s song, and sunk. I turned away, shuddering to think of the sailors who had perished, lying in their watery graves beneath us.

“Are you all right now?” I asked Symon.

“What?” he shouted, deafened by the pitch.

“Are you all right?” I shouted.

“Are you talking to me?” Symon bellowed back.

“Stop yelling!” Luna roared, though she knew Symon would not be able to hear her. I felt the same hysterical laughter rising that had overcome us earlier, but the looming rocks and the mast from the wrecked ship quickly made me serious again. Symon held out oars, and Luna and I used ours to push away from the nearest boulders. Symon began to row as hard as he could to move us back out to sea. Behind us, the bewitching voice faded gradually, until I could no longer hear it at all.

When we were safely out of sight of the mermaid, we stopped so Symon could remove the pine pitch from his ears. It clung to his skin and hair and left black streaks on his cheeks. Luna and I had it on our hands as well.

Symon raised the sail again, and it caught the wind as I bent over the side to try to rinse my hands of the sticky stuff. The cold seawater only caused it to harden. “Oh, what a mess!” I fumed, giving up at last. I would just have to live with the dirt, as I did with the sand and salt that wouldn’t wash off.

When Symon came back to take the tiller, I climbed from the stern of the boat back to my place beside the mast. He looked rather shamefaced and was quiet as we sailed. I recalled the expression on his face as the mermaid sang, and despite the danger we had just escaped, I couldn’t help smiling. It was clear that Luna was amused as well.

“Well, Luna,” I said, “what should we name this island?”

She turned on her bench to face me. “Hmmm. Should it be Mermaid Island? Or perhaps Isle of the Easily Fooled?”

“That’s hardly fair!” Symon protested. “It wasn’t my fault—it was an enchantment of some sort.”

“An enchantment that works only on boys?” Luna scoffed. “Aurora and I weren’t bothered in the least.”

“I think that was the mermaid Melusine.” Symon’s voice was somber. “She’s said to sing sailors to their deaths. I didn’t know that she only enchanted men. There are rarely women on ships, so no one ever talks about what happens when women hear her. But it seems that her song didn’t affect you.”