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“Once, a very long time ago, on the shore of a country that had not yet been named-”
“Was it Barizhan? Thou saidst they have shores and seas,” the little boy sitting in her lap asked, eyes wide. He’d heard the story many times before, of course, but the questions were as much a part of the telling as the tale itself.
Chenelo laughed gently and continued to braid Maia’s hair. “It might have been, michen, but the tale does not say. But wherever it was, there lived an old fisherman. He had caught fish by that shore for years and years.”
Maia gasped. “So long! Didn’t he get bored?”
“He did not, for he had the seabirds to talk to. Thou see’st, this man had the gift of speaking to birds. He gave them fresh bread every morning and in return they would guide him to the richest patches of sea. He always returned with the fullest nets and fattest fish of any of the fishermen.” She finished a braid, gathered hair for the next.
She knew in her heart that soon she would not have strength even for this small thing, and the knowledge made her even more determined to give her son the affection she could while she was able.
“The fisherman caught fish for years and years with the help of his seabird friends. He took pleasure in his work: in sailing, in throwing nets, in watching the sunrise every morning.”
Maia knew what came next. “But the other fishermen weren’t happy,” he said, ears drooping in sadness for the old man.
“That’s right. They grew jealous seeing his success, and one day, after a week of bad fishing, they all gathered together in the tavern to decide what to do.
“‘We should get rid of him!’ one man grumbled, pounding his cup on the table,” she said, pitching her voice low. Maia giggled, and then frowned.
“But that’s bad!” he protested.
“And maybe these were bad men. Or perhaps they were men who were hungry, and saw that someone else possessed what they wanted.” Chenelo held Maia close. “Canst not tell merely by looking, where a man’s heart or intentions lie. But yes, these men were planning bad things. They talked late into the night, and before they went home to bed, they went out to the old fisherman’s boat and sabotaged it so it would break when next he sailed.”
“Did he notice?” Maia asked, though he already knew the answer.
“No, michen. When the fisherman went out to the docks the next morning, carrying baskets full of bread, he was too concerned with the approaching storm to see what the men had done. He only realized it when he was far away from shore and the storm was coming towards him, and he could not turn his boat to sail back.”
Maia squirmed in excitement. “What happened?”
“The storm came closer, but just as the fisherman thought he would surely drown, a flock of birds - the very same seabirds he had fed for years - swept into view and surrounded his boat with their wings. They passed through the storm unharmed, and when the sky cleared and the birds all flew away, the fisherman found himself in a part of the sea he had never seen before. And right in front of him was-”
“A castle!”
“That’s right. A castle, or the ruins of one. The fisherman’s boat drifted towards it as if by magic. He climbed out and went to explore, carrying with him his last piece of bread and the net with the three fish he had caught before the storm hit. And what happened next?”
“He walked and he walked and he walked, and he met some cats!”
“Yes, michen! But these were not ordinary cats. There were three of them, standing on their hind legs and carrying stones to repair a crumbled wall. The fisherman watched them a while before heading on his way- but there was a chasm before him and he could go no further. He stood there and wondered what he was to do, and then he remembered the fish! He gave the fish to the cats, and they built him a bridge over the chasm. And so he continued on his way until he met-”
“The birds who saved him!”
“The very same birds. They had built nests in the castle ruins, and once again the fisherman could not pass. But then he remembered the bread. He gave it to the birds, and they carried him through the air over their nests to the other side of the path. He walked on, until he reached the center of the ruins. And there, in a pool that glittered in the sun, was a mermaid, with a long fish tail and hair braided with seaweed and coral.”
“And she was trapped there,” Maia said, frowning again.
“She was. She swam in circles, again and again, unable to leave. ‘The men who built this castle caught me and trapped me here,’ she told the fisherman, ‘and now that they are gone, I wish to go back to the sea.’
‘‘'How do I help thee?’ the fisherman asked, sitting beside the pool. The mermaid dove deep into the water and drew up from its depths a large and ancient book that was perfectly intact despite the water dripping from it.
“‘There is a spell, here,’ she said, for this was the age before mazei, when anybody could do magic if he had the knowledge, ‘but I cannot read it, for it is in the animal language.’
“The fisherman took the book and looked at the spell, but he could not read it either. The letters were none that he recognized, and he could not even tell where the spell began, or how to use it.”
“Did he give up?” Maia asked, sounding as anxious as he had the first time she had told this tale.
“He nearly did, but then he remembered the birds who had carried him through the air and he realized there was another way to solve the problem. He lifted the mermaid in his arms and carried her back along the path. Soon they came to the birds’ nests. But how could they get past when the fisherman had no more bread to give them?”
“The book!”
She smiled. “The mermaid showed the birds her book, and they used the magic to soften their nests for their chicks. In gratitude for that, they carried the fisherman and the mermaid back over to the path. Next, they reached the cats’ bridge. The cats would not let them pass without another gift, so the mermaid showed them her book too. They found a spell that would build their wall in a minute rather than a day, and once the wall was built, they let the fisherman and the mermaid pass. He walked along the path until he reached the sea. There he set her in the water, and went to climb in his boat to go home, when she said, ‘Wait. I must give thee a gift, for what thou hast done for me.’ And do you remember what she did, michen?”
“She fixed his boat, and sent him home with a magic net that caught so many fish that his village would never be hungry ever again,” Maia recited. “But what about the men who were jealous? Did they try to hurt him again?”
She shook her head. “No, for the birds returned with the fisherman and chased the others away so they could not harm him again.” That, though, was not part of the original tale. Chenelo knew a version where the men drowned in the storm, and a version where the birds pecked them to death. Maia would learn those stories someday, and worse, but for now she would give the tale a happy ending that would not trouble him.
She glanced at the window to the setting sun, and wished she was home.
“And the old fisherman lived the rest of his life in happiness,” she finished. “Bedtime, michen."