Serana stared at the thing. She had never seen one before, but knew what it was. She wanted to flee, but the figure blocked her way. She sank as far as she could into the water, exposed and vulnerable.
“It’s good luck to catch a black heron,” said the thing, its voice sugary sweet. “Or should I just eat it? It looks delicious!”
The appalling question sickened Serana. “Let it go. Please….”
She could sense the creature’s smile beneath its inky hood. Invisible eyes moved over Serana covetously. “Mermaid, mermaid, with hair of grass,” the creature sang. “Mermaid, mermaid, sad little lass.”
The voice chilled Serana. A woman’s voice?
“Silly song!” it crowed. “From a place I once knew. Why do I remember it?” It paused, cocking its cowled head. “Your hair isn’t grass.”
It watched Serana, the dying heron completely forgotten. Serana knew it hadn’t come just for the bird. Why did it stare so?
“Are you lost?” she asked, trying not to sound afraid. “Maybe I can help you.”
“Yesss,” replied the figure, drawing out the word like the hiss of a snake. “You can help me, child. We have heard a rumor of humans here.” It lifted its head, sniffing deeply in a great inhalation, revealing hints of its hideous face. “We smell them!”
“Humans?” gasped Serana. “No, not here,” she lied. “Not ever here…”
The thing splashed forward, frightening her. “They come! Have you seen them?”
“No,” said Serana, clasping her hands to her breast. “Never a human!”
The figure mocked her alarm. “Oh!” it mimicked, laughing again. “Why are you afraid? The loyal should never be afraid. Are you loyal to the Skylords, child?”
“Yes, always,” said Serana. “But we are quiet maids here. There’s never trouble here, no reason for you to come.”
“Quiet maids,” the thing repeated. “Pretty maids.”
It came closer still, bending down to look at Serana, its breath thick. Its features were slight, womanly. With a jerk of its wrist it killed the half-dead heron, then extended it out toward Serana.
“A gift, pretty one.”
Tamping down her revulsion, Serana reached out her shaking hand, refusing to look directly at the creature. Instead she looked at the silver chain around its waist, the stout, unbreakable symbol of its bondage. The cold brush of its fingers against her own shocked Serana.
“Will you eat it?”
Serana shook her head. Again the thing laughed.
“What do mermaids eat?” it asked. “Seaweed and cockles!” It stood, clapping loudly. “Seaweed and cockles and hair of grass! Sirens who make men breathe their last!”
At last it turned to go, singing its horrible song as it left her. For a long time Serana was unable to move. She held the dead bird—her beautiful heron. The touch of the creature had sickened her.
But she was alive. Even after lying to the creature. Now, Serana knew, she had to flee.
Dropping the heron, she raced from the shallows toward her green lagoon, diving for the deep, deep waters of home.
THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE
RAPHAEL CIROYAN HAD NOT known where to find Merceron, but he had given Moth and Fiona one important piece of advice—there was nothing in the sunken forest that was poisonous. They could eat whatever fruit they found.
For Moth and Fiona, both famished from walking, the news was a gift. They had run out of meat pies and neither of them knew how to hunt, so they gorged themselves on citrus and berries, finding the forest abundant with both. But more amazing still was the darkness that shrouded the sunken world. The pale, ancient trees twisted ever upward, spreading out their widest arms at the very top, making a canopy that even sunlight struggled to penetrate. As Moth trudged along, he peered up at the roof of interwoven limbs, sucking the juice from a sweet, purple fruit.
“How can fruit grow without sunlight?” he mulled. “How can anything grow without light?”
Fiona cradled a handful of blueberries, delighting in their sweetness. Lady Esme, perched on her shoulder, plucked them from her palm. The berries had moist, shining skin, the kind of bright, impossible blue more suited to a bird. A while back they had found a vine full of them. After one taste, Fiona had picked the vine clean.
“Who cares how it got here?” Fiona retorted. “We have food now. And it’s dry here.” She glanced down at her boots, still wet from the bogs. “My toes are cold.”
“They’ll dry overnight,” said Moth, pausing to look around. The forest was mostly quiet, with small mammals and birds moving in the shadows but nothing to threaten them. The trees reminded Moth of corpses, their white bark like bone, white like Leroux’s skin on his deathbed. Near the water the trees had been almost normal. But not anymore. Not here. “It’s because there’s no sun,” he realized.
Fiona kept popping berries into her mouth. “I gotta eat,” she said, disinterested.
“What’s wrong?” Moth asked. “You’ve been like this all day.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Snappy.”
“Look around, Moth. You see anything to be smiling about? We’re lost.”
“We’re not lost. We’re following the star machine. This is where Merceron lives…” Moth stopped. “Oh…”
“What?” snorted Fiona.
Moth smiled softly. “You’re not mad,” he said. “You’re scared. That’s why you don’t want me to use the star machine again. You don’t want to see Merceron.”
Fiona gave Esme one more berry, then tossed the others away. “So? He’s a dragon, Moth. What do you think he’ll do when he sees us?”
“If he was dangerous, Leroux wouldn’t have told me about him. Raphael wouldn’t have taken us here if—”
“Raphael was a criminal. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of us. Did you ever think of that?”
Moth tossed aside his own fruit, then rummaged through his big pocket for the star machine. So far they had only looked at Merceron once, mostly because Moth knew how frightened the dragon made Fiona. But they were getting closer now. Moth could feel it. There wasn’t time for her to be afraid.
“Look,” he told her, kneeling in the sand. He unwrapped the instrument and laid it down carefully. As if it knew what he wanted, the scope began to turn, pointing in the direction they’d been traveling all day. “Show me Merceron,” ordered Moth.
Fiona gave a sigh of dread. Moth watched, eager to see the dragon-wizard again. The mirror swirled with smoke. Moth bent lower. He saw movement in the mirror, crowded by darkness.
“There,” said Moth, his heart pounding. “I see him.”
A glimpse of tail, a glint of tooth, and all around them trees, bone-white like the ones around them now. Merceron was moving. No longer inside his lair, he stalked the dark forest, almost impossible to see. Long talons cut through stringy vines. The spectacled eyes flashed and disappeared.
“What’s he doing?” Moth wondered. Fiona inched toward him, peering over his shoulder.
“I can barely see him,” she whispered.
Was he hunting? Looking for them? Moth glanced at Lady Esme, hoping for a hint of recognition, but the bird was looking skyward instead, longing to take flight. Suddenly Fiona pointed at the mirror.
“Look at those trees.” She glanced around. “They’re the same ones.”
Moth picked up the star machine. “We’re really close now.” He licked his lips, annoyed that he was feeling afraid too. “We can’t stop now, Fiona.”