The Sea-Witch’s Bargain

In the mist-shrouded town of Cromarty.

A century and a score years ago.

There lived a mariner named John Reid.

He was the unluckiest of souls in a city of hardship.

Intelligent.

Honest.

Yet desperately poor.

At thirty years of age, he had no wife to call his own.

His youth had been swallowed by the grey horizons.

From the spice-laden ports of the Indies.

To the crowded wharves of far Cathay.

He scraped together a meager pittance.

A small house to shelter his return.

Then back to the waves he went.

Plying the trade between the English coast and the Low Countries.

But John Reid’s heart did not belong to the rigging.

It had been stolen by Helen Stuart.

She was radiant as a summer moon.

The heiress to a vast and glittering fortune.

And she was proud.

She looked upon John as one looks at driftwood.

A sun-scorched sailor with empty pockets was beneath her notice.

April withered away in cold, relentless rain.

On the first dawn of May, John awoke with a strange fever in his blood.

He walked toward the woods by the bay.

Where great stones stood like the ruins of a forgotten castle.

The sun rose crimson as a fresh wound.

Lighting the paths of silver sand.

Suddenly.

A voice pierced the salt air.

Clear.

Haunting.

It was no human melody.

John Reid crouched behind a jagged rock.

And there he saw her.

Half-draped upon the white sand.

Half-submerged in the emerald tide.

Her hair drifted like sea-silk upon the foam.

A Mermaid.

John Reid’s heart did not falter for her mythic beauty.

His mind held only the image of Helen.

He lunged.

Swift.

Merciless.

He seized the creature before she could vanish into the depths.

She let out a piercing shriek.

The sound rattled the very cliffs.

She fought with the strength of the gale.

Her wet, brine-slicked arms tried to drag him into the abyss.

But the sailor’s grip was harder than seasoned oak.

John Reid held fast.

Until she slumped, exhausted, against the burning sand.

"What do you seek from me, mortal?"

Her voice rang like a silver bell tolled beneath the grave.

"I demand three wishes," John Reid replied coldly.

The first:

That he and his kin should never find a watery grave.

The second:

That the proud Helen Stuart should wed only a man of no means.

And the third?

John whispered that into the Mermaid's ear alone.

That secret belongs to the drowning depths.

He released his hold.

With a flick of her scales, she plunged into the cold Atlantic.

John Reid turned back toward the town.

And there.

Upon the emerald slope.

Stood Helen Stuart.

Her face was as pale as sea-foam.

"John Reid!" her companion cried out.

"Helen has had the most singular dream of you!"

"A dream of caverns, of singing, and a rain of pure gold!"

"And just now, we heard these very rocks sing the same tune!"

John looked deep into Helen’s eyes.

The pride had vanished.

Replaced by a wild, terrified devotion.

"I have just captured a Mermaid," he said, his voice low.

She trembled.

She reached out and took his hand.

Had the magic seeped into her blood?

Or was destiny rewritten by a siren’s curse?

A year passed.

On the first day of May, under a scorching sun.

They walked together.

The poor sailor and the wealthy heiress.

John Reid had won his prize.

But the cost of the third wish...

Perhaps only he truly knows.

The sea-wind still howls.

And the stones of Cromarty still sing when May arrives.

Do you dare to listen?