The Lighthouse Keeper and the Mermaid

CHAPTER 1

The sea was angry and the storm had not even hit.

Daria had the light lit, and now she stood scanning the horizon.

Many storms had come and gone in her time as the lighthouse keeper.

She’d seen waves higher than the lighthouse.

She’d stood not fifty feet away from the splitting crack of lightning as the sky opened up its vengeance.

And she’d rowed her boat out to rescue unfortunate men whose ships had seen shoals on a sea churning fiercer than the bowels of hell.

And never had she had such foreboding in her heart as this moment.

Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out the cause.

Though the sea looked as gray as the clouds and though the clouds churned as fierce as the sea, she saw not a soul on the horizon.

And as long as lightning did not strike down her lighthouse in a blaze, if there were no men to save, then there was no danger.

She stayed up in her tower all day and watched, watched as the mist of waves exploded up off the cliffside.

When Father used to man the house, she would go near the edge to watch the splintering of the waves, how they would explode like artwork into the sky and properly drench her, first in water and then in laughter.

It was the only regret she had now that she had her father’s position—that she could not simply enjoy the storm.

But the best views were from high above, and it was her duty to help as best as she could.

Luckily, shipwrecks were a rare enough occurrence.

In five years, she had only needed to leave her station five times.

Father had had to even less frequently—at least that she could remember—maybe eight or so times in sixteen years.

His rescues hadn’t always even needed a boat.

One time, the shoals had shifted so that Father knew he could walk them like a path and he had followed them to the shipwreck and walked the men out of there.

Not all rescues of course were so easy. None of hers had been.

Gray clouds turned to black ones. At first she mistook it for the approach of nightfall, but with a glance to the sky, her own eyes narrowed.

It was still too early and the change had been too sudden.

No, this was the clouds, drowning out the sun and its light completely, like the darkness wanted to claim the world as its own.

Wind picked up in the anarchy and the waves eagerly joined in, refusing to miss the fun.

They hungrily lapped at the rocks of the shoreline.

They drowned the smaller boulders and the jetty to her lighthouse, making her home an island, surrounding her and cutting her off like wolves might their prey.

The waves smashed against her rocky shore, loud as thunder, and exploded into the sky straight up, like they were building fortresses around her. Each wave was taller than the last. Each wave erupted with more anger, like it wanted to drive out her presence, like Poseidon himself had declared war.

And it was then—of course then—that she saw a ship. She knew she should be praying but it was a curse that fell from her lips first instead. It was followed quickly by a prayer. Not now. Please Lord, not now. She wasn’t sure who she was even praying for, herself or them.

They were far enough out that they were still a speck, but they were drawing closer with every second, like a bug to a flame, like the lighthouse was drawing them in rather than repelling as it should.

It was stupid surely. They must know a lighthouse in this area meant unforgiving waters.

But either they were out of control or the promise of land—unforgiving or not—was too tempting in such a storm.

They still looked upright and she hesitated to move. In her little twenty foot sailboat, it would be suicide to go to them, but if they were to start to sink, she had no choice. She knew the violence of the sea; she could never leave someone to its poison.

They were being tossed up and down worse than driftwood caught in the shore break, but so far they seemed alright.

So far.

It was like her thoughts were cursed. Or maybe she was, for the boat disappeared behind a wave and then she could see them no more.

Her heart lurched. No. Where?

The waves heaved and thrashed, and for a fraction of a second, she could see it on its side, its masts already fully in the water.

She swore again, louder this time, and scolding herself for her language—since there was no one else to do it anymore—she started descending down the stairs two at a time, suddenly so thankful Father had never insisted she wear skirts.

She bolted down the two hundred stairs and out the door, grabbing her oars and praying her own boat was still safely tethered in its docks.

The rocks of the island were slick—for the island was almost entirely rock—and she slid a few feet in her haste as she darted for her boat. Situated in a small cove behind the protection of her main island and the jetty, her boat happily bobbed, waiting for her.

She looked over her shoulder to the sea and assessed those waves. Down here, they didn’t seem much worse than the storms she had witnessed in her childhood, and based on where the boat fell, she could already map out several shoals she could use should her boat fail her.

She swore again. She would not let men die for her cowardice.

It had taken an exorbitant amount of convincing to allow her to be the keeper of the lighthouse in the first place as a woman—though it was often an inherited position—and she was not about to prove them right.

She was every bit the keeper her father and his father before him were.

She got in the boat.

It was bouncy immediately but surprisingly not dramatically worse than anything she had encountered before.

Why had her heart been so apprehensive this morning?

This was nothing she couldn’t handle. In fact, as a child, she had often gone out when the water frothed because there was nothing more exhilarating than her boat just barely being able to breach the coming wave.

It had driven Father crazy, but she was sure he had allowed it for moments just like this, so that she would have confidence when it was needed and would be able to perform any rescue.

For now in the boat, actually doing something and not just sitting around waiting, her heart hardened with resolve and fear melted away. Activity was always easier than apprehension for her. She’d pick doing over waiting any day.

She sent up one last prayer—for both her safety and the men’s—and left the cove.

The waves were fierce—that, she could not deny—but she was rowing her boat perpendicular to them so she was able to breach them. Up and over, up and over, her little twenty foot boat just barely broke through the crest each time.

The wind screamed in her ear and the thunder roared, as if both were cursing her for trying to redeem their well-earned prey.

It only made her smile. There was nothing more fun than defying nature.

It was an effort to fight the current, but with these winds, she dared not use a sail.

Slowly but surely, she made her way out to the wreck.

She could see it here and there as the waves allowed.

It was mostly under but not totally, still on some sandbar no doubt, and from the look of the ship, the bar was too shallow for ships but too deep for men. She had to move fast.

The way the current was traveling she could already tell it would be easier to take any survivors to the sandy cove maybe a mile north rather than continue to fight the ocean’s pull back to the lighthouse.

It was fine enough. Though she wouldn’t have the supplies to treat any injuries herself, she would be far closer to town and the doctor.

She paddled as swiftly as she could, and when she was maybe a hundred yards off, she began her cries, “Is anyone out there? Can you hear me?” again and again.

The storm drowned out her voice; the sky released a torrent as if it would use mere rain to silence her until it had had due time to claim every last victim.

But then she heard a faint “Help!”

She rowed to it with all her strength, and breaking over the tip of a wave, she saw a black head of tangled hair and frantically waving arms. “Here, here!” he cried before another wave swept him under and she lost sight of him again.

Damned if she lost someone so close within her grasp now, she scoured the water, feeling practically frantic herself until she saw his head again.

“Here,” he started, but his voice sounded garbled with water.

“Save your strength!’ she cried, getting near him. Letting go of the oars, she reached out and grabbed him. “Kick!” she yelled as she hoisted him up with all her strength.

It was enough to get his torso over the side and she then helped fling his legs over the rest of the way as he fell in sideways and headfirst in the most ungraceful display she had ever seen.

She was always so amused by how strange and awkward humans could look when everything in the sea practically danced.

“How many men?” she called over the roar of the sea and rain as she took the oars and began steering their boat to again correctly face the waves.

“Ten total,” he called. “Including me. Let me row!”

“Just get your breath first,” she said, already scanning the water for her next target. She didn’t like how choked this man’s breaths sounded, nor how rapid.

“I assure you I’m fine,” he said, hand out as if he’d take them.

“As am I,” she said. “So sit down and rest.”

She didn’t wait for his response—with the right man, they could be at that all night—and she started calling out again, “Is anyone there?”

He joined her in the call and soon the two of them were screaming to the heavens in search of their next man.

Finally, she saw one and yelled, “There!” A blond man. He looked tired but was doing his best to keep swimming.

“Hold on!” she cried, timing it with the waves to spin the boat to come to him.

With her additional recruit, it was easy enough to drag the new man into the boat. He was practically limp with exhaustion, his skin pale, but he gave them a weak smile as he hit the deck. She didn’t like it. Eight men left and they were already pulling out ones that looked like hell.

“Shouldn’t we get closer to the boat?” the first man called to her.

At first thought, that might seem like the correct solution, but she could tell the current here was heading north with ferocity and no man could fight the sea’s pull no matter how hard he wanted to stay by the ship.

Even if one had tried to hold onto the mast, she highly doubted the waves wouldn’t have pried him off in one or two hits, strong as they were tonight.

“The current will take them this way,” she said, expecting arguments, but to her surprise, neither man said a word, the first only giving her a stern nod of acknowledgment.

It was painfully long until they saw the next man—so long she wondered if they doubted her—but finally she called, “There!”

He was further out toward the sea and the wind fought her with every stroke. She hated how exhausted she already was by the time they made it to him. It wasn’t reassuring when there were still so many men left to find.

The first man dragged out their new straggler—a red-haired boy who looked no older than fifteen and who appeared exhausted beyond belief.

The relief on his face was as palpable as his exhaustion, and after a breathless thanks, he collapsed on the deck.

Only his chest heaving up and down let her know he was still alive, for otherwise he was as motionless as a corpse.

The first man looked at her for a moment before nodding. “You clearly know what you’re doing,” he said. “Then we follow the current?”

She nodded, already hating her next words. “Do you know how to row? I need a rest.”

He nodded, quickly moving to take over. She hated letting go of the oars, hated losing control—for that was what it felt like to her—but she would not allow her pride to ruin a rescue mission. She would not live with ghosts because she had been unable to admit she was tired.

But now she felt as helpless as if she were adrift in the sea herself. He was a sailor, she tried to remind herself. He should know what he was doing…even if his boat had sunk.

She pushed away any feeling of unease and focused on searching. Each time they crested a wave, she used the added height as best as she could to look, standing as often as she could to see even further.

And then, when she was beginning to lose hope, she saw a small dot well out to sea.

Her heart froze as her mind instantly began weighing the three souls already in her boat versus the potential one out there. If it wasn’t a man but a stick or debris and she risked their lives…but no, she couldn’t think of that.

“There!” she cried, pointing.

The man followed her gaze. “Do you have strength for it?” she asked. “It’s against the wind and that’s what sapped mine.”

“Are you asking if I’ll leave a man to die?” he screamed, no longer yelling solely to be heard but with vehemence and anger.

“If you do not have the strength, you kill the men in this boat.”

He grimaced but said, “I’m fine, little lady.”

“There’s nothing little about me,” she said. “Tell me when you’re tired and we’ll switch.”

Pursed lips, he only nodded, and then they were off to sea.

She kept looking as they went, further and further, but she saw no one else, save for the speck they were heading towards. It broke her heart. Had she really lost six men?

She pushed that thought from her mind too. Four men were better than no men, and to these men’s families, it would be everything.

“It’s the captain,” the blond said, weakly trying to sit up to better see. Even that he could barely manage.

Part of her instantly blamed the captain for this hoopla they were in; the other part knew there was likely nothing he could have done to stop it. Even the best sailors sometimes died at sea.

When they were about fifty feet off, something inside of her tensed. Something was off. The man neither screamed nor tread nor hung limp in the water. No, it was as if he were already dead but something was propping him up.

She had never been one for superstition. Even on the stormiest of nights with the scariest of storms, her father had not been able to convince her of ghosts or goblins, but now, something inside of her leapt as if it wanted to race away. Her heart raced as though she already was.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one, for her rower paused as he stared out over the sight.

He’d stopped rowing in his shock. It was all it took, and she felt like an idiot for she too had been too focused on the scene to notice how a wave had spun them.

The ocean kindly reminded them, crashing a wave over their side and flooding the small boat and smashing its passengers all to the starboard side.

Some water receded, but her mind already told her it was too late. They were sinking too.