The Tale Teller

The Story of The Mermaid and The Messenger

Some say that he was a boy, others say that he was grown, but with the mind of a boy. I do not know, nor shall I ever. What I do know, was that he was a messenger for the small settlement he called home. He would rush between houses, between villages and towns, sharing the news that needed carried. There were no rookeries then, with masters and skilled pigeons. Instead, boys were the only thing in use.

This particular boy was one who was filled with creative ideas and curiosity. It was told that he would think up tales along his travels, before drawing scenes from them in the sand or the soil. 

He would frequently step off his path to explore the forests where magic roamed wild, racing the orbs as they shot through the air like seagulls chasing the bread crust between your fingers.

He would watch the plants grow, their fragrant flowers covering the forest floor like the thickest of woollen blankets. He'd see the trees as they twisted into instruments for the maidens to play upon. The forests were alive back then, and he felt alive and filled with the hope when within them.

One day, whilst taking a shortcut through the forest to a nearby town, this boy stumbled across a small pond. It was no larger than two carts long. It was filled with the clearest of water, and the boy stopped, stooping low for a drink.

As he looked into the water he saw movement, a grey-blue fish, followed by another. Underwater vines swished with the movement, yet the water didn't cloud. It was as clear as a cup in your hand, with the gravel bottom visible. Its ground was covered in shells of purple and blue, twisting and swirling into elaborate designs. It was one of the most beautiful things the boy had ever seen. The most beautiful though, was the lady who sat upon one of these shells in the centre of the pond.

She was fully submerged in the water, yet she showed no signs of drowning, and all signs of life. Her hair didn't spread around her shoulders and face how it would ours. It instead lay flat down her back, with only the smallest waver of movement.

She was dressed in golden-red, with a strip of fabric across her breasts that matched the decorations in her hair. A golden skirt flowed slim and long, turning back to almost wrap around the shell she sat upon. It spread out at the end into a lighter gold that flowed from the grey it had begun to blend into. It was rather lovely; but looking closer, the boy could see that it was no skirt at all.

The gold was made of no fabric, nor of a shiny armour. Instead, it was like the scales of a fish, wriggling in the water how the tail of one would do so. It shone as the sun hit it. An orb of magic flew by the boy's ear, its shimmering light dancing across the water too. The lady's tail swished again, and the boy drew his eyes from it and back to her face, her hands, and the golden bowl she held between them.

There was a strange stream rising, like that of the boiling water in his mother's cooking pot. It drifted towards her face, whisping into her hair, ghosting across her cheeks. Her eyes were closed as she welcomed it. There was a look of peaceful concentration upon her features, as though its caress whispered to her what no other could hear.

The boy watched until his eyes began to blur from lack of blinking, for he was afraid should he blink, the beauty would disappear.

With a sudden thought, he grabbed a nearby shell that lay along the edge of the pond. It was a large one, twisted in a way that made it attractive to gaze at and enjoyable for children to rise to their ear to hear the strange shushing sound it made. He lowered it into the water, drawing it up when full. If he was careful, he could carry this home without a drop spilling. It would be his keepsake from this day, the only part of this strange fish-women he knew he could keep.

With a splash, a head popped up from the shell, blue contrasting against the grey as a tiny fish no larger than his finger looked around. It was a curious little fellow, much like the boy, but he knew it belonged with the pond, the strange woman, and the other fish that swam with her.

The fish was placed back in the water, and as the boy looked, he felt the sadness overcome him. The woman was gone, the pond was clouded, and his only sign of what he had seen was the little fish gently swimming across the water, before beneath its surface.

As he grew old, it was a memory he didn't forget. No matter how often he returned to the pond and the love he had left within it, he never saw the strange woman again.

Perhaps by trying to claim a part of her for himself, he ruined the goodness that had been. Maybe the experience was not meant to be more than that simple fragment. The boy never knew, nor do we today. 

His lesson was learned, and his tale was told. May we remember it.