Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [56]
“You’re shaking,” the woman said, crouching next to Lenia. “What happened to you?”
The woman was carrying a basket with bread in it. The smell of yeast, of egg, was so strong it almost made Lenia gag. She could smell the cloth of the woman’s dress. The wet salt of the sea, the perfume of flowers in the breeze. The smells swirled around her, sliding in and out of each other. This new body was so weak, she could do nothing to stop the assault on it.
Footsteps were approaching. Two human men, dressed from head to toe in matching green and gold uniforms, appeared in front of her.
“I found her lying here,” the woman explained. “She seems confused. I think she might have wandered down from the castle. She must be wealthy—look at that necklace.”
The men peered at her, nodding. “The king and queen have some visitors from the East. She might be one of them,” the darker of the two men said. He spoke loudly to Lenia, overpronouncing every word. “Can you stand?”
“I’d love to have been at whatever party she was at last night,” the other one said, more coarsely. His eyes swept up her legs, over her center, her torso. “My God, I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful.”
The old woman coughed disapprovingly. “Perhaps you might lend her your jacket.”
“Of course,” the first soldier said, slipping off his jacket and handing it to the woman to hold. He turned to Lenia. “I’m just going to put my arm around you to help you up, okay?”
Lenia nodded.
“So you understand me but you cannot speak?” he asked.
She nodded again.
“I think she has been hurt,” the old woman said. “I think something terrible has happened to this girl. You must get her to the castle so someone can tend to her.”
“We will take her to the head of the king’s household.”
The two soldiers positioned themselves on either side of Lenia and lifted her from the ground. Her legs uncurled, stretched out, and it was as if blades were shooting through her. She tried moving one foot in front of the other and it was excruciating, just as the sea witch had promised.
Water dripped down her cheeks, and she realized she was crying. An image flashed before her through the haze of pain: Margrethe, with tears on her face as the two of them sat on the shore.
Slowly, the soldiers helped Lenia into the jacket, and they were surprised at how awkward she was, as if she did not understand where to put her arms. Then they half led and half carried her to the castle. She tried putting her feet down, stumbling and then walking as they moved alongside her, their hands under her arms. The sand cut into her bare feet. It was all a blur now—the pain, the smells, the blinding light, the sounds moving toward her from all directions. She concentrated on the movement of her own body, trying to get used to the feeling of being wide open, all blood and muscle and bone.
The castle was quiet now, and the paths leading up to it were empty. Just a few guards paced around in front.
“It is early. They might still be at Mass,” the woman said.
Just then, a beautiful auburn-haired girl in a white dress stepped outside, holding a stringed, wooden instrument and a bow in one hand. She stopped and stared down at the scene in front of her. “And who is this?” she asked, in a high, lilting voice. Behind her, a few other girls hovered quietly, all also holding instruments.
The old woman bowed deeply to the girl.
“Princess Katrina,” one of the soldiers said, also bowing. “We have come across this woman on the beach. We thought she might be a friend of your family’s?”
“Why do you talk of her as if she is not there?”
“She doesn’t seem to be able to speak, Your Highness. We think she is wounded.”
“How strange,” Katrina said, walking right up to Lenia and looking into her face. “You cannot speak?”
Lenia stared at the girl, frightened. She could see the prince in her features—the same lips