The Sea Witch, By Nikki Hall

eaven save us from drowning princes, the witch thought, those fools were ever so much more trouble than they were ever worth.

“There’s nothing to be done,” the witch circled her cauldron slowly, sadly, “She will die at morning’s first light.”

“You lie!” the eldest mermaid shrieked.

The witch drew in a breath of saltwater and her shoulders sagged. She was so very tired of all of this. They never listened.

“Please,” one of the younger maids whispered, beseeching, “tell us how we might get our sister back.”

“There is no undoing it,” the witch snapped. “I told her. I told her what I saw. That if she were to go ashore that she would be lost to this world. Never to see her father or any of you ever again. I told her how painful the transformation would be. Every step with those new feet would be like walking on broken glass. I told her.” She glared at the girls now. “Too bad she did not care as much about her family as she did a strange prince foolish enough to get thrown overboard during one silly squall.”

The maids all looked pained at her words and a lance of satisfaction pierced the witch’s heart. If they were wounded by their sister’s betrayal, they would leave. They would not push her into doing something. Their tears could not force her to help.

She had come to this place long ago for just this reason. The plains here were desolate stretches of cold gray sand. She set herself up on the edge of a seething peat marsh that swirled with whirlpools. Her ugly little cottage was constructed of the detritus of a century of shipwrecks. Shattered wood and sailors bones. There was a weird polyp forest just outside her door, extra security in the form of grasping hungry tentacles that would hold fast to anything the caught in their grips.

She’d foolishly believed that this isolation would bring her peace. She thought no one would seek her out in this cold frightening place.

She had been very wrong. Unrequited love made brave the weak. It turned mice to lions and they came still with their pleading and their tears, regardless of the prices she set, and she was bound by her curse and unable to deny them.

When these maidens’ youngest sister had come to her, the witch had nearly wept in frustration. The child had the voice of an angel. She begged and pulled out clumps of her beautiful hair in her misery and desire. She could not live without him, she’d cried.

The witch had tried to dissuade her. Had made clear the pain that would result, so excrutiating that she would beg for death. Explained that she would forever be separated from her flesh and blood, never to see her kin again. Had set the price higher than she believed the child would ever consider paying.

But still the girl begged for her aid. Turn her into a woman that she might walk on land and be united with her true love. With a leaden heart, the witch gazed into her black glass. She watched the future unfold and shuddered.

“You have only three days to win his heart,” she told the girl whose eyes had sparkled with hope, “if he denies you, you will fade with the rising sun on the fourth day, reduced to nothing more than foam on the sea. And I will tell you this now, child, I have seen what is to pass. He will not choose you. You will die.”

The girl had looked wounded, as if the witch were merely using words to be cruel. She threw her shoulders back in resolve. The witch shook her head and took up her knife. A small tremor of fear had made the girl shudder, but she’d straightened her spine and stuck out her tongue.
The witch shook the memory away and regarded the girls before her, then turned toward her glass. She watched the things that would come to pass and the burden on her heart only increased.

“There is a way,” she spoke to the eldest, the shrewdest amongst them, “but the price will be high and I am telling you now that you will fail in this. She will not chose you and the price you will pay will be in vain. I have seen what is to come. I am truly sorry, but she will die. Please, I beg you, reconsider this.”

“Tell us,” the oldest demanded, “we will pay any price. We will save her.”

“I have seen it,” the witch growled, “you will not.”

“Tell us!” The girl’s dark eyes flashed as her hair swirled about her head. It was hubris, the way they all trusted that she could weave the magic that they desired, but failed to trust that her visions of the future would come to pass. They believed they could change things.

The witch shook her head slowly. “I have never been wrong,” she whispered.

The eldest narrowed her eyes. “Tell us.” The fierce tone of her words belied the flash of doubt and fear that lurked within.

“She’s our sister,” another said softly.

It was then the witch understood.

It was not that they did not believe. She could see it in the grim resolve in all their faces. They knew she was never wrong, yet they still had to try. Their love and devotion touched something deep within her and the witch felt her curse bending to their will. She would help them, even if it would change nothing. She made the only concession she could. She set down her knife and picked up a pair of rusty scissors.

“The price will be your hair,” she said softly and the eldest girl moved forward. “May the fates find favor with you and your sister. For once, I hope that I am wrong.”

Nikki Hall is a three timer in Enchanted Conversation. She also wrote "Black Sheep," for the First Volume, and "Beastly," for Volume Two. Both are well worth reading.