text: Her hair, the color of wounds and roses, blew in the wind like a banner of war. She stood upon the bow of her ship and thrust her face into the spray that was thrown up as the waves crashed against the hull. The taste on her lips was that of a home a life away and half forgotten. There had been a bargain, but that was nothing special - life is made of bargains; we sell what we can for a chance at what we need. And what price could be too much for a world out of a dream, for perfection? And so what if there had been blood? A knife in the dark of a temple, a bride-to-be helped into the abyss of the sea - to be missed, and mourned, and, ultimately, forgotten. One princess had taken the place of another, and the world spun as it always would have, and always would. She loved him, of course: her blacked-eyed prince. She loved him more than life - more than anything. And in the heart of the romantic love absolves all sins. And he loved her. First because she reminded him of a girl he thought had saved him, and later because he knew she really had. They were happy as only true lovers could be. But it was not to last. Summer followed summer and patient contentment gave way slowly to worry and apprehension. The womb of the queen had yet to quicken with the child she, and especially her husband, so longed to dote upon. Learned men of medicine were summoned first from the corners of the kingdom, and then the corners of the world. They could do nothing, for the king and queen each seemed the image of health. Magicians and sorcerers were then called upon. This one working with abacus and charts by the motion of the stars, that one with chants and herbs, this one with blood. They were no charlatans and time and again demonstrated their power to the court. The queen took to learning from them, and even her tongue was healed by cunning craft. For a while the castle was joyous again; the king had never heard her speak, nor heard her sing. And in this latter thing she had no equal in all the world. She delighted him, and she was delighted to see it. But songs can only do so much, and still the royal nursery sat empty. And so it was that the gloom of dying dreams and breaking hearts settled again upon the kingdom like a damp, choking dust. It was then that an old woman came. Having heard of her lord and lady’s plight she had journeyed from afar to offer what aid she could. Gifted she was in midwifery, and privy she was to many secrets long forgotten to the world; she had, she said, been apprenticed to the queen of the fairies in her youth and was wise in witchery. It was through her efforts that the queen came to be with child, and for months there was an unending festival to prepare the world for the coming of the new prince or princess. But when the babe finally arrived news spread through the castle that it was not well, and, if God be merciful, would not be long in the world. The old woman came to the queen afterward, once the mess of the birth had been cleaned away and the mother had had a chance to rest. She sat close in a chair as Her Majesty wept in her bed. The queen confessed then what she had before only told the king, once he had taught her how to write in the manner of men. The old woman listened, and by the end of the tale she held the queen in her arms and rocked her as she whimpered. The old woman knew of the witch the queen spoke of. Ancient she was, a cold and spiteful thing, her life preserved through wards writ when stone was new. There was little her magic could not achieve or undo, save death itself, and there was nothing made through her magic that any save her or God could challenge. And so the old woman told the queen what she should do to make things as right as they could be. For of all the temptations in the world there is but one that a witch of black heart cannot fail to be blinded by. Only one thing which would ensure her promise to undo her curse and heal the child without malice or trickery. A week later, once all the necessary ceremonies had been observed, the queen had set sail. It was near dusk when the ship finally arrived at its destination. It looked to the sailors much the same as everywhere else on the sea, but the queen was intimate with these waters, and she knew what was to be found deep below the rocking of the waves the ship rested upon. She gave her instructions to the crew, and the ice in her voice was such that they dared not defy her, though they were pained by her words. She clutched her satchel to her breast and, for a moment, looked out towards the horizon and the sun setting in a sky she had once so impotently longed to see. Then she quaffed a vial of something sticky and bubbly and smelling of salt - a potion which she had months ago learned the making of, though this was not the visit it had been intended for. She began to cough and choke, unable to take in the air. Over the side she dove and plunged down, down into the dark of the deep. The waters of the sea flowed into her, and sustained her, and again she could breath. It did not feel quite the same as it had - nothing ever does after a time away - but it was close enough for nostalgia's sake. For a while she tarried within sight of the belly of the ship as it floated above the black abyss wherein dwelt the Sea Witch. For a while she tarried upon the edge of a world she had sold so much for. She sank then, and the darkness closed in around her like the embrace of a mother who does not mean well. An incantation later and she could see in the inkiness. Far below her grew the witch's forest of hideous polyps, always hungry and grasping, filled with bones of men, and fish, and merfolk. With hope burning in her heart as only hope can burn, and only when it is come to at the end of all alternatives, she descended to the edge of that hideous wood. The slithering branches of the grove grabbed at her, but she nimbly avoided them as she had once before, and made her way to the clearing far within. She came upon it ere too long and, sat in the place it had since a time beyond all memory, was the stone hut of the Sea Witch. Taking a deep breath of seawater the queen gathered her courage and knocked. For too many moments there was no answer, but just as the queen raised her hand to rap again the door slowly swung inwards. “Hello, are you at home, grandmother?” The queen used this form of address out of old habit as much as caution; it was how they had all been instructed to speak if ever they were so foolish or unfortunate as to cross her path. The blackness of the hut, which the queen's spell of seeing could not pierce, offered no reply. And she was not so stupid as to walk in uninvited. “I have brought gifts, grandmother.” The queen reached into her satchel and pulled out a handful of sapphires from the kingdom's store of treasures; she laid them on the threshold. “There is more-”. “I'm sure there is,” slithered a voice from the darkness, dripping with ichor and sugar-glazed hate. A tentacle, blue and bloated, glided out of the blackness and pulled the pile of gems inside. The queen watched this with quiet revulsion, and when she looked up there floated the witch, her jowled face and flabby arms bobbing through the tide atop a sprout of worm-like limbs. “You might as well come in, I suppose,” cooed the witch. “I expect we have things to discuss.” As the words were spoken the darkness inside yielded to the queen's eyes. There was no more light than before, but she could now make out the sparse furniture and eels writhing on the floor. The witch swam to the far side of her stone table and piled her jewels on top of it; she fiddled with them as she spoke. “Such pretty things you bring me, princess.” The witch lifted a gem to the slit of her eye, “one wonders what favors they are meant to buy. Are you not happy in the life you've bartered for? You seemed so eager for it when last we spoke.” “It was perfect,” muttered the queen as she approached, “everything I dreamed or could have dreamed, and more, but-” “And, of course, there is the matter of how you're speaking,” interrupted the witch. “You're a cheat, princess. You squirm your way out of one bargain and them come to beg another?” “I did not cheat!” screamed the queen, indignation and hate overcoming sense. The cool gaze of the witch tempered the her tone and more softly she continued. “You never said I couldn't undo it, you didn't make it that way. You could have...” At this the hands of the queen clutched her stomach and she lapsed into silence. The ocean ate the tears from her eyes as they were born. “Ah,” said the witch, a smile blooming on her fanged maw “so that's it is it? Not happy with just the prince, but a baby as well?” “It was important to the king; I hadn't even thought of it before he began to talk about how happy it was going to make us.” “Tut tut,” the witch's finger wagged lazily from side to side, “foolish not to think ahead, foolish. And now you find it not so easy to give the man what he wants?” The witch leered at the queen from toe to crown. “You find, perhaps, that your pretty body, your dancing, *your* *singing*, just isn't quite enough, so you come back to me for more favors? To help get you with a vile man-baby? You are a tiresome, greedy girl, princess.” “We had a baby,” said the queen, nearly breathless and with eyes downcast, “that's why I've come.” The witch paused for a moment and then began to laugh. “Congratulations, princess!” The sapphires fell from her hands as she pounded upon her table in jubilation. “It could not have been easy! There must have been much trying - that much I'm sure you enjoyed, and you're welcome for it - and much waiting, many false starts, much disappointment. And then, at last, it sticks! And the baby comes!” And here her laughter stopped, but her grin widened. “How is the dear thing?” “You know, I think.” The words tumbled from lips nearly still. The witch leaned forward over her table. “Tell me anyway,” she whispered, her eyes wrinkled in glee. The queen fell to her knees and clutched her bag. “Please, grandmother,” said the queen through her sobs, “please help my baby, please make everything alright, please, please, please, please-”. “Enough,” barked the witch, all mirth gone from her voice, all glee vanished from her face. “As I said, princess, you are *greedy*.” She paused and licked her lips, a hint of a smile returning to them. “All the same, were it not for greed I'd do a fair bit less business.” The witch turned toward a shelf and removed a vile. “This, poured down the gob of the tyke, will, in a day or so - and not without pain - make things right, as you'd have it.” She held the potion up, she let the eyes of the queen rest upon it. Moment after moment of silence filled the hut. “What is the price?” And who could say if the witch heard the question, so soft it was, but she knew what was asked all the same. “Indeed, we do come now to that, princess.” The witch sauntered her girth back and forth as she floated here and there, lips pursed, hand to her chin. “It wasn't easy to make, you know.” “I'm sure.” “Consequently, it should be very expensive.” “That would only be fair.” “Tell me,” the witch stopped in front of the queen and looked down upon her, “if you had to pick - if you could have only *one -* which would it be? The prince, or the baby?” The queen's gaze fell from the vial and her head sank slowly until it rested in the muck of the floor. Of course that was the price, that was not unexpected; nevertheless, it was hard to hear: a choice she could not make. Time passed by in slow currents, but, finally, the queen spoke. “The king would not trade his baby's life for his own. I would betray him to allow that to happen, and I can't do that.” “But, for your part,” the witch leaned down so that her lips almost brushed the ear of the queen, “you'd rather have the prince? Not the baby?” “...yes,” breathed the queen into the slime of the floor. “Good, then it's a good price.” The witch's smile returned as she stood,, and through it could be seen row upon row of needle teeth. “Shall we call it a bargain?” The queen sat up, her face smeared with filth; the eels writhed around her as she stared at the vial, her mouth agape. “I, I have, more gifts...” The queen fumbled in her bag with clumsy, distracted hands. “No gifts, princess. No haggling. The price is the price.” The words were chill, and behind them the threat of danger. The queen's shoulder's slumped and necklaces and bracelets and other fine things fell from her soft grip. “Is there no other way?” “None.” The eyes of the queen went far away as she thought of her husband, and how she had seen him first, on his birthday. She remembered how she had loved him at once, and how she had saved him, and all she had done to win him. She thought of how happy they had been; she thought of their baby, so innocent and caught in a battle that was not its own. She loved it too, of course she did. She thought at last of the witch's choice, crafted to force her to break her own heart. And then her thoughts ran out, and there was nothing but to answer. “I can't,” whispered the queen, as though to herself. The smile on the witch's face faded into indifference and she shrugged her bulbous shoulders. “Then the baby dies.” She turned and replaced the vial on the shelf, “but don't worry, I shouldn't imagine it will take long.” “We'd had such hopes, you know.” The queen remained on the floor but looked up now at her enemy. “Our business is concluded,” she turned away and made a show of busying herself with organizing her things. “Don't let me keep you.” “If it was a girl,” continued the queen, “I'd teach her to sing, and if it was a boy he'd teach him how to hunt.” There was no emotion in her voice now, all sorrow drained away as though into the wide, wide sea. The witch did not turn around and spoke as though to someone not there. “I don't especially care. Now leave, before we have trouble.” As though they understood, which, of course, they must have, the eels began to circle the queen, their jaws snapping. “I didn't see why it shouldn't be both in any case.” The queen rose and turned toward the door, “but my husband had funny ideas about the whole thing, and I could never refuse him.” “Send him my regards.” The queen gingerly stepped her way to the threshold. She stood there for a moment, her hand upon the cold, rough stone of it, and then she turned back. “I did get him to agree about you, though, grandmother.” “Hmm? What's that?” The witch did turn then, for she was a curious sort, as the old woman said she must be: all black witches are, when it comes to the subject of themselves. “You brought us together, and you know so much,” the queen stepped back inside, and the eels made way for her, a little. “It made sense, and was, I think, to be a fair show of gratitude. I even dared think it would make up for the tongue.” An embarrassed smile played across the queen's face and she looked to the side. “What was?” asked the witch as she floated nearer. “Boy or girl - to make them strong and safe - the king and I thought its godmother might teach it some small magics; small for you, of course, but even that would have been enough to make the child mighty, I'm sure. That's what convinced him, really, not me: anything to make his baby safe.” The witch gasped, and bits of alchemical bric-a-brac, expensive or not, tumbled to floor as her tentacles flew out and knocked against the shelves. In a single swift motion she swam the rest of the way to the queen and pulled her close so that they were face to face. “You'd have me godmother your firstborn?” The witch's eyes were wide, her tone disbelieving. None but white witches had ever done such a thing, and so few really knew why, but the old woman had. It was a secret curse, from Titania herself, on the whole lot of them. To punish them for a slight which happened long, long ago. They were never to have it, though always - always - to lust for it. “Of course,” said the queen, “as I said, it seemed only fair. But it doesn't matter now, and I don't want to keep you.” She tried to turn, but the witch's cold and scaly hands on her shoulders would not allow it. Though they did not grip so tightly as to hurt. “Wait, this changes things.” And now it was the witch's eyes which looked far away and into a world she never thought could be. “But you said the price was the price, grandmother.” The queen tilted her head and raised her brow quizzically. “You said there could be no haggling.” “This is a thing that cannot be asked,” the witch was breathless, beside herself with shock and budding glee, “it must be given, freely, of your own accord. Those are old laws, Your Majesty - older even than I.” Her voice grew more and more rapid as true happiness bloomed in a heart which had long forgotten even the memory of its memory. “And you offer it to me? To be godmother to your precious little one?” “I would, grandmother, gladly, if only my child could live to enjoy it.” The face of the queen beamed at a victory, such as it was, so near at hand. “It shall! I swear it! A gift given with nothing asked except that you keep your word.” “Oh, grandmother,” exclaimed the queen as she embraced the witch and choked down her revulsion, “by your life and magic you swear it?” For a promise from a witch is strong, strong as any magic which flows within her. “I do, of course I do. But we must be quick!” she turned from the queen and shot back to her shelves. “The potion, and this one too - for the pain - you must administer them as soon as you can!” “Nothing simpler, grandmother,” laughed the queen and blessing the old midwife in her thoughts, “my baby is here.” The brow of the witch furrowed as she turned, potions in hand, “What?” “It is here! I brought it, knowing there might not be time to come and go back.” The queen held her satchel up in front of her and, opening it, emptied the contents onto the floor. And there it lay in a little heap amidst what few trinkets of gold and silver had remained in the bag. It was twisted, and gray: a half-scaled torso with an eyeless face and a body that ended in a broken mockery of a fish's tail. “It lived only an hour or so.” The voice of the queen lilted, an edge of hysteria behind the facade of mirth. “It screamed the whole time. The king took it very hard, I'm afraid.” The queen stepped over the corpse and approached the Sea Witch. “But it's alright now, right grandmother? You'll make it well, you swore so - on *your life* and by *your magic*, yes?” The witch dropped her potions and drew herself up. When she spoke the words sounded far away in her ears. “You tricked me.” “Oh, no, I don't think so,” said the queen, sweetly. “And, in any case, why should that matter? When the shoe was on the other foot - ha - you didn't seem to mind.” Still she continued to approach, slowly. “Are you saying you renege?” The queen frowned and her voice sank into sullenness. “That would be unseemly, grandmother. That wouldn't do at all.” At a small gesture from the witch the eels in droves came at the queen. They bit into her legs and feet, and her blood flowed into the room. It hurt, but that was nothing. The queen's feet always hurt. Each step was a knife thrust into her flesh, and bone, and marrow. It had always been thus, for as long as she had had feet to walk upon. She had long since learned to ignore pain. And, even if she hadn't, pain was nothing in the face of this; pain was nothing at all when it bought her revenge. She leapt at the witch. The hag turned and shot to the right, but her tentacles trailed behind her and the queen was quick, agile as ever. She snatched one and squeezed. The magics that had so long protected the witch failed in the wake of her broken promise. The slimy flesh popped and a black jelly of blood and puss squirted out. The touch of it burned the queen but she did not loose her grip on the broken appendage. The scream that burst from the witch was, to the queen's ears, more beautiful than any song she herself could have ever sung. Together they rushed out the door: the witch trying to flee but pulling the queen in tow. Into the horrid forest they went. The eels followed in a swarm and bit the queen on her arms and back and face; they tore flesh and scratched to the bone underneath until her skin was all ribbons and blood. But the grasping branches grabbed one after another until all were caught. At the last it was only the witch and the queen locked in struggle; the forest would not dare snatch at its master, and the magic that animated it could not prevent the queen from forcing the hag to make good on her deal. The witch jerked from side to side, trying to throw off the queen, but again and again Her Majesty grabbed on to a new tentacle and squeezed until there were hardly any left unbroken. Together they sank into the muck, the water think with their mingled blood. “Stop,” gasped the witch, “please, stop. I can still make things right, and I will, I swear.” “You can raise the dead?” The queen reached for a rock as the question fell from what was left of her lips. “No, but I can make it so you'll have new children, and they will be beautiful and strong! They will live long - longer than any man, and I will teach them all I know! Only cry off!” The queen found a suitable instrument: one side rounded, the other a jagged edge. She held it tight in her hand and paused. A breath escaped her and she spoke a truth which betrayed her motherhood, and she didn't care: “If the king will forgive you, and accept your terms, then I will cry off.” “Yes! Thank you, Your Majesty! I will come to you in your castle and beg mercy, I swear it!” The queen raised the rock above her head, “The king is not in the castle, grandmother. In his grief he jumped from the high tower - not an hour after our child sat cold in its crib.” The witch snarled and lunged up; her fangs were bared and sought purchase in the white flesh of the royal throat. But the queen was quicker, and the pointed edge of the rock was thrust deep into the open mouth. Down and forward it was pressed, forcing the detestable head to the ground. There was a small struggle, but the witch was tired and, stripped of her old protections, weak. She fought for the life she had and hated, but the queen fought for the life she might have had and always loved. The snap at the back of the witch's throat was the final word on the matter. The queen looked down on the limp carcass, as much jelly as flesh and bone, and turned away. She staggered as she went. She was dizzy with fatigue and blood loss, and the fire of the witch's blood had worked its way into her through her wounds. She sat, finally, and then lied down and looked up toward the sky a world away. And though it wasn't there, for it was night now, and though she wouldn't have been able to see it if it were, because she was so deep in the sea, she glimpsed again the sun. The queen closed her eyes and slept with a smile on her face. And in time the sea did what it does, just as the world spins; and bit by bit, by way of one stomach or another, the little mermaid returned to the sea.