Something Fishy

Chapter One

Once upon a time...

General Herringswold wiped sweat from his eyes with the back of his bloody leather glove. Lord above, but he was ready for the blasted wars to be over. The end of this battle would be a good start. This particular clash had begun yesterday morning, and no end was in sight. No matter how General Herringswold maneuvered his troops, the enemy wasn’t weakened.
The Duke of Bastone had had his eye on the crown for years. When the King took ill four months ago, the Duke had mounted an attack against the King’s troops. As the Duke of Bastone was the most powerful lord in the kingdom, second only to the King himself, he had a many troops at his disposal, and seemingly unlimited funds. Slowly but surely, those still loyal to the King were being defeated. Soon, the General knew, he himself would be exiled from the country—unless he died in battle first. The thought bothered him more than it ought. After all, Herringswold had spent his entire adult life serving the King in one war or another. He was not afraid of death, but he did fear what would happen to his wife and young daughter when Bastone stole the crown.
While Herringswold did not agree in the least with Bastone’s plan, he had to admit the Duke was a brilliant strategist. Somehow, the man always knew where to have reinforcements. His network of spies was legendary. Herringswold didn’t doubt that at least one of the enemy’s spies was fighting under the King’s colors even now. Of course, the General had his own spy planted in Bastone’s army. Young Thomas Arles was only sixteen, but had the courage of men twice his age, and cunning enough to temper his youthful eagerness. The boy had wedged himself firmly into the role of new knight of the Duke, with a severe case of hero worship. Bastone had an ego just big enough to fall for the ploy, and had taken Thomas under his wing.
But where was Thomas now? He was supposed to have met Herringswold an hour ago to pass information on the Duke’s latest strategies. The general was more than slightly worried for his young protege. Had the Duke found him out? The weight of another possible death weighed heavily on the general’s already burdened shoulders.
The sight of a small cat streaking by him pulled Herringswold out of his unhappy reverie. A familiar roar reached his ears. Only war horses had hooves heavy enough to shake the ground in such a manner. Several of them, the general judged. And no friendly calls to warn him of the approach of allies or his own men. No, these were the Duke’s men, and the general was caught.


“Hurry miss!” Joan the upstairs maid called, sounding panicked. Zelia was not surprised: Joan usually had some reason for terror. “I can see him coming through the gate, and you without your dress on!” Joan yanked said garment over the girl’s head none too gently. Zelia hurried down the stairs to the foyer to greet her father.
As she waited nervously, she wondered what her father would think of her. According to May, the cook, Zelia had changed a lot in the three years since she had last seen him. Watching as he dismounted, she decided that he had changed a lot too. May had said to expect that, since he had been in prison for so long. But somehow, this sharp man with heavy, forbidding eyebrows did not remind her at all of the gentle father she remembered. Now his face was deeply lined, and his beard was speckled liberally with gray. The blue eyes that had always smiled had retreated into his skull, leaving the skin they had inhabited to hang purple on his cheekbones. She was almost glad her mother was too ill to have come downstairs.

“Papa?” she queries hesitantly.

“My Zelia. You are even more beautiful than you were three years ago.” Despite his warm words, the sadness remained in his eyes. Zelia didn’t notice, having thrown herself into her papa’s arms.

Herringswold couldn’t believe how much his daughter had grown in the years since he had last seen her. She had been fifteen then, about to be married to young Thomas. Her blond hair was even longer, wrapped around her head in a coronet. Her face had lost the last of its baby roundness, now gracefully defined. The rest of her had grown more rounded, but a father didn’t like to think of that. Her eyes, though—they were still the same blue of the lake behind the keep.

He sighed, knowing the girl would probably never marry now. At eighteen, she was getting too old for a decent match. Especially since they had lost their status and wealth when the war was lost. Herringswold had spent the last two years in prison as a traitor. At his side had been Thomas—until two months ago, when the young man had finally given in to disease. Luckily, it had been fast. One day, he was just gone. He dreaded having to break the news to his daughter. She and his wife had had enough bad news, what with him going to prison, and their land being confiscated by the crown. The women had been lucky to be allowed to remain in their ancestral home, though they had to move out of the family suites to make room for the new owners. He rejoiced now that his wife had never borne a son, who would be crushed by the loss of his inheritance. And now he’d have to tell them that Zelia wasn’t getting married after all. And that Herringswold himself was to be exiled come fall. He was given just the summer as a grace period, to be with his family before he had to leave for parts unknown.

He wouldn’t have the opportunity to share his news after all. A woman arrived on the premises. Herringswold could see that she had once been beautiful, with thick dark hair and darker eyes. Grief rode high in them now, and he could see it was fresh.

“Are you General Herringswold?” she asked in a rage.

“I was,” he answered calmly. A mother, he assumed correctly. That would explain why she looked so familiar. She had probably begged him once to protect her son, undoubtedly a green soldier. Another death on his shoulders.

“I’ve waited for you to be released from prison. You took my family from me!”

Herringswold let her rant. He couldn’t ease her pain, but he could let her blame someone. So often, mothers needed someone to blame.

“So I’ll take yours from you,” she cackled.

Zelia thought this poor lady must be insane. She was tiny; how was she going to carry her threat through. She knew her son must have been lost on the battlefield, and Zelia really did feel sorry for her, but really. Did she have to make impossible threats?

The girl soon found out the threat wasn’t so empty after all.

The strange woman swiveled suddenly, fixed her black eyes on Zelia. “You are a beautiful young lady,” she said acidly, pointing. “You won’t be. No, you’ll spend the rest of your life as deformed as your father’s twisted heart. Don’t feel bad, love. Your beauty wouldn’t have lasted forever in any case. And just so you don’t get lonely, your mother can join you!”

That was it. No “abracadabra,” no wand-waving, no potions. Just a simple statement, as if it were fact. Zelia’s disbelieving laugh was cut short by the woman’s wail.

“My poor Thomas!” And the woman left.

Zelia’s eyes cut to her father’s. “Papa? Not my Thomas,” she begged. His mouth remained in a grim line. Anything he might have said was cut off by his wife’s blood-curdling scream from upstairs. Father and daughter rushed up, ignoring the terrified servants rushing down. Zelia led the way to her mother’s room, was stopped by a panicked Joan.

“No, miss. You mustn’t go in there. It’s horrible!” Zelia pushed by the maid and into the room. And stopped short. In the bed where her mother had lain a few minutes ago was a monster. Something with a tail, and scales—and her mother’s face. It appeared the thing was choking; flaps on the side of its neck waved frantically, rather like the rest of the beast. It rather looked like a fish out of water, Zelia thought.

Apparently her father thought the same. “Oh, Grace,” he moaned, gripping his wife in his arms. He sped out of the room. Totally befuddled, Zelia followed his mad tear back down the stairs, into the night. They were headed for the lake, she realized. Her father was trying to save the thing!

“Papa, no!” she screamed. That monster couldn’t possibly be her mother. She tripped on the rough ground, and went down hard. She couldn’t force her legs to push her back to her feet. She looked at her misbehaving limbs and saw why. Her legs were gone. Her feet were gone. In their place were scaly, slimy fins. She didn’t know if she couldn’t breathe because of the panic or because of the gills fanning on her neck. Either way, she was grateful when it finally went dark.

**************

She must have fallen asleep in the bath, Zelia decided. Her fingers and toes would be all wrinkled.

Then she remembered.

She didn’t have toes.

“Well, damn,” she muttered. She looked around her. Surprisingly, she wasn’t in the lake. She was in a pond, a few miles away. While still on what had once been her father’s property, the pond was well-hidden in the deepest part of the woods. She could be reasonably sure no one would find her here.

It seemed a little silly to be wearing her heavy dress when she didn’t have any legs, so she decided to take it off, leaving just her chemise. Removing the weight would make it easier to, ah, swim. She was pleased to note that she hadn’t lost the cross necklace her mother had given her on her betrothal day. While she altered her state of dress, she looked for her mother.

She was nowhere in sight, but her father sat on a rock at the shore. Zelia took off toward him, finding it far easier to swim with fins than with legs. Which didn’t mean she didn’t hate her condition. But she was sure that her father would find a way to fix this.

Unfortunately, as her father explained to her, it wasn’t that easy. A curse could only be lifted by the death of the witch who had cast it. Who could have known that Thomas’s mother practiced magic? He had been so sweet and good.

So Zelia tried a different angle. “Where is Mama?” she asked.

Herringswold heaved a great sigh. “She wouldn’t stay in the water.”

Zelia laughed. “So, what? Is she holed up in a bathtub somewhere in the keep?”

“No.” A long silence ensued.

“I have to leave. I-I can’t stay here,” Herringswold stammered.

She tried to understand. She really did. Zelia’s mother had loved her father so much that she wouldn’t stay in the water with her daughter, and now her father couldn’t stay in the place where his wife had died. Their devotion to each other was touching, but it left Zelia alone. Still, she nodded her acceptance. Her father shouldn’t be burdened with a monster daughter. She would wait here patiently until the old witch kicked the bucket.

Part of herself wanted to scream and cry. A big part of herself. But she saw that there was nothing to be done. It could only pain Papa more, that he hadn’t been able to save his wife, and now wasn’t able to help his daughter, either. She would be strong, she vowed. After all, how long could she possibly have to wait?