Dragons of Spring Dawning by Weis, Margaret

“You’re going to turn us into fish?” Caramon asked, horrified.

“I suppose you could look at it that way,” Apoletta replied. “We will come for you at the ebb tide.”

Tika clasped Caramon’s hand. He held onto her tightly, and Tanis, seeing them share a secret look between them, suddenly felt his burden lighten. Whatever turmoil surged in Caramon’s soul, he had found a strong anchor to keep him from being swept out into dark waters.

“We’ll never forget this beautiful place,” Tika said softly.

Apoletta only smiled.

18

Dark tidings.

“Papa! Papa!”

“What is it. Little Rogar?” The fisherman, accustomed to the excited cries of his small son, who was just big enough to begin discovering the wonders of the world, did not raise his head from his work. Expecting to hear about anything from a starfish stranded on the bank to a lost shoe found stuck in the sand, the fisherman kept on restringing his net as the little boy dashed up to him.

“Papa,” said the tow-haired child, eagerly grabbing his father’s knee and getting himself entangled in the net in the process, “a pretty lady. Drown dead.”

“Eh?” the fisherman asked absently.

“A pretty lady. Drown dead,” the little boy said solemnly, pointing with a chubby finger behind him.

The fisherman stopped his work now to stare at his son. This was something new.

“A pretty lady? Drowned?”

The child nodded and pointed again, down the beach.

The fisherman squinted his eyes against the blazing noon sun and peered down the shoreline. Then he looked back at his son and his brows came together in a stern expression.

“Is this more of Little Rogar’s stories?” he asked severely. “Because if it is, you’ll be taking yer dinner standing up.”

The child shook his head, his eyes wide. “No,” he said, rubbing his small bottom in memory. “I promised.”

The fisherman frowned, looking out to sea. There’d been a storm last night, but he hadn’t heard anything that sounded like a ship smashing up on the rocks. Perhaps some of the town’s people with their fool pleasure boats had been out yesterday and been stranded after dark. Or worse, murder. This wouldn’t be the first body washed up ashore with a knife in its heart.

Hailing his oldest son, who was sluicing out the bottom of the dinghy, the fisherman put his work aside and stood up. He started to send the small boy in to his mother, then remembered he needed the child to guide them.

“Take us to the pretty lady,” the fisherman said in a heavy voice, giving his other son a meaningful glance.

Tugging his father along eagerly. Little Rogar headed back down the beach while his parent and his older brother followed more slowly, fearing what they might find.

They had gone only a short distance before the fisherman saw a sight that caused him to break into a run, his older son pounding along behind.

“A shipwreck. No doubt!” the fisherman puffed. “Blasted landlubbers! Got no business going out in those eggshell boats.”

There was not just one pretty lady lying on the beach, but two. Near them were four men. All were dressed in fine clothes. Broken timbers lay scattered around, obviously the remains of a small pleasure craft.

“Drown dead,” said the little boy, bending to pat one of the pretty ladies.

“No, they’re not!” grunted the fisherman, feeling for the life-beat in the woman’s neck. One of the men was already beginning to stir-an older man, seemingly about fifty, he sat up and stared around in confusion. Seeing the fisherman, he started in terror and crawled over on his hands and knees to shake one of his unconscious companions.

“Tanis, Tanis!” the man cried, rousing a bearded man, who sat up suddenly.

“Don’t be afraid,” the fisherman said, seeing the bearded man’s alarm. “We’re going to help, if we can. Davey, run back and get yer ma. Tell her to bring blankets and that bottle of brandy I saved from Yuletide. Here, mistress,” he said gently, helping one of the women to sit up. “Take it easy. You’ll be all right. Strange sort of business-” the fisherman muttered to himself, holding the woman in his arms and patting her soothingly. “For being near drowned, none of them seems to have swallowed any water…” Wrapped in blankets, the castaways were escorted back to the fisherman’s small house near the beach. Here they were given douses of brandy and every other remedy the fisherman’s wife could think of for drowning. Little Rogar regarded them all with pride, knowing that his “catch” would be the talk of the village for the next week.