Page 12 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

“Pony.” He rubbed the little creature’s back and repeated the word a few times.

“Pony.” She liked it.

This time when he tugged her hand, she let him. He had an urgency to leave here, so she didn’t want to hold him up any longer. He lifted her into the front of the cart this time. She stood in the narrow space until he climbed up and sat on the bench.

Right. Like the other man had done. She pressed her lips together, determined to pay better attention. She didn’t know how Arick would react when he found out she was a mermaid. He had been kind, but the cautionary tales of how humans treated merfolk existed for a reason.

T he little pony trotted along the street, its head held high as if it knew how pretty it was. Sorcha took in everything around her. Arick talked, pointing every so often, repeating important words so she could learn the names of things.

She tried telling him the merfolk equivalent, but he tripped over many of them until she struggled to hold back her laughter.

“Street,” he said, pointing at the cobblestone road in front of them. “Street.”

“Sraid,” she tried. He nodded in approval. She pondered what she would have called it at home. There were no cleared spaces on the ocean floor, but they did have familiar paths. That was it. “Slighe,” she said.

“Slee-ee,” he tried.

She giggled. “Slighe.”

“Slee-ai.” Little lines formed between his eyes as he tried again. “Slee-ay.”

The ride passed with them sharing words back and forth until she grew tired.

Arick took over the conversation, telling her stories she couldn’t understand.

The cart rumbled over the cobblestone street, passing the little structures that seemed to house the humans.

Ahead, the street climbed toward the castle that loomed over them.

She observed everything — the way the structures grew larger the closer they were to the castle, the little creatures that roamed around free, the humans as they went about their day, the pockets of flowers growing on and around the buildings, casting bright spots of pink, purple, blue, and white.

Shortly before they reached the castle gates, Arick guided Pony down another street. This one wound around the hill, and soon the buildings on the right stopped, leaving only the steep hillside below the castle. The road curved, and the town fell away behind them.

Sorcha stared. The land rolled before them, broken by sharp crags and columns of stone.

The greens and browns were contrasted by pockets of color that had a wildness to them.

It reminded her of the sea, yet it was so much more.

The ocean was predictable, never-ending.

This was beauty, untamed and wild. And terrifying.

Arick drew the cart into a field and climbed down. He lifted her down and helped her to sit beside a patch of the purple-pink flowers. She brushed her hands over them in wonder.

“Heather,” he said, his hazel eyes tinted green from the surrounding flora.

She repeated the word, wondering how such a word could so perfectly encapsulate the heady perfume, the sturdy stalks, and the dainty flowers.

Despite his earlier haste, Arick relaxed beside her, showing her things and teaching her more words. Her favorite was “moors,” for he described it with a sweeping gesture at all that lay before them. She loved that he had a word that tried to pocket the wildness.

A shaggy animal with long curved horns trotted over to greet them.

It moved with a boisterous grace for one so large, its long tail swinging from the movement.

Sorcha scurried behind Arick, but he laughed and scratched the creature’s head.

He guided her hand to its side, and her fingers disappeared within the coarse hair that was nearly the same shade as her own.

“Heilan’ coo,” he told her as she stroked the animal in delight.

A shout echoed over the hills, followed by a series of yips, causing the coo to run off.

“Arick!”

He stood with a laugh. A figure ran toward them, shouting.

At his side was a small furry animal, the source of the yipping.

Arick waved his arms over his head. Sorcha took a steadying breath, prepared for him to leave her, but he stayed until the other was close.

They embraced, laughing, both talking over the other.

They broke apart, and Arick stepped back so she could see the other man. With a start, she recognized him as the other man in the water — the one who had pointed her to rescue Arick.

“Sor-she,” Arick said, motioning to her. He then placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Thomas.”

She gave a shy smile. “Sorcha,” she corrected. “Tah-mas?”

A wet nose shoved into her face, and she fell back with a squeal. The small furry creature placed its paws on her chest and licked her face. The wet tongue tickled, and she couldn’t stop her giggles.

“Cookie!” The two men rushed to save her, pulling it off her.

Thomas sat down, holding onto the animal. “Sor-ry,” he said, rubbing his fist over his chest in a circle. That was a sign she recognized. More words followed that she didn’t understand.

Arick helped her sit up. She pointed to the animal, and Arick nodded. Thomas shifted so she could pet it. This one was soft, much softer than the pony. She buried her fingers in the long white hair of the animal’s chest.

Thomas spoke, then repeated the word from earlier. “Cookie.”

“Coo-ky,” she tried. She filed away the information. Pony for the taller ones, cooky for the smaller ones.

The cooky settled on the heather beside her, stretching out his paws until he was nearly twice as long as before. His fluffy tail curled up over his back, and his ears disappeared as he yawned. She ran her fingers through his soft fur as the two men talked.

Their words flew too fast for her to understand, but every once in a while Thomas made a motion with his hands. It reminded her of the signs the merfolk often used. Water distorted sound, so unless someone was close by, it was easier to use their hands to talk.

Whatever they were discussing had them both upset. The more agitated Thomas got, the more he used the signs. More than once, he waved his hands back and forth, his fingers separated. He followed this up with sharp zigzags with his index finger.

She leaned over and touched his arm, then repeated the movement. Looking up, she wiped her hand across the sky, then did the waves and zigzags again. Storm?

Thomas grinned and copied the motion, nodding. He repeated the one for storm, followed by moving his fists in a circle, then bursting them open. Magic? He thought the storms were magic?

They tried a few more movements, and she was startled to learn how many of them were similar. Tears prickled her eyes. Arick was patient with her, but being able to communicate with someone lifted a weight. She could be part of the human world after all.