Young Writers Society

The Falcon sailed out of the harbor with a fair wind and a following sea, a glorious sight, flags flying from every available place. Tiernan stood on the docks, right hand raised, and spoke into a small hand mirror, still looking at the sea. "The Falcon is flying back to its roost."

"You have absolutely no flair for this," a voice from the mirror replied.

Tiernan growled and threw the mirror into the sea. "I quit!" he bellowed. "And, for the record, I no longer find you intensely attractive!"

The feast was over. Everything was over. Silira sat on the taffrail, balancing perfectly. Corwin and Serena were talking to some people on the prow, and Hans Swordfish was giving the crew orders. Yes, this looked like a happy ending. Corwin was smiling at Serena, his arm around her waist. Silira pulled off her hood.

If this is my last night, Lord, let's make it a belter. All I ever did was live for You. So let's die in a manner befitting the daughter of the King.

She didn't brace herself or try to psych herself up. She just jumped off the rail, went over to Corwin, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to her and laughed. "Oh, Silent!" He turned back to Serena. "My love, Lady Silent is the best dancer I've ever seen. Of course, I've never seen you dance. Musicians!" he shouted, running out onto the center of the deck, or as close as he could get. There was a purple and gold pavilion in the middle of the deck for the bride and groom when the dancing stopped at midnight.

He spun around and held out his hands to Serena. "Let's dance."

Captain Swordfish signaled to a blond sailor who was looking out of a hatch. The sailor nodded and went below.

"Now, lads," he said in a Swardset accent.

The Falcon's fifty guns fired from both sides of the ship. Serena, coming up to Corwin, nearly fell, but he caught her in a perfect dip and they both laughed and couldn't stop. The sound of the cannons rang out into the evening, and the musicians struck up a dancing song.

Silira gasped. She knew that song, and not from the land, but from the sea. That was the lay of Rory the sailor. But it had never been sung above the surface, not without the singer cracking up. But...oh, she understood it now. It had been sung in the language of the sea, so humans hadn't understood it. But how could they have heard the whole thing? No one had ever sung the whole thing...except her, on her last day as a mermaid, her eighteenth birthday, trying to choose a song to sing at the ball, sitting on the top of Kelp Mountain and singing the whole day long. Some sailors had heard her.

Well, this was the only song she knew how to dance to, and no one else on this ship could. She looked up at the stars. Nice one, God. At least I can go down dancing.

Everyone else was already dancing, more waltzing than doing anything else. Silira looked around. Apparently no one wanted this dance. Well, fine. She would be better without a partner.

She tapped her foot on the deck, testing the sway of the ship, gauging how to dance without falling.

She tapped it again. Maybe she could even use the tilting to her own advantage, using it to throw her higher.

One more tap. The song was infectious, addictive even. Maybe it was just as well she was the only one who could sing it.

Silira spun out into the dance. It wasn't unusual for a girl to dance alone when no one asked her, but her dancing was unusual. More than unusual--perfect. She seemed to fly through the dance, not staying on deck because of gravity, but because she wanted to. Her first night with feet was nothing to this. She concentrated all her strength on the dance, all her considerable power and skill, using moves that usually only worked underwater. She forgot everything else, having one last fling, dancing as light as a flake of foam before she turned to one. Even the pain in her feet was forgotten. She had never been this good. The pipe and violin and drum were inspired by her skill, and played better than they ever had before.

Serena didn't love Corwin, but she had an unexpected crush on him. The way he looked at Silent as she skipped and leaped and spun annoyed her, but she went on dancing with Corwin as the sun set at the distant horizon. Everyone was cheering, "Silent! Silent!" Silent was smiling, her blue eyes intense as the summer sea.

Hans Swordfish watched the dance, smiling. "Light it up, girls."

Two tiny glowing fairies jumped off his shoulders and flew into the rigging. "NOW!" they shouted in tiny voices, and others of their kind slid out of the sails and the crow's nest and cracks in the wood, glowing as they flew, flying and dancing in midair, like fireflies multiplied by six.

As the sun set and the song rose to its climax, Silira leaped and spun, using the same move she had in the Golden Palace not so long ago. This time, though, she rose higher, using the tilt of the ship to throw her up above the deck, the pain in her feet gone for one wonderful moment. She saw Corwin cheering, Serena standing in the background where she herself usually was, the stars coming out all around her as if she were floating in the night sky.

Then she landed. The sunlight was gone. It was cold, though she was wearing her coat. The ship was silent, except for the sound of the sea. Her feet hurt more than ever, and Corwin was kissing Serena again.

She turned and went to the taffrail, really wishing she could cry. Even though people could see her, the people talking and laughing, dispersing around the ship, Corwin calling to everyone, "I told you! I told you she was good! Isn't she good?"

She leaned on the rail, not getting off her feet. She was sick of the shock every time she touched the ground. Over at the other end of the ship, there was joking and laughing. Corwin was caught up in the moment. Everyone was, except for her. She pulled her hood up and looked down at the deck. She didn't want anyone to see her face.

The dancing went on and on and on, towards the new year. A few men asked Silira to dance, and she obliged them all, dancing better than any of them, better than anyone, ever. Corwin did not dance except for the first dance with Serena. Silira was cold in spite of the dancing, and she kept trying to move fast enough, to be good enough, to save herself from the cold and the memories and the present pain and the lack of the future.