The Mermaids Madness

of the wood, making the water taste thick and sour. A white patch on the walls and floor near the far corner turned out to be an overgrown bed of those flowering worms Morveren liked. Several of the jars had apparently fallen, their remains broken and half buried.
    Morveren turned to Snow, her hands and fingers dancing. She hummed a quick-paced tune with no consistent melody.
    Was this how the undine communicated underwater? Snow spread her hands and shrugged.
    Morveren swam to a nearby shelf and grabbed a small, sealed jar. She scraped away a layer of algae with her thumbnail, then held the jar to Snow’s light. Apparently satisfied, she turned and smashed the jar against the wall.
    Bubbles of air exploded from the jar. Morveren poked a finger into the largest. Slowly, the bubble expanded until it filled the upper part of the hold.
    Morveren spat great lungfuls of water, then gasped for breath. “I apologize. I forgot you wouldn’t know how to speak.”
    Snow was too busy coughing to answer. Water exploded from her mouth and nose. She felt as if she were vomiting up half the sea.
    Morveren chuckled and swam toward the back of the hold, where strands of blue ropes formed a crude curtain. Snow felt the tickle of magic as Morveren passed through the ropes.
    Snow floated on her back and waited for her stomach to stop spasming. Eventually, she felt well enough to look around. She could still feel water in her chest, but so long as she didn’t think about it too hard, it didn’t seem to bother her in this body. She just couldn’t inhale as deeply as she was used to doing.
    She pushed toward the shelves and brushed her fingers over a slender green jar. The magic worked into the glass made her jump. She could feel—no, hear —the presence of life within the jar, though it appeared empty. She picked it up and inspected the lid, which was sealed in place with some sort of wax.
    “Don’t open that,” Morveren said as she returned. Her voice was stronger than before, and her face was flushed. She appeared almost euphoric. She set a small sack on the floor and swam over to join Snow.
    “What is it?” Snow asked, cradling the jar in both hands.
    “Some of the ship’s crew refused to abandon their ship after passing on. Nasty, vindictive men who did everything they could to interfere with my work and drive me away. I hate to think what they were like in life.” She took the jar from Snow’s hand and returned it to the shelf. “That’s what tried to kill us out there. A few of them must have escaped since the last time I was here.”
    “I’ve never felt magic like this.” Snow had fought spirits before. The last time had cost her seven years of her life. Yet Morveren had dozens of such jars, not counting any that might be hidden in other parts of the ship. A vessel this size could have carried a crew of a hundred.
    “The soul jars keep them from mischief until they’re ready to move on,” Morveren said. “These spells are the basis for the knife I made for Lirea.”
    “Do all of these jars hold trapped souls?”
    Morveren laughed. “Not all. Some are ingredients for various spells. Others are more mundane.” She grabbed a clay pot and offered it to Snow. “Dried snails. They’re delicious.”
    “No, thank you.” Snow was still studying the soul jar. She could see bits of hair or string pressed into the wax. “How do you know when the souls are ready to move on?”
    “So many questions.” Morveren dragged a metal chest from just beyond the curtain. “I promise I’ll teach you what I can. But not here. Your friends are waiting, and you don’t want to be trapped this far from the surface when your spell wears off.”
    “What’s in there?” Snow asked, pointing to the chest. When Morveren turned away, Snow grabbed another soul jar and tucked it into the front of her shirt. The jar pressed uncomfortably against her chest, but the added fat of her mermaid form provided some cushioning.
    “Memories.” Morveren ran a finger over the pitted metal, then opened the lid. She pulled out a tiny necklace of yellow and green stones. “This was Lannadae’s. I made it for her when she was born, but she kept trying to swallow it.”
    She looped the necklace around her wrist. Next she retrieved a tiny doll. The upper torso appeared to be made of woven seaweed. The lower portion was covered in tiny purple scales, ending in a thin shell carved into the shape of the tail fin. “These were the first scales