The Fisherman's Daughter by K. Scott Lewis

Author:K. Scott Lewis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: innerworldsfiction.com
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

She wakes suddenly. It is still night. The moon peeks down through the thin canopy of leaves. Then she smells it. Incense and something else, a sweet scent she recognizes. Faerie’s Breath. The mountain flower that produces the white nectar called Malahkma’s Milk, a poison that rules the lives of those who taste it. And ghostfish liver. The ghost trance is the only way to safely meet them.

She sits up and looks around. She’s still alone, and her sleep site has not been disturbed as far as she can tell.

The woods are strangely silent, and then she hears it. Soft chanting, not too far away. And then she sees lights.

It’s not the glow of fire that she might expect. Green and purple, gentle hues that swell through the foliage and cast dancing shadows over her clearing.

You are meant for the fair folk.

Run away!

But she can’t. She’s fascinated by the light, and the chanting… and the echoes of faraway music that rise and stirs a longing in her soul.

No one has seen an elf. Have the shamans been truthful in their claims? Have they been communing with the sidhe? The ghost trance is the only way to safely meet them. A peek can’t hurt.

She can’t help herself. She creeps forward, towards the sound and light, wanting to see the fabled beauty that few humans ever have.

Four shamans sit together in a circle, cross-legged, and each face is twisted in a rictus of ecstasy. Their eyes are milky, and she can tell they’re in the throes of a ghostfish-induced trance.

All four shamans open their eyes and snap their heads towards her, hissing in unison, “Tresssspasssserrrrr!”

She bolts upright and then stumbles to the ground, tripping over something behind her. She pushes herself to her feet again, ready to run, but stops breathless at the sight of the two most deliciously gorgeous men she’s ever seen, dressed in purple robes, sleeveless with flowing skirts. They must be gods.

Both have long, straight hair, one brown, the other red. Fair of skin, with porcelain features and long ears sweeping twice the length of their heads into soft points, they stare at her in surprise.

The red-haired one’s eyes seize upon her. The brown-haired one sucks in a quick breath, eyes wide in fear, and his countenance darkens. He looks as if he’s about to strike her when the other leaps forward and seizes her shoulders. “She’s mine!” the red-haired one declares. “I must have her!”

The shamans grow silent and watch.

She tries to resist but he’s too strong. Or her heart’s not in the struggle. She can’t tell which. “Let me go,” she breathes.

He gazes upon her face, but then he cries out in agony. A hand has reached around his breast and plunged a dagger into it, and he slumps back.

Meiri shrieks.

A third elf, taller than the other two, with snowy blond hair, releases the corpse and lets him fall to the ground. “He—” He catches his breath as his eyes fasten upon her, and he smiles ever so faintly.

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