They seemed to be carved out of stone for their movements were limited, as their bodies moved fluidly with the flow of the water. It was as if they were conserving all energy for a great battle. Their eyes were fringed with heavy translucent lashes, but they never blinked. Perhaps the most astonishing feature of all was their tails. At least twenty feet long, their stark yet sinuous tails curled and writhed like eels, and ended with a single point, like the far end of a serpent. These propelled them weightlessly through the water, at a much faster pace than a mere mermaid. The King began to wonder if these creatures were any relation to his species at all.
Had it not been for the lanterns, the party would never have noticed the garden. Suddenly, the King found himself swimming over partitioned land overgrown with brown weeds, frozen still, because there was no current. It was an eerie sight, and it was only when a weed brushed against his arm that the King noticed it had a face. That they all had faces. And he thought he heard whispers too, but it was in a different language and he did not understand.
The garden stopped at the mouth of a cavern, and the ghostly females beckoned for them to enter. Inside the grey walls, there came something unexpected: absolute emptiness. There was nothing, no signs of witchcraft whatsoever. There were no shelves of ingredients lining the walls, no great cauldron for a witch to whip up a brew, and no signs of a beautiful woman: shells for decoration, algae-creams for skin, pearls for outings. There was no looking-glass. Instead, high above them in the turrets of the enormous ceiling were a group of torch-fish, strung together by their gills with a necklace of human hooks, still alive and casting light into the chamber. As the Sea King moved about the room, his fins brushed against something unpleasant. He looked down and beheld the floor scattered with bones. There were more than fish bones here, there was the jaw of a whale, and ribs of sharks, and other large and unrecognisable skeletons. Despite himself, the Sea King shuddered.
Suddenly a terrible sound filled the room. It was a thudding, like the thudding of a deadly drum, and it filled every ear with dread. It grew closer, inspiring fear in the King and his guardians, and even the Sirens squirmed and backed away. The King sucked in his breath as the witch entered the chamber. He felt stunned, bewildered, and the racing of all the liquids in his body drowned out the thudding that went on and on, on and on. He forgot everything he knew in that instant. He felt like he was sinking inside of her.
She was beautiful, the way the colour black is beautiful, with its sleekness and oiliness and infinite darkness. A halo of black hair surrounded her, hair so long and so priceless it was surely worth his palace and all its contents. Her black tail was the tail of the eels, similar to the Sirens, enormous and writhing and she seemed to slither in the water. Her skin was so pale it seemed as if she had never surfaced and felt the sun on her face.
“Welcome,” she said, but her voice was foreign, grating on the ears.
The Sea King gathered his wits and replied, “I have come to you, as summoned, my lady.”
“A long journey,” she acknowledged, “and I thank you for it.”
Looking at her long and hard, the Sea King asked, “Have we met before? I seem to know…your face.”
The witch’s mouth twisted in a way he had never beheld, although it seemed strangely familiar. It was a smile, and the King could see her teeth, sharp like a sea-serpent’s. “It is possible. Many claim to have seen me, and have not yet. Many who do forget for a time. But I tell you, all merfolk behold my face, either on their day of birth, or their day of death.”
And it seemed to the Sea King that all the times he peered into a looking-glass as a child, he had seen this woman’s face staring back at him. “Won’t you return to my kingdom?” implored the King. “A beautiful lady is not safe alone in these times. I will give you my protection, and a home close to my palace.”
The witch looked at him with scorn. “Do not believe I am subject to your Majesty, who will come and go as she is bid. I am subject to no law but myself.”
And it occurred to him that she had once not bowed to him nor paid him homage. She had treated him like a commoner. And instead of indignation, the King felt nothing. On and on the drumming pounded. “And now you see me, do you think thieves or murderers would dare touch me?” she spread her arms out, as if in challenge.
“But surely, you should be among others, a husband, perhaps?”
The witch bared her teeth at the word. “Husband?” she hissed. “For what? To bear children, to bring more of myself into this world? There can only be one I,” she declared, “and if I perish, I will bring your people with me.”
Aware that she was frightening her guests, her tone softened and her eyes lost its hard brilliance. “But I am not alone. I have my Sirens, my beauties, who bring me stories and good tidings.” Her enormous tail stretched out and interlocked itself with one of the Siren’s, who purred in pleasure as it stroked her own.
“Will your Majesty play a game?” the witch asked, and in her hand appeared a flat slab of stone, painted in bright colours, with marble markers sitting upon it.
“I do not know this game,” replied the King, warily.
“It is simple,” remarked the witch airily, “a child’s game. I shall teach you.”
“And the stakes?” asked the King.
The witch feigned indifference. “No stakes. A game between friends.”
“It is decreed that no game is to be played without stakes or rewards,” recited the King, whose own father made the law.
The witch smiled again, and her red tongue ran heavily over her pointed teeth. “My most precious possession,” she said, “for your most precious possession.”
“My kingdom,” realised the King. “And you?”
“My most powerful spell,” said the witch.
“Agreed,” said the King foolishly, for he had never yet lost a game, as his cunning was great.
The game was played for a limitless time – for time did not exist inside the witch’s cavern. The pounding sound was incessant, and often it distracted the King. He felt he was losing, because his understanding of the game was slipping away with every move, and even the simplest of strategies became confused and hopelessly tangled. Thus, he was greatly astonished when the witch threw down her final marker and declared, “You win.”
He was still struggling to regain his wits when a Siren produced an object out of thin air and handed it to the King. It was pulsating, like an internal organ, and was a dull orange colour. It did not look powerful or valuable at all.
“It is not yet ready,” the witch explained. “The spell will grow with time, and will bloom in your darkest hour. After today, you will hide the potion, and you will forget its existence until that time. Then, you should swallow it whole and your entire fortune will change. I promise you.”
The King examined the object with suspicion, which displeased the witch. “It is no trifle you hold in your hand,” she warned, “for it is worth the blood of a thousand of your subjects. I have given it to you freely. I do not readily give spells where I customarily extract payment.”
The King nodded gravely, and together with his guardians, left the chamber. The Sirens followed them to the edge of the garden, and proclaimed,