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 hey traveled south for two days before happening upon the sea, which meant that Tihamah was very near. It glistened beneath the morning sun invitingly, and the smell of salt permeated the air gently. The shady wood ended where the soft sand of the beach began, and the adventurers urged their horses into the bright sun that reflected off the sand like a million diamonds.
Shahrressa looked out over the crystal water wistfully. “My people say the sea is cursed each night,” she shared with the group as they paused for a respite. “But I have always loved its soothing comforts.” She dismounted, throwing her pack onto the sandy shore. She wriggled out of her leather armor and untied her sandals. “I’m going for a swim,” she announced, once she had stripped down to only her cotton underclothing. “I’m sweaty and disgusting and I’m sure only Raggot doesn’t care. Anyone care to join me?”
The calm ocean waves looked inviting to everyone. Shoes, armor and clothing were quickly cast aside, and soon they were all up to their chins in the refreshing water. Before they knew it, they were having a ball splashing each other playfully under the warm sun. Even Peacefrog joined in the fun, and it was a merry time.
Time flew while the troupe revived themselves and the sun rose high in the sky. Orange decided to start a campfire and roast some meat they had killed fresh that morning. He slipped quietly from the group and padded across the sandy beach. Orange pulled a rough cotton towel from his pack and rubbed his flaming hair vigorously, enjoying his adventure. He smiled and whistled a lively tune while he cut and skinned the rabbits for their supper.
“What a song this will make,” he said to himself.
After a short while, Shahrressa felt refreshed enough to dry off and help Orange prepare lunch. The others could smell the rabbit cooking and reluctantly began to drift back toward the shore, stomachs growling.
But when Shahrressa reached the camp, the bard wasn’t there. The pot was boiling and the rabbit stew was nearly ready, but there was no sign of the cook.
Strange, she thought.
But then, she heard the soft sounds of a lute not far off, and followed the music to its source, chuckling. The rushing water of a stream that fed into the ocean accompanied his rhythms. He must be off getting more fresh water, she thought, and gracefully stepped under sweeping willow trees and over lacy wildflowers until she reached the soft bank. Just then, Shahrressa heard another voice, a feminine voice, laughing lightly over the strumming lute, and Orange’s chuckle in reply.
Curiously, Shahrressa pushed the branches of the lush overgrowth out of her face and peered out. Who was that with Orange, and what were they doing way out here?
Perched upon a flat, gray rock was a lovely young woman, with graceful legs and tiny feet paddling lightly in the water. She laughed charmingly as Orange sang a love song that seemed written just for her:
“Long, golden hair that tumbles free,
behold! The maiden by the river,
Soft as snow-white lilies on the mountain side.
Emerald eyes that shine with fire,
Voice like that of silver bells,
Heart of gold, ever have I been searching for her to be my bride!”
Then the maiden, who was dressed in a near-transparent shift, boldly slid down from her spot atop the rock and embraced him, singing a love song of her own. Their voices blended with perfect harmony, and the couple seemed well suited for each other. Shahrressa did not wish to disturb them. She knew how long Orange had dreamed to marry a woman who was just like him, a Bard. Judging from the golden lute that lay on the rock where she had been sitting, it seemed he had found one.
There was something familiar about the lass who lovingly placed her arms around Orange’s neck, but Shahrressa couldn’t think of it. I’ll let them be, Shahrressa decided. Orange will bring her by for lunch, I daresay. He is not one to miss a meal, after all, even for True Love. She chuckled and retraced her footsteps back to the camp.
She met with the others, who had dried off and helped themselves to the stew. “Where is Orange?” Keith asked, looking around for his friend.
Shahrressa chuckled. “You won’t believe this,” she said, “but he’s found a girl, must be a local. He’s over by the riverside, singing to her of his true-hearted, never-dying love.”
Peacefrog chuckled, “I believe it.”
Arana and Gladstone laughed heartily. “I hope she isn’t like the last woman we happened across in our adventure,” Arana jested, passing Shahrressa a hard biscuit and a bowl of stew. “I’ve about had enough of these wicked dream women who jump out of golden boxes.”
“Hardly,” said Shahrressa between bites. “This lass was lovely, but nothing like Catalunya. In fact, she actually reminded me of…”
A look of sheer horror crossed Shahrressa’s face, and the food went flying from her lap as she jolted upright with a start. “Oh, my hope!” she cried. “Bring your swords, please, hurry!”
The others looked dumbfounded but did as she asked. Shahrressa crashed through the underbrush as she made her way to the riverside, but she was too late. Her angry screams filled the woods with horror.
The others got there just in time to see the water nymph pull Orange, struggling, into the river with her. She laughed cruelly and flashed a wink to Shahrressa with emerald eyes, burning with an inner fire… there was only one woman, living or dead, with eyes such as those. Arana and Keith jumped off the bank and into its chilly depth. They laid hold of the bard’s boots and pulled, but their strength was no match for Dobrynya’s icy grip. His boots came off in their hands as the nymph and Orange disappeared from their sight.
“No, no, no!” Shahrressa moaned, dropping to the muddy bank and beating the ground with her fists. “Rusalka! Dobrynya! Evil Rusalka! A curse upon you, vile thing!”
Keith plowed further into the stream, without a care for his own safety, sword drawn and screaming. “Where is he?” he cried, holding his breath and ducking under the water again and again.
Shahrressa felt hot tears fall from her eyes as she tried to explain. “He is in the clutches of the Rusalka,” she moaned, “it is yet another legend of my people: a water spirit who is the enslaved soul of a young woman that meets an untimely death.” Her throat felt constricted as she tried to make the words. “But this is legend come to life: Dobrynya has lured him to her watery castle beneath the surface with her song. And I knew her when I saw her, I just could not remember…”
“Bring him back!” Keith demanded in fury, as if Shahrressa herself were to blame. “Shahrressa, do something!”
Shahrressa’s voice was very small, and she shook her head. “I cannot.”
Keith splashed around violently, helplessly, calling Orange’s name, to no avail. There was no sign of the gentle giant, except for his boots that lay on the shore, and his lute that floated out to the ocean.
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