Mercadia Stalling: Mermaids and Merliens

By Shaka Bry

Immortality takes time. Armageddon is inevitable. Love is somewhere in-between.

 

In a faraway fairy tale world, the first mermaids and merliens are evolving. Maya, the newly crowned queen of Mercadia, is learning how to rule. Hermann, freshly immortal, is brimming with strange feelings. When they meet, sparks will fly.

 

Mercadia's magic is vanishing. An apocalypse is brewing. To save their species, explorers are going to have to step up. Someone will have to risk everything and travel through a portal to an ocean realm called Earth.

 

Before they had tails, mermaids and merliens basked in the glow of eternal life. Existence is about to accelerate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryon Cahill
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781386965534

Book preview

Foreword

The book you are about to read is a novella prologue to the Mermaids and Merliens series, an ever-growing story that explores a species of human-like beings from a faraway fantasy world, Mercadia.

Mercadia Stalling takes place entirely in that realm. Here, all mermaids and merliens walk and talk on land, just like you and me. Well, maybe not exactly like you and me. Mercadia is a place that exists beyond our known universe. So there’s that.

This is the tale of how Maya and Hermann found each other, how their species came to inhabit our oceans, and what happens to their emotions when their timeline is accelerated.

Happy reading!

Fiction is stranger than truth,

Shaka Bry

Chapter 1 - Maya's Coronation

On the morning of my coronation, my faithful servant Padima throws open the curtains to reveal a long stretch of lightly faded sky. I rise and walk to the window where my first thought is that the nonthreatening color of the world is a good omen.

It will be a good day, I tell Padima, almost half-convincing myself. She nods politely and prepares my morning tea.

Mermaids-in-waiting trouble themselves to clothe me in the finest garments. Because of the care given to my extravagant, flowing, poofy silver gown, the seemingly endless adjustments of the unnecessary jewels and beads, and the custom fitting of the merlien crown, it takes much longer to dress than I’m accustomed. Until now, I’ve worn the clothes of the common mermaid and never once felt shortchanged. In fact, it took quite a bit of convincing for me to accept the role of queen. Mercadia’s always got along fine without one, so why fix what’s not broke? The merlien council worked me over for nearly two full seasons before I finally agreed.

All right! I shouted across the table. If you will never shut up about it, then all right. I will be your queen. That last part I know I murmured much softer than the rest. Because deep in my heart’s truest sectors, I have never wanted to rule.

My sister Sherry, however, would have gladly worn the crown without need of any convincing or prodding. She made it known on several occasions that, since I didn’t want it, she would humbly take the burden if called upon to do so. I was asked only once, in secret, by Emrys what I thought of the idea.

Sherry cannot rule this kingdom, I stated. Emrys agreed, and I was thankful he did not ask me to elaborate, for I would not have been able to put my feelings into words. My sweet sister, for all her good intentions, has a romantic’s mentality. If ever trouble were to find its way to Mercadia City, I have little faith she’d be suited to do much of anything to waylay it. She might swoon, compose a poem, or offer the trouble a glass of plomberry juice. Then where would we be?

I am cruel, but my sentiments hold weight. My sister is a fair-headed beauty, first and foremost. But she makes me crazy with her unrealistic notions.

The world’s magic has been in retreat for at least a dozen seasons—which is one major reason the coronation dressing is taking so long. Back when Mercadia was thriving with sorcery, all I would have to do was snap my fingers and these fine threads and spangles would jump to cling to me in all the right places. 

At long last the tedious costuming is complete, and I gaze upon myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

Surely this is too much, I tell Padima and the eight or nine other mermaids in the room. They assure me I am gorgeous, and my royal wardrobe is befitting of the queen I am to be. But I wasn’t fetching for compliments, and I am not appreciative of the suggestion that these golden strands and weaves might define me as queen.

I smile and give them thanks, for what else can I do? I’ve resigned myself to my fate, so I might as well pretend to enjoy it.

Walking through the halls of the castle—an extraordinary work of architecture that ate up lots of the realm’s dying enchantments—I’m drawn to the intricate detail given the statues. Who designed these handsomely chiseled merlien representations? More importantly, who (if anyone) were they depicted from?

Everything here is much too lavish for my tastes. I probably should have been more hands on with the blueprints of the castle I’d inevitably inherit, but during construction, I was more concerned with how to put off inheriting it.

The resounding argument I could not deny was that I was the first merlien. Before me, there was Emrys, of course. But Emrys is no more a king than a road frog is a toothy parch! The very thought of him sitting on the throne with his funny, wrinkly face and bendy, trusty cane makes me smile with wicked, possibly disturbed glee.

As I glide through to the ceremony, I find myself living the rest of this day ensconced in blur. Making my way through the punlily arches, I enter the castle’s rooftop garden. Seeing the few hundred merliens in attendance is a welcome relief. The majority are inhabitants of the recently constructed Mercadian Village. I’ve been getting reports from the nursery that the Birthing Stone is spitting out more and more merliens and mermaids in record numbers. So the village construction is ongoing. That is good. What Mercadia needs is a population boom.

Kropka, who is shining up to be the voice of religion in our maturing world, presides over the ceremony. He speaks some words of duty, challenge, and Onos before placing the freshly fitted crown upon my head. There is uproarious applause, and just like that, I am queen.

Sherry holds my face and plants a loving kiss.

My queen, she says, bowing ridiculously low. Knowing full well she’s genuflecting just to irk me, I return the favor by waiting a moment before telling her to rise.

Up you go then, I say, jerking her to her feet.

Ouch! she half-means it.

I care for you deeply, sister, I tell her, and she utters my words back to me with the promise of eternal sunshine in her eyes. Oh, sweet Sherry.

Congratulatory speeches and supremely unnecessary blood oaths fill the rest of the morning and on into late afternoon.

Sherry, I speak softly when the crowds at last mingle amongst themselves. Why do they pledge their lives on pain of death and consequence? Surely there’s not a merlien alive who doesn’t know we’re all immortal?

It’s just for the annals of eternity’s sake, Maya. You do realize this is the second biggest day in our history since the discovery of the Birthing Stone, don’t you? I harrumph her way. Typical. You are so unappreciative.

"I appreciate you, I tell her, and mean it. Though she gives me a harrumph right back. What we have is rare, Sherry. No merlien nor mermaid will ever know the bond of... oh, what did Emrys call us?... Ah yes, family."

Yawn, she says, uncomfortable.

Well, it’s true. I’d have no other mermaid or merlien by my side on this day.

Sherry dons her pretty smile again—it is so easy for