This is news to all of us. “Left how?” I say.

“Up the mountain,” Pip squeaks, wiping his nose. “He said they would take their chances.”

The mountains that surrounded our village are nigh impassible. The trail, if one can call it that, is littered with the bones of those who lost the path or were caught unprepared by a winter storm. Only the desperate would attempt it. Hugo and his wife, Laufa, have five children. Three of them under the age of eight.

We all bow our heads when Magda offers a quick prayer for their souls.

I hold my good hand to the hearth to warm it and recall the hands of the mermaid, the strange webbing between her fingers.

“Do you think it will ever go away?”

Magda looks at me. “The sea maiden? Hard to say.”

“Is it going to eat us all?” Pip wants to know.

“No, no.” Our neighbor pats Pip’s misshapen head to comfort him. “I think Hagar’s claim is the most likely. It came into the bay on the full moon. It will escape on the next one.”

Pip sniffles. “When will that be?”

“Tomorrow.”

That seems to lift my brother’s spirits. Mine, also, to be honest. We fall silent for a spell, watching the flames lick the hearth. The smell of Magda’s pipe fills the room.

Bryndis stiffens, sits up straight. “What is that sound?”

“It’s lovely, whatever it is,” Magda agrees.

All I hear is the crackle of the fire. “What sound?”

“That voice,” Bryndis says. She opens the door. “Someone is singing.”

Magda shuffles to her side, craning an ear. “Is it Roslyn? She has a beautiful voice, that one.”

“I’ve never heard Roslyn sing like that,” Bryndis replies. “My God, listen to it.”

I hear nothing from the open door. The perpetual sound of the surf, but that is all. I ask Pip if he hears the singing, but he seems as baffled as I am. Are the women delusional? The moon is almost full, and it casts a strong throw over the bay, waves rippling in its light. When something cuts through the moonlight twinkle of the waves, it becomes apparent to all where the singing is coming from.

“Get back inside,” I say, slamming the door and locking it. I order Pip to close the shutters on the windows. “Don’t listen to it. Cover your ears if you have to.”

Neither of them do as they’re told. Our neighbor and my sister return to their seats at the hearth and continue to listen. Bryndis tucks her hair behind an ear and her eyes take on a dreamy sheen that leaves me with no good feeling.

Pip sneezes, three consumptive bellows that leave him dizzy. A string of yellow phlegm wiggles on his chin. When Bryndis spasms in an abrupt shiver, the haze melts from her eyes.

“It’s gone now,” she says.

***