Bringing Mae Flowers

The legend of Siren Lake was only known to a handful of villages in the region. Scarcely a half-kilometer in circumference the lake lay isolated on the edge of a moor, just beyond the territory of the villages surrounding it. No village expressed interest in claiming the lake as their own, and no farmer dared to cultivate the rich soil that surrounded its banks. And so, the lake remained largely undisturbed for hundreds of years. 

I never believed in magic. That disbelief didn’t change when I moved from the bustling American city to a rural village in the north-English countryside to take over a small clinic after the venerable old doctor retired. The landscape reminded me of the pastoral paintings I saw in museums: beautiful and strangely nostalgic.  The residents– mostly elders who spent their decades in the same rural outposts– welcomed me with warnings to leave milk out for brownies, to hang iron over my door, and to turn my jacket inside out if I found myself lost on the moors. Amused at their quaint ways, I always assured them I would, knowing that I wouldn’t. Most of their tips were given in a light, playful manner, as if I were a child they were warning to behave for Santa Clause, or “Father Christmas” as they call him here. But, before they left the clinic after their appointments, their eyes lost their teasing light as they all issued the same grave warning: “Stay far away from Siren Lake.” 

Almost every villager had a tale to tell about a local girl who had gone missing on the eve of her engagement, her shoes found abandoned on the banks of the river. Others spoke of men found floating in the water, eyes still wide with terror. I heard dozens of stories, some going back hundreds of years; each tale more dramatic and mysterious than the next. 

“There’s something in the water. It’ll drown ya if ya get too close.” Some old-timer warned me after I increased the dose of his blood pressure medication.  

Others would offer more specific warnings.

“The siren is a bitter creature. They say she drowns brides out of jealousy, and men out of spite. No one is safe near her waters.”

With each dire warning, my morbid curiosity grew, until one quiet Sunday, against all advice to the contrary, I searched for the seldom-used path that led away from the collection of small villages and out toward the lake everyone feared. 

  I had never seen such a beautiful place in my life. 

The clear water teemed with golden fish that gleamed in the sun. Impossibly green lily pads with white and pink flowers dotted the water like gems. I stood in awe of the scenery for what felt like a lifetime. I had wondered if the warnings had been a sort of joke on the new resident, a way to keep some of the most beautiful spaces hidden from outsiders, but, as I looked around, I saw no sign of human life in any direction. There were no footprints or dented grass made by picnickers. There were no rivets in the river bank made from boats, and no stray candy wrappers or beer bottles left by careless tourists. Rabbits and birds ran free, unafraid of being seen by human eyes. I spent the afternoon tracing the water’s edge with my boots, admiring the tranquility of the landscape. I made it home as the sun was setting over the sea of grass, still mystified by the lilies floating on the water. 

No place so beautiful could be a place of evil. 

I saw no sign of malice in the crystal waters. My first visit to the lake was followed by weekly outings to its gentle banks. It was a quiet and peaceful haven. A small piece of nature unspoiled by honking horns, shouting voices, or smog; a luxury I couldn’t have dreamed of in the city. The birds, rabbits, even the fish seemed to have accepted my presence as a part of the ecosystem. They would no longer startle at my approach or hide away when I lay in the grass by the water’s edge. They would go about their business as I scribbled in my journal or ate my lunch. If anything, the fish seemed as curious about me, as I had been about their home. They would swim to the bank closest to me and watch me as I watched them- their golden scales glittering just out of reach. 

I stayed later than I intended one evening. 

The hot afternoon sun, the light breeze drifting over my face, and the soft music of the lapping waters lulled me to sleep. When I woke up again, it was dusk. The sky was rapidly turning from sunset yellow to gray, and the lake’s sparkling waters looked like the midnight sky. If I was going to make it home before it was completely dark, I had to leave now. 

I stood on the uneven ground and picked up my bag, which I had been using as a pillow. 

I traced the now well-known route along the lake’s bank back to the path. The whole lake looked, and felt, so different in the growing shadows. I could almost believe the rumors of a dark creature living in the onyx waters next to me. Snippets of the stories came to my mind unbidden: how the water turned black when it grew hungry for a new life. How eerie singing rose from the lake’s depths. How men’s bodies were found bruised and lifeless at dawn, but women always seemed to disappear completely. I felt the goosebumps rising on my arms from more than just the dropping temperature. 

‘You’re being ridiculous, believing in superstitions’ I thought to myself, but I walked faster all the same. I was spooked by how quiet everything was. No owls hooting. No crickets chirping. No wind rustling. 

Nothing. 

Then I heard it; A haunting, faint melody coming from my right where the water rippled ominously. Soft and slow, the song floated toward me, enveloping me like a fog. I didn’t turn toward music. I didn’t freeze in place. I didn’t try to look. I just ran.

By the next morning I had convinced myself that I had imagined the whole thing. 

It was all a combination of drowsiness, the dark, and the power of suggestion from all those tales. Despite all my Yankee common sense, I still had my doubts. The long summer days began to cool and darken into cool autumn nights before I found myself back at the still waters. 

In the late afternoon light the water looked as golden as the leaves that lined the edge of the meadow.

“How could I have been afraid of this place?” I wondered as I watched the last of the water lilies sway gracefully as a ship lulled by the tides. Clearly that night had just been a hallucination. The peace I had felt when I first saw the sparkling waters was clearly still here, but it was different now. My shoulders were tight, ears perked, jaw clenched. I was tense and uncomfortable, but no longer afraid. I watched the lake, and it watched me back. There wasn’t anything hostile in its gaze, just observant. We stood this way for some time, until the rustle of a hedgehog in the grass nearby broke my concentration. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow.” I announced to- myself? The lake? Some unseen siren? It didn’t really matter. I knew that that proclamation was a promise as soon as it left my lips.

It was a promise I made and kept almost every day afterward.

I’d sit by the bank with a thermos of tea and a book of poetry and spend an hour or two talking about my day or reading aloud. The initial discomfort of talking to some unseen force had worn off after that first visit. It didn’t matter if there was something in the water or not. The small lake itself had become a sort of friend. I always packed up to leave just before the sun started to set. Each time I left, I wished the lake a pleasant evening and promised to return. Sometimes as I set off down the path, I heard the faint call of “farewell!” on the wind. 

Compared to the hectic New York hospital I was used to, life as a country-doctor was peaceful. Being the only doctor for miles– or kilometers– around kept me busy, but treating the occasional broken foot or bad case of flu was nothing compared to stab and gunshot wounds in the city. I didn’t think could shake me, but I didn’t account for the anxiety that comes with truly knowing and caring for your patients.

Mariel, a well-respected matron and one of the first to welcome me to the village, had a stroke. Through her slurred and scrambled speech she managed to convey something about a “secret”, a “lake”, and a name that sounded like “Edme”. She clutched my hand desperately, her eyes pleading with me to understand, to do something for her. How could I not? She was one of my first patients, the first to invite me to tea, the first to advise me to leave milk out for brownies.  In the months I had lived here, I had come to regard her as something like a grandmother. My adrenaline rushing felt like ice running over my skin as I worked to keep the venerable lady alive. Later that night, as I attempted to comfort myself with a cup of Mariel’s favorite tea, did I realize that I didn’t know what I had promised her. I knew that I wouldn’t be sleeping that night.

The full moon was bright, drenching the garden with a silver glow. Tying my robe closed against the cool evening breeze, and tucking my feet into slippers, I walked outside to seek solace in the night sky. Thousands of blinking stars stared down from me- a sight I could scarcely imagine in the light-pollution of the city I lived in before.  I took deep breaths of the clean country air, willing the tension to leave my body on each exhale. The light breeze breathed with me, blowing along with my exhale, carrying it out toward the village. On my third deep inhale, that’s when I heard it. The wind whispered past my ear, carrying with it the haunting melody of the lake. 

The music did not frighten me as it had when I first heard it weeks before. It no longer sounded like a threat or a warning, but an invitation. It was late, and I was still in my dressing gown, but I couldn’t ignore the beckoning. I quickly traded my slippers for a pair of rubber boots and answered the call. I clamped through the tall grass, guided only by the Siren’s song and the moon. With each step, the melody grew clearer, filling my head and heart, and driving me forward. When I finally stumbled out into view of the lake, I was greeted with what I could only describe as a scene from the fairytales I didn’t believe in. 

Thirty or so women of all ages danced in the shallows of the lake. Their skin glowed with a silver glint under the moon, and their golden dresses flowed like water around their calves. Young and old, the women talked, laughed, and danced together as sisters. Many of the gold and silver maidens sang; their voices harmonizing like humming harp strings to accompany the Siren who’s voice drew me to this site. 

I couldn’t understand the words, and yet the invitation was clear. Her voice, gentle and firm as a mother’s guiding hand, coaxed me forward.  My eyes were drawn to the center of the Lake where she sat upon a throne shaped like a lily on an emerald lilypad dias. Her skin was like an iridescent pearl and her gleaming hair was long and thick. Her Emerald tail and finn-like ears flicked at my clumsy approach, but her bottomless eyes held my gaze. 

As I stumbled into view the startled golden-clad ladies dove into the water.  Upon submersion their skin turned to scales, and limbs became graceful finns. The golden fish swam to Siren like children running to their mother. Only then did the Siren cease to sing and began to speak.

“Welcome to our harvest moon celebration. You have arrived before the moon has reached its peak.

“It is an honor to attend such a beautiful gathering.” I stuttered, hoping it was the correct response as I desperately tried to remember everything Mariel and the other village elders had ever told me about interacting with fae. 

“For many weeks you have visited my waters. Peacefully. Respectfully. As a friend should when visiting a Neighbor.” Her voice was fluid and melodious, like a smooth flowing stream. 

“I always try to be a good guest.” I replied politely, careful to convey neither deference nor contempt. My answer must have satisfied her, because she nodded her majestic head in agreement and with unchanging eyes she said,

“Come, sit with me.”

I dare not refuse such a direct request. I stepped out of my slippers and robe, then slowly waded into the water. The cool water lapping at my ankles reminded me that this surreal encounter was not a dream. The golden fish maidens cautiously surrounded me, watching my every move just beneath the water’s surface. 

Each step brought me deeper into the water. First my ankles, then my calves, my thighs, my hips, my waist- each movement I made was measured as to not break the peace. When the water approached my neck, some of the maidens approached me. Wary, but sensing I was not a threat, they took me by the hand and guided me, floating light as the lilies surrounding us, to the dias where their queen sat waiting. 

As I mounted the hidden steps to the platform, another maiden offered me a mossy blanket to cover my wet nightclothes from the chilly air. I was then directed to a seat to the left of the Siren. Her skin was even more mesmerizing up close. I arranged myself as quickly as I could, ready to jump from the dias if there proved to be some threat, but comfortable enough to listen to what the Siren had to say. My curiosity was stronger than my suspicions.

“I greet you, friend. You may call me Edme, Protector and Queen of Bior-rós Loch. Undoubtedly you have heard of me before.”

I did not attempt to deny the truth of her statement. I acknowledged her second greeting to me, without thanks and without offering my name in turn, carefully monitoring her face for any sign of offense. Her eyes remained unreadable, but she continued. 

“For centuries I have been the guardian of this place. I was here before the villages were settled. I was here before the Normans, the Anglos, and even the Romans.” 

I listened to her story in fascination.  How much history had she seen? 

“The people of these lands once called my kind ‘Merrow’, and before the time the Fair Folk stopped interacting with mortals, we were revered for our beauty and our song. Indeed, many mortal men attempted to lure us away from our waters to take us as brides through flattery, bribery, trickery, or force. I am one of few who remain.” She paused for a moment, as if lost in the memories of her sisters, long lost.

“I know the tales the villagers tell of my waters.” She stated.

 For the first time I saw a spark in her eyes.

 “I know the stories, for I made them true.” The corner of her lips twitched into something of a smile, “Does that frighten you?”

My blood should have run cold. My arms should have erupted into goosebumps. My breath should have hitched in fright. But, I was calm. She admitted to the crimes the villagers accused her of, and yet… “There is more to your story, isn’t there?” I replied. 

She answered my question with her own; “Shall I tell you how the legendary Bior-rós Loch became the cursed Siren Lake?”

  With eyes full of stars and a smile full of history, Edme told her story:

Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, the great ice sheets had melted and the water flowed from the fells.  Many fae creatures inhabited the land, and when mortals first came to the land, they were so few so the fae paid them no mind. 

At first, they watched the humans with amusement and intrigue. These pitiful mortal creatures lived such short lives! They were clumsy. They fell ill and were injured so easily. Yet, they settled lands, built homes, and waged wars as if they too could live forever. They were funny creatures: clumsy, slow, weak, and completely incapable of magic. Yet, they were so interesting, because they could do things the fae could not. They could lie, they could cheat, and they could break oaths as easily as a silken thread snaps. It wasn’t long before the fae learned not to trust these fragile, yet deceitful creatures.

As the centuries wore on, more humans and more humans came. 

Many were jealous and greedy, and came to covet the treasure, powers, and immortality that the fae possessed. They also longed for the beautiful fae women who still inhabited the land, and no trickery was too low to capture a bride. Edme’s own mother was one of the unfortunate victims. 

After an enamored warrior stole her cap, the young Merrow was forced to be his wife until she was able to steal it back. She endured his cruelty and his touch, for she had no choice. No matter where she went, he had warned her, he would find her and bring her back. It was several years before she was finally able to steal back her cap and her freedom, and by that time, she was already pregnant with his child. Fearing leading him to the place her sister’s dwelled, she found a beautiful and pristine lake filled with lilies. It was in this very loch where Edme was born. 

The Merrow woman raised her daughter happily in the Loch, but the warrior never stopped looking for his ill-gotten wife. One day he spied a young girl in a red cap picking flowers in a field. Seeing the visage of his bride in the younger woman’s face, he followed the girl back to the loch, where his wife was waiting for her return. He was the first victim the lake claimed.

Edme’s soothing voice gently pulled me back through time, to the summer evening on the pond.

            “Wise women and midwives passed the secret of this place from mother to daughter for generations, even after the rest of the world forgot about my kind. Their dedication and devotion to preserving this sanctuary became a spell of protection, keeping us shielded from the outside world. The keepers guide the most desperate to my waters to help them escape from unwanted marriages, heavy handed fathers, and destitution. For centuries, I have provided another option to death.” 

Edme lay stroked the hair of one of her maidens: a motherly touch. 

“Occasionally, a threat breaks through our barrier and I am forced to act.” Her voice remained as sweet as a lullaby as “but, I have never killed with malice or without cause. Her voice remained even. The maiden lay her head on the Merrow’s lap.

I released a bated breath, looking at the dozens of gleaming women surrounding her.  “Then these women – the women from the stories?    

“My daughters are not my slaves or my prisoners. They are my family whom I love and protect.”

The wind picked up, blowing her hair across her face, and pricked my skin under my damp blanket. Something in the atmosphere shifted with the wind.

“Our oath keeper, Mariel, has passed on. Without a keeper, the magic that protects this land will break. Before she passed, she passed her promise to you.” She stared deep into my eyes, assessing the quality of my soul. 

“Will you fulfill the sacred oath as keeper of the lake?”