Author: Michelle Franklin, Word Count: 777
Featured in Spooky Archaeological Story Moot: Live Stream – Halloween 2023
Something lived in the lake, something beyond the usual residents. A boy was tossing rocks in and trying to coax the something out.
Myndil thought he should help.
“HAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Myndil shouted. “YES—I DON’T MEAN TO TELL YOU HOW TO SKIP STONES, BUT—”
The boy tossed a stone. It landed in the middle of the lake with a blombp!
The surface of the lake trembled. The reflection blurred, but there were no ripples.
“Ah’m no’ playin’!” the boy rejoined. “Ah’m after gettin’ her tae come out!”
“Who?” Myndil asked, trying to see to the bottom of the lake.
The darkness at the centre was almost impenetrable, the sun’s rays reaching into the tangles of wrack but not beyond.
“Her wi’ the swords!” said the boy. “She onlae comes if ye throw things.”
Another rock sailed into the lake with a MBLORMP!
“Perhaps she only comes to visit if you give her things she likes?” Myndil offered.
The boy was hardly listening. He heaved a large stone. It sailed along the lake on an angle and skimmed the surface once, twice—and halted when a hand shot up from the water.
“Got her!” the boy declared.
A hand was sticking up from the centre of the lake, holding the stone the boy had thrown.
“Gie me yer sword, Lady o’ the Lake!”
The sky darkened slightly. A voice skated across the lake, “NO.”
The hand threw the rock back. The boy dived out of the way, but the rock caught him in the side and sent him sailing sideways along the valley.
There was a satisfied humph! and the hand turned to Myndil.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” a voice raled
“I’ve just come upon your lake, which is very beautiful,” Myndil chimed. “I love how it’s caparisoned in little snails doing snail things. I’m Myndil. What’s your name?”
The hand sighed sigh. A voice faint as breath said, “Viviane.”
“Oh, that is a lovely na—”
“Viviane Nymenche.”
Myndil thought he had water in his ears. “Nu-men-KH-ye?”
The fingers on the hand shrugged. “Good as anyone’s gonna get.”
“It’s a wonderful name, only slightly less pronounceable, because I can’t fit all the sounds in my mouth.”
“Call me Nimue.”
“Oh, Nimue is much easier—but is there a person who belongs to that name or are you just a very long handfish?”
“I’m a gwraig annun.”
Myndil blinked. “Is that an aquatic bird?”
The hand mimed a ‘heh heh heh’ with its fingers
“What do you have to do with swords?” Myndil continued. “That boy said he wanted a sword and was throwing rocks in your lake to get it.”
The hand leaned plaintively. “Someone got the idea that I give out magical swords.”
“Oh. How did that happen?”
“Because I gave out a magical sword.”
“Oh.” Myndil sniffed. “Yes, that will do it, I’m afraid.”
“It was only the once,” the hand flapped, “and I was saving the sword for one who was worthy enough to wield it.”
“Then why do people come back to demand swords from you?”
“Because that sword made a man king.”
“Oh. Well, if they knew how dreadful hard it was to be a king, I don’t think anyone should disturb your lake again. But do you actually have any swords?”
The hand plunged and returned with a dagger. “Er kerp a curllerctern—“ the hand began, but the dagger got in the way. It went ‘pttew!’ and tossed the dagger aside. “I keep a collection of blades, usually all the ones men throw me.”
“Well, I’m very sure you have important handfish business, but thank you for your company and for telling me about your swords.”
“Would you like one?” the hand pined.
“Well, only if you’d like to give one to me—but I ought to trade something for it.” Myndil reached into his pocket. He had a bit of thread and a piece of scone. He chose the scone. “Here you are, handfish Nimue.”
The hand reached out, extending into an arm, and then another arm, becoming a neverending telescope of forearms and elbows. The fingers on the hand seemed to lengthen, the fingertips darkening, the nails stretching. The lake bubbled and rose, the thick water giving way. A gelatinous wave slid on the shore, and Myndil looked up, watching the hand lift out of the lake on a mountainous mass. Two black pins winked open, and jagged teeth crowned a boat-like mouth. The hand and the attached arms hung lifeless from the creature’s forehead, and a skirt of swords garlanded its knees.
Myndil gaped up. “Oh,” after a moment’s pause, “I can see why you like staying in your lake.”
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