The Changeling Sea

Love and anger are like land and sea: They meet at many different places.

It’s an odd thing, happiness. Some people take happiness from gold. Or black pearls. And some of us, far more fortunate, take their happiness from periwinkles.

What a dull place the world would be if all the mysteries in it were solved.

Kir stood close to his father, watching. He seemed, Peri realized, finally becalmed; already he looked more like his mother, as if he were relinquishing his human experience. He found her looking at him wistfully; he gave her a sea-smile. She swallowed a briny taste of sadness in her throat. Already he was leaving her.

She felt numb inside. All the magic was gone, nothing would ever happen to her again.

She nodded, perplexed. “People tell stories,” she said finally. “And words,” Lyo said, “like treasures, get handed down through time.

How? How could you know something like that?” He reached down, picked up a glittering pebble beside his feet and flicked it absently seaward. “I listen,” he said obscurely. “If you listen hard enough, you begin to hear things . . .

He put a hand on the sea-dragon's shoulder; the sea-dragon started. 'You are touching me," he said wistfully. The king's face changed; he drew the sea-dragon into his arms. "Yes," he said gruffly. "I am holding you. Humans touch. If they are foolish enough or wise enough.

as if by tying a knot in a piece of string she was binding one stray piece of life to another, bridging by magic the confusing distances between things.

You are young to be so adept.” “I pay attention to things,” Lyo said. “That’s all.

I thought I had more sense,” she said finally. “Do you know what being in love is like?” “Yes.” “It’s like having a swarm of gnats inside you.” “Oh.” “They won’t be still, and they won’t go away. . . .

And he had turned a snail into a flower.

Good. Now . . . just keep quiet for a couple of minutes, that’s all I need. Just . . . silence. . . .

How did you get to be a magician?” she asked curiously. “Were you born that way? With your eyes already full of magic?

Who are you?” “Peri.” She was so surprised that her voice nearly jumped out of her. “Periwinkle? Like the flower?” he asked. “Is there a flower?” His eyes kept making her want to look at them, put a color to them. But they eluded definition. “Oh, yes,” the stranger said. “A lovely blue flower.” “I thought they were only snails.” “Why,” the stranger asked gravely, “would you be named after a snail?” “Because I didn’t know there were flowers,” Peri said fuzzily. “I see.” His voice was at once deep and light, with none of the lilt of the coastal towns in it. He regarded her curiously, oblivious to the water seeping into his clothes. His body looked thin but muscular, his hands lean and strong, oddly capable, as if they could as easily tie a mooring knot as a bow in a ribbon. He was dressed very simply, but not like a fisher, not like a farmer, not like one of the king’s followers, either, for his leather was scuffed and the fine wool cloak that had threatened to sail away with him on the wind was threaded with grass stains. He popped a soap bubble with one forefinger and added, “I heard a rumor that someone here needs a magician.