The Sea’s Mercy

By Maia Rebekah

“Are you the Beowulf who took on Breca in a swimming match on the open sea?”

The festive hall quieted. Unferth, that envious rat, who had remained silent throughout the hero’s introduction, now sought to sow discord. Beowulf’s boasts had convinced King Hrothgar, and everyone else in the mead hall, that he’d be the one to slay the mighty Grendel. Everyone except Unferth, apparently.

“You vied for seven nights,” Unferth continued, “and then he outswam you, came ashore the stronger contender.”

Beowulf grinned. Already, the louse spoke wrong.

“So Breca made good his boast upon you and was proved right. No matter, therefore, how you may have fared in every bout and battle until now, this time you’ll be worsted. No one has ever outlasted an entire night against Grendel.”

Silence filled the hall.

My turn, thought Beowulf.

“Well, friend Unferth, you have had your say. Although it was mostly the beer that was doing the talking.” The court laughed, and he let the sound fade before continuing. “The truth is this: I was the strongest swimmer of all.”

Well, second strongest.

Another icy wave tumbled over Beowulf. The saltwater stung his eyes and skin and clung to his beard in frosty beads. Only one night had passed since he and Breca had begun their race, and already his armor pulled at his bones, dragging him beneath the surface. If only he could slip out of the chainmail, then he’d leave his friend leagues behind. Before he could even consider stopping, though, something yanked him into the depths.

His numbed fingers fumbled to draw his sword. The darkness of the water was nearly complete, so he slashed at the tentacled shadow gripping his ankle. The severed arm writhed and released him, its blood darkening the water even more. Three more took its place.

Barbs dug into his calf, and he nearly screamed. Dazed and crushed by both depth and demon, Beowulf stabbed wildly. His last blow found flesh, and the sea-brute slid away. Only by his gracious Lord’s design did he have the strength to claw back to the surface. Blessed air filled his lungs as he glanced around. Breca was now only a speck against the boiling waves.

Gasping in the sea-spray, Beowulf swam on.

When darkness fell again, and the sea quieted, Beowulf nearly caught up with Breca.

Although the moon was waning, brilliant blue and green motes swirled around him, lighting his way and giving him strength. Massive, monstrous shadows lurked far beneath the luminescent water, but they seemed loath to leave the darkness. Beowulf determined to use their inattention to his advantage and make up for lost time.

“Greetings, glittering man of the shore.” A woman’s voice, clear and bright as the water, trilled inside his skull.

Unable to speak without taking in mouthfuls of sea, Beowulf answered in his mind, just as he’d heard. Greetings. Might you show yourself, maiden?

A flash of golden scales broke the water before him. A woman, with ice-white arms and a fish-tail armored in the most precious gold, gazed at him with black eyes. “I have followed you this night and day. You swim slowly and far from land. How have you come all this way, wearing heavy scales?”

Beowulf halted and treaded water, drinking in this creature’s beauty. Her hair was long and black, unlike the pale yellow of the womenfolk of his homeland.

I am Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow. I have had many great triumphs. Now, I wish to conquer the sea and best my friend in a test of stamina and strength. My hard-ringed chainmail protects me from the teeth of those sea-brutes who would feast on my flesh and hinder me on my journey.

“I see. I am Leohta, Njord’s kin.”

Would you seek to hinder me as well, Sea-Daughter? I confess I shall have a harder time slaying such a beautiful maiden than all the treacherous whale-beasts in these waters.

“Nay, I shall not hinder you. Your scales caught my eye; I mistook you for one of my kinsmen, strayed from home.” She blinked her white-less eyes. “Might I bless you, instead?”

I would have an addled brain to decline your blessing, sweet creature.

She plucked a scarlet sphere from a pouch belted to her waist and pressed it to his lips. “Consume this.”

He bit down. The strange fruit burst, sending bitter liquid running down his throat. He fought not to gag. The potion warmed his innards, and his lungs began to burn.

Have you poisoned me?

“No. I have blessed you.” Her cold fingers stroked his cheek. “May you reach land alive and whole.” With a splash, she left Beowulf alone in the glowing sea.

The next night, he faced several more frightening creatures of the dark deep, but he could hold his breath longer and easier. He even strove beneath the water for hours without the need of air. This new ability—this blessing—was his salvation. Countless beasts eagerly pulled him far into their dens, smothering him, pinning him with spines and teeth. But each one, he bested with the aid of Leohta’s gift.

Beowulf ended his tale to Hrothgar, keeping Leohta’s divine blessing and gift to himself, his secret joy.

“Worn out as I was, I survived those five nights, came through with my life. Breca may have won the race, but he encountered only one beast. My sword hurled nine back into the abyss. Now, I cannot recall any fight you entered, Unferth, that bears comparison. In fact, if you were truly as courageous as you claim to be, Grendel would never have gotten away with his unchecked slaughter.”

Face ablaze with obvious shame, Unferth stood and left the hall, much to the amusement of Hrothgar and his court.

The coward’s challenge had only served to heighten Beowulf’s grandeur in Heorot, yet to Beowulf, it served as a reminder of a debt of gratitude he could never repay.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Maia Rebekah is an SNHU graduate, an aspiring copy editor/proofreader, and a staff member at Havok Publishing. She’s a roller-coaster junkie who loves reading and writing Christian Sci-Fi/Fantasy, hiking, playing board games, and listening to outdated Christian rock.

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