Muriel and the Merrow

My mouth was dry with the air of the sea, the kind of dry you can taste on your tongue. Mummy had allowed Liam, my younger brother, the last few drops from the canteen, though I was hardly bothered; I’d rather thirst than have my ears bleed from the crying of an upset child.

I clutched my sibling's--Kiernan and Riona’s--hands tightly in mine as we wove through the crowd of strangers, Irishmen of all appearances pushing past to board the RMS Titanic. Even through the bustle of the boarding immigrants and businesspeople, our family caught the eyes of many—all seven of us, linked by the hands and carrying little more than the belongings on our backs.

“Ow!” I exclaimed as a thundering man with broad brown shoes stomped my foot.

“No halter, Muriel, we must go!” Maire yelled from in front of Kiernan; though they were the same age, being twins, Maire reminded me more of Mummy—if it were not for her, we would have been later than we already were.

“Aye! Third-class passengers, anseo!” An official man shouted from somewhere upon the dock.

Daidi, my papa, who led the line of family members, pulled us forward. It was his steady voice and amiable persona that led us to our tickets on the unsinkable vessel—I would never forget the words of the man who sponsored our voyage after meeting our daidi at the clock-smith shoppe: “There is something special about you. You have many opportunities inside that mind, my dear Muriel. America will be the place to put them to good use.”

* * *

“Whoa, this place is awesome!” Liam exclaimed as he jumped onto one of three beds in our family’s small cabin. Small was a rather weak word … more like minute. The seven of us fit snuggly into the small room, and I was thankful to know we would not spend much time other than our hours of rest there.

“Well—ouch, Riona, dear, please be careful—we should begin tidying up for the night’s welcoming feast,” Mummy said, motioning for Daidi to hand her the case of formal clothes we had boughten along.

I scrunched my nose as she pulled a frilling yellow dress from the case, recognizing it from multiple occasions before. I squeezed through to the far side of the cabin, where a small, circular window looked over onto the port, then to the sea beyond.

My friends … I will miss you.

My heart thundered in my ears, engulfing my senses as my eyes laid on a figure standing on the dock below us. I pressed my face to the thick glass and stared in wonder—and deep inside, fear, though I would not express it so—at the beautiful woman. She wore a long, flowing black headscarf, and the dress hanging from her lithe frame was the color of thick blood. For a moment, her dark eyes stared into mine—her sharp, pale features portrayed one emotion, and one emotion only: malice.

She was gone as soon as she had appeared, a large raven taking her place on the barrel she had been standing by.

I must be seeing things … oh, if only I could ask my friends what is going on? The feeling that woman gave me … I cannot explain it.

“Morrígan, my love, I will meet you back in a moment. Enjoy yourselves in preparing for the feast, mo chailíní,” Daidi said as he ushered the boys into the corridor and closed the door behind him. The name—Mummy’s name—sent chills up the backs of my legs and into my spine, though I could not remember what the cause was … was it the name from a tale I’d heard at the local shoppe plaza?

“Muriel, are you all right? You look quite pale.” Mummy handed me my neatly folded dress and sighed. “Are you falling ill?”

“She’s always pale,” Riona said, shrugging.

I nodded with a forced smile. “Yes, Riona is right, I am feeling fine.”

Though Mummy narrowed her eyes at the sweetness of my tone—and perhaps, the notion that I had agreed with my older sister—she turned and readied the rest of the dresses.

***

Crowds were my least favorite place to be—paired with a scratchy, bright dress and tight shoes, I might as well have been in my worst nightmare. Little Liam clutched to my sleeve hem and sucked his thumb as we came to a set of large, intricate wooden doors propped open to reveal the third-class welcoming dinner inside.

“Be careful not to trip over yourself, wouldn’t want to fall into a bowl of plum pudding,” Mummy uttered to us in a hushed tone, her voice quavering slightly. We did not belong here, in such a refined hall—third-class or not—let alone upon a world-class vessel. She felt it, and I felt it too.

As we crossed the threshold, I was hit with a wall of aromas containing so many different scents I felt my head cloud over. The expanse of the room was filled with round tables covered in white cloth, upon each a single lit candle.

“Come, children, we must find seats before we dine,” Daidi said with a small smile, lifting Mummy’s chin to kiss her softly.

Each table sat eight, so we were joined by a single young woman traveling to meet her father in New York. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that moved with the grace of a feline. The color of her pinned-up hair reminded me of an orange tabby.

I paid little attention to the conversation at dinner, even less so once the food had begun to appear—I wanted to take every single bit of the memory in, as tonight would be the only night we would be served a late meal, being in third-class. Platter after platter was served. Rice soup and roast beef, sweet corn, boiled potatoes, and fresh bread came swifter than I could stomach the plate before. I sighed as dessert—plum pudding and fruit—was brought from the kitchens, and I took only two spoons before slugging back into my chair.

“May I gather your attention,” a voice boomed from the front of the room. The excited chatter drifted to silence, and the man who had spoken nodded in gratitude. “Thank you for boarding the RMS Titanic for this pleasurable voyage! If there are any issues with the food, please report them to the Chief Steward. I will leave you to do as you please for the rest of this fine evening, though as a quick reminder, breakfast, supper, and tea will be served—.”

Morrigan … Morrigan, was that not the name of a goddess? That was her name! The lady on the dock. The same as my mother’s … no wonder it had been a shock.

“Muriel, come on! Daidi wants to show us the deck!” Kiernan exclaimed, and I realized that the rest of my family had risen from their seats.

The deck that opened up from the dining hall was accompanied by multiple other families, though it was large enough to accommodate much more. A baby cried in a mother's arms, and I placed my elbows on the railing farthest away from the screaming child. The sea breeze ruffled my curly brown hair and tickled my face, the stench of the ocean much saltier now that we were away from the port. I tasted it on my tongue and smelled it in my nose, and instead of feeling fresh—free, even, as I had when we boarded the vessel—I felt a pit of bile begin to boil in my stomach and throat.

“Oh! Oh, oh, you have crossed His path, the returning witch’s path, and oh! Oh, you are too late! You have committed to your demise, land-walkers!” Someone sang in the most smooth, yet dark tone I had ever heard.

I turned to see Maire, her brown hair falling gracefully around her shoulders to the top of her deep green dress—it had to have been her.

What on earth is she talking about, land-walkers? It did not even particularly sound like her ….

“Maire, what was that?” I asked, looking up to see her cool green eyes. They appeared even greener than usual when paired with her dress.

Her brows furrowed. “What? I haven’t said anything. You need some sleep, little girl,” she said with a smile, running her fingers through my hair.

I looked back to the sea, just in time to see a woman-like creature leap from the water and plunge into the deep, the setting sun glittering on her scaled tail.

A merrow.

I stared, open-gape out at the sea.

How far are we from Ireland’s coast? Why is it out here? What was that on its face … pure hideousness!

“Did you see that?” I hissed, flying back to look Maire in the face. She had already turned away. “Maire, did you see it?”

“See what?” she asked, closing her eyes and reaching her hands over the railing as if speaking to the wind.

“The merrow,” I hissed again.

“Mum, Muriel is pretending to see things again,” she sighed, opening her eyes. “It was probably a fish, or perhaps a small whale.”

I shook my head. “No, listen, it said something is coming—.”

“Said? Oh, sister, enough with the games. Kiernan, come here.” She beckoned for her twin. “Tell Muriel that her stories and myths are rubbish.”

He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe grandfather was right. He claimed that he saw a merrow once, in the lake, remember Mairy?”

“When are you going to begin acting like a man,” she huffed.

I turned to my older brother, pleading with every muscle on my face. The land-walkers are us. Something is coming after us.

“We are in trouble,” I said, staring into the eyes identical to our sister’s, though they held a different emotion, “big trouble.”

“Sweet Muriel, don’t let the merrow get you down. Jokes, that’s what most of the creatures are best at. It’s all a joke,” he said, a mischievous smile plastering onto his face as dark curls fell in his eyes. His arms wrapped around my middle, and I flew from the ground, spinning in circles as my and my brother’s laughs echoed out over the sea.

Only one thought circulated in my mind as we walked back through the vessel a quarter-hour later: Merrow are not known for their jokes.

***

I had barely risen from my seat during supper on the fourth day of the voyage when Cillian, an Irish boy whom I had befriended my second day aboard the vessel, approached my family’s table. My brothers snickered in my direction, though I did my best to look forward to Daidi.

“May I be excused?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Behave yourself, young lady,” he said, but I was hurrying away from the table before he could finish the statement. I caught up to Cillian, who had disappeared into the corridor and waited for me around the corner. Cillian was a boy who understood—he saw what danger we were in, like I did. Like no one else seemed to be able to.

“Have you thought of anything else?” I asked, my heart racing as we continued down the corridor.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” he said, shaking his head and running a hand through his short strawberry blonde hair.

“Well we can’t simply wait, can we?”

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait … I think that whatever you heard the warning of—I think it’s coming tonight.”

I stopped cold in my tracks, narrowing my eyes as if trying to see through a shield. How would he know that? Has another merrow spoken? That’s impossible, we are much too far away from Ireland.

“How do you know?” I queried, my attempt at keeping my voice steady fruitless.

“I just … I know, okay? I’m not sure why, but I know,” he spat, and I flinched at the spite laced in his words. He bit his lip. “Sorry Muriel, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know what to think.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. So if this is happening tonight, how do we get the others to understand? There are so many souls on this boat, Cillian. It would be wrong if we did not try.”

“We don’t know what’s happening, all we know is that something is happening. How is anyone going to take that seriously, coming from a pair of misfit twelve-year-olds?” he asked.

I leaned against the wood-paneled wall and slid down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest. There’s nothing I can do. I know more than anyone else, yet I’m too young to be taken seriously enough for me to get my point across. Even if I was older, like Kiernan or Maire, I would probably be set aside as a loony.

I heard Cillian slide down the wall to sit beside me, though I kept my face buried in my hands. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer, resting his chin on my head.

That night, I stared at my ceiling, awaiting the sign of danger that Cillian had promised me. I was clutching Riona’s arm and holding a sleeping Liam close when the alarms sounded.

***

Muriel Burke’s story did not end on April 15th, 1912. It continued long after, though at times it seemed more of a curse than a true blessing. Only Muriel and Little Liam survived until dawn, the rest of her family lost in the chaos of the lifeboats. Cillian had also perished, lost to the wrath of the sea.

But I, Muriel Burke, am not writing this story as a remembrance piece. I cannot bring them back. So I will give them justice.

After decades of reflecting and further studies of Irish mythology, I have concluded this: the lady I saw overlooking the dock was indeed the apparition of the war goddess Morrigan, who already knew what was to happen to the RMS Titanic, as she was also the goddess of fate; the raven that took her place was proof enough for this observation. The merrow who had warned me of this fright did not intend to warn me, but, rather, it was fleeing for itself. It had come from the direction the Titanic was bound for and had been chased away by someone—or something—who was headed for Ireland.

What I have not concluded is who or what is responsible for the sinking of the Unsinkable Vessel. Certainly not anyone on board, and not anyone human, either. The three sons of Carman the witch are ideas that protrude often, as they were cast out to sea when their mother was defeated. Revenge is something even the humble seek in times of despair, and the Titanic could have been the opportunity for just that. Though I will not say for sure, as I have no way of truly knowing.

As for my friends, I have not seen any of the mythological creatures I grew up with since leaving Ireland. The foster homes in the United States and the struggle of keeping Liam close took up most of my remaining young years, though I do not regret leaving them. They were of no help when my family—and friend, Cillian—needed it most.

Similar to most other things in my life, I have procrastinated writing this short excerpt of my story—of our story, and what really caused the sinking of over a thousand souls. I now lie on my death bed, in my own home. It is April 15th, 1982, seventy years after I had escaped death on the Titanic—though I would not say escaped, as it had been planned that I would survive, by the goddess Morrigan, undoubtedly.

I now know what my friend Cillian meant when he spoke of knowing for certain that something was going to happen, even with no precursors evident. I know it is my time, and that I will join my family tonight. I’m not sure why, but I know.