How to Bargain with a Sea Witch

By Fibonacci Wren

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First rule for dealing with mermaids? Never, ever, ever try to bargain.
Child, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ve seen a lot. I’ve learned my lesson now, of course, but
back then I was just a young witch. I had no idea how stupid, how utterly idiotic a young mermaid can
be.
Ah yes, I can remember it as if it were yesterday, though it was decades ago.
There I was, pottering about my little cave in the evening. The ocean was darkening quickly, and my eels
were getting hungry. (They feed on minnows and kelp, not mer-flesh as the merfolk say nowadays.) First
I felt a ripple in the water, as if someone was swimming hard somewhere far off. Then I heard her gills
flapping with her heavy breathing. I have very good hearing, as you know, and it was even better back
then. Besides, you could hear that girl a mile away. She’s always been a noisy swimmer.
She floundered to a stop, most unattractively. “Witch, I need your help,” she panted rather bluntly.
Obviously, I wasn’t going to let her rudeness go unchallenged. “First rule,” I said without looking up from
my eels. “Always be polite to witches. And everyone else, for that matter.”
By the way, she did actually have a name, and it wasn’t Ariel. Her name was Kaia. A perfectly good name
for a mermaid—I have no idea why Disney changed it and the Grimm brothers erased it. Pitiful
storytellers, those two. Anyway.
She rolled her eyes. (Typical teenager.) “Can you give me legs?”
“Whatever for?” I asked, rather bored and sounding it. “You have a perfectly fine tail.”
“I need to go on land,” she insisted. “I’m in love with a human prince.”
I turned to her for the first time. “If I were one of your elders, I would tell you to forget about your
prince and find a merman to love,” I said sharply. Then I smiled. “But I’m the Sea Witch, and I want
nothing to do with mer-politics. What will you give me in exchange for legs?”
“What do you want?” she asked.
Now, that’s exactly how a sensible person would start out bargaining. Find out what the other person
wants, then state your own offer. I assumed she was doing that. “You have a lovely voice,” I said. “I’ve
heard you singing. Give me your voice, and I’ll give you legs.” I have a habit of setting the bar high.
“That’s far too high a price” is what anyone with half a brain would say in reply. Did she say that? No, of
course not. “I accept the bargain,” she said immediately. Those are the ceremonial words to seal the
deal. It’s irrevocable after that’s said.
“Do you realize what you’re getting yourself into?” I demanded. Whatever she said to that would be the
deal. Don’t blame me, I didn’t make the rules.
“I will give you my voice,” she said. “In return, you will turn my tail into legs. If I cannot make my prince
love me and marry me—“
“No, stop—“ I started.

“—I will change into sea foam when he marries another,” she finished.
“That’s a death sentence!” I shouted. Sensing my anger, my eels writhed in their cage. “You idiot!”
“Give me legs!” she insisted.
There was nothing I could do. The bargain was made. I was furious, of course, but I couldn’t stop her.
“Come back tomorrow night,” I snapped. “And for ocean’s sake, get a good night’s sleep. It’s not going
to be a pleasant transformation. You’ll need all the strength you can get.”
~~
Kaia was back promptly at darken-time the next evening. I handed her an empty bottle. “Sing into this.”
She sang wordlessly into the bottle until I snapped my fingers. She made a choking noise and went
silent. Quickly, I snatched the bottle and stoppered it firmly. Then I handed her a potion. “Don’t drink
that until you’re on the beach, and make sure to get rid of the bottle.”
Kaia couldn’t talk, but her expression spoke for itself: How?
I shrugged. “Smash it, bury it, I don’t care. Just don’t throw it in the sea or leave it out in the open. Now
get going, idiot girl. I have things to do.” I showed my teeth—pointed, like all merfolk have—and she
spun on her fin and fled.
What happened after that, I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t there, of course. Disney said she married her
prince; the Grimm brothers said she became the Sea Foam Spirit. I only know she got her voice back,
because I smashed the bottle I trapped it in two months after she gave it to me. Voices always go back
to their owners.
If I’ve learned one lesson in all my years, child, it’s this: never bargain with merfolk until they’re at least
two hundred years old. You’ll only regret it.
Swim along now. If you’re good, I’ll tell you another story tomorrow.