A Sea of Song and Sirens

Chapter 1

Istared at the poison.

Mulapo seeds were large compared to most. Round. Bright red with a black dot on their oval tip. Nicknamed crab eyes, they bore a striking similarity to the real thing.

And they were deadly.

I’d packed my breakfast only hours ago. Gathered strawberries from the patch just beyond my veranda, leaving the woven basket on the seat of my canoe to find buckets before casting off across the Nahli channel. It had been out of my sight for maybe a minute. But there they were, seeds dispersed throughout the berries, tucked and hidden amongst the bright fruit. There had been just enough time for someone to toss them in and give the mixture of innocent fruits and deadly seeds a good shake.

Lifting the basket for a closer look, I sank onto the single seat of my va’a. The two Naiads on either side of me shared a glance, and I ignored them. They pressed in, leaning over my shoulders to gaze at the basket of cut strawberries.

Nori hissed, batting the basket from my hand.

“Wait—” It tumbled over the edge of the va’a, its contents landing splayed across the beach where the tide met the sand. I shot Nori an impatient glare. “I wasn’t going to eat them.”

“Why do you have poison seeds?” Olinne demanded in a tone that suggested I had unknowingly packed them for myself.

Me. Maren. The outcasted herbologist of Leihani.

I closed my eyes, suffocating the urge to roll them.

There was a time, years ago, when the Naiads taught me how to create and preserve life among the island plants. To recognize each grass and herb the way I would a friend, by sight or scent or touch. Now, my knowledge of local plants exceeded theirs.

“I didn’t put them there,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t. Their eyes slid to the innocent berries, bright like drops of crimson blood across the shoreline, and the mulapo seeds scattered amongst them. Behind their turned heads, I rubbed a rough hand across my temple.

Half-women, half-fish, the Naiads dipped their naked bodies into the shallows, emerging from the ebbing wave as though the sea were a blanket in their bed with which they’d grown impatient.

Dressed in my usual tapa cloth and hau bark skirts, I watched, hands slack on the edge of my canoe.

I was used to nakedness. The islanders of Leihani—excluding the wealthy and important—bathed on the same beaches. My father and I were neither.

I’d seen the sweep of a breast and the curve of round buttocks, their owners casting off their tapa cloths and dashing for the cover of water. I knew how bodies looked. How they worked. I knew the difference between a man’s body and a woman’s.

The Naiads were naked in a way all their own. They didn’t flaunt their curves. There was no one for them to flaunt for, since I was the only human they’d ever come close enough to meet. They weren’t prideful of their nudity.

They were simply alive within themselves.

Their skin was not like that of the islanders. Pale and luminescent, their flesh held a metallic sheen that became more pronounced somewhere around their waistline, the shining scales of their tails as reflective under the shallow waves as a dropped coin that flashed in the corner of your eye as you passed it, making you pause to search for what might have blinded you.

Nori tilted her head, red-wine hair spilling over her shoulders as her eyes narrowed on me. “Who did, then?”

Who put poison seeds in my basket of strawberries? My head gave an idle shake, lips pursed. It could’ve been anyone. For all I knew, the whole Mihauna-damned island conspired to add the handful to my breakfast.

I didn’t mention the slimy, dead jellyfish I’d found on the floor of my va’a last week. Or the reaper spider that had crawled out of my water skein a month ago when I’d loosened the cork for a drink. I”d thought them both odd coincidences at the time.

Now, I wasn”t quite sure.

Olinne sank to her belly on the warm sand, giving the mulapo seeds a gentle sniff, as though she could smell the person who had gathered them from their pods. Perhaps she could—a Naiad’s sense of smell was far superior to a human’s.

Nori gazed at me, her copper eyes sharp. “What are you not sharing, little creature?”

Avoiding her gaze, I stepped over the side of the canoe, splashing through the shallow waves to tether the stern to the rocks and ignoring the bump of the wooden vessel as the surf dragged it against the backs of my thighs. As I straightened to brush a few rogue strands of my dark, waist-length hair from my eyes, I glanced out over the waves.

Something flashed in the distant surf.

I stopped and squinted. It was a small glint. A shine brighter than the surface of blue water rolling under the sun.

But as soon as I caught it, it was gone.

Nori and Olinne followed my gaze, the three of us dropping into focused stillness. The waves carelessly stretched over the beach, sending seashells cartwheeling over my feet. A seagull glided overhead as it hunted for fish below the water’s surface, and my interest began to wane. I glanced over my shoulder at my rows of herbs, planted in the volcanic soil just beyond the sand.

“There,” Olinne said, her voice suddenly low.

“Man,” Nori agreed in the same tone.

I peered over the water again. My eyes couldn’t see anything across the glittering sea, but Nori slid under the waves like a deadly serpent, ripples trailing her copper tail as she cast for the horizon. Olinne followed, disgust warping her beautiful face, leaving me alone on the beach.

Hands on my hips, I waited for them to return after investigating from underwater. But neither came back. Gazing over the turquoise sea, I could only see the expanse of ocean.

I didn’t have time to waste today. Mihauna began tonight, and I’d need to work in my garden from dusk till dawn. My va’a jostled in the water, and I lifted an empty bucket from inside, darting my eyes once more out to sea.

Curiosity won over.

I climbed for a better view, working my way up the pale beachside cliffs. Wind swept around my fingers, brushing dust into my face and lungs, the sun hot on my back. Reaching the top, I dusted my hands against my hau skirt and gazed out, hands shading my eyes.

A rowboat trudged through the waves, a man pressing his oars with a strange slowness, his figure leaning over one edge of the boat.

I watched him warily for a few minutes, wondering who would row here in such a thing. No one in Leihani owned a boat like that. He might’ve been a sailor, but he came from the north, the wide-open sea. Not the docks from the south, where the merchant ships moored.

It didn’t matter, really. Whoever he was, he was a stranger. An outsider. He wasn’t welcome.

Not on Neris, the cursed island.

I should’ve left before he landed. My va’a was fast. He probably wouldn’t even see me.

But an odd flicker in my gut told me to stay. Something felt off.

I sat down to watch instead.

His shoulders strained as he paddled through the waves, and though the tide was calm, his arms shook like an old man’s. He stopped often to rest, chin tucked into his collarbone, then burst out another stroke that quickly waned into agonized labor.

The rowboat drew under my cliff, and I realized he was young—perhaps younger than me. He wore white ruffles tied around his head, and saltwater had plastered his dingy shirt to his body, his face and neck vivid red. His freshly varnished boat reflected the sun so brightly, I couldn”t watch without shielding my eyes.

He rowed onto the sandy beach below and huffed with relief, though he paused as his gaze landed on my va’a. The undertow lifted his boat as he drew a leg over the edge, and he rolled shoulder-first into the water with a clumsy splash. His rowboat rocked away from him, tilting side to side like a weighted scale released of its burden. As he worked to stand erect, he reached a shaking hand behind him to catch the rim of the boat—and missed.

The man exclaimed in surprise, twisting around as his boat floated just out of his fingertips. He whipped his arm out to catch it, but the surf had already pulled it away. Stepping toward the floating vessel, he slid, fell and disappeared under the water.

I snorted under my breath and crossed my arms, waiting for him to resurface. The rowboat hovered over the water, indifferent to the person below. Leaning into the curve of the cliff, I watched.

Thirty seconds passed.

My fingers drummed against my leg, eyes hard on the water.

Thirty seconds more.

He was still under there. The waves rolled, sea foam stretching and condensing. Nothing happened. He wasn’t coming up.

Eyes wide, a dawning urgency propelled me upright.

I glanced at the rocks below. Jumping from here would kill me if I hit them, but I didn’t have time to climb down if he was somehow trapped. I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t have time to do anything at all except decide. Stay here or jump.

I aimed my feet, sucked in my breath, and dove.

A cloud of white bubbles surrounded me as I broke the surface, the crash vibrating in my ears. Fish darted away, bright shapes flashing by. A turtle sunbathed in a nest of seaweed, watching me streak under him.

Like all Leihaniians, I was a strong swimmer, slicing cleanly through the reef. But speed wasn’t my worry. As I came around the bend, I couldn”t immediately see him, but a blur of sediment hung suspended in the water. He’d stepped off the shallows and into the drop-off. Mihauna alive, what a fool. It would’ve been easy to lug him up through the shallows, but I wasn’t sure if I could manage pulling him to the surface from deeper water. I’d come this far after him though, so I might as well try.

After surfacing for a quick mouthful of air, I plunged under.

The murky sea obscured my vision. I swam down, poised for the feeling of another person, but my hands only struck empty water. Waving, kicking, stroking—I searched until my fingers brushed the sandy floor of the seabed.

Flipping over, I let my feet sink into the silt. The depth pressed my chest tight, and I ignored my lungs as they protested for air. Casting my arms out, I struck blindly until the sensation of spongy skin hit the back of my wrist. I thrusted toward the touch and caught a hand.

It wasn’t moving. I tugged, but the hand flung out of my grasp as I shot in the opposite direction, his body too heavy to stay within my grip. Bright lights flickered in my eyes, and I wondered who had been more foolish, the man who let himself drown inches from dry land or the woman simple-minded enough to try to rescue him. I hiccupped, clasping a hand over my mouth as a trickle of salty water invaded my palate, and I wondered if I could actually carry him up. Above me lay the surface, but I must’ve been at least ten feet below.

I doubled back, squatting low on the seafloor to spring my knees straight, and collided slowly into the man’s midsection. He was as heavy as an old log. As helpful as one, too. But I shook off a wave of dizziness as my chest beckoned for oxygen, legs pumping for the sparkling surface above.

My progress was agonizingly slow. Was I even making progress? We were lost in a sandy vortex; if we had moved, it hadn’t been far. I clawed toward the sky, which seemed to only shrink away. He slipped through my fingers, and I clung tighter, but my legs were suddenly slow, knees unwilling to bend.

I kicked. I kicked and twisted and yanked. Blazing heat ripped through my shoulder when I lost my grip on his waist and lurched awkwardly to grab him again.

A moment passed when I considered letting him go.

The man hadn”t moved since I’d first touched him. Not even a twitch of his finger. But I couldn”t bring myself to do it.

The man’s golden-brown hair plumed and danced in the water as I struggled. His limbs hung from his torso, his head rolling over my shoulder. I clung tighter, kicked harder, pushing him through the vortex, but the stretch of water between us and the surface was still vast.

Consciousness, and the effort to keep it, ebbed away. An involuntary cough bubbled in my throat. Saltwater rushed through my mouth and down my windpipe.

My larynx contracted, closing like the cinching strings of a purse. Like a noose—rough hands around my neck, squeezing life from my body.

Darkness crept into the corners of my vision, staining the water a velvet black. Beyond my control, my body contorted. My spine arched, floating upward, and my eyes opened, though I could no longer see.

I must’ve been truly stupid to think I might carry a body to the surface with only my kicking feet. I don’t know why I did it.

I hated men.

Allof them. Sailors, traders, merchants. They were all the same. Slobs and drunks who visited Leihaniian shores just to buy our fish and leave our harbor riddled with broken barrels and glass bottles. Why had I risked my life for one of them?

The last three strokes were messy. Futile. But suddenly my forehead grazed cool wind, then my nose and chin broke the surface, and I realized dimly that I was here—I’d made it.

My mouth opened, and as air surged down my throat, the use of my muscles came snapping back. I burst over the surface like an angry cat, hissing and spitting, doubling my efforts to hold on.

The man did nothing but hang from my arms. Flipping onto my back, I heaved him over my hips, steadying him with one arm as I worked toward shore. My throat burned, and I turned my cheek to retch and sputter, spewing saltwater into the waves.

As my feet landed, I shoved him forward, desperate to be rid of his weight. He unfolded like a soggy blade of pili grass. Limp. Cold.

My legs wooden, I reached under his arms and pulled, landing on my rump with a splat and heaving his body up over my own. Waves stroked my legs as I rolled out from under him, then sat on my hands and knees to look over the poor idiot while taking gasping breaths, my throat raw and lined with salt.

His lips and eyelids were blue, a paleness under the red sunburn across his skin that sent a chill down my spine.

“Wake up.” I patted his face once. Twice. He was clammy, even under the heat of the sun. I lifted his hand and dropped it. It landed on his face with a dull thwack. Biting my lip, I slapped his shoulder softly. Then again, hard.

“Wake up.”I shoved him forward with a groan, turning him to his side, and punched him square in the back. A wet burp erupted from his body as dirty water gushed from his slack mouth, but nothing else changed.

I’d seen Akamai, the village doctor, breathe life back into people. Islanders and sailors alike. I didn’t know how to do it, but there seemed little to lose in trying now. My hands shook as I laid him down flat and rotated his chin, covering his mouth with my own and sending air into him.

Exhaling into another person was shockingly different from releasing breath to empty space. It was heavy. As if his lungs didn’t want it. I forced air into him with a punch of my lungs, my chest constricting as his inflated. The sound of it filling the hollow chambers of his chest vibrated in my ears.

I breathed again—then again.

And then I felt him move.