The Song of Salt and Shadow

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

T he storm swallows the sky whole, and I let the sea swallow me. Ten feet down, I hold myself still and try to remember how to breathe like a daughter of the sea.

I close my eyes and picture it the way it should be, the split at my throat where gills should open, the lengthening of bone, the blessing of scales that should protect me like armor. The body I was promised.

But nothing happens. Water presses against my lips, and I open my mouth, taking it in as if it were air.

The familiar taste of salt floods my tongue, my throat, my lungs, until my chest heats from the inside out.

A convulsion tears through me, and I clutch my ribs, as if I can force them to widen, as if I can pull the sea into a set of gills that do not exist. Like a stone dropped into water, I sink.

Rushing fills my ears, like voices whispering, warning, though it may be nothing more than my own blood.

Breathe , the sea seems to say. Go on, little half thing, show me your trick .

When I cannot oblige, and my vision slowly fades, the sea seems to laugh.

It laughs by pressing harder, by leaning its cold weight over my face with the force of a hand. Drown, little siren.

Beneath the waves has always been the closest I have come to her, my mother.

She said different things to me when I was small.

She stroked my hair and told me I was a miracle of two worlds.

She promised the sea would claim me in its own time, that I would sing someday and the currents would turn and the fish would lift their silver faces to listen.

She said all the right words a mother says to her child.

Then she left.

I was seven the last time I saw her shoulders vanish below a white edge of foam.

She drew a line in the sand and told me to wait on the safe side, that my father would come and get me.

I waited until the tide erased the line, then until the night crept in, until I realized that no one would come for me.

He never did, because only a few days later, the Royal Navy had a rope tied around his neck and let the crowd watch him die for piracy. He could not fulfill his promise.

With the image of my father on my mind, I give up – give in – to my body’s relentless need for air and kick for the surface.

Ten feet becomes nine and then eight. Pitch black becomes a dark blue.

Seven. Six. The roar above me is the storm.

Five. Four. The water grips my hair and drags it back like kelp. Three. Two.

I break into the rain, and moments later, air tears through my throat.

I roll onto my back and float, arms spread to keep myself from sinking again.

The rain needles my cheeks as the heavy weight of failure once again settles deep inside my chest. It should be different by now.

I should be different. I have tried countless times in this cursed sea that surrounds the damned island I have been stuck on for sixteen years now.

Storms like tonight’s give me something to hide inside, their noise and violence swallowing my presence.

Becoming invisible is the only way to survive for someone who cannot afford the risk of being seen.

Thunder roars across the sky, and the light that follows turns the night to day for a brief moment.

In those flashes, the cliffs and the crooked path of rocks that leads from the water up to the docks become visible.

The harbor is closer than I thought. I let the water carry me that way, as it is easier than admitting that my arms are tired and my ribs hurt.

The harbor of Cantora is one of many on Aurelith.

The sirens used to call it Thief Island, as humans of the worst kind reside here, stealing magic, coins, and possessions of the sea that don’t belong to them from the surrounding islands.

It is also the island where the so-called royal family holds its court.

On the left side of the harbor, the faint light of a lantern appears.

Another follows, and then a third. Confusion furrows my brows.

Humans avoid the shore whenever the weather is foul.

I lower myself into the water to stay hidden, only letting my eyes remain above the surface.

I keep still until I am sure they haven’t seen me.

My eyesight is better than theirs, at least I believe so, especially in the dark.

I roll onto my stomach and swim as quietly as I can, keeping to the shadows of the cliffs.

Thanks to the seas, the storm is louder than me.

The line of the docks comes into focus, right when the sea rocks me hard as if to say move faster.

With a pounding heart, I slip toward the dark space beneath the docks.

I should remain hidden, but my muscles start to feel numb from my useless attempts to force my shift.

Frowning, I grab one of the wooden beams above, trying to conserve some energy.

One throw of a net and I am as good as dead.

The harbor is enclosed by the cliffs, and there is only one path of steep stairs that leads to the town above.

Escaping through the water is not an option, so I swim to the end of the harbor, as far away as possible from the humans.

Although I don't have a tail, I am still a good swimmer. It is in my blood after all.

A low ledge rises from the surge, and I reach it.

I haul myself out of the water, scraping my hands and knees on the rough rocks in the process.

My gown clings to me, the fabric soaked through and clinging to me like a second skin.

I shiver as the wind blows its cold breath.

The instant I am free of the water, the sea is calling me again.

The sea, and the salt. Come back , it whispers without mercy. Come back and try again .

I could, and I know I will try again. Just not today.

The voices of the humans grow clearer through the storm.

One of them, a man, mentions a siren without a tail.

And by the way he spits it like an insult, I know who I am dealing with.

I take the ends of my gown and wring out some of the water with more force than necessary.

It’s Grimsbane and his crew, though I just call them the Rats.

The hunters have been shadowing me around Aurelith since my fifteenth summer, when I was foolish enough to trade one of my fallen scales for a loaf of bread after going days without eating. They have known what I am ever since.

The rock path leads to the docks. I climb, my palms holding on to the cold rock, until I feel the first plank of the dock under my feet.

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of tar and rotten fish.

Keeping low, I slip through the narrow lane between a net shed and a stack of empty crates, pausing when a lantern sweeps the boards so close I can see the grain glow. They must’ve seen me.

With a pounding heart, I slide deeper into the shadow, my shoulder pressed to the rough side of the shed.

Some are checking the ladders of the docks, while others guard the steps carved into the cliff.

Eryse, think . I bite my lip and let my thoughts spiral.

They have blocked all escape routes. It is only a matter of time until they find me here, crouched in a corner, and I end up strung up on the markets.

They sell whatever is desired there, and sirens are desired the most. Falling into their hands is equal to a death sentence. I cannot risk staying here.

A boot scuffs the plank, somewhere close. I freeze.

The lantern light shifts again, then steadies. A shadow stretches long across the boards, until it reaches the narrow path that leads directly to my hiding spot.

“Well now,” a voice drawls. “What did I tell you?”

The light dips closer, and finally, finds the tip of my bare foot.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Rain pours down, loud enough to swallow my heavy breathing.

Grimsbane stands at the mouth of the lane, his coat plastered to his frame.

He is tall and drawn thin, his long face cut with a hooked nose and a mouth that seems to stretch too wide.

In the shadow of his tricorn hat, a grin begins to form.

Thin and sharp, he is visibly delighted to see my shaking body.

Behind him, two more figures shift, cutting off the path towards the stairs.

“Go get the rope,” he orders. “This one’s a good catch.”

I do not wait for them to close in. Instead, I gather all my courage and lunge at him with my full weight.

My shoulder slams into Grimsbane before he can react, catching him off balance.

He curses and grabs for my arm, sharp fingernails digging into my skin.

As he pulls me closer, the smell of stale rum floods my senses.

“Violent little thing,” he snarls as he tightens his grip on me, so hard that I’m sure it will bruise.

“Let me go,” I wince through the pain. “I barely have any scales.”

“Your blood will do,” he spits and yanks me towards him again.

Anger rises in me, with so much fervor that it pushes the fear aside. That siren in me stirs beneath my skin, eager to surface. This time, I let her. I twist within his hold and sink my sharp canines into the exposed flesh of his wrist.

The Rat howls. Blood floods my mouth, metallic and hot, and he jerks back violently, releasing me to clamp down on the wound. I shove him away with both hands, the surprise of it sending him stumbling into the crates.

“Get the bloody net!” he screams at the other two.

A second man lunges, arms wide, and this time I am able to duck beneath him, sliding across the boards on my knees.

Wood splinters into my skin, but I do not stop.

Not even when someone catches the hem of my gown, and the fabric rips as I pull away.

I kick with my legs, blinded by pure rage, and connect with something solid. A grunt follows, and as I glance back, one of them is holding a hand clasped over his throat.

Good. I hit him hard.

I take the opportunity to bolt as shouts erupt behind me.

“Cut her off!”

The planks are slick beneath my feet, but it does nothing to slow me down.

I nearly crash into a stack of lobster creels as another man emerges from the left, forcing me to run back towards the docks.

The waves crash against the posts beneath as if urging me on, the voice of the sea no longer mocking, but insisting.

I run faster, lungs burning, down the narrow path that leads towards the anchored ships, and when I pass another stack of barrels—I see it.

At the far edge of the harbor, where the docks meet the deeper water, a ship looms. The sound of the net being shaken open snaps through the rain behind me, and I do not turn to look. I am already moving, my feet carrying me towards it, like sand dragged back by the undertow.

There is nowhere else to go.

The ship is huge and black, her hull a wall that drinks in the lantern light and gives nothing back.

Torn sails hang from the yards like wet banners, the ladder drawn high out of reach.

There are no nets drying, no baskets, no tidy piles of catch.

It must be here for repair and not occupied.

I do not know what kind of ship she is, only that she does not belong to hunters, and that is as safe as it gets for me.

The vessel is secured by several heavy mooring lines, stretching from the harbor to the ship‘s hull. I squint my eyes at the rope that hangs the lowest. I only have a few moments to estimate if it is thick enough to hold me.

Boots drum behind, coming closer. My time is up.

I wrap my arms and legs around it and start to haul myself forward.

I’m used to going where I shouldn’t, scaling walls for a safe sleep or a quick exit after stealing food.

Shells and stones stick to the thick line, scraping my arms and legs, yet I can’t afford to care, and continue moving.

But the storm has grown teeth. The waves swing the ship on her ropes, making the line lift and drop.

My fingers slip half an inch before I clamp down again, stopping myself from falling.

My muscles scream in protest as I hook my ankle around the line and pull myself back onto it.

Beneath me, open water never looked more perilous.

“Shake the line!” Grimsbane roars, and the line shudders.

They‘ve grabbed it from the dockside, and now heave it from side to side, in an attempt to shake me off.

I wrap both legs tighter around the rope, forcing my forearms to hold.

Rain pools in my vision as I look up, where the railing comes closer.

“By the seas, cut it!” someone shouts. "It cannot be that hard!”

The vibration of the blade working against the rope makes me climb faster. Fibers snap one by one beneath me, until—

The line drops. I hold on for dear life as my body slams against the side of the hull, and for one sickening moment, it feels as though I am falling. The impact knocks the air from my lungs. The rope dangles uselessly now, no longer secured, swaying with the movement of the ship.

I almost reached the railing. I force one hand from the line and grope upward, until my fingers catch the edge of the rail. My arms tremble as I haul myself upward, until the railing digs into my stomach.

I draw myself up and over and fold to the deck, cheek to wet wood, my heartbeat thumping madly in my chest, my ears, my throat.

I’m finally out of their reach.