Page 1 of Elemental Hall: Nautica
Chapter ONE
I dive, holding my breath, feeling the pressure of the water as it closes over me. The light from above twists through the water as I dive down, legs kicking strongly, my sun-bleached hair streaming around me in a cascade as I head for the seabed below.
My lungs are not complaining with the effort yet. That will come later in the dive, as my body starts to insist that it needs to take a breath in a place where there is no air to be had. For now, the swimming is easy. I tumble in the water, enjoying how easy it is to move down here.
The seabed is within reach now. I have my net in one hand, my knife tucked into my belt. I scour the seabed for clams, scooping them into the net as I go. It’s important to move quickly and surely with them; the last thing I want is one of them clamping onto my fingers.
I look around as I work, because there’s always a chance there will be something dangerous down here: a shark, a large eel, or something stranger. Still, I have to take the risk. Our village is poor enough that the sea is our only source of income.
I’ve been diving here since I was a little girl. I’m twenty now, and until I’m married I know I have to pull my weight for the family. My mother is quite clear on that, although we disagree on exactly how I should do it.
Mostly, the ocean near our village is beautiful and serene. Small, brightly colored fish dart past me. A turtle turns over in the warm water, snagging a piece of kelp. As I do so often when I’m down here, I wonder what it would be like to see one of my namesakes, the seraphin. Not that the iridescent, dolphin-like creatures ever visit the island these days. Even twenty years ago,when I was born, the sight of one at sea was a notable enough sign that my father insisted on naming me Seraphina.
My bag is almost full now, and I can feel my body starting to insist that I should head for the surface. I look up and see the hull of my boat bobbing against the bright sunlight above. I kick toward it, sucking in air as I throw my catch into the boat and pull myself in afterward.
The fishing boat is small, barely big enough for me to lie down at full stretch. I do it anyway, letting the heat of the sun start to dry my skin before I pull my white linen tunic, hose, and boots back on. I buckle my belt over the top, then look around.
The open ocean lies south of me, vast and unknowable. They say that Umbrae is out there somewhere, beyond the vast storms and violent seas that mean only the bravest can travel between there and here. That’s probably just as well, with some of the things I’ve heard about it. East and west, I can see more islands in the long chain that we’re a part of. North… north is home. The village of Aester, clinging to the shoreline like a limpet, the houses small and wooden built, nestled between the shore and the palm trees beyond.
It is beautiful, but poor. This is not the kind of place where anyone of note comes, or where anything much happens. Currently, I’m staying out at sea as long as possible, because it puts off the moment when I’ll have to go back and prepare for my wedding tomorrow.
It is not a wedding I want. My parents have arranged a marriage to a merchant named Gerant, ten years older than me and with no spark of love between us. But I am twenty, and they want me out of the house, so what other choice do I have?
Unless I plan to stay out on the ocean forever.
It feels as though there’s a storm coming, though, so I know I have to turn back. The sky is starting to darken, and the sea has that feeling when it’s restless, on the brink of lashing out with allits fury. I’ve always had a feel for the ocean, and now it’s telling me that I should get back to shore.
I turn the boat, pulling up the small anchor tethering it in place and raising the sail. I can feel the sea against the hull as I start to make progress back to shore, and I make small adjustments with the rudder, feeling the quickest route through the wind and waves.
It isn’t quick enough.
The storm announces its presence with sudden thunder, rain lashing down so hard that for several seconds it’s hard to tell the difference between the sea and the sky. The waves around me roil and buck, threatening to capsize the boat I’m in. If that happens, it won’t matter that I’ve been swimming here all my life. I’ll drown.
The terror of that fills me as I fight to keep control of the boat. It’s no use. I’m being tossed around like a cork on the waves. In just moments, the storm will swamp my boat, and then I’ll die. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, can feel the blood rushing in my ears.
I can feel more than that, too. I can feel the ocean beneath me. I can feel the power of the storm, feel the currents, feel the water’s power. It’s as if there’s something in me that can reach out and touch that power, and the water responds to that touch. I soothe it, the way I might soothe an anxious cat, not knowing what I’m doing, not really.
Yet somehow, it works. The sea around me calms, becoming flat, gentle, easy to sail back on. As I close on the shore, the storm abates as swiftly as it came, the sun coming out again to warm my skin once more.
My family is on the beach. Well, notallmy family, because that’s pretty much the whole village. One of the main reasons it took so long to marry me off is that in Aester, it’s hard to find someone who isn’t a cousin. But my mother is there, with thebright blue eyes, blonde hair, and fair complexion that mirror my own. So is my father, a big bear of a man who barely fits into a fishing boat. From him, I get my athletic frame, even if I’m a lot leaner than he is these days.
He helps to haul my boat up onto the sand, above the tideline, then sweeps me up in a crushing hug.
“Sera, we were so worried!”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I’m fine.”
He lets me go, but that only means that my mother gets her chance.
“Sera, you shouldn’t be out there like that. The boats are men’s work! That storm could have killed you!”
This is an old argument between us. My mother wants me to sit at home weaving nets and raising a brood of children.
“Mother, fishing is what I do.”
“It isn’t seemly, you diving into the water almost naked, anyone could see. Gerant won’t want you doing it when you’re married.”
Thankfully, we don’t have to rehash the old argument, because there’s another figure there. Not another family member, not even someone from the village, because no one here wears the robes of an elementalist, deep red in this case, over white hose and a crimson tunic. His forearms have elaborate tattoos running along them, which I know convey something about his rank. An image of an eye decorates the palm of his hand. He’s maybe forty, with short dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and dark eyes. Those eyes are watching me closely.
