Page 107 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

The Marsh Wetlands

Nola’s eyes opened as the sun rose on the eastern horizon. The sweltering heat of the swampland was quickly draining whatever strength she had left.

The siren assumed she had slept on the shore for nearly a day. Her hair was sticky, damp, and covered in green algae. A look around was enough to notice her tail had transitioned back.

Her head pounded with every cluck of the insects within the marsh. Turning, she dipped her toes in the warm water and felt the small waves crash over her ankles—the water soaked her skin, quenching her thirst.

Would this be a part of me now?She thought. My body becoming one with the sea while adapting to the siren change?

Her body felt a bit dry, as if the air around her was no longer natural to her. Either that or the sun had burned her skin, leaving an itchy sensation.

The siren’s eyes shimmered with tears. She felt grateful to be alive but mortified for what she had done with the Kraken and that dreadful crew.

Sweeping the front of her hair from her eyes, Nola glanced at the barren, desolate land. A circle of trees rose above a cloudy haze, lining the dark sand and growing into the murky water.

Faint whispers tickled her ears—echoing an eerie sense of life within the swamp—lurking amidst the trees.

The siren girl’s legs felt fatigued as she rose to her feet to stand straight. Her muscles ached where her legs had changed. As she tried to step forward, the intense pain pulsated between her thighs.

Nola only took one step before her toes sunk deep into what felt like thickened quicksand. With every movement she made, her legs dug deeper in the mud. A hard surface leveled between her toes. At least, it would not swallow her entirely—it was not as deep as she feared. The siren wiggled her toes to free herself from the trap, but the mud became dense, not allowing her to move much further.

Great!She thought.

The air felt thick, making it harder for her to breathe since the moment she awoke. Fog crept through the trees, and the moisture in the air pulled beads of sweat over her brow.

The Marsh Wetlands was the most frightening of all the lands Nola had read in books. It was where the king sent people to die a horrible death. Nola thought it was not far off from what she had imagined Zemira would turn into someday. Misery. Loneliness—until everyone withered away into nothing.

The leafless branches hung over the ground as if the trees themselves were crying. Even the sky above looked different, like the world’s beauty could not touch such a place.

After several uncomfortable minutes, Nola’s shoulders slouched. She let out a long sigh and pressed her fingers into the mud. As she tried to pry the dirt away from her skin, a dark shadow appeared just a few feet from her. A boy, much younger than the siren, knelt beside her with his hand outstretched.

“Need some help, miss?” he asked in a joyous tone. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a mess.” A radiant smile shone on his face as he continued to hold out his hand for her to take.

The peculiar boy had a thin, sallow face. Loose strands of his shaggy wheat-colored hair fell over his eyes. Several scars covered his face as if an animal had savagely clawed at his skin.

Though apprehensive about the stranger, Nola accepted his outstretched arm, gripping her fingers around his feeble little wrists. He pulled back, helping her lift her feet from her trap.

Nola felt relief as she slithered out of the muddy hole and plopped down on a large rock.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to the boy who seemed amiable and full of life as if a place like that had no effect on his mental wellbeing.

The siren immediately wondered how he ended up in the Marsh Wetlands. He was too young to be punished for a crime by the king. He was no older than the age of twelve.

“Is there anything edible around here, do you know?” she asked, realizing at that moment how famished she was.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” the boy said, pointing to the forest, “This way.”

She clamored to her feet and maneuvered cautiously between the trees. Her brows pulled together as she mulled over the place surrounding her. Her tired legs managed to keep up with the mysterious stranger, moving deeper into the swampland.

Nola trailed closely behind the boy through the muddy water, feeling the wet twigs scrape against her shins. Each step felt more nerve-racking than the one before.

“Over here,” he said, pointing to a tall, thick tree with a manmade ladder leading to the top. “After you, madam.”

“Nola,” she said, stepping onto the first wooden rung leading to the treehouse. “Please call me Nola.”

“My name is Jastris. It is pleasantly nice to meet you, Nola.”

The young lad appeared somehow elated, despite being a place designed for death and despair.

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