Page 36 of Seaspoken

“Is something wrong?” Keliveth’s voice shakes me from my musings. He grabs my hand and pulls me alongside him.

We’ve fallen a little behind the others, but we let them go, swimming hand in hand with our long hair fanning around us. My scales brush against his legs as I carry us along with gentle flutters of my fins. I feel myself soften at his touch, my mouth curving into a smile and the tension fleeing my body. The contact is enough to stoke the embers of my hopes back to life.

“No.” I nod toward the group of warriors, who are swimming near the surface and taking turns leaping up through the waves. “They’re getting used to you. Some of them even like you.”

“I’m a good joke, if nothing else.” Keliveth tries to sound cheerful, but exhaustion weights his voice. He hasn’t slept much lately. I can see the strain of the challenge on him. Adapting to life among the Atathari in only a few days is a great feat. And two dawns from now, he’ll plunge into the waters of the maelstrom and try to do something impossible.

He needs my confidence and encouragement, not my fears.

“You’re not a joke. In time, they’ll understand your strength. For now, it’s enough that they see your willingness.”

A stream of icy water brushes against my bare shoulders. I glance down and see my mother lingering on the fringes of the large group of swimmers, looking back at us.

Keliveth gives her a respectful nod. She answers with a scowl, fury flashing over her features like lightning. She turns and speeds away, rippling through the water like an eel. The brief moment is enough to send a quaver of fear through me.

She will never choose to accept Keliveth.The truth has gnawed at me for the past six days. Convincing the tribe is one matter. Changing the Seamother’s mind is another. She still murders Keliveth with her gaze every time he comes near her. I’ve been clinging to the hope that the rest of my people might long for better things than anger and bloodshed, as I did when Keliveth first sang to me across a stormy sea. But my mother holds so tightly to every memory of our pain and sorrow that she might never desire to remember anything beyond it.

Still, she’s gone for the moment, and frigidness of her presence is ebbing in the wake of warmer currents as we move into shallower waters. The sea turns pale and sparkling around us, giving a clear view of the low, craggy ridges and waving fields of seaweed that line the floor. We’re nearly there. A thrill of anticipation washes over me in spite of my worries. I want to see the look on Keliveth’s face the first time he beholds a maraseya tree.

Fingers entwined with his, I lead him up toward the surface in a rush.

“What are these islands we’re going to?” he asks. “I’ve never seen this part of the sea, even from the air.”

“They’re a sacred place of celebration.” I pull him along faster, unable to hold back my eagerness even for the sake of his tired limbs.

We break through the waves. Our momentum carries us through the air just long enough to get a look at the horizon before we plunge back into the water. Green-wooded islands lie low against the skyline, beckoning with the flutter of leaves and the heady scent of maraseya blossoms.

Elation fills me at the sight, sweeping my fears aside for a moment and spurring me forward. I want to dwell on hope rather than despair tonight. Right now, it’s all Icando.

We catch up with the rest of our group in moments. Keliveth swims beside me with an ease that still astonishes me. On and on we race, dancing among the calm waves, until the island trees tower on all sides.

At last we can swim no farther. I shift to my land-dwelling form and settle my feet on the sandy ground. We stand and emerge from the water, breathless and laughing. The beach of the island of Thura stretches out in pale, smooth sand, and beyond rise the massive spreading branches of a maraseya tree. The tree is a tangle of silver-gray limbs and thick hanging roots that support the lengthy branches like pillars. Pearl-white blossoms shimmer among the branches, each bloom formed of ten sleek petals clustered around a silver center. They fill the air with an intoxicating fragrance, like starlight and spice and sweet roses all in one.

I breathe deeply, letting the scent, the sight, the feeling of the sacred island sink into me. No matter how much blood stains the sea, the maraseya islands remain unscathed and welcoming, a refuge for my people just as the Creator promised long ago.

I glance aside at Keliveth and see him staring with eyes alight. “Ruwa used to tell me about these trees,” he says. “She talked about them as if they held the world together. Now that I see them, I almost believe they could.”

“It,” I correct him. “This island holds only a single tree.”

Keliveth looks around at the many roots and branches. “This isone tree?”

“Yes. Roots come down from the branches and support the tree as it spreads, making it very strong. The maraseyas are the sheltering trees. They have grown since the world was new, and it is said no storm or siege can touch those who hide among their roots.” Wind ruffles the flowers and carries their sweet, ethereal fragrance toward us. “Ruwa awakened among them at the dawn of time. The Creator told her we tuath were to be like the maraseyas, giving refuge to the peoples of many worlds. We take our full name from the trees—thetuathna marasennat,the People Who Shelter.”

The irony falls heavy on me. It has been a long time since the Atathari, or any tribe I know, has sheltered those beyond our own kind. As I lead Keliveth toward the tree, I pray silently that there’s still sanctuary among its roots.

As we reach the edge of the surf, I halt. The others around us keep walking, with the women turning their steps north and skirting the edge of the wood while the men turn south along a wider stretch of the beach.

“We separate until the first moon rises.” I nudge him toward the other men, then step hesitantly after the women. “Remember, if anyone challenges you to a fight, you do not have to accept. And don’t speak to the Noritan chieftain unless he speaks to you first. And don’t apologize to anyone unless you’re trying to insult them.”

“I promise I won’t insult anyone. At least not on purpose.” He stands tall and gives me a confident smile, almost succeeding in hiding the apprehension in his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Evya. See you at moonrise.”

He turns and sprints after the warriors who are walking toward the opposite side of the island. Catching up with Arcorlan and Veltuk, Keliveth falls into step between them, greeting them cheerfully and earning two snarls in return.

Oh, depths.I let out a long breath, trying to slow the anxious pounding of my heart. I shouldn’t worry over him. He can take care of himself, and the rites of the challenge should protect him for now. Still, the bitter hatred in my mother’s eyes has cast lingering shadows over me. The looks on the other contenders’ faces only increase my dread.

What price would you pay for him?

I let the ocean’s question echo in my mind without an answer, then force myself to turn and join the procession of women. The world around us is still following its rhythms, and if Keliveth wants to find a place among the tuath, he needs to get used to the patterns of our life. That includes preparing for tonight’s celebration with the other men, and not with me. If he remembers everything I’ve told him, he should be fine.

---