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EACH STEP LURCHES. I can’t tell if it’s my gait or sight. Perhaps both. I duck under a line of clothes, jump over a wandering bird, and twist around a corner. Grip a house and stop to pant. The corner crumbles beneath my fingers. A woman’s angry squawk sends me running again.
Wind rips through my hair and the folds of my dress. The dunes lurch into sight beyond a tight cluster of buildings. I turn to the side, breasts scraping against one wall and my back against another, and slide between two houses.
I skid to a halt beneath a dune. Its shadow stretches long across the ground, offering privacy from the bustling town nearby. Black lingers, pulsing, at the edge of my sight. Teasing.
I drop to my haunches, gasping for breath. Rest my forehead against my knees.
The call of gulls. Calls of men from behind the dunes. Fishermen.
I hurtle upright. Edge close to the dune. Grains of sand press against my spine. Some slide into my dress, sticking to my sweat-slicked skin. Will the fishermen know what I am? Will they take one look at me and know?
My breath comes quicker. Harsher.
Shadows dance across the dunes.
The first man ventures up and over. I freeze. But the growing darkness shields me from view. The man walks past, whistling a tune. I don’t dare sigh in relief. More climb atop the dune and stride down.
Shadows become men. One stops at the foot of a dune to my right. He begins urinating on the sand. I press a hand over my mouth, holding in a startled yell. I cover my nose when the acrid smell of urine permeates the air.
Upper lip curling in distaste, I grit my teeth. How long will they take? Some linger, clapping one another on the back amid jovial conversations.
When the last vanishes between the buildings, I move. The shadows reach to my shoulders, leaving my head bathed in dusk light. I squint.
Beyond the clacking hulls of moored boats, there’s no noise. I rub my hands down my arms, hoping to warm my frigid skin. Then creep toward Bion’s trail between two dunes.
The dunes stretch high above. A breeze pummels them. My shivers turn to ones of unease.
Sand swirls in the wind, stinging my eyes. I curse aloud. Force my eyes to flare, hoping to dislodge the grains, but it’s no use.
The last grain falls away. I glance up. Instead of sand leading to the endless sea, a man stands before me. He halts, eyes wide.
“Monster,” he says. Spittle flies from his mouth, landing at my feet. His face pinches into an expression of unfiltered disgust.
Trapped with him to the front and dunes on each side, I’m paralyzed. Sweat beads on my neck and brow. All my fine hairs stand on end.
He steps forward, reaching for my shoulders. What will he do when he has me? Kill me? Gut me like a fish?
A final breath.
Then I act.
I sing. Aloud, above, for the first time in my life.
The song flows quiet, muted by the crashing waves. The melody ebbs and flows. A song string alights between us.
His eyes glaze over. He wobbles in place but continues to edge forward one stumble at a time. Soon, our faces are close enough for our noses to brush.
My hands flutter to his arms. The string pulls taut. I push him with all my strength.
He lands against the side of the dune. He doesn’t struggle. The sand tries to swallow him one grain at a time. He continues to watch me with an empty stare.
For a moment, I almost prefer his disgust. Almost.
I breathe deep to calm my racing heart. Take one step. Then another. My song fades. His song string darkens. The end of the trail appears. I burst into a run.
There’s a struggle behind me. Him trying to free himself from the dune. The crunch of dried grass. Sandaled feet thudding on the sand.
Breathless, heart pounding, I force my legs faster. Sand flies, raised by my swift feet. I glance over my shoulder, hoping all the sand hits him square in the face. But no, he curses, pivoting to the side.
Waves touch my toes. I don’t stop despite the slick pebbles. I stumble once. Twice. Use the momentum to lurch upright. To keep running.
Knee-deep in the waves, I grit my teeth. Will my tail to return. The searing burn begins. I ignore the pain.
Boats knock against a dock to my left. The steady rhythm of wood against wood fills my head. Gulls rest in the water, heads turned to watch.
Think.
His feet crash through the waves.
Think, think, think—
There!
A drop-off from shallow shore to open sea. I’ll have to jump the distance. I coil my strength. Breathe deep. The pain ebbs.
I jump. A hand trails my shoulder. Then I’m lost to the Akri. Legs fusing to tail burns across my skin. My vision adjusts to the depths.
I twist around. Scales spike from my skin. My sandals unravel, falling to the seafloor. The dress seams rip, leaving me in torn rags from the waist down. My gills tear open. They flutter frantically.
The fisherman crashes into the drop-off. He sinks beneath. Then shoves his way to the surface in a stream of bubbles. Through the muting waves, I hear him curse.
I tense. Will he try to follow? I'll barely be able to out-swim him with my half-changed body.
He paddles to shore. Losing him should be a victory. But I’ll soon return to shore for the storyteller’s aid and the plant. And when I do, will the fisherman be waiting?
* * *
ON THE WAY TO DESMA’S cave, I calm myself by trailing my webbed hands along the seafloor. Glass glimmers from the sand, cast-offs from wrecks and fishing boats. Tumbled by the relentless waves, it’s rendered smooth.
One blink and a piece of amethyst purple darkens, winking in a shimmer of dusk light against glass.
Another blink and it’s normal again.
Maybe I should have Desma check my eyes. But no, she’s too busy with my mother. The other healers are tending other mothers-to-be during this harsh winter. It’ll have to wait.
I grab a shard of cobalt glass, rubbing the smooth sides between my fingers, dropping it when the kelp forest surrounds me on all sides.
I swim through the cave entrance. Desma twists around from her shelf of bottles.
“Nothing?” Desma says.
My mother lies prone, breathing deeply in sleep. I watch her slow breaths stretch skin across visible ribs instead of staring into Desma’s blank face.
I shake my head, unable to look at her. “Nothing. I’ll go again in the morning.”
“Your sickness will only grow worse if you take no breaks.”
“Isn’t this...” I gesture at the dusk enveloping her cave. “Enough of a break?”
She sighs. “Perhaps. It’s different for each of us.”
“Agathe?” my mother slurs.
I’m at her side in the span of a single breath. I clutch her hand in mine. “Yes, Mother.”
She smiles. Her eyelids droop. “Your sister moves. Give me your hand; I’ll let you feel.”
I go rigid. The emptiness in my stomach shifts to painful tightness.
Inhaling sharply, I stroke her face. In moments, she’s lost to sleep again.
She’s attached. I thought the name she picked would be the worst but this—
This is worse. The baby moves. She has more than hope. She has certainty.
Her hand falls from mine, resting against her protruding stomach. I turn away.
Desma faces the shelf, allowing us a semblance of privacy.
Sighing, I move toward the cave opening. Grimace when my movement causes a fresh spike of soreness.
“She doesn’t have much longer,” Desma says.
I glance over my shoulder. “Until labor?”
Desma nods. “Yes.” Shakes her head in the next moment. “No. She can’t survive much longer without food for herself and the child.”
A chill sweeps through me, leaving me a shivering mess. I press a hand against the cave wall, uncaring of the sting where it scratches my palm. “I’ll hurry.”
“Be sure you do.”
I nod.
Tomorrow I’ll get the plant. My mother will eat again. And when her pregnancy ends in another miscarriage, I’ll comfort her as I’ve always done. But for now, my mother will stay here under Desma’s care.
I leave Desma’s cave and the kelp forest behind, sticking close to outcroppings of rock. I’m careful to watch for predators gliding through the dark water. When there’s none, I sigh in relief.
Our cave is cold and barren without my mother. Somehow, I fall asleep easily, worn from the long day above. But it’s a sleep full of tossing, turning, pivoting. Moving to keep warm. Moving to escape the fisherman reaching for me in my dreams.
I awake with a gasp, heart thudding painfully in my chest. Dawn light creeps through our cave entrance.
I sigh, rolling over to avoid the light.
No. My mother needs this plant to feel better. She needs to keep food down.
Snarling, I jolt upright.
The trip is short with the rest of my family asleep. Hunting won’t begin for another hour and neither the twins nor my eldest cousin appear to lecture me on skipping our hunts.
Light slants bright across the beach. Smells of flourishing sweet grass and turned dirt fill the steady breeze. Spring approaches and with it, my eighteenth year.
Peeking above the water, I search for the fisherman. The boats in the far distance taunt me. My shoulders hunch.
A shuffle of sand, barely heard over the wind and waves. I duck beneath, letting the Akri’s cool embrace protect me.
Is it the fisherman? Bion? My stomach clenches. Curiosity wins out. I peek again. My shoulders relax at the sight of Bion waving from shore. In the crook of one arm, he carries a swath of fabric—another dress. The other arm holds a pair of sandals.
“I knew you’d come back,” he says after I struggle onto the sand.
The change is a mild burn. I place a non-webbed hand to where my gills once were. There’s only raised grooves. My muscles ache from even the smallest step but I force my legs forward regardless.
“Bion,” I say.
“Agathe!” He grins.
His gaze dips lower and he flushes pink. He thrusts out the cloth, staring at his feet. “Here.”
Snorting, I pull the fabric from his arms and over my head. It settles coarser than the one from yesterday but the scent of flowers still lingers.
Once I fold the top over, he pins the dress in place, his grin returned. “Mother won’t mind that we lost the other one. She says this one fits her just as dreadfully. Now she can demand my father buy her new ones.”
He pauses, frowning. He traces the edge of a fastened pin. “Though he’s in a terrible mood. He came home soaked last night! Can you believe it? He’s always so careful to not track seawater into our home.”
Cold envelops my body despite the woolen dress and Bion’s warmth. “Soaked?”
It can’t be.
Bion sighs, stirring the hair hanging low on his forehead. “And he wouldn’t tell us why. Just grumbled to himself about songs half the night.”
His father is the fisherman.
“Anyway!” Bion says.
I startle, stumbling forward.
He steadies me with a hand on each arm. “Are you all right?”
Staring into his kind face, I swallow. Then nod. I won’t let his father ruin my chance. Bion is an ally. A friend.
“Is your father fishing today?”
Bion beams. “You’re getting better at talking!”
At my pointed look, he continues. “Of course.” His eyes narrow, sparkling with curiosity. “Why?”
Shaking my head, I try for a smile. Then gesture to the trail. “Go.”
He pouts but leads the way, chattering about his mother’s rival and a friend’s pet goose. I don’t bother stopping him to ask what a goose is. When he mimics the honking the long-necked town birds make, I get my answer.
Again he leads through the winding Kyma roads. This time he doesn’t drag me by my hand, instead trusting me to follow with no more than a single glance over his shoulder. Clothing flutters on a line, geese scatter underfoot, and the bustle of a working town stirs my senses.
Mud and fire. Warm stone. Fish cooking over a fire, filling the air with a savory pull. My mouth waters. I swallow spit and keep moving when the woman cooking notices my stare.
My stomach clenches around nothing. How long has it been since my last meal?
We enter the square with its table piled with uncooked fish. I follow Bion instead of falling onto the fish in desperate hunger.
Bion, face strained with impatience, tugs on my hand.
I follow his insistent tugs until we stand before the storyteller.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” he says, smiling.
With a nod, I look at his hands. Nothing. “Fennel?”
His smile grows. “You’re in luck! A friend of a friend of a friend had a bit extra. Only cost me a story.” He winks, hands patting at his tunic.
Bion’s stare turns to me, to the storyteller, then back to me. He tugs at our joined hands, bouncing in place. I return both of their grins. My mother will only need to eat this fennel, then she’ll be able to keep her food down. Aunt will procure a hearty meal if it means my mother’s health, I’m sure.
Elation floods my body. I’m tempted to bounce like Bion often does but I’m no child. Yet I can’t stop my feet from tapping against the stone. I can’t stop myself from swinging our joined hands.
The storyteller continues to pat at the folds of his clothing. He hums, mouth turning down into a frown. “Now where did I put it?”
I lean forward, breath held tight in my chest.
His hand stills in a fold over his heart. “There!”
He pulls a long stalk of green from the fold, face triumphant. With a flourishing twist of his wrist, he holds it forward and bows low.
I return his bow, hands shaking when I grasp the plant. “Thank you.”
He levers himself upright, grimacing with a hand against his lower back. “You’re welcome, my dear. Now, how about a story?”
My mouth purses. I should get the fennel to my mother. But one story can’t take so long, can it? Surely she can wait for an hour more. Bion tugs my hand, urging my decision.
“I suppose,” I begin.
But I never finish.
A burst of honking geese and shrieking women behind us. Heart wrenching in my chest, I will myself to turn around. My body refuses to move.
It’s the fisherman, my fear chants. He’s come to get you.
My heart pounds, the beat echoing all the way up into my throat. My head throbs in the same rhythm. With a painful twist of my stiff neck, I glance over my shoulder.
A naked woman stands in the center of the square. She clutches a dress against her chest. It hides little. Her hair shines auburn in the bright sunlight.
Bion chokes on his own tongue. “Another one?”
One of the twins, Iris.
Why would she come above? Two years younger than me, she’s not ready for children of her own. Unless my mother—
I walk, then run, until I stand before her. “What’s happened?”
Her mind-speak is pure panic. The words tangle together.
I grip her shoulders, shaking her.
Broken thoughts form into tangible sentences. “Your mother’s gone into labor,” she says in a trembling voice. “There’s blood, so much blood.”
Dragging her through the town moments later, my breath comes quick. Hitches with each new burst of speed. Iris stumbles along behind me, our hands clasped tight together. She squeezes. My finger bones grind together.
“Agathe!” Bion shouts. A scuffle of feet on stone. His angry grunt. The storyteller must have restrained him yet again. Good.
My mother—she could be suffering, in pain, dying. My steps are clumsy but swift. We hit the coastline and dive beneath the waves.
Iris’ words return. Blood, so much blood.