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AVEN’S WORLD CONSISTED of four constants — his parents, their canoe, his water-cat, and the sea. Occasionally, there might be visits to his extended family, but they were so infrequent that they might as well never have happened at all. Truly, when his mother did insist on those rare visits, Aven couldn’t wait to leave. His grandmother, his aunts, and his cousins all tended to look down their noses at him, and he’d heard the whispered epithets more than once — Mudborn, they called him, because his father wasn’t Water tribe, but Earth. Their disdain made no sense to Aven, and it completely infuriated his mother. So they lived away from the rest of the tribe, sailing to meet them perhaps twice a year, mostly for trade.
Sometime soon, Aven hoped, one of the women of the Water tribe might look past his bloodline and speak to his mother about him. Then she would ask him to build a canoe with her, to be her husband and start a family of his own. It was past time, really. He was, after all, nearly twenty-five, and if you ignored his father, his bloodline was one of the oldest in the Water tribe. He could trace his descent back to the man he’d been named for: Abin, one of the husbands of Axia, the first Firstborn.
But Abin had been one of the first of the Water tribe, favored of the daughter of a goddess. His distant grandson Aven was Mudborn — beneath the waves, Aven had his mother’s Waterborn gills, and silver-and-pearl scales from his hips to his dorsal fins. But he also had his father’s Earthborn hazel eyes, and his father’s Earthborn healing abilities. He was as much a part of the land as he was of the sea, and so had no real place in either.
Were the Earth tribe lands anything at all like the little shelter island where their canoe currently rested, waiting for him to return with the long seaweed ropes they needed for repairs? Were the storms there like the ones on the water? The one that had driven them to the beach had lasted three days — the worst storm he could remember. Aven considered what a storm inland might be like, and finally decided that he really had no idea. Their island took ten minutes to walk across, from the rocky beach to the cliffs overlooking the sea. Twice that to walk the length of it, and an hour to walk all the way around the perimeter. Surely storms inland must be different? How? He shrugged, adjusting the coils of long seaweed he had already cut where they crossed his chest. Enough to repair the deck and the shelter? He thought so. And, he thought as he looked toward the light dappling the surface above him, he’d been down here a long time. His father would be worrying. He flipped his tail, and shot like an arrow toward the surface, through ever-brightening waters until he breached the surface, arcing through the air, and diving back down into the water. He surfaced again, and swam toward the rocks that jutted out into the deep water.
There was a place where the rocks had worn into natural handholds, and he grabbed onto them, pulling himself out of the water, and sprawling on the warm, water-worn rocks. He felt his gills closing, the first sign of his change back. For a moment, his chest felt tight, until his body remembered that he could breathe air as well as water. He took a long, deep breath and let it out, slipped the coil of seaweed over his head, then pillowed his head on it as he lay back and looked up at the clouds. He closed his eyes and sighed, listening to the wind and the water. And footsteps, coming closer.
“So. Deep thinking in deep waters?”
Aven opened his eyes to see his father, upside down from his angle. He smiled and nodded, but couldn’t answer. Speaking would take him another minute or two. His father smiled in response and came over to sit down on the rocks next to Aven. He looked at home in the traditional Water tribe kilt and vest, but there was grizzled hair on his chest where no Waterborn male would have hair, and his throat was bare of gill slits. The pendant he never removed rested in the hollow of his throat — a brown and gold stone carved into an elaborate design. Aven’s mother had a similar one, carved from some kind of blue stone, but Aven had never seen her wear it.
“Think you have enough?”
Aven shrugged one shoulder, then tried to talk, croaking out, “Maybe.”
His father grinned. “Give it another minute. Where’s Melody?”
Aven nodded toward the water, then whistled, high and shrill. The water in front of the rocks rippled as a long, dark-gray, diamond-shaped head popped out of the water. The water-cat trilled in response, then disappeared underwater again.
“She’s found a friend,” Aven said, his voice closer to normal. “She’ll be back.”
“A friend?” his father repeated. “Or a meal?”
Aven laughed. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell with her. Is Ama back?”
His father nodded. “She brought back a string of moon-fish. She’s cooking them up, and we’ll work on the canoe after we eat. Did you hunt while you were below?”
Aven shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows and looked down at himself. His dorsal fins had retracted, and his scales were smaller. He’d have legs again soon. “No,” he answered. “Fa, tell me about storms when you live on land?”
His father coughed. “Is that what you were thinking about?”
“Not all of it,” Aven admitted. “What would the storm have been like there? Would it have lasted for days?”
“Probably not, no,” his father answered slowly. “Going over land slows a storm, weakens it. The more land, the more it breaks the storm down. Now, that’s the way it was. I’m not sure how it is now. The storms have been getting worse, and I’ve not been in Earth tribe lands since you were born.” He reached out and poked Aven in the shoulder. “That’s not really what you were thinking about for all that time, was it?”
“It’s where I ended up,” Aven said. He looked up at the clouds. “I was wondering about the Earth tribe. About the rest of me, I guess.”
“You’re more Water than anything else. A little Earth. Possibly a little Fire.”
Aven blinked. “Fire?”
“My mother was a Healer. Same as me, same as you. And Healers in the Earth tribe sometimes do their healing horizontally. My mother thought my father might have been Fireborn, but she might have been wrong.”
Aven glanced at his father, saw the scowl cross his face. “That bothers you?”
“If it’s true, then...” His father stopped. “It makes no difference. Not to me. Nor to your mother.” He paused, then softly murmured, “Oh. I see. Your grandmother was at you again when we were there last?”
“Aunt Jisa, actually.” Aven sat up, resting his hands on his thighs as he flexed his feet, rotating his ankles. The change was finished, and he turned to face his father, folding his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. “And the cousins. Fa, I’m never going to be a part of them.”
“Because they’re closed-minded idiots.”
Aven looked up and smiled. “Ama!”
His mother smiled as she moved to stand behind his father, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I was wondering where you both were. Supper is ready.”
“I only just came back up, Ama.” Aven answered. “I had to change.”
She nodded. Then she frowned, looking out to sea. “Jehan? Stand up.”
Jehan and Aven both scrambled to their feet. “What?” Jehan asked. “Aleia, what?”
In answer, Aleia pointed. Aven turned and looked, and saw... “Is that... Ama, is that a ship?” he asked slowly. Not a canoe. A ship.
“Yes,” Jehan answered, his voice cold. “And it shouldn’t be there.” He tugged on Aven’s arm. “Come on. Don’t forget the ropes. We have work to do. And I want my glass.”
“I thought you said that ships like that didn’t sail this far out to sea,” Aven asked, following his father as they hurried along the rocks and back toward the beach. “That they couldn’t navigate like we do.”
“They can’t,” Aleia called from behind him. She hurried to catch up with him. “Trading ships like that aren’t built for deep water. They never leave sight of land. Your father is right. It shouldn’t be here.”
Jehan was ahead of them, already rummaging through one of the storage compartments built into the decking of their canoe. He pulled out a box, and took out a viewing glass. He frowned down at it, then looked at them. “Start the repairs. I’ll see what I can see, and we can decide which way we’re sailing.”
Aven didn’t say anything as his father ran back the way they’d come. Instead he tossed the coils of seaweed onto the deck and started to work. There were places where the storm had weakened the cording that connected the decking, the forward boom, and the hull floats; it all needed to be replaced before the canoe would be safe to launch. Aven cut the old cording free and started to work.
“Ama?” he said, not looking up from his task. “Why would we be sailing away from a ship?”
“Because they’re not safe, Ven,” she answered. The same old answer. Why didn’t they visit the inland harbors for trade the way the rest of the Water tribe did? Why did they stay so far out to sea? Not just to avoid the family. No, it was because it wasn’t safe to do otherwise.
“Why isn’t it safe?” Aven cinched the cord he was working on and sat back on his heels. “You’ve never explained it. And I’ve never asked. But it’s something I need to know, isn’t it?”
His mother sighed. “It’s a conversation your father and I have been putting off for far too long, I think. Can you wait another day? The way you ask questions, we’ll need time.”
“I can wait,” Aven agreed. “Do I need to wait until it’s safe?”
She smiled at him, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Ven, if they’re sailing this far out, we’re not going to be safe. And it’s time you knew why.” She finished with the cord she was working on. “What do you know about the fall of the Firstborn?”
Aven frowned. “Not much. I know it happened before I was born. I know that the man who rules now isn’t the Firstborn. But when we were with the family, and the cousins were having their lessons, the elders would always stop talking when I was close enough to hear.”
Aleia arched a brow. “You never said.”
Aven shrugged. “It didn’t seem to be worth the fight, Ama. So what am I missing?”
Aleia looked thoughtful. She took a deep breath, then sat up and looked past Aven. “Jehan?”
Aven turned to see his father coming toward them, a frown on his face. “It’s dead in the water,” he said. “The mast is gone, and it’s listing badly. They must have been caught in the storm.”
“Any survivors?” Aleia asked.
“Not that I could see, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Jehan collapsed the viewing glass and put it back into the case. “I’m not sure it’s not a trick.”
“Ama and I can go take a closer look,” Aven suggested.
Jehan scowled. “No. I don’t want either of you near that ship. Not when you’re changed.”
“They won’t see us, love,” Aleia said. Jehan just shook his head.
“You’re a fierce fighter on land, Guppy. You’ve saved my life more than once. And I know you’ve fought underwater. But it’s that few minutes between that will get you killed, and you’re not taking that risk. Not you, and not our boy.”
Aven blinked, shocked. His mother had fought, had saved his father’s life? He turned to look at his mother, and saw the look on her face — she’d gone pale.
“You said you wouldn’t call me that,” she said softly.
“I wanted to be sure you were listening to me,” Jehan answered. “Because you’re as stubborn as the sea is deep, and I won’t lose you, too.”
“Too?” Aven repeated.
“That’s part of what we need to explain to you, Ven,” Aleia said. “But not now. Let’s finish the canoe, and go take a look at this ship.”
***
BY THE TIME THEY’D finished repairing their canoe, the tide was going out and the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon.
“We won’t have much time,” Aleia murmured.
“It shouldn’t take too long, and if there is someone on that ship, we’ll be able to get away in the dark,” Jehan answered. “If we wait until morning, it’ll be gone. Either taken by the current, or sunken.”
“I prefer sunken.” Aleia stepped up onto the deck and took hold of the sail lines. “If it sinks, we can examine it underwater without being disturbed. We’re ready. I’ve wet down the sand, so we need to get going.”
Aven didn’t say anything. He stood by the hull float and stared out to sea. He could see Melody playing in the waves, and wished that he could go join her. He heard a step behind him, and his father’s hand closed on his shoulder.
“Come help me launch,” Jehan said. “And call Melody in. We’ll want her with us.”
“Why?” Aven said, following his father around to the rear of the canoe. He took his place behind the port float, ready to push.
“Because she’ll rip the throat out of anyone who looks cross-eyed at you,” Jehan answered calmly.
“What?”
“Just push, Ven.”
Together, they pushed the canoe out into the water, splashing up and onto the deck as the wind caught the sail. Jehan took the steering paddle and laid it on the deck next to his knees. They didn’t need it yet — under Aleia’s steady guidance, the canoe was quickly headed away from the island. Aven leaned over the side of the decking and slapped the water twice, then twice again. He heard a distant squeal and nodded.
“Melody will catch up,” he called.
“Good,” his mother called back. “Eat something. And serve your father.”
Aven nodded and found the pot in one of the storage compartments, nestled in a bed of cloth scraps so that it stayed warm. He ladled out a bowl of the fragrant fish and seaweed mix, brought it to his father, then served himself.
“So tell me what else you were thinking about for so long,” Jehan said. Aven swallowed, looked down at his bowl.
“Now?” he asked.
“When else?” Jehan took another bite, gesturing with his free hand.
Aven frowned slightly, then nodded. “Wondering, really. I’m never going to fit in with the cousins. Or the rest of the Water tribe, I don’t think—”
“You’ve only met the part of the tribe you’re related to,” Aleia called.
“Still. I’m twenty-five. I’m starting to wonder if there’s ever going to be a girl who’ll ask me to build a canoe with her.” Aven took another bite of his stew, then looked up to see his father frowning. “Fa?”
“You’ve been thinking about this for a while?” Jehan asked.
“No. Only since we left the family the last time. Marsin is nineteen, and Iara of Tarscana’s canoe has offered for him. Trevi is twenty-two, and he has two daughters already. When will it be me?”
Jehan nodded. He looked thoughtful, then turned. “Remember what we were talking about?”
“And the answer is still no,” Aleia answered, her voice crisp.
“If I’m with you, there’s no hiding—”
“There’s no hiding it anyway, Jehan!” Aleia interrupted. “He has your eyes, and he’s a healer.”
“And if we went south, it wouldn’t matter!”
“Going south won’t change who he is. Who we are. Going south opens us up to more risk. It’s too close—”
Aven slammed his empty bowl down with a hard thump. “Could you not talk about me like I’m not here?” he demanded. “What are you talking about? What’s in the south?”
Jehan sighed. “There are places on the coast, south of here. Earth tribe lands, but there are fishing harbors mostly inhabited by Waterborn. There’s a lot of intermarriage.” He finished his own food and set his bowl aside. “You wouldn’t stand out there—”
“But it wouldn’t be safe,” Aven finished, and his voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. Certainly to his father’s, who looked shocked at Aven’s tone. “You’re both terrified of something, and you’re not telling me what or why! Is it me you’re afraid for, and that’s why you’re not saying anything?” An odd thought occurred to him, and he frowned. “Or is it me you’re afraid of?”
“We’re not afraid of you, Ven,” Jehan said. “For you, yes. And because of us.” He gestured to himself, to Aleia. “Because of who we are. Who we were.” He took a deep breath absently playing with his pendant. “Aleia? Now?”
“Once we’re done with the ship,” Aleia answered. “I told Ven that we’d explain everything, but it will take time to answer his questions and dealing with this ship needs to come first.”
Aven swallowed, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. Too many conflicting emotions, and none that he could really put a name to. “I’m finished eating,” he called, and got to his feet. “I’ll take the sails. Come and eat, Ama.”
A few minutes later, Aven was holding the lines controlling the sails, easing them on their way across the waves. He had to concentrate on what he was doing, which meant that he didn’t have to think about what he was feeling. He studied their destination instead. The ship was growing closer, and he could clearly see the splintered mast, the tattered sail.
“If it is a dead ship, what do we do?” he called over his shoulder.
“We see if there’s anything that we can use. Then we burn the corpse,” his father answered. “I don’t want the wreck drifting back to shore.” He came up next to Aven. “You know, you broke your bowl.”
Aven blinked, but he didn’t turn from his task. “I did?”
“Cracked it clean across. It fell apart when your mother picked it up.” Jehan sighed and put his hand on Aven’s shoulder. “We should never have kept this from you, Ven. We thought it was for the best, but we were wrong. I’m sorry.”
Aven nodded. “You still haven’t told me anything.”
“Once we’re done.”
***
MOORING THE CANOE TO the listing ship proved to be a challenge, one solved by Aleia taking the lines and bringing the canoe alongside, holding it there until Jehan and Aven could throw hooked cables over the railings.
“Aleia, stay on the steering paddle,” Jehan said. “You’re better than I am with it.”
“Aven can—”
“No, I’m taking him with me,” Jehan said. “Aleia, he needs to know. And he’s involved, just because he’s breathing. Time for us to own that.”
Aleia scowled. Then she nodded once and turned to face Aven. “Take your club.”
“What?” Aven gasped. “I...”
“You might need it. Jehan—”
“I’ll take mine. And we’ve both got our knives.” Jehan scowled at the ship. “She’s running low. Either a heavy cargo, or she’s taken on water. Either way, it’ll be easier for us to board. Ven, get the weapons.”
Aven went to the long compartment and took out the two heavy clubs, each of them edged with double rows of shark’s teeth. He handed one to his father, looked down at the other one. “Fa, are you sure you want me with you?” he asked. “I’ve never actually used this outside of dancing and practice with Ama.”
Jehan moved to stand in front of him, resting one hand on Aven’s shoulder. “Aven, if you need to use that, it’s because I’ve already gone down. And if I go down, then you are going to use that club to get yourself off the ship and into deep water. Aleia, be ready to cut those lines and get out.”
“I’m not leaving you, Jehan.”
Jehan growled softly. He turned and looked at Aleia. “Love, if you have to cut those lines, I’m already gone.” He looked back at the ship. “But I don’t think it will come to that.”
Jehan went first, balancing on the hull float closest to the ship until he could get his hands on the railing and hoist himself up onto the deck. He crouched there for a moment, then shook his head. “There’s no one here. Come on, Ven. Toss the clubs up and come over.”
Aven did as he was bid, tossing one club to his father, then the other. He followed Jehan’s example, pulling himself up onto the deck of what was easily the largest vessel he’d ever been aboard. And once on board, it was clear that the ship had been abandoned — casks were smashed open and the deck was littered with debris. He walked away from his father, looking around curiously as he picked his way through the trash.
“They don’t sail away from shore?” he called.
“They need to be able to see the shore so they know where they are. They must have been caught in the storm and blown out to sea,” Jehan answered. Aven turned to see his father kneeling, going through a cask. “We’ll salvage what we can, but it looks like a lot of the supplies were ruined.” He stood up and looked around. “There’s a hold—”
“A what?”
“Storage underneath the deck. Like our compartments, but under the entire deck,” Jehan said, pointing down. “There should be hatches, raised up from the deck. Probably covered in trash. You start over there.”
Aven walked to the stern of the ship and started forward, studying the decking. He spotted the raised hatch just as he heard his father call, “Found one!”
“So did I!” Aven called back, moving smashed timber and revealing crossing leather straps that had been nailed into the decking, sealing the hatch closed. “Mine is strapped shut.”
“What?” Jehan came trotting across the deck. “That’s not right.”
Aven frowned. “Why not?”
“There’s no need,” Jehan said. He frowned. Then he shook his head. “Well, do we open this one first, or the other one?”
Aven looked down at the straps. There was a tug, an insistence that there was something here, something he needed to see. “They don’t usually seal the hatches?” he asked slowly.
“No.”
“Then we need to look here first,” Aven suggested. “See what they’re trying to keep safe.”
Jehan nodded, drawing his knife. Aven drew his as well, and they started sawing at the heavy straps. They parted slowly, and Aven could hear his mother calling, asking what was going on. Jehan left for a moment, going back to the railing to reassure her. Aven kept cutting, and had just finished his strap when Jehan came back. Together, they cut through the other strap. Jehan grabbed the handle in the center of the hatch and lifted it. Aven peered through the hole, then cursed and jumped down into the hold, ignoring the ladder. He heard a heavy thump overhead – the hatch hitting the deck, he assumed.
“Ven!” Jehan shouted.
“There’s a girl in a cage down here!” Aven shouted back. “A girl with wings!” He dropped to his knees in the dirty water, reaching through the bars to touch the girl’s throat. “And she’s alive!”