ALUNA SAID GOOD NIGHT to Hoku and swam for her nest, her thoughts dark. She kept seeing the same images, over and over: Makina’s dead white eyes, the broken necklace in her palm, Hoku’s worried face pressed against the council dome. How could she live a normal life knowing it was only a matter of time before someone else died?

Then again, maybe she wouldn’t be living a normal life. Maybe her own necklace would be the next to fail.

She changed direction and headed for the training dome. A few weapon drills would calm her tumultuous mind. Most days, they were the only thing that could. If only she were allowed to be a hunter like her brothers! She loved fighting — the emotional rush, the way her mind and body worked together, the rare feeling of power and control, even if it was just over herself. And she was good at it, too. But girls were forbidden to do anything the Elders deemed dangerous while the Coral Kampii population was below its “minimum safe level.” And now, with the Elders wanting more babies, she’d be lucky to do anything as deadly as shucking a mussel or skinning a fish.

Her brother Anadar was in the dome when she got there, going through a complicated spear set. Aluna treaded by the entrance, not wanting to distract him. Besides, she loved watching the swish of his long spear as it pierced the water. He wasn’t as strong or naturally talented as their older brothers, Pilipo and Ehu, but he worked harder and had more patience. And so far, he’d kept her training a secret.

When Anadar finished his series of moves, he saluted the old stone warriors’ shrine at the north curve of the dome and turned to her.

“I thought I might see you tonight, after everything,” he said, and that was all the mention he made of Makina. But there was a look in his eyes, a sadness, and Aluna wondered if he didn’t need this session as much as she did. Not that they could actually talk about it. Unless Daphine was part of the conversation, Aluna and her brothers stuck to the same three topics: eating, hunting, and which one of them would win in a fight.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he said. “Grab your spear.”

Aluna grinned and darted for the weapons stuck to the nearby wall with jellyfish goo. A few of the spears had only one point, but most had sharpened metal tips on both ends. She chose the shortest, sturdiest spear, to match her smaller stature. One day, she’d wield the longer sinuous weapons and make them dance in the water, just as her brothers did.

“This is your last lesson before you get your tail, so let’s make it a good one,” Anadar said in his best grown-up teacher voice. “I want to see every spear set you’ve learned so far.”

She groaned. “All of them? But I want to learn something new!”

“Then you better find enlightenment in a set you already know.”

Aluna sighed and swam to the center of the dome, about three meters above the sandy floor. Before she started training, she’d thought the weapon sets were beautiful, but stupid. The hunter performed a series of moves with the weapon, but without an opponent. Some of the spear twirls and positions looked far too elaborate to ever be useful in a real fight. But after she learned her first set — Spear in Six Directions — she began to understand. The sets conditioned the body to understand the weapon, to feel its ebb and flow. And they were much harder than they looked. She never concentrated more than when she was learning a new series of moves.

She faced north, saluted the shrine and her brother, then began.

Her body did most of the work. It knew the moves, directed the spear to poke or slash, twist or spin. Her mind focused on intent. It was not enough to go through the motions. She had to understand what each of them meant. She had to give them heart, imbue them with her spirit. She wasn’t just poking the point toward the sand; she was driving it into the gills of an imaginary Great White.

After Six Directions, she performed two dolphin-style sets called Chase the Seal and Playing in the Surf that involved tumbles and quick changes of direction. By the end of the second one, her breathing necklace was pulsing so fast that she thought she might pass out.

“Go on,” Anadar said. “There is no time to catch your breath in the middle of a fight. Push.”

Push through the exhaustion. He’d been telling her that since the first day she picked up a knife. The only limits you have are the ones you set yourself.

Aluna saluted and began Devil in the Depths, a shark-style set with fast, sharp movements. Her arms wobbled, and the first few strikes were sloppy. She pushed, and found a second wave of strength.

When she had finished the rest of her sets, she stopped treading and drifted to the ocean floor. Her breath came in great gasps, and she held her side to ease the cramp in her ribs. Her spear hung lifeless from her hand. If Great White attacked right now, she’d almost welcome its jaws.

“Not bad,” Anadar said. “A little messy at times, but you maintained good speed and power. Let’s go over the spinning combination in the White Coral set. I think you have the wrong grip in one part.”

Aluna looked at him. Was he serious? His brown eyes sparkled their response. Tides’ teeth — he was.

She pulled herself upright with a groan, adjusted her hands on the spear, and adopted the White Coral stance.

Push.

Her father was waiting for her when she got back to the nest. His tail curled around his resting stick in the common room, the resting stick no one else dared use. He didn’t look at her when she entered but stared at his dinner pouch, seemingly transfixed by whatever food Daphine had prepared for the family that night.

Aluna hurried through the room, eager to collapse and savor her well-earned exhaustion. She had almost made it to the other side when her father spoke.

“That girl should never have been in the kelp forest alone,” he said. “Her death was an unfortunate accident.”

Aluna stopped and twirled to face him. “An accident?” The anger and frustration she’d just purged from her system returned in one flash of a tail. “How can you say that? It was her necklace!”

His eyes flickered wide, but he recovered quickly from the surprise. “You’re talking nonsense. The girl made a foolish mistake and she died for it.”

“But you know it’s the necklaces,” she sputtered. “And you know more people are going to die just like Makina!”

You let my mother die, too. You chose the City of Shifting Tides over your own wife. She couldn’t say the words out loud. Not to him. But they both felt the accusation floating there, an invisible barrier always between them.

“Lower your voice,” he hissed. “I know the girl was your friend, but if I tell you her death was an accident, then you’ll believe it was an accident. Do you understand me?”

Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them into the ocean. “The Elders listen to you. I know they’re afraid, but they listen to you. They would follow you anywhere.” Even to the Above World.

He gave a harsh laugh. “No one will follow a man who can’t even control his own daughter.”

“So this is my fault somehow?” she said. “What if Anadar is the next Kampii to die? Or Daphine?”

Her father’s brow darkened. “You are too young to understand what’s happening. You know nothing of the Above World and its horrors. Grow up, Aluna. You’re about to get your tail, and you’re still acting like a child.”

She glowered, her blistered hands curling into fists. She couldn’t speak, not without screaming. Where was the proud, honorable man the rest of the Kampii saw when they looked at her father? All she saw was a coward. A coward who was perpetually disappointed in her.

“Get out of my sight,” her father said, and she did.