The day I met Lysi was the third time I'd ventured to the edge of the beach without permission. For the third time, I felt peaceful as I listened to the splashing waves, delighted as I watched the seagulls float on their bellies, exhilarated as the pebbles massaged the soles of my feet.
It happened nearly a year ago. I had gone there to look for my brother. Maybe I would find him swimming to shore or docking a makeshift raft, and he would come running to me with his beard scruffy and his pants torn at the knees, and he would tell me he missed me and he was glad to be home after being lost for so long.
I'd spotted a body lying at the edge of the water, half submerged, waves crashing over it. A cluster of seagulls watched curiously from the surrounding boulders as the figure rocked back and forth.
I hesitated for only a moment before sprinting down to the water. Was it Nilus?
The skin glistened white against the dark rocks—much too fair, after all. What if it was another sailor, stolen by the sea from somebody else's family?
As I approached, forced to move slowly over the jagged stones on my bare feet, I could make out the limp body as that of a girl—a young one, maybe my age. Thick locks of coppery blonde hair fell across her shoulders and tangled around her neck like a noose. It was laced with seaweed and looked like it hadn't been brushed in months, and although darkened by water, I could tell it would be a most beautiful shade of gold when dry.
I only knew a handful of families with skin so pale. Had I found a castaway from the mainland?
"Hey," I said softly. She didn't stir. A thick rope was wrapped around her; some was draped across the sand and I couldn't tell how much was still in the water.
The pungent smell of the ocean met my nose—salt and seaweed and water as old as the earth itself—but I didn't know anymore if I smelt the ocean or a dead body. How long had this girl been here? I shivered, only partly because of the breeze coming off the water.
When I stepped sideways to try and see her face, my throat tightened. I instinctively stepped back. Where the girl's legs should have been was a long tail, greenish-brown in colour and scaly, like a salmon. I studied the tail, but I had to look away when my breathing grew panicked.
She was the myth I'd heard about. Her kind was the reason my brother went out to sea in the first place, to never come back. A sea demon.
As I watched her body rock in the waves, I suddenly didn't understand why my people wanted to kill the sea demons. Why would a grown man kill a little girl, even if she was only half of a little girl?
Her face was so smooth and gentle that I found myself touching my own nose and cheekbones and eyebrows, wishing I were that pretty.
I studied the rope around her small body. A fishing net. The mesh entangled her so tight, it left red lines on her ivory skin. I reached down and touched her. Her skin was icy, not a degree different from the water.
Hands trembling, I was about to pronounce her dead when her stomach moved. She was breathing.
"Hey," I said, excitement in my voice. "You're alive. Wake up."
I rubbed her arm, trying uselessly to warm her up.
Her eyes opened and she looked right at me. Her irises were sapphire blue, brighter than any I'd seen on a human.
I knew right then we would be friends forever.
"I'll help you," I said, though I knew she couldn't understand.
I pulled her gently from the water, not sure if mermaids could drown. I ran back to the house as fast as I could to get a knife.
Taking extra care not to pull too hard or catch her with the blade, I cut the net away. She stared, wide-eyed, like she wasn't sure if I was trying to help or hurt her. When I finished, she kept her gaze on me until I set down the knife and smiled.
She sought out my hand and pressed her palm against mine, stretching her fingers skywards. When I stretched my own fingers and she saw the way our hands lined up, brown skin against white, she returned a hesitant smile. She closed her fingers around my hand as though in way of thanks, then dove back into the water with grace I'd never seen. She left me staring after her with a strange, exciting mix of awe and fear bubbling in my chest.
We'd both returned to that spot the next night. Since then, we came back to see each other nearly every day, and, over time, I taught her to speak Eriana. We knew our friendship would go severely punished—but not for a second did that stop us.
***
I didn't realise I'd fallen asleep when an annoying and repetitive sound woke me up. My hands reached groggily for my pillow. I threw it over my head to try and smother myself in silence.
My door burst open. I flung my pillow off and bolted upright, my heart jumping into action.
"Meela, get up."
It was Mama.
"What?" My own voice boomed in my ears.
"The bell. Homecoming."
My feet hit the cold floor. Blood rushed to my head, making me dizzy. The bell. The sailors. They'd made it.
I pulled my favourite sweater from my closet. Once belonging to Nilus, it was four sizes too big and worn thin with age. I threw it on, following the sound of Mama crashing around in the entrance. Papa already waited there, wearing clean jeans and a button-down shirt, watching Mama pull gumboots over her bare feet.
When he saw me, he said, "Let's go," and opened the door to lead us through the mist. It clung to my face and bare feet like a damp cloth, and I was glad the rest of me was warmly bundled.
I instinctively looked in the direction of the ocean as we walked, but of course I couldn't see it through the trees and the darkness.
Nobody said anything as we followed the main road to the docks. I wanted to ask questions, but something told me it was not the time. The bell grew louder, its slow gongs reminding me of an old and broken clock ringing long past twelve.
When we rounded the bend out of the forest, the docks and the black water came into view beneath a floodlight. Knots of families already filled the edge of the dim halo of light, and hundreds more still approached. The spectators always stood on a hill that dropped down to the water, so even kids could see over the heads of the adults in front of us. Part of me wished I couldn't see at all.
The large brass bell clanged loudly now. A boy I didn't recognise rang it with both hands. He looked frail and tired, even from afar.
The black water stretched outwards until it blended with the horizon, leaving the world in front of us desolate—if not for the soft, lonely glow in the distance. Something was definitely coming. The light flashed in a rhythm set by Eriana Kwai: one, two, one-two-three; one, two, one-two-three. It was our ship.
Everyone stayed cautiously away from the water's edge. I thought we could get closer for a better view, but when I looked up at Mama, her face was crinkled. Papa's was hard as stone. Neither of them looked at me. I supposed Mama and Papa did know some of the boys who were sent away, even if I didn't.
So I turned back to the sea and watched the light grow larger. One, two, one-two-three.
And the bell continued to toll. Gong, gong, gong.
My feet grew numb and I began to shiver, so I curled my toes in and out over the sharp bits of gravel to try and warm them. I glanced behind me. Probably a couple thousand of us were huddled together—about half the island—and more gathered in the shadows. Nobody spoke.
"All hands," someone yelled, startling me. I snapped my head forwards and watched five men stomp onto the docks, ready to help tie the ship.
The crowd seemed to hold its breath, and I wondered if they thought mermaids would attack the men on the dock. I looked up at Mama again, but her expression hadn't changed.
The ship drifted in slowly to avoid snagging its bottom on the shallow rocks. It scraped along anyway, but a bit of rocks against the bottom was nothing compared to what it had faced over the last month. The decayed mainsail fluttered, wind hissing through gashes taller than me. Patches on the mast and railing looked darker than others. Craters. Every wave seemed about to sink the fragile ship.
None of it mattered now. The few Massacre ships that made it back got retired.
I knew a ship would normally be anchored a safe distance away, and a smaller boat would be used to bring the sailors to shore, but someone must have decided there was greater danger in putting sailors in a tiny unprotected boat by themselves.
So we waited as the boat groaned its way to the dock. I strained my eyes, but couldn't see any people aboard.
The crowd was quiet as mice. The only sound came from the waves lapping against the dock and the ship. Where were the sailors? Shouldn't they all have been leaning against the railing, waving to their loved ones and shouting?
A soft mumble, like a swarm of bees, passed over the crowd. I wasn't alone in thinking something was wrong.
One of the men on the dock split the air with a shout, startling me again. I clutched Mama's nightgown—a childish action, but I didn't care. She wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders. The man was only announcing that the ship was safely tied to the dock. The sailors were free to disembark.
The ship rocked on the waves for a moment longer, bouncing off the dock, and then a figure appeared at the end of the gangplank.
He stared out at all of us. I didn't recognise him in the darkness. All the men we sent out only one month ago were thick, strong men. This one stooped as he walked, and his clothes hung from his bony arms and shoulders like dead leaves.
One of the men on the dock rushed to help. The frail man clung to him, and the dark figures shuffled down the gangplank together. When they reached the land, the sailor straightened, eyeing the crowd. He trembled under the yellow halo of the floodlight.
I stood on my toes to see his face, unsure whether I should clap or cry for him, or just stay quiet. The choice was made for me in the long silence that followed. I grew more uncomfortable with each passing second.
Someone pushed past us, breaking Mama and I apart. A woman in her nightgown and a man's lumberjack coat fought her way to the front.
"Hassun!"
The crowd turned to look.
Someone else pushed out of the crowd on the other side—a teenager, a girl of about eighteen.
The two figures met the sailor in a teary hug. I dropped my gaze, feeling like an intruder on a private family moment.
"Oh, dear," said Mama, covering her mouth.
I looked up at her. "Is he the only—"
She put her hand on my hair and told me to "shh."
I remembered Mama talking about Elaila.
The murmuring crowd became louder. I could hear people crying. Not far from us, a grown man started to wail. The anguished sound made me feel like my insides were sinking into the rocks at my feet.
Papa turned and pushed his way out of the crowd.
A gust of wind cut through the people surrounding us, blowing my hair across my face and making hollow sounds against the old boathouse. Mama looked as cold as I felt.
"Can we go?" I whispered.
She turned away, keeping a warm arm around my shoulders. I watched my feet as we left, not wanting to see the faces of all the grieving people.
"Poor Elaila," said Mama. Her voice was thick. "What evil, to be widowed at her age."
We walked home in silence. I couldn't think of anything to say. When we opened our front door, Papa stood in the kitchen, staring out the window into pitch-blackness.
"I don't want to sleep," I said. "Can we stay up and have tea?"
"Go to bed, Metlaa Gaela," said Papa, not turning away from the window. He sounded tired, but his tone dared me to argue.
I turned and marched to my room, slamming my door loudly enough to make sure they heard it.
The colour of the sky told me the sun was about to rise, and I rolled over to face my window. I'd hoped to watch Charlotte build a new web, like I sometimes had the privilege of seeing when I lay awake at night, but she wasn't there.
What happened to the other sailors?
"Don't think about it," I said aloud, and rubbed my hands along my sheets, focusing on the texture against my palms. That was what Mama told me to do if I started thinking scary thoughts when trying to fall asleep. Distract my senses.
But Papa's angry voice echoed in my head, and when I closed my eyes, I saw his fist clenched around my fragile necklace. More than anything, I wanted it back. I wanted to hold the shells and feel their ribbed texture against my palms. I wanted to sleep with it beneath my pillow, close to me like I used to do with Lucky Ducky—my stuffed duck—before she got too frayed to sleep in my bed.
How could Papa take it away from me? He never let me have anything fun. He probably threw it away without bothering to notice how pretty it was. And now I would never see it again.
It wasn't up to him to decide who I was allowed to be friends with. I was ten years old already, and I could be friends with whomever I wanted.
My anger at Papa thickened the longer I lay there, until I brooded about him for so long I was sick of thinking about him.
This was all Dani's fault. If she hadn't blabbed to her papa for the sake of making me miserable, I would be hugging my necklace right now instead of my cold bed sheet. Someone needed to teach her a lesson about meddling in other people's business. I couldn't let her win.
A knock sounded at my door.
"Time to get ready for school," said Mama.
I sat up and looked out the window. The sky was blue already, and I hadn't gotten a moment of sleep. I pulled on a pair of brown pants from the floor of my closet, ripped a t-shirt from its hanger without looking at which one it was, and marched out of my room.
I didn't want to lay eyes on Papa, so I bolted out the door with my backpack before Mama had the chance to tell me to put my gumboots on. I stomped there in bare feet and messy hair, planning how I would confront Dani.
"I think you should learn to keep your mouth shut," I said, practicing.
No, too wimpy. I tried more of a threatening approach.
"You'd better watch who you tattle on, Dani."
Still not tough enough.
Arms crossed, I waited in the schoolyard, rehearsing different threats in my head that ranged from "keep your pointy nose out of my business," to "do it again and I'll push you in the Eriana Trench."
When Dani arrived, looking smug with her hair clean and glossy, she saw my expression and balked.
"What do you want?" she said, when I kept glaring at her.
"Who did you tell?" To my satisfaction, my voice sounded even more low and challenging than when I'd practiced.
She narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything.
"Who did you tell about my necklace?" I said, louder.
"I didn't tell anyone!"
"Liar!"
She huffed. "It's an ugly piece of junk and it just reminds us of our curse. You can't wear it."
"Well, I'm not wearing it, am I? You know why?"
"Did you give it back to a slimy sea rat?"
"No! I'm not wearing it because you're a snitch!"
She stepped closer so she was looking down on me. "Well, you're a traitor. You're a traitor just like your brother. I heard he didn't want to go on the Massacre. I bet he went willingly into the ocean with a sea dem—"
Abandoning restraint, I slammed the heels of my hands into her shoulders. She gasped, stumbling back.
"I told you," I said, yelling now, "don't talk about my brother!"
She made to shove me in the shoulders, but I clamped onto her wrists.
"I hear mermen are hideous," she said, lip curling. "So your brother will fit right in. I bet they made him king."
She yanked her wrists away from my hands, but I dug my nails into her skin.
Dani shrieked. Her eyes filled with rage. Then her hands were attacking my face, clawing and scratching and grabbing for my hair. I closed my eyes instinctively as her nails dragged across my cheeks and lunged at her with all my strength. We toppled to the ground and I landed on top of her, flailing my arms and making contact with her neck and shoulders and head. She kicked upwards and we fell sideways. Then she was on top of me, and we still flailed, both of us screaming, no longer forming proper words. When our skin became too slippery with mud, we grabbed each other's hair.
I opened my eyes. Her face was covered in mud, her teeth clenched in fury. She pulled my head down by a fistful of hair, bending my neck painfully. I roared, letting loose another blow to her neck.
"Meela!"
I didn't look up to see who was yelling at me, but seconds later, a hand wrapped around my upper arm and hauled me to my feet.
My other fist was still swinging, but a second hand grabbed that one and whipped me around. I found myself staring into the bulging eyes of Miss Paige.
"Go to Principal Ray's office," she said, and she looked so angry, I thought her eyes might pop out of her head.
"But she—" I immediately shut up when her expression darkened further.
She let me go and pointed in the direction of the school. I shot one last glare at Dani and was pleased to see her covered in mud. Her normally thick, shiny hair was flat and damp, and she tried to wipe mud off her face with the back of her even-muddier hand.
I stomped to the school, rubbing my hands on my pants, uselessly trying to clean them off. The best I could do was push the hair from my eyes and wipe the snot from my nose. I must have looked as sorry as a stray dog. My bare feet made sticky sounds on the floor of the empty hallway.
I passed empty classrooms and tried not to let the other teachers see me. The artwork on the walls of the hallway mocked me—glued pieces of braided grass and flowers that reminded me of seaweed, and drawings of friends smiling together in a sunny field. I even saw a few hopeful paintings of a docking ship, and complete families holding hands as someone's older brother returned from the Massacre.
My stomach knotted as Principal Ray's office drew near. By the time I reached the door in my ever-slowing pace, Miss Paige was only seconds behind me. The principal's eyes swept over me, then over Miss Paige's serious expression. His rosy cheeks drained of colour, like I'd just brought a thunderstorm to his perfect day. Miss Paige walked past me and shut the two of them in a small adjoining room.
I sat on the Bad Kid Chair at the far corner of the office—a ratty kitchen stool I'd seen two or three times before. Grey and torn, with an odour like mildew, it possibly hadn't been replaced since the beginning of time.
By the time Principal Ray and Miss Paige came out, I was shivering from the wet mud.
They didn't even ask me what happened. The principal just rubbed a hand over his bald head, scanning me up and down once more.
"Go home, Metlaa Gaela," he said. "You're suspended. I'm calling your parents so they know you're coming."