Sea Witch Rising

by Sarah Henning

I loved him.

  It’s a statement but there are only questions in her eyes. How could you murder him? How could you murder the man I love? How could we think it was the right thing to do? We just killed the king!

  My pounding heart flutters with every recrimination in those questions. That I’m a monster. That I wasn’t clever enough to find another way. And the worst, that we failed, so he never needed to die. Yet, my anger and frustration and the helplessness of it all compounds until I explode on her, my voice a whisper but deafening in her accusatory silence. “You agreed! And you know he didn’t love you!”

  Runa, she signs, and I nearly fall over because she hasn’t actually used my name since I’ve been here. The sign is simply two fingers—one, Alia; two, Runa.

  There’s no me without her.

  In all the years since we came up with these signs, I never knew how true that was.

  He didn’t deserve to die.

  I swallow. No one deserves to die. But, but, but . . . I grit my teeth.

  “How could you still have any love in your heart for him after you knew he could build a weapon of war and sell it to the highest bidder? One that could destroy our home, our people too?”

  I walk away from her, taking those first steps down the other side of the mountain. The air is heavy with rain that’s begun to let up, and my dress sticks to my skin, its grip growing stronger with each step. When it dries, it’ll be a part of me.

  Alia catches up and grabs my arm to get my attention, and then her hands are flying through one sign and another, her lips moving furiously in the weak light.

  I didn’t know at first.

  But you heard Sofie; he was marrying her for money. For his subjects.

  This war has already disrupted trade. Who knows how long that’ll go on.

  Those boats were a transaction meant to feed his people—plain and simple.

  I keep walking, and she runs ahead of me and grabs both my hands in hers, blocking the path so I’m forced to look at her. She uses the two inches she has on me to the best of her ability as she glowers down—logic and heartache and our failure in the defiant set of her shoulders.

  Niklas was a good man.

  Alia drives that knife in and waits for me to explode again, just like she knew I would. I’m the sister who tells her the hard truth, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone to toss it back at me in kind. Especially not about this.

  I grimace and slap her hands away. “Do you know how foolish you sound? I know you’re a romantic, but how can you be so blind? How?”

  The cords of my neck rise, and Alia lets my anger roll over her like pain she’d been waiting for. Yearning for. Like picking at a scab that you know will bleed. Want to bleed.

  Fine. Let it bleed.

  I bare my teeth. “That money would only line his pocket, kill his people, and make our kind vulnerable to discovery, capture, imprisonment, and murder.”

  She shakes her head, emphatic.

  You’ve listened too much to Father!

  Humans are not the root of all evil.

  How do we know that they’d destroy us if they discovered us?

  I stomp away from her, tossing my words over my shoulder, higher pitched than they should be. “They’d treat us exactly like anything exotic they’ve come across. Our kind would be locked behind bars at the zoo, forced to perform in circuses. Some might even take our fins for prizes to display—mermaid-skin pillows to rest atop pelts like those in your own lover’s bed.”

  Alia stops dead behind me. I turn around to pull her forward. We have to get going—our lead will evaporate before we know it. With each step toward the countryside, we’re losing our tree cover. In mere feet we’ll be naked targets under the clouded stars, just as we were on the open lawn. But now the guards are ready with their pistols and likely orders to cut us down.

  They won’t need to question us—Sofie witnessed the whole thing. They just need us to pay.

  Alia’s standing there, shoulders shaking, head lolling back. She doesn’t make a sound, but I feel the sob radiating out of her, the sound of it seeping into my bones.

  Oh, Urda.

  I take her hand now, softer than before. I don’t snatch it or grab it, but handle it as I would the most delicate little fish.

  “Come on . . . let’s keep going. Wherever we’re going . . .”

  She sniffs. Another sign.

  Witch.

  My head pounds with her making that sign in the courtyard. I’d thought she wanted to talk about the sea witch and our failed deal, but here, where we can’t even see the water, it strikes me another way.

  “Wait. A human witch?”

  She nods. And then grabs my hand, spelling out letters on my palm. She has to do it twice for me to form the word on my lips in the weak light.

  K-A-T-R-I-N-E.

  “Katrine? A witch named Katrine?”

  She nods again. And points down to the valley as it must angle back toward the coastline. Then, she makes another singular sign.

  Help.

  I hesitate. “Do I have to remind you the last time a witch helped a mermaid? No, this Katrine will not help us.”

  I can’t believe you. You think I’m foolish, but you regurgitate Father’s words like you don’t have a brain in your own head!

  She thunks me hard upside the head to prove her point, but then almost seems to regret it, forgetting my injury as I sink to my knees, off-balance. She helps me up but doesn’t apologize as I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the ringing to clear. It doesn’t, and it seems like it might never, so I turn and try to get past her to go back toward the mountain pass—if we skirt down the edge away from Katrine’s, we could lose them in the lands north of the kingdom’s seat.

  But Alia plants herself in front of me.

  Your flowers—he used you to suck up every ounce of power in the sea and strip the land of everything the humans and their fear of witches didn’t. It’s corrupted him. And you know it.

  I swallow hard and stop attempting to pass her. I do know it.

  There’s no more balance.

  She needles in on that word again: balance.

  But by working with the few remaining witches on land, I can help. I can make a difference. I can restore the balance—restore Father to the amount of power he can handle.

  Magic is needed here to save the ocean. Save Father from himself.

  I add her words together until the pieces lock into place. I think of everything she told me back at the castle, of her plans to make a difference here. My own words ring in my head—Yes, you’ll be a great witch. To do that, we must survive this first.

  I draw in a deep breath and measure my words. “And this is why you know about Katrine . . . you were doing research?”

  Alia nods.

  I knew I would have four days. I wasn’t going to go to the surface unprepared.

  I don’t point out that she was most definitely unprepared if her research didn’t include the fact that her love was already engaged to be married. Or that he was building weapons of war for profit.

  Urda, this is such a mess.

  Alia presses a hand to my face. Her energy, her life burns against my skin.

  She’s alive. So present.

  The thought of losing her again scrapes at the edges of my heart. The panic that led me to the sea witch after confirming what she’d done rises again within me.

  If you think I would have those U-boats in our ocean, you don’t know me at all.

  Then, a tug of my hand. Come on.

  I don’t know that this Katrine can save my sister. I don’t know that she won’t just murder us both the second she smells magic on us. But I do know that I love my sister with all my heart. The sea witch told me that supporting Alia was my greatest power, but maybe I can do more. I yank back on Alia’s hand hard enough that it not only stops her momentum but also shifts her back. My sister bumps off my shoulder. I take her face into my hands on the rebound.

  And kiss her.

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nbsp; 16

  Runa

  WE STAY THERE FOR A LONG MOMENT, MY LIPS ON HERS. I’ve got my eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the magic to do its job.

  I love my sister.

  True love is all that matters to this damn spell, and considering I flubbed my end of the bargain so spectacularly, I’m basically human now.

  So. Work. You. Stupid. Magic.

  Despite her fire and fury, Alia’s light in my arms, and I wonder if this is her leaving me, the magic tethering her to this body, to this side of the deal, almost completely eroded.

  When my eyes fly open, they meet Alia’s.

  We part, a question on her lips.

  What are you doing? she mouths.

  I explain my logic and she laughs soundlessly. I miss its bell-like quality, and the jolly shifting of her shoulders is not the same. She waggles her eyebrows and makes a sign that makes me blush a blue streak.

  Calder.

  Then, to make it worse, she mouths out the sentence so I can’t ignore it.

  Now I know what you were up to with Calder at the hot springs.

  I cringe but laugh and toss it back at her. I may have a special friendship with a certain first-year guard, but she’s well-known to be immediately and furiously smitten with any merman lucky enough to costar with her in a moon play.

  “Nothing you haven’t done already with Svend, Balder, Hammond, or Geir!”

  She laughs soundlessly again, shoulders quaking. Then, she takes my hand. The rain has stopped, and a breeze twists through her hair, drying it in pretty waves around her shoulders.

  Another sign.

  I’m sorry.

  “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just—it’s been so difficult.”

  She smiles softly and tugs me along. We start again in the direction of Katrine’s home, and I don’t protest, traveling to the south and west. The grass is soft beneath our feet, and though the trees are few and far between, it’s easy to believe it’s simply us, the summer-ruined grass, and the stars.

  When she looks to me again, it’s to mouth something else.

  I do feel better.

  “Really?”

  She nods.

  Alia plants a kiss on my cheek. I think it worked.

  “Really?” I ask again. There wasn’t anything I could feel on my end. I don’t know what I expected—maybe a shock like a lamp taking flame or lightning coursing through the sky.

  But I’m a vessel for the love. Maybe it only matters what she feels. My uncertainty is most certainly annoying to her.

  YES, she scream-mouths, arms wide to the sky.

  “Okay then, it’s just so—”

  A pistol shot cracks through the calming night around us.

  We both dive for the ground, unsure where the bullet came from or where it’s going, knowing only that it’s meant for us. Rainwater clings to each blade of grass, and when my face hits, it’s like a spray of cold water to my temples. The back of my head throbs accordingly.

  I lift up enough to see a flash of fire just before the report of another shot. They’re close. Much closer than expected. And coming fast. We can’t stay on the ground.

  Our hands find each other at the same time, and we get to our feet, running perpendicular to the shot. They’ll have to change course and aim to get us now. There’s a stand of trees in the distance—clearly a marking for where one farmer’s land meets its neighbor.

  Another bullet rings through the air. This one is so close, its white-hot heat burns past me. I brace for its companion, the other guard lining up his shot, but I have to keep moving. The trees don’t seem to be getting any closer.

  The guards are too far for me to spell them asleep like the ones at the courtiers’ garden. What can I—

  The second shot finally cracks through the air.

  I turn, and again, it’s like time slows, the image of the bullet and its trajectory clear in my mind—the last one came for me, so this one will come for Alia.

  I throw a hand out over her back and scream the only spell I can think of that might be of any help at all. “Skjoldr!”

  Invisible, yet solid, a shield spreads out from my hand, despite the distance I’ve felt from my magic. The bullet hits, just above my hand. Right between Alia’s shoulder blades. And then it falls to the ground.

  I stop running and turn to these faceless men in the dark, both hands out now.

  “Skjoldr! Skjoldr! Skjoldr!”

  The men are moving in fast, but the shield does its job, standing warm and strong the whole length and width of my body. It’s not perfect cover, only working on one side, but it’ll do.

  Behind me, Alia has stopped running and circled back, crouching within my wingspan.

  Several shots ping off me, falling dead on the grass. The men are close enough now that they appear blue instead of black in the dark, their uniforms meant to look sharp and intimidating in a castle setting, but imperfect for tracking prey in the countryside.

  Dumbfounded, they exchange a word I can’t hear, and then they lunge for us. Sprinting full speed. They’re smarter than they look. One dives for my feet to knock me over. The other tackles Alia.

  I’m blinded by the man on top of me. He’s got both my hands locked over my head and is fumbling for his pistol.

  I can’t see Alia; I can only hear the grunts of the guard demanding she stay still. The man on top of me gets a hand on his gun, and rather than drawing the trigger, he flings it back, ready to slam the cool metal down on my temple.

  “Villieldr!” I spit in his face. The man hesitates. But with his delay, my skin grows hot with wildfire, turning purple in the night.

  “Yeow!” the man yelps as welts form on his palm where he was pinning my wrists together. He rips his hand away and falls back, sending his pistol flying into the grass.

  “Ómegin! Rata!” I shout at him, spelling him to sleep like the guards before.

  Skin still sparking with flame, I roll onto my feet and survey Alia’s situation. She’s kicked the guard off and disarmed him of his gun and hat. There’s a huge rip in her dress, bigger than before, and both her legs flash white in the dark as she stumbles up from her knees, clearly trying to go for something in the grass—the pistol.

  The guard, sloppy on his feet, goes for it too. He’s longer in every way than Alia—taller frame, lankier arms—and I know he’ll get there first even with her apparent speed.

  “Ómegin! Rata!” I shout at him. But he’s too far from me—the new breeze grabbing my words and lifting them away—and stays upright.

  I sprint after him. “Villiedlr! Vindr!” I thrust both arms out in front of me, aimed at the guard.

  A wind rustles up within me, and it takes every lick of concentration I have to funnel that strength so that it blows the wildfire from my skin, through the space between us and to the broad back that lurches for the unseen pistol in the grass.

  The fire scalds his back in a jet of purple flame. The man screams and falls to the ground, desperately trying to extinguish the fire from the tip of his head to the soles of his well-heeled boots—now likely binding with his skin.

  Alia grabs the pistol and shows it to me over her head. She’s trying to scream something, eyes frantic.

  Stop. Stop. Stop.

  She can’t see someone else die.

  But I need to make sure she’s free.

  When she’s clear of the guard and running my direction, I call off the spell and hex him with the sleep spell I’ve used on the other guards—“Ómegin. Rata.”

  The guard stops writhing on the ground, his mind drifting off, away from the pain I’ve caused.

  Alia doubles over, catching her breath. She raises a hand to show she’s all right, and I realize I should do what she did—grab the pistol off my man. Any ammunition too.

  The guard who attacked me is facedown in the grass several feet away. I crouch gently, breathing hard, and considering how loud we’ve just been, I mutter another round of “Ómegin. Rata,” to reinforce his s
leep. I grab his pistol, and we begin our trek again.

  Alia’s previously smooth stride has an inescapable hitch in it, blood staining her leg through yet another rip in her dress. She still moves better than I do, all things considered. We stay silent as we move toward the copse in the distance. It’s clear now that no more guards are rushing down the side of the mountain for us. Most likely, if any of them witnessed that, they’re doubling back for reinforcements. I know this might mean we have someone tailing us, but I need this silence. I need to believe we’re alone. Beside me, as we slow, Alia’s breath has grown shallow. Light.

  The stand of trees breaks the silence between us and around us. Gulls call to low gray clouds as the morning tide sweeps in, the ocean roaring to life with its endless, undeniable movement. Just feet from where we stand, the rolling countryside abruptly falls away, giving itself to the ocean in the form of a steep cliff face.

  I don’t negotiate as she sits down on the edge of the cliff. It’s a wonky, south-but-east rotation to this jut of land, and beyond it is a deep blue line, separating where the water meets the sky, the night meeting the day. Alia pats the ground next to her, exposing the gash on her leg to the salt air. A lump forms in my throat. When I sit, Alia smiles and tears a piece of cloth from her dress, attempting to tie it around her calf. I add my hands to the problem and eventually take over as her fingers fumble—I have a much better angle to tie such a thing.

  How are you feeling? she asks and places a careful hand against my head, turning it so she can see what happened to me. Her fingers are gentle as she inspects it, not pulling on the hair that’s dried over the wound, blood clotting it all into a bird’s nest of black-red and ink-ruined strawberry blond. She nudges my chin up with a crooked finger. There’s a smirk on her lips. It makes your hair look better, actually.

  I cough out a laugh and sigh. The heaviness pressing down on my shoulders is enough that I think I might sink through this cliff, through the ocean, and melt into the core of the earth. When I can’t stand it anymore—the silence, the hope—my lips begin to tremble, and I can hear my voice going high enough that it threatens to erase itself into mere mouthed words too. But Alia presses a finger to my lips before I can begin.