Sea Witch Rising

by Sarah Henning

  He wheels on me, a powerful spell coming within him, rumbling and at the ready.

  “She knows exactly what she’s saying.” I grit my teeth. “You were minutes away from bringing your people to war. I intend to stop you.”

  I call to Anna. “Anna! Bresta! Sjálfviki!”

  Anna’s body jerks, her lips dropping open. She pauses right where she’s been hovering around a mine, prepared for the order to detonate. She glances at her palms—free to move on their own. And then her white-marble tail sweeps in a flowing arc, moving away from the mines, toward us.

  The sea king reels back again, eyes squeezed shut. “No!” He wrenches his eyes open, looking only to me. “Stop!”

  I point my hands to the nearest guard. “Bresta! Sjálfviki!”

  At the same time, the sea king unleashes a spell on my unprotected side. “Villieldr!”

  The magical wildfire hits my side straight on, a blistering burn immediately clustering on my skin. My tentacles aren’t spared—three of them singed, immediately curling and misshapen.

  My vision goes black with white-hot pain. But I’m successful and I know it—another cord cut. I blindly aim for other polpyi generals as my vision spirals back from total darkness to gray tones. “Bresta! Sjálfviki!”

  Several more bonds break, and with each one, the king thrashes more violently.

  As my vision returns completely, he gathers all the breath he has left and erupts with the spell that murdered his mother. “Mor∂vig, sea witch!”

  I throw a shield, and with everything I have in me, I yank the remaining cords of his magic from the polypi at once, ripping them from the root.

  “Bresta! Sjálfviki! Allr minn polypi!”

  Magic bursts out of me in a sonic wave. The soldiers jerk back, stunned. They slip and freeze and shake their heads—each reaction as different as when they were men in Øldenburg blue, not marionettes of one mind.

  With each and every bond severed, the sea king writhes as if struck by a bullet. One, and then another, and then another, until, finally, he is all too still. His eyes are wedged open in pain, his mouth hanging agape.

  “Morna . . . herfiligr . . . kvennali∂ . . . ,” he slurs, but there’s no magic in it.

  Agony haunts the last of his voice as it peters out. Then he falls. Tumbling, hurtling, barreling, with the brutish grace of a cannonball, straight toward the sea floor.

  And as he goes, Alia ascends to me and grabs my hand—Eydis, Ola, and Signy clutching at her other hand, joined together in a wreath—and watches, free as a bird with a song on her lips.

  “Come away, come away—”

  38

  Runa

  I WAIT FOR MY FATHER ON THAT WALL OF STONE, STANDING tall against the beating wind, the hail, the downpour. Staring out at the teeming waters, I can’t see below the surface, but I feel every inch of what he’s created.

  Hysteria from Alia’s death.

  The desire for revenge.

  A belief that there’s no other way.

  If I had never come here, I would believe it too. If I hadn’t seen for myself what Alia had tried to do, and if Father had sold me that story, I would be down there, learning to fight. Ready to get revenge. I’d probably triple our stash of ríkifjor, fortifying Father. Driven by blind faith and misunderstanding, but mostly by fear.

  And now, as I look out over these waters, I’m not afraid. I did my best to honor my sister. To honor myself. To restore the balance. If Father comes with an army of my people, I will not fear him. I will not. There is so much to fear in this life that you cannot live at all if you let it rule you.

  As dawn comes, blue fingers in the black of night across the strait, I hear it. My name, shouted above the howling mess Father has made.

  “Runa!”

  I turn from the sea. Will and Sofie are wading through the muck side by side, about to reach a depth where they will need to swim. Above the water, I see his exposed shoulder, pitted and bruised but working as it should as he propels himself forward and helps his cousin along.

  Up the hill, the city is under threat. The ships I spelled are holding fast for now—battering ram after battering ram still where I left them—but the tide has crawled up the sea lane, spilling onto the first of the town’s shops. I’m sure the Vœrtshus Havnestad and the ashes of the U-boat warehouse are underwater now too. I just hope the townspeople made it to higher ground.

  Beyond, the waters are lapping at the gates of Øldenburg Castle. An inch more and they’ll dump into the rose garden before crawling up the steps. I’m more concerned about people’s homes. Even the little abandoned house in the castle’s shadow—it meant too much to someone once to be swept away.

  “Did it work? Is she coming? Will she fight with us?” Sofie asks, reaching the rock wall. She’s already trying to gain purchase to pull herself up to me, her hands slipping.

  “I don’t know.” And I don’t. I wait for that spark of certainty. The way I felt watching the sun rise on my last day and my first.

  But there’s nothing. Not yet.

  I place my hands over the edge and dry the face of the rock wall, helping them up. Sofie first, then Will. I squeeze her into an embrace. And then she gives way to Will. Once my arms wrap around him, I don’t want to let go—as warm and grounding as he is, a sliver of sun in the cold, pounding rain.

  “What can we do?” Will asks in my ear. Then a spark comes to him, and he brings me to arm’s length. “Is there something we can do together?”

  I think then of Oma Ragn, singing in the dark. Of Alia and her beautiful voice, gone now and forever, singing “The Mermaid’s Vengeance.” Speaking of the power of mermaids and what we can do.

  We cannot forget what humans think of us. Or what we can do to them.

  Of my answer, after Alia’s death, with new perspective.

  Or what we can do to ourselves, Oma.

  But there’s a third piece that I didn’t find until I met these people.

  We cannot forget what we can do for ourselves. We cannot forget our strengths. The bonds we’ve made. The things we’ve done.

  I grab Will’s hand and hold mine out to Sofie. “Will you join hands with me?”

  Sofie doesn’t hesitate. She’s about to join with Will on the other side when we hear a little cry. “Can I join too? Please?”

  Agnata.

  Sofie squeezes her eyes shut. “Of course.” Then, she reaches down and helps Agnata up to the top. When she’s there and ready, panting, we join hands again. The four of us, in a little circle, on the slim plateau of rock.

  We don’t need special inks or amethysts. What we need is each other. To stand up against this storm and the next, in this war and the next.

  “Repeat after me and then let’s chant in a round,” I say. They nod. Sofie and Agnata shut their eyes, but Will meets my gaze and I hold it.

  “Logn œgir. Long haf. Logn harr. Logn sœr. Logn spór. Logn ver. Logn ví∂ir.”

  We ask for calm. We demand calm.

  “Logn œgir. Long haf. Logn harr. Logn sœr. Logn spór. Logn ver. Logn ví∂ir.”

  “Logn œgir. Long haf. Logn harr. Logn sœr. Logn spór. Logn ver. Logn ví∂ir.”

  We repeat it over and over, the sky and the sea crying around us.

  As we hit the fifth repetition, another voice joins ours, carrying another tune.

  It’s a voice I know as well as my own. Will can hear it too, his brows pulling together, unsure of where it is coming from. Sofie’s eyes spring open. Agnata’s too.

  “Who . . . ?” Sofie asks, her voice a trailing whisper despite the raging storm.

  “Alia. That’s Alia’s voice.” I look to them. “Will you sing with me? Please?”

  Come away, come away—

  The tempest loud

  Weaves the shroud

  For him who did betray.

  As we sing along, something almost tangible seems to spread warm and true over my back, down my arms, and into the hands of Will and Sofie, connecting us. Bon
ding us. Will draws in a quick breath at the touch of it, his grip tightening on my fingers. Sofie lets it flow over her—Sofie who lost her sister, too, who knows this pain. She breathes it in, lets it flow. Agnata’s eyes pop open, and for the first time in a day, she’s not protesting or lying or running. She’s with us.

  Come away, come away—

  Beneath the wave

  Lieth the grave

  Of him we slay, him we slay.

  Alia is with us as we finish the final stanza with one voice.

  There’s a lilt in the wind then. A temperature drop. And the four of us on the rock raise our faces to the sky. The storm clouds evaporate before our eyes.

  Holding tight to my new family, I look over my shoulder to the sea.

  It’s quieting.

  Calming.

  The waves are receding. And when the water washes away from the sea witch’s cove, it’s no longer black, but as blue as the coming dawn will allow.

  39

  Evie

  THE SEA KING’S DEATH SHAKES THE VERY FOUNDATION of the ground beneath us. Not from the impact, but from the pure magic inside him. Hoarded, stashed, amassed. Stolen.

  He lands with a sick thud, too heavy to bounce and roll, but too magical to sink into the seafloor.

  The crowd chokes on its surprise.

  Their king, dead on the sand, magic bleeding out of him like a procession of stars. It permeates the waters around us, the azure deep imbued with every particle of magic he was holding for his own. It spreads over the masses like sunlight, blanketing all of us in a shimmering, luscious renewal.

  As Alia and her sisters finish their song, the remainder of the royal family draws itself out from the shadows of the castle. The five older girls, their children, their consorts, and their stepmother. Queen Bodil’s head is held high, and she looks every inch as regal as anticipated despite being dressed in nightclothes.

  I wait for her to address me. She will. I expect her to scream, shout, claw at me.

  I’m a murderer now—no one can deny it.

  Below, thousands of witnesses look up. They hang together, unsure of what to make of their new magic, of the new balance of power, of the body on the seafloor and the confrontation about to happen above. Some sang along with Alia and her sisters, and now everything is eerily quiet. Above us, the waves calm and the storm clouds clear—as silent above as it is below.

  As an entire kingdom watches, the queen approaches. Alia’s ghostly hand is wrapped in mine, Eydis on the other side. Ola and Signy bracket us as we come face-to-face with the queen.

  If I were the girl I was back on land, this is when I would’ve begun defending and explaining myself.

  I didn’t know that spell would kill him.

  I couldn’t allow him to detonate the mines.

  There was no other way.

  But now that I’m older, I know there’s no way to explain away what you’ve done. All you can do is stand by your actions and hope others see the good for themselves.

  “What may I call you?” Queen Bodil asks, and I’m taken aback. The queen registers the look on my face and clarifies. “I cannot call you the sea witch. Surely you have a name?”

  “Evelyn.”

  Bodil accepts who I once was with a thin breath. “It’s true what you said.” It’s a statement, not a question. She sighs, eyes drifting to the distance below us. “He knew it too.”

  Alia lets go of my hand and moves to embrace the queen. “It’s all true, Mother. Every last word.” She looks down at their entwined hands. “I did leave to go above because I was in love with a human. I never thought I’d fail, but I was going to. And Runa went up to save me. She never wanted to stay—she always wanted to be here with you, but she did the best she could.”

  The queen looks to me. “You can’t bring Runa back to us?”

  I’m about to answer when I snag on Anna’s face as she hovers outside this circle, knowing she could belong but doesn’t—and I realize something. “There is a way. But I’m unsure it will work, and it isn’t worth the risk to find out.” I meet Anna’s eyes, and then the queen’s. “If Runa were to drown, we might be able to change her back.”

  Queen Bodil shakes her head. “No, I won’t consider drowning my daughter to get her back.” She touches Alia’s cheek. “I’ve already lost so much.”

  “Mother, don’t blame Evelyn,” Alia says. “I knew what I was doing, and I’m at peace.”

  “Then so am I,” the queen says. Her eyes rise to mine. “But our monarchy is a different matter.”

  Here it comes. I hold my head high, hands growing sweaty in the girls’ grip. A childhood spent under the disapproving eye of Nik’s mother, Queen Charlotte, prepared me for this moment in a way, but it’s been nearly a lifetime since I had to submit myself to this.

  “We have no king. We have no male heir. And though we have a more-than-capable princess”—here, she gestures to the oldest of Queen Mette’s girls, Lida—“by law, the crown is not hers.”

  Below, the people begin to murmur. I stay stock still. The queen continues.

  “It’s yours.”

  “Mine?” I say, or maybe I don’t, I’m not quite sure my voice is working. “But—”

  “Take it, please.” Lida offers the crown that tumbled off the sea king’s head. “You’ve defeated our king, which is enough to place his crown upon your head according to our laws, but you also saved countless lives from the mines, the war, and our discovery. You have more than proved to us that you are our queen.”

  Queen. They want me to be queen.

  I expect the people to complain—violently, loudly. Instead they’re silent, waiting. Lida holds her father’s crown out farther, waiting for me to take it.

  My eyes fall to her offering.

  The crown is mangled and imperfect, which makes it ideal for what I am and how the kingdom has changed. Spelling this tattered, twisted crown into something impossibly perfect would wipe clean all that’s just happened. We can’t ignore what’s made us. Its flaws will serve as memories.

  I address the people below, willing my voice not to shake. “If you will have me, I will serve you.”

  For a moment, the people are quiet. They know they’re witnessing something no one in their kingdom has ever seen. This is really happening, the truth, out in the open.

  And then they begin to applaud.

  Lida shifts the crown in her hands from an offering to something to be presented and motions for me to bow. I do, and she places the mangled circlet on my head. It’s heavy with the weight of a people escaping from the brink.

  I raise myself up and present myself to them.

  The former royal family bows first. The people below next. All of them accepting.

  I watch, tears that won’t fall pushing against my eyes. This isn’t the life I had hoped for. I’ll never get to go home to my father’s cabin. To Nik’s ghost. To hiding who I am for a life that’s less than mine to live.

  Instead, it’s more than I ever dared to dream.

  Once the applause dies down, I bid them good night. “Go to sleep, good people, and know that you’re safe.”

  After the crowd disperses, Alia turns to me, her family at her back. The polypi generals float a short distance away. “Queen Evelyn, will you consider a first request?”

  “Of course, my little mermaid.”

  Alia puts on a proud smile. “Will you set me free?”

  My heart drops.

  The threads of magic were cut from the sea king, but they still tether all of the polypi soldiers to me. Including Alia. And Anna, who hovers apart from us, watching silently.

  “Alia, no! We’ve only just gotten you back to us!” Ola exclaims, eyes already pink at the lashes.

  “I’ll always be with you, Ola—with all of you. But I can’t stay in this body.” She looks to me. “None of us can. This isn’t where we are meant to rest.”

  I can’t deny her. Nor any of the polypi who’ve lived so long with me. I nod. “Say your good-b
yes, Alia.”

  She does, hugging her sisters tight, her mother. Me.

  Then Anna swims forth, her arms out. I wasn’t expecting her to come, but I draw her in. “I love you,” I say—because I do. Despite all we’ve been through, and all we’ve done to each other, I do love her.

  The older sisters, the ones she betrayed, circle around us. “Annemette, we’d like to say good-bye . . . we didn’t get a chance the first time.”

  I shift away and give them privacy.

  “Polypi, hjor∂,” I command the remaining soldiers.

  They gather before me, their faces as beautiful as a cloudless moon, shining and eerie, yet blank.

  “Minn polypi, rá∂a sjálfra∂r.”

  The moment I say the words, there’s a rumbling ripple, their bodies shivering under the weight of magic spilling out of them, setting them free. And then they disappear like grains of sand from the beach, drawn up with the tide.

  The magic within them leaves us with more balance restored. It won’t kill me or even pain me—who I am isn’t tied to this magic like the sea king was to his.

  When I turn, Anna is there. Her blue eyes meet mine one last time, and she nods.

  I take her hands.

  “Minn Anna, rá∂a sjálfra∂r.”

  Like the soldiers, her face shimmers—she is at once solid and then nothing at all. My hands that held hers are empty. I am empty.

  Alia gives one final embrace to her mother. Then her hands are in mine. With a nod, she’s ready. She looks up to the surface, to the world she hoped to join and watches the first fingers of dawn, lighting the world above.

  “Minn Alia, rá∂a sjálfra∂r.”

  She shimmers, face falling to glitter, and as her figure floats away, a trail of red flowers appears in her wake.

  I gather a handful, giving her sisters and mother each one of their own. Then, with the remaining flowers, I swim to the top of my new kingdom and let them break the surface with a single order.