The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea

by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

The witch she cursed, too. The Sea took her love and called them her ally. And though the witch still loved them, they did not love her back, not anymore, their heart too full with their new love for the Sea.

  To this day, the mermaid lives alone in the oasis.

  To this day, the witch lives alone.

  “The witch is you,” Flora said. It wasn’t a question. She looked at the pearls that hung loose around Xenobia’s neck. The stories. All but the tale of the First Witch had been her own.

  Xenobia did not reply. She did not need to.

  “This is why you should never deal in the magic of love. And why you should never deal in the magic that touches the Sea.”

  “But you didn’t know.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she said. She breathed deeply, and for a moment Flora wondered if she might cry. She didn’t. “I only sought to help her daughter.”

  “Do you still love them?”

  Xenobia smiled then, but it looked like a flinch.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “Who are they?”

  “I knew them as Xoan,” she said. “But they took up the mantle of Pirate Supreme, and they’ve been known by that since.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Has my sense of humor been so broad?” She touched the pearls at her neck, running each through her fingers. “I thought they would love me as I loved them. Forever. But I was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry,” Flora said, because she meant it.

  “Ah, then.” Xenobia smiled her false smile. “It doesn’t do to dwell, does it. Xoan is gone; I am alone. These are the ways of things. Sing me a song. I could use a little music.”

  “I only know the one, and —”

  “I know which. Please. Sing.”

  Flora did. And though she knew her singing voice was rough and strained, she sang as best she could. And though it seemed cruel to sing of true love and the Sea to Xenobia, the witch smiled with her eyes closed as Flora sang, mouthing the words in silence to the broken melody.

  Today’s servant was a girl named Lida. Normally, she was Evelyn’s favorite. She was crass and candid and made Evelyn laugh. But not today. They sat at the table where Evelyn’s food was going cold, each with their ankles tucked under them, the formal Imperial posture. Lida was trying to learn, she said, and was eager to take any etiquette cues Evelyn would give her.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Lida asked. She pushed the plate of fish toward her.

  Evelyn was not hungry, had not been hungry since her interrogation by Commander Callum. Unable to eat since she’d been cowed under his pressure and realized that she was, categorically, a coward.

  “No,” she said. She tried her best to make a smile. “Thank you.”

  Her hope that Florian was coming to rescue her dwindled by the minute. It had been too long. And likely she had, in her fear, tipped Callum and his men off to where Florian was. Though she’d claimed he’d died at sea, she had to assume Callum didn’t believe her. He was too smart to believe her. But then, all he’d really wanted to know about was Rake. Who was he? What did he want? But of course, Evelyn did not know.

  “Do you not eat to be ladylike?” Lida looked at her quizzically. Everything Evelyn did was fodder for Lida’s curiosity. But how could she explain the truth?

  “No. Imperial ladies eat.” She willed herself to take a bite of the fish — it was served in the traditional Imperial method, with its glassy eyes still staring — but she could not do it. With all of her extra time to sit around, alone with her thoughts, flashes of her parents had been popping into her memory with frightening regularity. Had they known what kind of man Callum was? They must have. And still they’d sent her.

  “You know” — Lida leaned in conspiratorially —“all the men around here, they say how beautiful you are.”

  Evelyn knew that Lida was only trying to comfort her. But knowing that her prison guards thought her comely only made her more angry. Good enough to look at, not good enough to listen to. What a pretty sight she’d make for them as she walked to the gallows. She pushed her plate away.

  “You must eat,” Lida said after some time. Evelyn did not reply.

  There was a knock at the door, and Inouye slipped in. Upon seeing him, Lida excused herself, despite Evelyn’s silent pleading that she stay.

  “My lady,” he said. And his voice was sad, all dripping, useless unsaid apologies. Evelyn shook him off and looked out the window so that she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “You do not like me,” Inouye said. His voice was matter-of-fact. And what he said was true. Evelyn violently disliked him, and often, in moments of solitude, she comforted herself with little fantasies about his bloody demise.

  “That’s fair,” he went on. “You’re being held prisoner, and you’re scared. I understand. But I’m on your side, Lady Hasegawa. You have to know that, and —”

  “So you admit I am the Lady Hasegawa?”

  Inouye flushed. “My lady, I —”

  “You are just as afraid as I am, and as such can do me no good.”

  Silence was a funny thing. Before she’d left home, it had, as a rule, made her deeply uncomfortable. She’d long recognized her own tendency to fill silences with useless chatter. Then, aboard the Dove, she’d experienced it as something new as it stretched out affectionately between her and Florian. And now she was coming to know a third kind of silence altogether. It was blunt and uncomfortable, but she relished it. At least this way, Inouye was suspended in it with her, momentarily sharing in the burden of her unhappiness.

  “If I could —”

  But Evelyn waved him off. “You could, but you won’t,” she said. “Because you’re a coward.”

  Evelyn could tell the blow had hit its target. His attraction to her was obvious and did nothing to soothe her anger for him. If anything, it exacerbated it. How could he, on one hand, moon about after her and try to ply her good favor while still seeing to her imprisonment? It was baffling.

  She thought again of Florian, who had saved her. Who had tossed his whole life overboard in order to see her safe. She had not deserved his bravery, but at least she could love him for it.

  “We’re not so different, you know,” Inouye said. “Our parents sent us here, without a thought for our happiness and —”

  “No.” She stared him down until, in his shame, he looked away. “We are nothing alike.”

  For a while, neither said anything. Evelyn felt Inouye’s presence like a stone in her stomach, the kind that preceded her monthly bleeding. She wanted him gone.

  “So,” he said. “You are not hungry.”

  “No.”

  He lifted her plates and carried them to the door. Then, looking back at her, he added, “I am just doing my duty, my lady. If you could open your heart to me, I think you would see that. That’s all. And we all must do our duty.”

  When Evelyn did not respond, he left her alone once more.

  She had to get out. She could no longer count on Florian to come rescue her, and she certainly couldn’t count on any help from Inouye. The time for despairing was over.

  She needed a plan.

  Any plan.

  To free herself.

  The Lady Ayer was proving to be a difficult ally.

  It was not that she was foolish or ignorant. Quite the opposite. Her questions were plentiful and pointed and connoted a level of expertise Rake had not expected. And any time he tried to elude or misdirect her attentions from information that was more than he cared to share, she noticed and simply asked her question again.

  It did not help that he was hardly able to sleep anymore. With the Lady and the girl Genevieve hiding in his cabin, he was lucky to get a few hours in between interrogations by the Lady Ayer. And so he felt slow.

  The question was: Who was she?

  They were in the middle of yet another interrogation. Genevieve was taking the time to sharpen and polish the numerous blades she and the Lady Ayer typically strapped all over their bodi
es. He did not like the girl. She smiled at the wrong times. And besides, she was from Quark — and yet here she was, a lady’s maid to the worst kind of Imperial.

  Rake lay on the bed with his arm thrown over his eyes, trying to ignore them. His body language had done nothing to dissuade the lady, who sat primly on the tansu, barking questions.

  “For the hundredth time,” Rake said, “I cannot tell you why the Pirate Supreme has sent me rather than the armada. It’s not for me to know, and so I was not told.”

  “But it hardly seems the most efficient use of resources,” the Lady said, more to herself than to Rake. “Are orders from the Supreme often that way? Without apparent sense or motive?”

  Rake sat up, annoyed. “Madam.” He tried his best to keep his voice measured, but even he could tell his anger was obvious. “It is not for me to judge the Supreme’s orders. The Supreme is a wise and good leader. I am not. I simply do as I am told and trust that it is for the best.”

  “Pirates,” the Lady scoffed. “For the life of me, I’ll never understand —” She stopped herself midsentence and raised a finger, calling for silence. Her entire bearing changed, her posture taut, her eyes pointed at the door. Rake heard it then, too. Someone was trying to step away from the door. Someone had been listening.

  Before he could stand, the Lady was on her feet. In a swift movement, she swiped a long, sharpened blade from Genevieve and opened the door.

  Not one step away stood Cook. He froze, in shock at being caught.

  Rake’s stomach flipped. Cook was a good man, but loyal to the captain.

  The Lady grabbed Cook by the scruff of his neck and, despite his considerable size, hauled the man into the cabin and shut the door behind him. Before Rake could even fully comprehend what had happened, her blade was at Cook’s throat.

  “Is he one of yours?” the Lady demanded.

  Cook’s round eyes found Rake’s pleadingly. Rake could do him no good.

  “No, milady. Unfortunately, he is not.”

  “Rake —” Cook pleaded, but Rake did not reply.

  “Genevieve,” the Lady said calmly. “Look away.”

  The girl did as she was told.

  The Lady Ayer handed Rake her knife, guessing correctly that he would prefer to undertake the task himself. He did his best. It was an expert cut, efficient. The life was gone from Cook’s eyes before, Rake hoped, he had felt the pain of his own impending death. Genevieve handed the Lady Ayer a woven blanket off the bed so that she might at least contain some of the bleeding, which the Lady did.

  “A dead body,” Rake said coolly. “A big one.”

  The Lady nodded. “You’ll need to carry him abovedeck on your own, I’m afraid. Obviously, we can be of no assistance.”

  “Yes.” He tried not to think of every little kindness Cook had afforded him through the years. There had been many. Silently, he made a prayer for the man, that his soul might find peace. He was a good man, even if he was the captain’s.

  “Will he be missed?” the Lady asked.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s Cook.”

  “That’s not ideal.”

  Rake rubbed his face with his hands and tried his best to clear his mind. He’d need to do some expert lying, and soon. He’d need a very tall tale to justify the execution of the Dove’s only cook, and he’d need to have a replacement in mind before he told the captain.

  Whatever happened, Rake knew, he’d need to be even more careful of his new and tenuous ally than he’d originally imagined. She was quick to kill, and competent. The fact that she was not the simple wife she’d purported to be was glaringly obvious. He handed her back the blade, which she wiped on a cloth.

  On it was the insignia of the Imperial Guard.

  The Lady saw him look and stuffed the blade into her skirts. “My husband’s,” she said.

  But Rake did not believe her.

  When the captain announced they would, on their next mission, be kidnapping Imperials, Rake wanted to shake some sense into him. Not only Imperials, the captain went on, but the nobility. Rake’s stomach dropped. If the Imperials guarded anything, it was their wealthy. And anyway, it did not do to unnecessarily court the Emperor’s ire. They often stopped in Crandon for stores and for shore leave, but they had never launched a proper voyage from there. They did not collect from there.

  “This is folly,” he told the captain.

  They were in the captain’s cabin, and Rake was watching him eat, as he so often did. The crew was ashore, making mischief. Usually a man or two would be lost each shore leave, to violence or arrest. But Rake typically stayed with the captain, who did not enjoy leaving the Dove. It was stuffy in his cabin, and Rake could feel a droplet of sweat snaking its way down his back.

  The captain took a generous mouthful of pork chop and chewed it loudly. He shrugged.

  “If you’ve got us a plan that’ll earn us ten thousand a head for each of the men while wasting zero ammunition, I’d love to hear it.”

  Rake said nothing.

  “The brilliance of this operation,” the captain went on, “is that the Imperials never expect us to come to them. Think about it. They send thousands of ships to track the likes of us down, but they never think to search their own port.” The captain cackled, delighted by his own strategy. “They walk right onto our ship! Just step right up. And the best part is, their people will bring the best prices!”

  He took a long slug of drink. Some dribbled into his beard, but he did not notice. Rake did.

  How he hated the captain.

  If the Imperial Guard caught them, not only would his mission be thwarted, the Sea unappeased, and the Supreme at higher risk for not appeasing the Sea, but Rake would also die. And while Rake was more than willing to die for the Supreme, he did not wish to die at the hands of scum like the Imperial Guard. Their training was in brutality, and their desire to rule the world under their fist made Rake want to set their vast swaths of land on fire.

  He hated the captain for his cruelty and his myopia. But he hated the Imperial Guard more.

  “Sir,” Rake said, “we cannot do this. When noblemen do not appear where they are meant to, people notice. These are not plebes. These are men and women of power and wealth.”

  “Exactly!” The captain smirked. “Which is why their trunks will be so ripe for the picking.”

  “But we put ourselves and our men right into the gloved hand of the Imperialists if we stay. We should not be here.” It was more of a plea than Rake had meant it to be.

  “Tell you what,” the captain said, his voice uncharacteristically kind. “If we catch more than one mermaid on this voyage, we will have enough gold to buy ourselves some time. If you can think of a new operation as lucrative as this one, I will consider it.”

  Rake said nothing, which the captain took to be his consent.

  “You’re a good man, Rake. I’m happy to have your help aboard my ship. But if you come to me to question my judgment, you’d best come with suggestions for clear alternatives.” He belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “You know what the best part of the mermaid’s blood is?”

  Rake shook his head. The captain had often chided him for not partaking.

  “It’s not the trip, not the wonders you see. It’s that the memories you lose, they’re not the ones you need.” He looked off into the distance thoughtfully. “It frees you from your past, you see. It even frees you from all the made-up rules of good and bad you were taught as a child. Memories are a burden. They’re shackles. Just foolish stories we tell ourselves so that we can feel as though life has meaning. See, I remember what I am, but not where I came from, so I don’t have any irrational fondness for any random plot of land, any random group of people. I remember that luck favors the bold, and that kindness is a lie taught by weak people. I remember that I like to rut and to eat and to kill. And that’s all I need to know.”

  He paused and looked at Rake with a pointed silence. “The gift of the blood is oblivion. You should try
it. You’ll like it.”

  Rake thought of the Sea, the promises the Supreme had made to her. The agreement that kept pirate ships safe, even as the Imperial Armada plodded through the seas, searching them out. To be on the side of killing mermaids was, in its complicity, to be on the side of the Emperor.

  The Pirate Supreme’s forces were the only thing standing in the way of complete Imperial rule on the open sea. If pirates could still disrupt the merchants, still stymie the trade routes, then the Imperialists could not claim full control. Every robbery, every kidnapping, every galleon destroyed was a protest against the Emperor. They may have taken Quark, may have taken the Floating Islands, may have had their greedy eyes on the Red Shore — but they could not have the Sea.

  He remembered what it was like when they took Quark.

  It had been bloody. It had been terrible. The Imperial Guard had descended swiftly and dispatched of all those who stood in their way. They beat the country into submission and then made the people say thanks for the privilege of being beaten.

  Rake had been thirteen at the time. And he knew, right then, he could no longer live by the law of the land.

  “The problem with you is that you hold on to too many of these memories. You let what you’ve seen in the past scare you into being a coward in the present. You fear the Imperialists too much. That’s your past talking. Forget the past. Let go of all that, my good man, and we could accomplish whatever we wanted!”

  “Yes, sir,” Rake said.

  But Rake would not forget. Rake would not let himself forget.

  As the days passed, Flora started to tell Xenobia her own stories.

  It was odd at first, for several reasons. For one, Flora was not given much to speaking. In general, she was tight-lipped, and, to a fault, she did not divulge secrets. There was the added strangeness of speaking to inanimate objects, but that had quickly passed after the first stone spoke back to her.

  But the hardest reason, the one Flora struggled with the most, was the malleability of reality.

  For that was what magic was — it was understanding the truth of something, and then changing it. Reality, Xenobia said, was created by belief, and as such even its most fundamental trappings could be altered. Magic was at its core, she said, a kind of madness. It was a willingness to look at the corporeal world and to see it only as the story up to that point. That everything that followed could be changed. Rocks fell because the belief that they would fall was so strong. But that belief wasn’t binding. It didn’t have to be binding anyway. For a price.