Fury rose in Flora’s chest, a beast she’d never known dwelled within her raising its horrible head for the first time. It roared.
“Then why are you here?” Flora demanded. “She saved you! Now you save her!” She could feel Evelyn’s entreaty to silence more than she saw it, but she could not control the beast that was her rage.
The mermaid blinked back at Flora. But she said nothing.
Instead, in her silence, more mermaids surfaced. First one with her hair the improbable green of sprouting grass. Another, whose eyes sat strangely far apart on her face, her skin iridescent. A third, who still had the face of a child. More and more, until the black water of the cave was stippled with their faces. One looked, Flora thought, very much like her own mother, her lips pulled into a solemn line of concern. They rose from the Sea, though no other came upon the shore, to watch Evelyn in silence. There were so many of them, too many to count. An impossibility of them.
When had Flora ever seen so many female faces? Never, never. Her life had been full of men, had been made safer by her invisibility among them. And in that way, she was rather like these creatures, wasn’t she? Her eyes passed over them, over the great diversity of them, drowning in the unreality of this whole situation.
It would have been beautiful if Evelyn did not lie bleeding. It would have been the most marvelous thing Flora had ever seen in her life. But instead, she could only look to Evelyn, whose face was pallid.
“Flora.” Evelyn squeezed her hand with what little strength she had left. “I’m all right.”
“No,” Flora admitted. She brought Evelyn’s hand to her lips and kissed it, holding her close, holding her dear as though her love alone could save her. “You’re not. You’re bleeding.”
“I have loved you.” Evelyn smiled, a quirk of her tremulous lips. “That is enough.”
How could that be enough?
For someone so young. Someone so vibrant. Flora felt her eyes cloud with tears, with the inevitability of what was to come.
Evelyn lifted her chin then, an entreaty for a kiss, which Flora met. Her lips were cold to the touch, so much that they hardly even felt like Evelyn’s lips at all. Everything that made Evelyn Evelyn seemed to slip away. Flora held her there, in that kiss, praying that if she could just kiss her long enough, if she could just kiss her like the prince from the stories her mother told, then maybe, maybe everything would be OK. Maybe Evelyn would live.
But when Flora pulled her head back, Evelyn’s eyes stared up into nothingness.
The mermaid who lay beside her bowed her head. Her sisters followed suit. It was this show of respect, this obvious and universal signal of mourning, that made the truth evident to Flora, though still not acceptable.
Evelyn was gone.
“Listen,” Flora whispered. “Listen, Evelyn Hasegawa, and listen well: You are not dead. You cannot be. That is not your story. You will live, and you will be safe and happy. Love will sustain you: my love, the love of these mermaids, the love of the Sea. You will breathe, and you will smile, and you will open your eyes.”
But Evelyn did not stir.
Flora chanted for hours and still Evelyn did not stir. The mermaids watched, their heads bowed in mourning. Her knees ached from kneeling, her eyes ached from crying, and her heart ached from loss; she was nothing but ache. Nothing.
Finally, Alfie pulled at Flora. “Come,” he said quietly. “We have to find a way to a proper shore.”
He had said this many times over the last hours, but this time Flora could see that he was right. She met her brother’s eyes and saw her own sadness mirrored there. She had saved him. She had lost Evelyn. And now Alfie would save her. He took her hand in his and nodded once.
“We have to go,” he said. “The tide.” Already the water had crept inexorably toward them. Soon, there would be no dry sand left.
Flora kissed Evelyn one last time on her cold forehead. Alfie lifted Evelyn gently from his sister’s lap so that she might stand once more. Flora’s legs shook beneath her, from misery and from exhaustion, but still she stood. Alfie lay Evelyn gently on the black sand of the cove. And as he did, the mermaid that Evelyn had saved reached for her.
“Let us,” she said. Her voice sounded like the Sea as heard in a seashell. Distant and soft. More echo than voice. She looked to Flora for permission, and when Flora nodded, a wave lifted her and three other mermaids forward to serve as Evelyn’s bizarre but beautiful pallbearers. With utmost care, they lifted her and carried her to the water’s edge.
“She will be safe,” the mermaid vowed, and Flora believed her.
The mermaid bowed her head once at Flora. Then she and her sisters pulled Evelyn under the Sea.
As she disappeared beneath the glassy surface, the reality of her absence hit Flora, knocking her to her knees, and she wept.
The sting of seawater burned Rake’s throat as he coughed. He’d been turned on his side, blessedly, mercifully, so that he could evacuate his lungs more efficiently. It was a while before he could think of anything besides air, and when he did, he realized he was on a ship.
Not just a ship.
The Leviathan. He’d recognize her trappings anywhere: The complicated metal filigree that covered the gunwales but never rusted. The dark, almost black wood that never creaked, even as the ship rocked. She was just as enormous and beautiful and silent as Rake had always been told.
Relief washed over him in a tidal wave. He lay on his back and barked out a laugh.
The Nameless Captain was gone. The Dove was blown to dust. And from the absolute lack of cannon fire, he could guess that the Imperials had been defeated. He lay with his hands over his eyes, not sure if he was laughing or crying anymore. It didn’t matter. He was alive. The day was won.
A shadow came over Rake’s prone body and blocked the sun. “I see you’ve finally pulled yourself together,” a voice said.
Rake laughed. “I still feel a wreck.”
He pulled his hands away and blinked. There stood the Pirate Supreme, in all their glory. Though their words had been cold, their face was cracked into a wide, warm smile. They reached out a hand and pulled Rake to his feet. The Supreme’s hands were rough from life at sea, just as a proper captain’s hands should be.
“You’re not the only prize we’ve found afloat today.” The Supreme motioned behind them. There, huddled together on the decks, were Florian and Alfie. Rake grinned at the good fortune of it until he saw the grimace of pain on Florian’s face.
The Lady Hasegawa was not with them.
“Where — ?” he started, but Alfie shook his question away and held his brother closer to his side.
“Found them trying to paddle their way to the shore on a bit of wood,” the Supreme said. Their voice was serious now, thick with empathy for Florian. “Seems your boy has lost someone very precious.”
Rake had never once mourned an Imperial. And though he could not quite force himself to mourn this one, he did at least feel the sharp point of loss he could see in Florian’s face as if it were his own. He had never known his own father, did not know how that arrangement might look. But seeing Florian there, on board the Leviathan — the Leviathan! What better place was there for a pirate? — with the weight of the world’s every injustice on his shoulders, Rake felt the desire to do something, anything, to make him feel better. To be his father, to protect him. He was free now to do that.
He knelt before Florian, took the boy’s chin in his hand, and lifted it so that they could see eye to eye.
“There is no comfort except for time,” Rake said. “But I’ll stand by you until you ask me to leave.”
“He’s got me,” Alfie said, a little tartly. Clearly, he had not forgotten or forgiven that Rake had overseen his lashing. Rake narrowed his eyes.
“I see you’re back on your feet. Haven’t found the rum here yet, have you?”
Alfie flinched, but Rake could see that his blow had struck true. Florian looked away, wiped his nose with the back of his hand
roughly. Rake had never seen him cry before.
“Wouldn’t need to drink,” Alfie said, his voice was quiet, but sure, “if it weren’t for you.”
“Weren’t for Fawkes, you mean,” said Rake. It had not been Rake who dragged Alfie away, after all. “I’ll not take the blame for his deeds.”
“If it weren’t for your indifference. You could have stopped it, you know.”
Rake blinked at Alfie, stunned. Something like guilt, hot and dripping, clogged his throat, and words would not come. Alfie held his gaze until Rake could not bear it, and looked away.
“Rake.” The Pirate Supreme’s voice called him away from his shame.
All around him, the Supreme’s crew scuttled about, tending to their business. Unlike the crew of the Dove, this crew was made up of all kinds of people, men and women and those who were neither or both or something else altogether. Rake felt a little dizzy seeing them all, or else he was still a little dizzy from nearly drowning. It was hard to say.
“I think these two need some rest,” the Supreme said, and put their arm around Rake congenially.
“Suppose you’re right.”
“’Course I am. Now, come on. We’ve caught a good wind, we’ll be back to the keep soon enough, and we can see this all sorted. In the meantime, I need you to catch me up on all that’s happened.”
“Yeah,” Rake said. But his eyes were still on Florian, who was now weeping openly in his brother’s arms. “Yes, I will.”
A new daughter.
A new memory.
Of the girl, and her life. Of her kindness.
Her daughters return to her, their minds abuzz with her, this girl they loved. They hold the girl’s blood and her memories together, but they cannot possibly keep them.
Help us, Mother, her daughters cry. Help us remember her.
And so she is born.
So that the Sea may remember.
She is born full of the memories she is meant to keep, just as all her daughters are born. She is touched by magic, and she gasps with her first breath.
Hello, Evelyn, the Sea says.
Evelyn stretches her arms and opens her eyes. She looks as her memory thinks she should look, with long black hair and skin smooth like a crescent moon. She is lovely. She belongs to the Sea.
Hello, Mother, she says. She reaches up, to the light of the sun, to the surface.
Where is Flora?
Close, says the Sea.
Her daughter smiles, and how pleased the Sea is to see her baby smile. To feel her joy as if it is her own.
Let us find her.
Night came, but Flora could not bring herself to leave the deck. It was as if going to sleep would only confirm what she wanted so desperately to be untrue. Seeing that his words meant nothing to her, Alfie stopped talking, though he still refused to leave her side. So they sat in silence, their backs against the mainmast, Flora’s eyes up at the stars, the moon.
She was aware of the other sailors, the night watch, knew that now and again they spoke. But she could not focus on their words nor their faces. All she could do was watch the stars as they performed their slow and inexorable dance across the sky, tiny pricks of light, cold and remote. There were so many more stars over the open Sea than there were above Crandon. Usually that was Flora’s favorite part of a voyage — the night, when they grew distant enough from civilization that the stars could reveal themselves, in their multitudes and in their density.
Had it only been a single day, the sun up once and down once, since she had held Evelyn in her arms?
Impossible.
It was strange. How something could feel like it had happened a hundred years ago, but also was still happening, or just finished happening a moment earlier. Still, she could feel Evelyn’s lips on hers. But what did her voice sound like with her full health? Some details indelible. Others only coming in tiny fragments, obscured by the memory of the cave.
I’ll be all right, Evelyn had said. And Flora knew then that wasn’t true. Not for either of them. Evelyn was gone. And Flora would not be OK. Their stories had converged forever, and there was nothing — no magic, no power, no spell — that could undo that.
As Flora watched, the sail above her began to deflate. She looked to Alfie, who saw it, too. The wind had died down, and suddenly. The Leviathan slowed, the wood creaking in protest. The crew called to one another, words Flora did not understand. And despite herself, despite any logic or better reason she had access to, an unfamiliar feeling billowed in her chest.
She dared not name it. Instead, wordless, she stood. She walked to the gunwale and peered over the edge, down at the water below. It was black and shining in the moonlight, and somehow — even next to the giant Leviathan — impossibly still.
Behind her, she heard Rake’s low voice and Alfie’s. But she could not take her eyes off the water. She could not say why. She just felt that she had to keep watching. That if she could just focus on the Sea, then maybe, maybe. Maybe.
“Evelyn?” Flora whispered.
As if in answer, the Sea moved. Flora watched in disbelief as the water shot up, and up, and up. It formed a shimmering and undulating wall before her. It reminded Flora distantly of Crandon’s city wall, if the wall had been made entirely of water, and reflected her face back to her when she looked into it.
“Florian!” Alfie called, his voice thick with warning. “Step back!” She felt his hands on her, trying to pull her away. But Flora would not let herself be moved. Instead, she reached out a hand, her palm flat, and touched the wall.
It rippled at her touch, cool and wet. She pulled her hand back and watched as its mirror image did the same. But when she put her hand back at her side, the image stayed. With her eyes squinted, Flora tried to focus on the form that was beginning to materialize behind the hand, the hand that was not her hand at all, the hand that remained.
A face, an impossible face, formed behind the hand.
The hand reached out to Flora, out past the barrier of the wall, the palm turned up in entreaty. Long, elegant fingers beckoned.
“The Lady Hasegawa,” Rake said to no one, to himself, to the air.
Evelyn smiled behind the shimmering wall, her eyes soft with love and invitation.
Someone put a hand on Flora’s shoulder, and she turned to see the Pirate Supreme smiling down at her.
“Go on, child,” they said. They held Flora’s eyes for a moment. “The Sea does not make this kind of an offer often.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“She’s reaching for you,” Rake said simply.
Flora’s eyes darted to Alfie, whose face was contorted in a way she did not recognize. He did his best to smile through his tears. If she went, she would be leaving him. Again. And they had only just been reunited.
“Who’ll take care of you?” Flora asked.
“I will,” he said. Neither of them were convinced.
“You’re the only family I have left.”
“Nah.” He smiled, his real smile, wide and toothy. “You’ve never had a hard time finding family. Go,” he said.
Flora nodded. But before she could turn to face Evelyn again, she met her brother in two quick steps and pulled him in a close, tight hug. Tears slid down her cheeks.
“Don’t let me hold you back,” he whispered. “Not this time.”
There was nothing she could say, and so she didn’t. When she finally loosened her grip on him, he had mustered a smile. She met his eyes and smiled back.
“I love you, Flora.” He pressed a kiss into her forehead and nudged her gently toward her impossible future.
She turned back to the wall of water, to Evelyn, to the love of her life. She did not know what would happen. But she knew she was done with reaching. It was time.
She took Evelyn’s hand. It was warm in hers, exactly as it had been only a day before. And with one last deep breath of air, she plunged into the Sea.
How strange it was to have a mother who loved her. How astonis
hing her mother’s power.
Flora followed Evelyn into the Sea and within moments, she was as Evelyn was. Where once she’d had two legs, now she had a long graceful tail, glimmering with tiny scales that shone in the moonlight. Her mouth, which had only a moment ago been clamped against the pressure of holding her breath, was open, grinning, delighted, her laughter ringing all around Evelyn as she realized she could breathe.
That they were together.
It was her mother’s gift to them both. The Sea knew their hearts and had decided in her infinite wisdom that she would break every natural rule of the world and see them together. That she would give them the space to love each other. They had earned it. Together.
“How?” Flora asked. But she did not wait for an answer, instead covering Evelyn’s lips with her own before a reply could be formed.
There was no gravity anymore, no down, no up. There was no Empire, not here, no rule of man. Instead, the two let themselves be suspended in the miracle of open Sea. Distantly, Evelyn was aware of the Leviathan moving away, but only because soon the full light of the moon shone down upon them, no shadows to hide beneath any longer. Stars glimmered on the surface of their new sky.
Flora was always beautiful, as Florian and as Flora, as a sailor aboard the Dove, and as a witch’s apprentice on the shore. But now. Now. Where Evelyn’s tail was the stark red of the last rays of a bleeding sunset, Flora’s was black, black like the night, black like the cave they had found each other in, black like the inside. When she moved, the scales of her new tail shifted in color, opalescent. She was beautiful this way, impossibly beautiful.
“You’re home now,” Evelyn said.
She did not need to say: You’re home because you’re with me.
She did not need to say: I will be your home.
She only needed to kiss Flora, to let every part of them entwine. To give herself over to the love they had found together, extricated from circumstance and saved from tragedy.
The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea Page 27