For Andi
One thousand years before the Old Gods return,
the Desert Sands conspires for a weapon . . .
A weapon the Moon sealed away long ago.
The knife caught in the hinge of the oyster, and with a forceful twist the shell split in twain. Nestled in the meaty innards, Tallora plucked out a small pearl. She placed it in a basket, nearly filled to the brim with the valuable orbs, and moved on to the next, her endless task practiced and monotonous.
Beyond, she heard idle chatter—the voices of her mother and whatever customer had come into the front of the shop. Tallora, however, sat in the back room of her mother’s store among a vast array of wares not yet prepared for display.
A slight ache coursed through her wrist as she twisted the knife, splitting the next oyster in the pile. The meat would be sold before the day was out, whereas the pearls would be cleaned and priced either individually or in bulk for the jewelers.
As she stabbed the next oyster at its hinge, a sudden uproar of yelling rose from outside the shop. Determined to ignore it, she clenched her jaw but missed the oyster’s seam—narrowly missing her thumb next. Shock loosened her grip. The knife and oyster both gently floated to the table.
Though she could not quite decipher the words, her blood pulsed hot through her veins. Placing her wares aside, she peeked from the archway of the back room. She caught the eye of her mother, who chatted pleasantly with a customer, as though there weren’t a small battalion of protestors across the canal outside.
The tension escalated every day.
Tallora swam through the beloved shop, past the wares stacked within alcoves, or tied down with nets lest they float away. They sold perishables, mostly—fish and edible seaweed, and occasionally foreign wares from the upper-world. As a small child, Tallora had been delighted by stories from above the sea, thrilled to learn about the land and the food it provided—oddities such as apples and grapes and other strange plants. They spoiled quickly beneath the waves and thus sold for a high price.
But Tallora was no longer a child, and the mysteries of the world above the sea were no longer so mysterious. It had been six months since her return, yet she ached as though it was yesterday.
Closer now, she could hear the protestors’ words. “. . . Solvira has gone unpunished for atrocities for generations—how much longer until they seek to take the seas?”
Tallora peeked outside the shop window and saw a gathered crowd watching a man screaming slander. “They stole one of us; when will they steal all of us?”
“Tallora—”
She turned, unsurprised to see her mother beside her. They bore the same features, mirrored in color from their pearlescent skin to the pinks of their tails, though instead of glimmering white, her mother’s hair bore strands of grey, pulled back into a braided tail. Most hadn’t been there . . . in the time before.
In the few months Tallora had been gone, her mother had aged at least six years.
“I know what you’re thinking,” her mother continued, gentleness in the subtle lines of her face. “You know it will do nothing.”
“The monarch on their throne is the very monster who stole The Great Survivor! Will we live and die by her mercy alone?”
“No!”
Tallora gripped the doorframe, her fingers turning white. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, deafening her to all but the hateful words.
“We cannot rest until Solvira’s blood stains the sea! The Silver Fire shall reach its end!”
“Tallora—”
Tallora ignored the plea and swam from the shop.
Outside, buildings were stacked above and beside them, and before her lay an enormous canal, meant to direct the flow of swimming, lest the city fall into disarray. Carriages were pulled by large seahorses, some by dolphins—for the foolhardy—but most swam with merely their tails.
And across the flow of merfolk, there was a crowd of dissenters. “The Solviraes seek to rule the land, but they shall never steal the seas!”
The ensuing cheer only spurred her forward, and when she’d broken through the crowd, the man at the front—one she did not know—stared straight at her. “Friends, we have an unexpected visitor! Tallora, the Great Survivor herself—”
“Oh, shut up with that shit!” Tallora cried, and she swam beside the man to face the crowd. “I’ve told the story a thousand times, but still I hear it slandered in the streets! This fear-mongering will only push us into a war we can’t possibly hope to win. Solvira has no intention of invading the seas! Solvira is hardly innocent, but they’ve made amends for their crimes, and Goddess Staella herself forgave Empress Dauriel Solviraes—I was there!” Tallora gazed upon the stunned onlookers, her jaw trembling, heart racing. “The empress will not harm the Tortalgan Sea, and I will stake my honor on that statement. She has no quarrel with us! And I have no quarrel with her. I forgave her—” Her voice cracked; by Staella’s Grace, she would not cry. “There is no crime.”
She saw their faces. She knew their thoughts. The rumors were like scattered sand across the beach—
“I heard she was raped by the empress and forced into chains . . .”
“Morathma himself decreed she be set free . . .”
“She was enchanted by their sorcery—her mind is no longer her own.”
. . . to try and collect them was foolhardy.
“You needn’t lie to save face,” the leader said, loud enough for all to hear. “Solvira cannot hear you—”
“Oh, fuck off.” Tallora swam away. Not to her shop, lest they follow. But straight up, toward the light, toward the sun warming the waves.
Her mother had spoken true. It would do nothing. She’d returned to the sea as the very picture of innocence, stolen and ruined by a tyrannical shadow, and no matter how much she pled and screamed, it was all they saw her as.
The ‘Great Survivor’ she might be, but they did not see her as a survivor. Only a victim.
Tallora broke from the waves, the cool air brisk and invigorating. She brushed the hair from her face, her long locks clinging to her skin. The sun shone bright, and the open sea stretched in every direction—no land, no boats. Nothing to disrupt the perfect horizon.
Tallora loved her home. She loved the open waves. She brought up her tail and floated on the surface, her scales and chest warmed by the light. It might have been bliss, but angry tears welled in her eyes, nonetheless. She let them flow free. There was no one to judge. Tallora was truly alone—
A hand touched her back. “Tallora—”
She shrieked, doubling over to defend her stomach, but she knew that mop of navy hair and those laughing eyes. “Fuck you, Kal.”
The man smiled, and Tallora’s anger seeped away. After Tallora had bowed before King Merl and relayed her tale and offered Solvira’s apology, his eldest son, Prince Kalvin, had made it his mission to befriend her . . . and succeeded.
“You made quite the scene down there,” Kal said, but his face held no judgement. Instead, he spread his arms wide, conveying an innocent offering. “Are you all right?”
Tallora nodded and accepted the hug, finding peace in his presence and certainly not ignorant to the strength in his biceps. She let it help rewrite the memory of a different embrace, strong and lithe from years of wielding double blades. “You know I hate that shit. I know I should let it go, but . . .”