The Deepest Blue
Sarah Beth Durst
Chapter One
Death is blue.
Black blue, churned by storms,
Green blue, stained by kelp,
Pale blue, bleached by sun,
The turquoise blue of the sea’s shallows,
And the deepest blue of its depths.
On the dawn of her wedding day, Mayara knotted her diving belt around her waist and climbed the skull of a long-dead sea monster. At the top, she straddled the eye socket and looked down. Below, far below, the ancient skull was cracked, and within the fissure was a deep pool of water so still that it looked like glass. She imagined it would shatter when she dived into it.
Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.
She’d never done this dive before. It was known to be one of the trickiest on all the islands of Belene. But today was special.
Today I marry my best friend. It’s the perfect day to defy death.
Or, as she used to say when her sister ran off to try a new dive, to dramatically meet it.
She eyed the barnacle-encrusted rocks far below, on the edges of the fissure. So easy to die: impaled on the rocks, neck broken, body sliced. So hard to live: one opening, just a little wider than a vertical human body. You had to hit it just right, perfectly straight, arms in front of you, pressed against your ears.
I can do it, she thought. I will do it.
She’d told no one where she was going, especially Kelo, though she knew he’d guess. He knew her better than anyone. At dawn, she’d slipped out her window and run up the winding path. The seagulls were already awake, cawing over the fish in the shallows. A few clamdiggers were on the beach, bent over their shovels, and the grandmothers—the eldest villagers—were already at the end of the rock jetties with their favorite fishing rods. None of them had paid any attention to Mayara. They were used to her sprinting out of the village at odd hours, clutching her diving belt with its assortment of knives and pouches, whenever the urge to dive struck her.
But today’s dive wasn’t a whim. She’d planned this, in honor of her sister. Exactly eight years ago today, when Mayara was eleven and Elorna was sixteen, Elorna had done this very dive. She’d come back exhilarated, with her pouches full of abalone, and woken up Mayara by emptying her pouches onto Mayara’s bed.
My quilt stank like fish for a week. But Elorna had been so excited, and Mayara had been so happy that her beloved sister had come to her first, bypassing their parents, her friends, everyone, to share the moment with Mayara.
“It’s so peaceful down there,” Elorna had said. “Like everything that ever upset you has drifted away, and there’s no past and future. Only the blue, all around you.”
“Death is blue,” Mayara had said automatically. It was an islander saying.
Elorna had laughed. “I’ll tell you a little secret: death can’t catch you if you chase death. While it looks for you here”—she tapped Mayara’s nose—“you’ll really be here.” She grabbed Mayara’s hand and yanked her out of the house.
Yelping, Mayara stumbled along behind her. “Elorna, I’m not dressed! And that doesn’t make sense. If you chase death, you’re just more likely to die.”
But Elorna had only laughed again and kept running, dragging her little sister with her through the still-asleep village, all the way to the shore and straight into the shallows. Without releasing Mayara’s hand, she’d pulled her into the ocean, and they’d plunged into the breaking waves together.
It was one of Mayara’s favorite memories.
If Elorna were here today, on Mayara’s wedding day, she’d have woken Mayara early and dragged her off on some adventure: climbing to the top of a cliff or discovering a new secret alcove. Or they’d have swum out to one of the rocks in the bay to watch the sea spirits at sunrise. Or “borrowed” a boat and dared the dangers of the reef.
But Elorna wasn’t here.
And so I’ll dive.
I have to live enough for both of us now.
Mayara breathed deeply, then exhaled, pushing all the air out of her lungs. She inhaled one more time, then gasped like a fish on land in order to suck in extra puffs to fill both her lungs to capacity. When her lungs were so stuffed she felt as if they would burst, she leaped up and out, bent in half, then kicked her legs behind her.
Straight as an arrow, she sliced through the air. She felt the wind in her face, heard its shriek, and saw the sliver of blue straight below her. Arms straight over her head, she pressed her palms together as if in prayer.
And then she pierced the water.
Silence filled her instantly. Beautiful silence. It wrapped her in its embrace. She kicked her feet together, propelling herself deeper. Her eyes stung from the salty water, but she kept them open, as she’d learned to do as a baby. Murky blueness was all around, and she felt as if it had erased the entire world.
For the first thirty seconds, she felt like an invader, forcing herself through the water.
In the next thirty seconds, she felt her body rebel, her lungs burning, her muscles shaking, as every bit of her body told her she didn’t belong. She needed air!
But she went deeper.
Then the shaking pain receded, replaced by a calmness.
It was a calmness only the deep divers ever experienced, and with it came the feeling of becoming one with the water, as if Mayara belonged here in this airless world.