The Deepest Blue(2)

The best divers on the islands could dive on one breath for eleven minutes.

Mayara had trained hard to withstand eight minutes, a full minute longer than Elorna had ever achieved. She loosened one of the straps on her belt and unhooked one of her knives. Giving another powerful kick, she propelled herself down toward the rocks below.

Few had harvested here, and the abalone were thickly clustered. She chose the largest. Gliding toward them, trying not to alarm them and cause them to cling harder, Mayara deftly slid her blade between the sea snail’s muscly foot and the rock. She tucked the creature into a pouch and went for a second one that looked to be the size of her father’s shoe. She could fit only one in each pouch, they were so big. She saved the last pouch for sea urchins, filling it with the spiky creatures, working quickly but smoothly so as not to disturb the water.

She judged she’d reached six minutes.

Her thoughts already felt sluggish. She couldn’t remember why she was here, why she’d decided to gather these poor creatures, or even what they were called. Silver fish flitted past her, and she saw a brilliant purple fish dart into an orange anemone. The colors were vivid and cloudy simultaneously. . . .

It was time to return to the surface. She performed a graceful half-somersault and kicked upward. Behind her, the fish scattered in her wake. She swam up, bending her body fluidly as if she were a dolphin.

Above, she saw a glow—the sun warming the surface, but in the shape of a crescent moon, the fissure she’d dived into. She aimed for it. Her lungs were hurting now, and black spots began to dot her vision. She wondered if she’d miscalculated. She thought she knew exactly what she could handle.

A trickle of fear slid into her.

Ruthlessly, she quenched it. Fear could kill you faster than anything else down here. She had to stay calm, conserve every last molecule of oxygen in her body. She’d reach the surface soon. She hadn’t dived that far.

Had she?

The glow intensified until soon it was all she could see. Her lungs were near bursting . . . and then she burst out of the water. Breathe! She sucked in air, and it hurt as she filled—

She sensed the water spirit in her mind, like a too-sharp tickle inside her skull, only a split second before its jaws clamped onto her leg. It yanked her down before she could finish her breath. Mayara swallowed water instead. Flailing, she fought to reach the surface again. She kicked the spirit, and it released.

Aiming for the glow, she erupted out of the water once more, this time coughing and spitting. She inhaled deeply, banishing the black spots. Her limbs quit trembling.

From the surface, she couldn’t see the water spirit. She knew it was still down there—she felt its nearness clawing at her mind. She couldn’t give it a chance to grab her again.

Inhaling once more, she propelled herself back under. She spun in the water, searching for the spirit, and saw it: vaguely humanlike, it was the size of a two-year-old child but as thin as an old woman who cannot eat anymore. Its skin was gray like a shark’s, and it had three rows of sharp teeth. Its all-black eyes were fixed on Mayara.

Knife out, Mayara kicked her feet, aiming for the spirit even as it swam at her.

I’m chasing death now.

She sliced with her knife, but the spirit pivoted faster than she’d expected and let out a keening shriek that pierced through the water, echoing.

Oh no you don’t. No calling for friends. She stabbed fast, aiming not for the spirit’s heart this time but for its throat. She felt the blade nick the soft, wet flesh. A cloud of red puffed around her hand.

The spirit clapped its clawed fingers over its throat and then spurted backward. She hadn’t killed it, but it was hurt enough to retreat.

Mayara hadn’t been fast enough, though.

A larger water spirit—this one shaped like a squid and as milky white as a pearl—was darting through the water toward her. It had heard the childlike spirit’s cry, either through the water or in its mind.

She tried to outswim it, aiming for the fissure, but it wrapped its tentacles around her waist, pulling her under. She jammed her knife into one of the tentacles. Blood stained the water, but the spirit didn’t loosen its grip.

No! I am not dying today!

Yanking the blade out, she stabbed again and again, but still the spirit pulled her deeper. Her lungs ached, her head spun, and blackness filled her vision. She heard her sister’s voice in her head: Mayara, don’t do it. Promise me you won’t.

But, Elorna, no one will know!

You know that’s not true. They’ll know. They can sense it when you use your power. It draws them like sharks to chum. You’ll make it a hundred times worse.

What’s a hundred times worse than dead?

I don’t want to find out, my little minnow.

Are you afraid? Elorna, you aren’t afraid of anything.

I’m not afraid for me; I’m afraid for you.

But she knew as she thought it that it was a lie. Mayara was afraid for herself too. The blackness was almost complete. In seconds, she’d lose consciousness. And Kelo would never see her again. He’d wake alone on their wedding day, he’d complete the dress he was making for her—the one he refused to show to anyone, not until it was ready—and then she’d never come. Her parents would lose a second daughter. Her mother rarely left their house as it was, and her father wouldn’t touch his boat, saying it was cursed with bad luck, ever since Elorna died so far from home. It rotted in the harbor. How much more would they fall apart if she died today? Mayara knew what Elorna had meant when she’d said she was more afraid for her. Because more than being afraid for herself . . .