The Deepest Blue(8)

“Spirit storm!” she screamed.





Chapter Three

Long ago, Renthia was only four countries: the forests of Aratay, the mountains of Semo, the farmlands of Chell, and the glaciers of Elhim. Their queens tamed the spirits of the land—the spirits of earth, tree, air, water, fire, and ice—by bonding with them, and humankind flourished within their borders.

But there are no borders in the ever-moving sea. And so the wild, unclaimed spirits that lived in the Iorian Sea attacked the land, killing with their teeth and their waves, until the queens united and drove them back, slaying many and forcing the worst and largest of the monsters into an uneasy slumber many fathoms below, in a region of sea known in stories and songs as “the Deepest Blue.”

The islands of Belene were formed from the bones of the giant spirits the queens killed, as a barrier to protect the mainland from the krakens and sea dragons and other leviathans.

For generations, each queen of Belene has been ever-vigilant, using all her power to keep the largest of the leviathans asleep and relying on the heirs to protect the islanders from the rest. Whenever wild spirits seek to attack the islands, the queen senses their approach and dispatches her heirs to repel them.

Except when she doesn’t.

MAYARA FELT THE STORM IN HER BONES. IT HURT, THE SAME WAY IT hurt when she dived deep without a proper breath, as if her body wanted to tear itself apart from the inside, as if her skin didn’t fit, as if her blood were boiling.

First, it was wind.

Screaming as it came, it flew across the sea and onto the shore. It bent the trees until they bowed, their tips touching the sand. It tore at the houses, ripping the shutters from their windows and the clay tiles from their roofs.

Second, it was waves.

Rising up in massive swells, the waves slammed into the island, flooding the homes that were closest to shore, destroying gardens and drowning livestock.

Third, it was monsters.

The wild spirits rode in on the wind and the waves. Most were water spirits, though a few were air. Some looked like winged eels, others were humanlike but with claws and shark teeth, and one was a dragonlike sea serpent.

All were deadly.

“Get back! Into the caves!” Papa was yelling. He, along with others possessed of booming voices, were herding the villagers back from the cliff wall. A few of the more foolhardy tried to run toward the path down to the village to protect their homes, but they were intercepted by their neighbors.

They cursed their neighbors now but would—hopefully—thank them later.

Little kids were scooped up by anyone who could carry them. The elderly were carried too—one woman on Uncle Imer’s back, another by a fisherwoman who regularly hauled nets into boats, another by two of Mayara’s cousins.

Grabbing Kelo’s hand, Mayara ran for the storm-shelter caves. Rain was already pelting the plaza. Hard rain that hit as if it were pebbles. She shielded her eyes with her hand so she could see where she was running.

At the mouth of the cave, Papa stopped her. “Did you see your mother?” He had to shout to be heard over the wind.

Mayara shook her head. “I thought she was with you!”

But no. She wasn’t.

By the spirits . . .

She let go of Kelo’s hand.

“Mayara, it’s not safe!” Kelo cried. “You have to get in the cave!”

But Mayara was already plunging back through the rain, which was falling in diagonal sheets so thick it felt like buckets of water being dumped on her head.

She could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. The wind and waves were so loud that she couldn’t tell who was screaming: the weather, the spirits, or her people. “Mother! Where are you?”

She heard a giggle in her head, razor sharp.

She veered left, away from where she sensed the spirit to be, and pressed forward a step at a time. She knew where Mother had been, near the ceremony platform, and she knew loosely which direction it was in, even if she couldn’t see it.

Something swept past her, grazing her arm, and she bit back a cry. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. She didn’t know if that was true, though. The wild spirits had created this storm. Surely they could navigate through it.

Keeping silent, Mayara pushed on, until at last she saw a shape, a human figure.

She forded through the rain toward it. The wind was so strong now that she had to walk at a slant to keep from being knocked backward. “Mother!”

Her mother was standing, facing the storm, screaming.

Grabbing her arm, Mayara tried to pull her away. “Mother, we have to go!”

But Mother wasn’t just screaming, Mayara realized—she was screaming words. Specific words: “You took my daughter! Now take me!”

“Mother! They didn’t take both of us! I’m still here!”

Mother didn’t seem to hear her or feel her, however. And as much as that hurt her heart, getting Mother to safety was what mattered. Mayara yanked harder, but Mother resisted, continuing her painful prayer. “Take me, damn you! Take my pain! I don’t want to be alone anymore!”

Mayara planted herself in front of Mother and put her hands on her shoulders. “Stop it! Please stop! You’re not alone! You still have me! And Papa! And everyone! We all love you! Now please come, before we both die!”

At last, Mother seemed to see her. “Mayara . . .”