These Barren Lands

Chapter 1

Rain beats on the sides of Eero's ship. It echoes around the dark room like a yell screamed into a deep cavern. It runs a lap around our cot and circles around the glass-covered portholes. It fills shadowy, dusty corners, seeps into my night clothes, hides between the thin covers shielding me.

Storms never sounded like this from underwater.

The slamming of the water like open palms against cold rocks.

The pattering of massive drops in the sea like shells being thrown by the handful from the shore.

The booming of thunder like an earthquake tearing through the ocean floor.

I haven't opened my eyes yet, so I can feel it all around me, magnified by ten in the darkness.

Beside me, Finn shudders. His thin shoulder blades scrape against my face, but I only burrow further into the warm space between them. He smells faintly of Amaia's strawberry scented soap. Under it, there's a hint of sea—salty and sharp, fish and sand.

He shifts onto his back, and I wrap my legs around his.

His legs.

My legs.

How did we get here? Just yesterday we were two adolescent merfolk singing songs on the shore of the isles, griping about fish duty and what my sisters were going to cook for dinner, moaning over the unfairness of missing out on a warm autumn day.

Was it because of the humans? Did the Divine send Eero my way so that fate would slide into place? Sometimes when I look at him, across the books we read together, through a half-closed door as I eavesdrop on his meetings, over a dining room table when we eat, and wonder... how much of our meeting was happenstance and how much was Divine intervention?

I can't fully blame the arrival of his ship, though. It was my own curiosity that sent me down this treacherous slope. My own volition to prove that humans were an insidious force to be handled. It was my own mind that told me to step in, stop him.

Or was it Zula's fault? He's the one who offered me the deal, after all. Sure, I accepted the silly thing, but... had he not offered it, would I have swam away and given up?

Knowing me, probably not.

Is how we got here really relevant?

Finn and I are here now—in the middle of the sea, on a ship captained by the new king of Anjord and manned by his elite crew, headed back to the Southern Isles. I'm so close to home. Finally. So, I should focus on the forward momentum of it all.

Before we fell asleep last night—Finn in his own cot and me in mine—he asked me what the plan was. Then, he scolded me for not having one. It didn't matter how much I convinced him that we did, Finn didn't believe me. Why should he? Being reckless got me here, and it hasn't let me down yet.

Or has it? that voice nags.

I'd kick it in the teeth if it had them.

Eero and I do have a plan, though.

Thunder roars outside, and my eyes shoot open. Finn tosses his head away from me, blonde hair like strings across his sweat-covered forehead. I reach up, wipe it away, and let my hand fall against his chest.

He doesn't like lightning. Never has.

Every time it would storm like this at home, Finn would sneak into the inner tunnels of the palace and find his way into my room. We'd cuddle together, away from the window, hands locked together. I'd tell him Mama's stories—about humans, about the gods, about the ocean. Anything I could remember.