Listen to the Water | FULL SERIES | Wattys 2022 Shortlist | ✔

(1) The Silt Hill

Actually, I feel cheated about a lot of things right now.

I drop my hands and watch the distant, sea-green glimmer of what I can only assume is the sun rise over what I can only assume are the waves. Not to pass judgment on my village, but this looks an awful lot like I was sacrificed to the sea goddess Andalua: tied to the rock in the bay like a wandering drunk. The fact that they chose to send me, a Rashi-blessed and the village sun-dancer, is an affront in itself. The fact that they don't do this without reason is something I'm not willing to confront just yet.

But even that aside, I've spent my life more obedient to the First Rule than most people I know. Less than some, granted, but the last time I snuck out at night and went down to the sea was when I was twelve. Either someone found out and chose to punish me for a violation seven years stale, or they were desperate enough that only someone of my status would appease the sea goddess. Which is flattering in a conceptual kind of way, but not when I'm the one it's supposed to be flattering.

I feel like one of goma Tashagi's stories to spook the village kids into heeding the First Rule. Ande, tragically given up for Andalua to curse in return for safety and forgiveness for whatever trespass some witless villager made on the ocean. Or maybe a whole horde of witless villagers? If this is what it took to preserve the island, they'd better thank me.

Even that bit of venting makes me feel better in a sorry-for-myself kind of way, which I think I'm entitled to, given the situation. I kind of wish Naina was here so I could ask her how to get out of this, but more because Naina being here would open up the possibility of her failing and me being punished for it, rather than me being the one to blame here. Naina has always been lacking in the competence department. I'm astounded our childhood friendship lasted as long as it did before she broke my trust and became my unwanted handmaid instead.

I also wish Naina was here because I am genuinely starving, and the ocean clearly does not have the respect to send me something to eat. I might have negated my right to that by turning into a Luasa, but still.

Nobody has come for me yet. The first twinge of loneliness eats its way into my chest alongside the shivering feeling that I'm trying to keep down. I look around for any sign of life on the desolate hill. There is only a humped trail in the mud where some tiny thing tunneled away. I'm almost tempted to unearth it to keep me company, but I don't know if it bites. Also, that would be mean, and I'm only mean to things that deserve it.

If I'm not rescued by the time the now-risen sun sets, I'm going to dig myself into the mud like whatever made that trail, and spend the night waiting. I still find it hard to believe my village would sacrifice me, and maybe some deep part of me wants to think it was a mistake. Maybe I was framed, and they've since realized their error. The question, of course, is whether they will refrain from pointing spears at me in this form, let alone take me back.

I take a deep breath—somehow that retains its familiarity, even underwater—and look down at what used to be my feet.

The tail is, at first glance, beautiful. Which is bonus points in my book, and a small consolation in the face of adversity. Like the freckles on my arms and shoulders, it is brilliantly silver, flecked along the top—bottom?—with small, round lenses. These bear the same mirror-like quality as the ones on my hands. One fin rises like a sail on the tail's lower half, and another digs into the mud around my tailbone as I shift. The final fin, the actual tail, is oriented up-and-down. It's decidedly unassuming: a simple, forked shape with rounded ends.

The whole tail is slightly compressed from the sides, but not so much that I can't pull my once-knees up to my chest and hug them. The motion presses the tail-fin's bottom edge into the mud. Its alignment makes it look like I'm supposed to swim fish-style, which is an odd thought until I give an experimental paddle and discover that I can move the tail even more easily from side to side than up and down. My legs didn't have that range of motion.