I didn't want to believe it was a possibility.
I am not embarrassed that it takes me a solid ten heartbeats to even read those signs properly. They play back in my head. This is not a miscommunication. We know each other's languages, and I am not misreading.
We know each other's languages.
The tiredness I felt a moment ago is backing away like it's been branded with live coals. Even the tribe's weariness has sloughed off.
"Generations ago," signs Masae, drifting down so we're at a level, "four Shalda tribes set out into the deep to find the Seers of the Shalda-Ki-Tu." She is not as animated a storyteller as Taiki, but her mouth moves on those signs. I've seen them before. Those were the Seers of the eel Kels' era. "There was war at the time, and they wanted safety in the one place no Sami or Karu could go. They wanted to leave the water and live on land."
I would scoff if I did not feel that so viscerally. I am in danger, the Kels are at war, and I want to live on land.
"The tribes brought an artefact with them, found on the seafloor deeper than any Sami or Karu could dive. The Seers saw its power: it was the ring of Hahalua, Andalua's sister and once the second-most powerful of the gods. The tribes asked the Seers for a spell to send them to the islands, using the magic of the artefact before it faded with time like the rest. They were desperate, and their lives were in danger. So the Seers agreed.
"Before the spell was cast, the Seers gathered to sing, as they do every year, and spend every year preparing for. This time, one among them cried out. In the grip of their trance, they sang a prophecy. The transformation would be cast on the numbers of spell, perfect balance, and counterspell, together representing the cycles of the sea. It would be subject to those same cycles. Just as driftwood that falls in the water always washes up on shore, and islands that grow from fire are worn by the waves, back into the sea.
"The Seers sang, 'The people will trade their tails to walk on land, where the sun shines and the wind blows, and the ground is dry. And they must agree that in return, in three hundred and forty-five years, they will return to the sea. If they do not, water will rise and consume the islands and everything on them.'"
A chill ripples up my spine.
"And the Seers gave them a song that, when sung, would reverse the spell that sent them to land. But the people were concerned that they would forget the prophecy or the Song. From this fear, a final Seeing came. If the final year advanced and the people remained on the islands, a Singer would come with the power to reach past their enemies and remind them of the Song. And the Singer would bring them back to the water."
She believes everything she's saying. I don't—I tell myself I don't—but the weight in my chest grows heavier with every word.
"And so the Seers gathered around the artefact, and the people gathered around the Seers. And the Seers sang to cast the spell. As they did, the whole ocean rumbled, a reminder that this was a grave upset of the ocean's balance. A reminder of the importance of those three hundred and forty-five years. When the people opened their eyes, they were lying on a beach like turtles in the sun, with dry sand beneath them and air above. And they had forgotten everything that came before."
No.
"Whether this was the spell, or a last fight from the artefact, or the sight of the sky, we do not know. But the island people picked themselves up and built lives founded on the fear of the sea. They made themselves a new god to replace the hole they felt, adapted the language their hands still remembered to suit their own needs, and taught themselves to read and write from Karu scrolls that washed up among the seaweeds. They took from the ocean when they needed to eat. They were safe, and happy. It took us two hundred years to realize they had no intent to come back to the sea."
My head is spinning. I want to put it down, but I need to see the rest of this story. In the back of my mind, I see the writing on the wall of the Karu den as clearly as if it was right before me. Karu writing. The Shalda-Kels don't write.
"Worse, the island people's relationship with the Karu soured. They took too much from the ocean. They killed Kels on sight: not just Karu-Kels, but Sami-Kels and Shalda-Kels. Shalda-Kels who tried to reach them to tell them of the prophecy. One year, over a hundred Karu-Kels were killed, and the Karu took revenge. When island people tried to cross Kel territory in their floating shells, the Karu sank them."
"How long?" I manage to choke out. My hands barely work.
Masae mulls it over. "Two generations before you, I think."
When my grandmother was a child. The Shalda and Telu versions of that story match. Or their timelines do, at least. Nobody on Telu ever told me how many Kels we had killed.
"We did not count the years since the island people became the island people," Masae continues, "and we are afraid that the problems we are facing in the ocean now are a sign that the final year is approaching. Or maybe it is already here. The fish are disappearing, and until they return, the Sami will not stop their attacks. We have the transformation song, but without the Singer, we cannot get it to the island people. The Sami and Karu will kill us all."
"You have the Song?!"
"We have the Song and the prophecy. And we think some island people remember the Song on their own—now and then, we find them like we found you, wandering the Shalda-sana with no memory of how they got there. They remember other things, like their language and the diving call, so it is not impossible."
That instinct that pulled me to the deep. The moment I realized Telu's flowing hand language matched perfectly with the lights on the backs of my hands.
Masae's look is more intent now. "None of them have ever been immune to the attack songs of the Sami and Karu. Are you sure you cannot sing?"
I can, but I can't say that. I am not their Singer. I fight down the panicky edge slowly cutting off my breathing. I am not their hero. I am not here to save them. I am here...
To go back to Telu.
Water will rise and consume the islands and everything on them.
The tribe Kels are watching me, or maybe my reaction, with a vast array of emotions. Some are hopeful. Skeptical. Wary. Excited. Scared. What are they expecting of me?
"If you cannot sing, can you fight?" Masae asks, and the signs hit me with the hollow blow of a ceremonial bell.
Can I fight?
My hand is still on the dagger at my hip. The dagger that kills sharks with one blow, and that seems to leap to my hand when I'm in danger. Is that it, my instincts, or me? The tapestry of faces shifts. Hope, disbelief, and awe are spreading. I have no alibi. I am right now holding a child I swam through a paralysis spell and attacked two Saru-Kels to save. I've been visited by an Alualu, and I'm here. I'm here with a fish tail at the bottom of the ocean when I should be stretched out on a dry, land-bound bed, sleeping in.
Masae's signs break into my thoughts. "We can help you find your village in return."
In return? For what? And why "find"? They know where Telu is.
"If you are here because someone remembered the Song, you will all have returned to the water." Masae is trying to be helpful. Her smile is genuine. And every word pounds the breath further from my chest. "Or at least those who believed it and tried." Concern paints over her expression. "Though I do not know how many might have gotten past the Karu. The Karu and Sami have developed many of their own songs over the centuries, in addition to the ancient ones. And I am afraid they can do a great deal of harm with them. If you were the only one who escaped..."
I'm not the Singer. I can't be. I'm just a Rashi-blessed, like any other Rashi-blessed on the island. If non-ancient songs need to be heard to be effective, they don't work on me because I simply don't hear them. But that's not what the tribe wants to believe. And it doesn't explain the rest.
I need to get out.
"Can I be alone for a bit?" I ask, keeping the signs as steady as I can.
"We will be here when you return," Masae replies with a smile.
It takes a lot of reassurances to get Seiko to release me, and a lot of promises I'm not going to keep. I'll find a way. I'll kidnap them and take them back to Telu with me if I have to. At last, they make the reluctant transfer to Satomi, who has been watching me wide-eyed this entire time. Rashi, please don't tell me she believes this, too.
Seiko doesn't hug anyone but me, and Satomi is no exception. They hide behind her and bury their face in the small of her back. I push off the silty ground and swim straight up, through the Risi shoals, and into the black water where I don't feel like the weight of the entire ocean is bearing down on me. The pressure lessens until I can breathe again. I curl up, hovering, and bury my face in my hands to keep the tears from creeping out of me. I'm breathing too fast. Everything is spiraling out of control.
Taiki. Where is he? This isn't the first time he's disappeared, and he was gone for over a day last time. I have no idea where he goes.
He was spaced-out both times, before the evaporating act. This time, I suspect it was the shock of the attack and having tribemates killed, but the times before... I slowly lower my hands. The first time I ever saw him check out began when he asked around about the state of the battle in Telu's coastal waters. Sami hunting in the Shalda-sana came up, and he began repeating himself about diving Sami. He was out of it for the rest of the conversation. The next morning, he'd disappeared. He came back a day later with mud on his cheek.
So Taiki has some issues with diving Sami. I pocket that fact.
I think I know where to find him now.