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I thrust my hand into the water, begging it to fall still. A wave crashes over me, drenching me and sending pain like angry needles through my skin.
Hear me! Don’t let him die!
The sea throws my words back at me.
I feel my mother’s gaze turn to me. I look up just in time to see her sweep her arms toward the rocky shore where I stand. I brace myself for the water to crash over me again.
Instead, a great wave rises and plunges down over the beacon fire. The bright flames vanish in an instant.
Panic flares through me. Without the fire, there will be nothing to guide the contenders back to the shore. I dart forward, dodging another onslaught of breakers, and wedge between the rock wall and the remains of the bonfire.
I press one sharp fingernail to the sodden wood and scratch out the sharp angles and interlocking diamond shapes of a fire rune. Threads of light glow along the lines of the rune. A gasp escapes me as the silver of my magic is mingled with gleaming indigo. The color of elven magic. Then flames burst to life from inside the wood. I place the burning log back on the bonfire, coaxing the magic to spread through the wet timber. The flames leap higher. I release a shaky breath of relief.
A roar hits my ears, coupled with the sound of my mother’s shriek of rage. A wall of water towers above me. I barely manage to shield my face before it slams down onto me. It knocks the breath from my lungs and sends splinters of pain like ice through my skin. I grab hold of the boulders, gripping tightly enough that the wave can’t sweep me into the maelstrom.
The fire is gone. Even the drenched logs have been swept away, leaving nothing but the charred ground beneath. Quickly, I plunge to my knees and draw a fire rune on the ground itself, but the flames that spring up from the stone are feeble.
I let the waves douse it and call a new rune to mind. My fingers move over the muddy earth in a complex pattern, trailing thin lines of gleaming magic. As I set the last line in place, a ball of cool white light forms in the air above the rune, blazing so brilliantly it blinds me. It is the same sort of light that shines from within rune-lanterns, but unfortunately I have no way of containing it in glass. Instead, I catch it in both hands and raise it high, praying it will serve a beacon.
It flares brighter and brighter, even as my own vision begins to dim and my outstretched arms shake with fatigue. The rune is still drawing magic from my soul. I feel my focus slipping, my heart pounding, my strength giving out as my soul pours out ever more energy.
My mother’s shout of fury fills my ears. Another blast of water strikes me with a mighty blow. I cry out from the shock and stagger on my feet. My attention wavers from the rune for a split second, and the light shatters. Magical energy rains down around me, flickering out and vanishing in midair. Desperately, I reach for my magic again, only to be swept aside by another wave. The water crashes down on me over and over, until my body aches from being battered against the rocks. I scream for the Seamother to stop, but my words are lost in sputters of salt water. The next blow sends me sprawling, and pain ricochets through me as my head smacks down against the stone.
Stars fill my vision, clouding out the sight of the waves and mocking my powerlessness. I force myself up on my hands and knees, drenched and aching. My own magic is barely a flicker in my soul. Nothing against my mother.
Nothing against the hatred that swells within every wave she conjures.
She would rather kill me than accept my mate.The thought settles numbly in my heart. All she has left is fear, and she would rather see her entire world be destroyed than face the risks that come with change.
Tears burn down my face, the only warmth I can feel. My body screams in protest as I pull myself to my feet. I brace against the cliff wall, steadying myself against the rough stone as my vision swarms and the world tilts. Jaw clenched, I set my face to the maelstrom.
My magic is spent. All hope of a beacon light is gone, and the ocean will not listen to my voice. Hope fraying and fear closing in around me, I do the only thing that’s still in my power to do.
I sing.
My voice rises above the roar of the waves, quavering at first, then growing strong and sure. I call to mind every melody Keliveth has sung to me over the sea on moonlight nights. The songs are fragments and scraps in my memory, but I fling them out at the ocean anyway, my last weapon and protest.
I sing of love that goes beyond all bounds. I sing of hope, of an end to bloodshed and suffering. I think of Keliveth lost in the depths of the maelstrom and my people watching from high above, and I sing out every fragile hope of peace I have left. I sing all that could be, sending out my voice to be heard by anyone who is willing to listen.
Time and place lose their hold on me. I forget the passing moments and the raging waves and the pain that wracks my bruised body. I weave strain after strain, the notes springing from memories I barely recall. The songs seem to flow straight from Keliveth’s soul to my tongue—and perhaps they do.
My mother’s magic pushes against the songs as if longing to tear them apart note for note. But she cannot touch them. My voice grows louder, surer, resonating with magic that carries it above the roar of the water. The acrid feeling of the Seamother’s rage slips away, its power fading.
And then I reach the end. My memories hold no more songs, and my mind is quiet.
The world is quiet.
I open my eyes and look out at a sea as smooth as glass. The water between the two rock walls stretches out with barely a ripple marring its surface. A heavy peace radiates from the water, as though my songs were a lullaby that sent it into a pleasant sleep. My mother shouts and waves her arms at the expanse of water, but nothing breaks its calm.
Then I see the light, and my breath hitches. A figure emerges from the water, grasping at the rocky shoreline and dragging himself out of the water. He clutches a rune-lantern to his chest with one hand. For a moment, my heart leaps with uncertainly—and then I recognize Keliveth.
A sob of joy bursts from me. I rush forward to throw my arms around him.
Then I stop short. Slender fins ridge his forearms, shimmering purple against his tan skin. He moves again, hoisting himself further onto the shore—and I nearly cry out in shock. Sunlight glints from dark purple scales edged with silver. A tail, as real and beautiful as my own.
I stare, stunned, even as my mind begins to grasp what I’m seeing. As mates, we share a soul bond. But for us to share our magic so completely is almost unheard of.
Keliveth was right when he said he was meant to face the maelstrom. And the Creator has given him exactly what he needed to survive. Tears of joy brim in my eyes as I fall to my knees beside Keliveth and hold him as he gasps for breath and shakes from exhaustion. I gently stroke the smooth scales of his tail, marveling. All the while, he clutches on to the rune-lantern as if his life depends on it.
