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

(10) Ande: Ashianti

Keshko is hard to follow when they turn sneaky. I don't think they do it on purpose, but they could probably move right up into Sami territory just like this and not be seen without even trying. We swim straight up the rock. I want to ask why we're headed for the surface, but before I can sign a word, Keshko pulls up behind an outcrop that will block our lights just like the one I found earlier did. A bubble of pride warms my chest at the realization that I used the same trick as a Sandsinger scout. The feeling quickly collapses as Keshko shoots me a sideways glance and signs for me to turn off my lights.

Utter darkness falls. Near the islanders, the ambient glow of hands and tails was enough light for a Shalda-Kel's sensitive eyes. Out here, with the sky clouded and night lying heavy on the water, that disappears. We've been down here for long enough that Keshko's tail is almost dark: just a green smudge echoed on the backs of their hands. They sit perfectly still. They're humming softly—a song I don't know, almost devoid of any discernible beat or change in pitch. When it ends, they continue to pretend to be a statue, so I do, too.

Then something touches my back.

Iron hands clamp my wrists before I can snatch my dagger. Visceral fear rips through me; I lash out, but the person holding me is far stronger than I am. Vivid memories of the fight on the reef plaster my senses. The Sami, their weapons, the flash of scales, water thick with blood; the taste, the smell. And the fear. The bone-shattering, heart-stopping terror of knowing I could kill or be killed, of seeing people die in front of me, of knowing me or others around me might not make it out alive.

Then I'm pinned flat to the rocks, gasping for breath and overpowered. But I'm not dead. As heartbeats elapse and no sharp weapon strikes on me, the panicked blazing of my thoughts slowly subsides. Hands. Heavy, calloused hands that I've felt before. It's Ruka.

I wither against the rocks. Ruka hesitates, like she's not sure I'm faking or actually done. She says something out loud, and Keshko relieves me of my dagger. Only then does Ruka release me. I sit up. She and Keshko both look relieved as I prove I've recognized I'm not in danger. Keshko hands the dagger back.

I'm shaking. That one touch, somehow, smashed open a coconut shell of everything I felt during the battle, and I was not prepared. I'd thought it was odd how normal I felt after we escaped, all things considered. Now I know otherwise. Ruka gives my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, then catches Keshko in the darkness. Small, quick eddies tell me they're speaking in some version of the touch-sign Taiki's people use at night at the surface when they're in Sami territory and it's too dangerous to turn on their lights. It's another reminder that I need to learn that one.

I focus on the swirls of the water to distract myself and calm my still-racing heart. My memories seem determined to rise to the surface like flotsam, stirred up from whatever muddy bottom I pressed them into after the raid with the Sandsingers. I can't stop remembering the soft sink of my dagger into another living being. I'd done it before. But somehow, this was different. This time, attacking wasn't my choice. Not really.

I can't get the taste of blood out of my mouth.

I never want to be there again. I might have to, if I really am the Singer. But Rashi help me, I understand now why Keshko and Ruka were so uncomfortable with Makeba's excitement about war.

I draw my thoughts in around those two truths, and it helps me bring everything else back under control. I want to know the Singer's powers so I can confirm if I have them, and if I do, so I can bring the island people back to the water. Return the ocean to balance. Fix all the problems with fish and food and currents and storms that have made the Sami and Karu resort to fighting. The Sami around that island were mothers. Taiki's told me that's why they invade the islands in the first place—they're looking for a place with enough food and safety to have their kids, and there's just not enough space or food or safety to go around anymore.