The Deepest Blue Read online

They moored in a vacant harbor at a half-rotted dock. Mayara had the very strong sense that the sailors were happy to see them go, which was proven when she overheard one of them say to another, “Be glad to see the last of those witches.”

  She made it a point to smile extra sweetly at that superstitious sailor as she walked over the plank to the dock.

  Lord Maarte didn’t accompany them onto land. He stayed at the helm, watching them disembark. He had, she knew, plans to sail to the Southern Citadel, the southernmost city of the forest kingdom of Aratay, to trade island fruit for mainland wood, but Mayara had expected him to wish them well or at least bid goodbye to his ward. He had to feel some responsibility for Roe, since her family was supposedly under his protection. But as far as Mayara could tell, Lord Maarte didn’t glance at Roe once.

  Maybe he truly does want her to fail. She couldn’t imagine what “political problems” could be caused by giving a young woman the help she’d need to maybe not die.

  He did, though, make eye contact with Mayara and had the gall to look pleasantly amused, as if he were letting the women off the ship for an afternoon picnic. Mayara wished she’d called him more than just “vile.” He deserved worse. But she refused to waste any more time thinking about him. Deliberately, she turned her back on him and faced the island.

  We have three days to learn how to not die. Best make the most of it.

  The training island was so tiny that it didn’t have any villages, houses, or inhabitants. As far as Mayara could see, it had nothing except a decrepit dock. Where exactly are we supposed to train? And with whom?

  Mayara, Roe, and Palia clustered at the end of the dock as the Silent Ones swept off the ship behind them. Then the sailors pulled the plank back and untied from the dock.

  “Now what?” Roe asked.

  Palia plopped herself down onto a crate and stretched her legs. “Ahh, it’s nice to be back on land! Shame that means we’re closer to our doom.” She pointed to another island to the south. It looked innocuous, a smear of beautiful green amid the turquoise blue.

  Mayara swallowed hard. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Yes, it is,” Roe said in a hushed voice. “We’re on one of the nearby islands. This used to be a pineapple farm, until spirits destroyed the soil. Now it’s abandoned.”

  “And now we’re abandoned too. Yay. And with such great companions.” Palia scowled at the Silent Ones.

  The three Silent Ones had drifted to the other end of the dock and stood motionless, facing the interior of the island, which looked like a pile of bare rock. Mayara strained to see whatever it was they were looking for. “Any idea what we’re supposed to do?”

  “Be trained,” Roe said, then frowned at the gray, unwelcoming stone around them. “Really thought the other candidates would be here already.”

  For a while nothing happened, and Mayara started to fidget. Then, in the center of the island, a stream of fire shot up from between the rocks. Mayara felt the heat warm her cheeks. She and the other two women automatically cringed, even though the flames weren’t close enough to hurt them. Roe scrambled to her feet, and Palia rose as well. But the Silent Ones seemed unfazed. They merely waited.

  Mayara shielded her eyes against the sun as she saw a shape soar toward them. It came from between the rocks, and at first she thought it was an oddly shaped bird. She felt the familiar itch of a spirit, though, as it came closer.

  And then she saw someone was riding it.

  The spirit looked like a bird, but far larger than any bird Mayara had ever seen, with translucent wings that were nearly invisible against the sky. They distorted the clouds. On the bird’s back was a woman in a red shirt and leggings.

  The bird spirit landed at the end of the dock, and the woman hopped off. She looked to be about thirty, with seaweed-green hair, pale skin, and a thick clump of scar tissue running from her left cheekbone to her chin.

  Mayara thought she was the most terrifying woman she’d ever seen.

  The woman barked, “Listen up, newbies, you’re here to prepare for the island! I am Heir Sorka. It’s my job to make sure you don’t die before you set foot on Akena. After that, it’s all up to you.” She marched between them, inspecting them. She sniffed at Palia, raised eyebrows at Roe, and then stopped in front of Mayara. “You’re our future, the ones who will protect the innocent and preserve our way of life? You’re the best the islands have to offer?”

  “Not really,” Mayara said. “We’re just the ones who got caught.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

  Heir Sorka glared at her, and she had mastered the art of the withering glare. Mayara felt as if she’d shrunk to two feet tall and five years old. Behind Sorka, the spirit spread its wings and cawed. It sounded like metal scraping against metal.

  “Forgive me,” Mayara said quickly, eyeing the spirit’s sharp beak.

  “It’s true, though,” Palia said. “Don’t regret speaking the truth.”

  Heir Sorka shared her glare with Palia as well, but the older woman just stared right back. “Maybe in other lands like Aratay and Chell, heirs aren’t important. In those other lands, they’re spares in case the queen falters,” Sorka said. “But here on Belene, our queen must use all her power to keep the worst of the wild ones at bay, which leaves the daily protection of the islands to us. That’s why the test is so rigorous: because we must each be strong enough to face the task at hand. This test will weed out the weak and unworthy.” Sorka positioned herself directly in front of Mayara, her nose only inches away. “Are you weak and unworthy, newbie?”

  Mayara wondered what Sorka would do if she said yes.

  But she was saved from answering by Roe, who spoke up. “Heir Sorka? Do you think we have a chance, if we train hard enough?”

  “There’s always a chance, Spirit Snack. Follow me . . . if you can.” Sorka strode back to her bird, mounted, and flew over their heads so low that they had to duck. She then swooped up and between the rocky peaks.

  All three of them stared after her.

  “Um, by follow her, does she mean . . . ?” Mayara began.

  “I think she does,” Roe said. “It’s either fly or walk.”

  “Exactly how are we supposed to do this?” Mayara asked. So far, every interaction she’d ever had with a spirit had focused on keeping them from killing her. She’d never had any desire to ride one. Still didn’t.

  Three air spirits circled them. Mayara felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Larger than any natural creature, they looked like skeletons carved out of shiny black volcanic rock. Their wings were thin gossamer, like a dragonfly’s, and they circled twice before they glided to a landing on the dock.

  “I am not flying on a spirit,” Mayara said firmly. She’d dive into a leviathan’s skull, stay submerged beyond her limits, and brave the dangers of the sea, but she was not climbing on the back of Death and allowing it to carry her into the sky.

  “It does seem like a terrible idea,” Palia agreed.

  The three Silent Ones each climbed on, though. Holding on to the spirit’s vertebrae necks, they soared upward. They circled above the three spirit sisters, clearly intending to fly above them—or with them, if they chose to summon their own spirits and fly.

  No. This test might kill her, but it wasn’t going to turn her into someone she was not, and she was not someone who played with spirits. Besides, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how.

  “I think it’s a nice day for a walk,” Mayara said.

  Roe nodded. Despite her determined optimism, she was clearly just as unsettled as Mayara and Palia. “We’ll stick together. A team, right?”

  Palia eased herself off the crate and eyed the rock formation. Mayara wondered how much stamina the older woman had—was it fair to ask her to hike? On the other hand, what choice do we have? Fly or walk. That was it. Lousy choices. Just like the two terrible choices that had led her here: heir or Silent One.

  They began to hike, watching the three circling Sil
ent Ones all the while.

  Palia began to pant halfway up the rocks. Noticing, Mayara slowed her pace, trying to make it seem like she was not slowing her pace.

  “You don’t need to dawdle,” Palia said behind her. “I can see what you’re doing, and it’s not necessary. Do you think the spirits will take pity on me because I spent most of my life sitting at a loom?”

  “You’re a weaver?” Mayara asked.

  “I made sails,” Palia said. “Wove the sail that our Lord Maarte used on his ship, not that he knew it. He paid me a pretty penny for it too. It funded half my daughter’s education.” She panted and groaned less when she talked. Maybe the distraction is good for her. Certainly it was helping Mayara avoid thinking about whether or not Kelo lived.

  “Tell us about your daughter,” Mayara said.

  Palia went on to describe a young woman about Mayara’s age, who was, by Palia’s account, the smartest, most accomplished, most talented, most extraordinary woman ever to grace the islands. She planned to study the tides at the university. As Palia talked, she moved faster, taking the lead. “Shame of it is she won’t be able to finish her studies, not without the money I earned us to pay for housing and food. If I’d had another few years to support her . . . But it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “If you become an heir, you’ll be able to support her again,” Roe pointed out. The families of heirs received a steady stipend, to compensate for any lost wages due to the heir’s absence.

  “If,” Palia echoed. “Face it: I’m fodder.”

  “You don’t know that,” Roe said.

  Palia heaved herself up onto a peak and stared down the other side. “Yes, I do. Once you show power, you’re either a hero or dead. And I’m no hero.”

  Mayara was about to say something when she caught up to her, but instead she—like the other two—could only gawk.

  In the valley, women were riding on spirits, leaving cyclones in their wake that ripped trees from their roots. An earth spirit formed from boulders hefted one woman on his shoulder and then bent down and tore a crevasse open in the earth. Another woman stood in a ring of fire, her arms spread wide and her mouth open in a scream.

  In the center of it all was the heir, Sorka, untouched by even a breath of wind.

  Hero or dead, Mayara thought.

  I wish there were a third choice.

  TWELVE GIRLS AND WOMEN WERE TO BE SENT TO THE ISLAND FOR the test. Mayara made a point to learn who they were, because if they were destined to die together, she wanted to at least know their names.

  Tesana was a fisherwoman from northern Kao. She left behind a husband and son.

  Amilla worked with stained glass, along with her mother and her sister.

  Nissala sold grilled pineapple to early-morning clamdiggers.

  Osa hauled crates on and off ships on the docks of Yena.

  Quilan didn’t like coconuts.

  Dayine hadn’t cut her hair since she was five years old, when she lopped it off with a machete. She didn’t know why her parents let her near a machete, but that was the family story.

  Resla didn’t talk much, but she wore a necklace made of shells.

  Balka had just become a mother.

  All of them had people they’d left behind. Work. School. Dreams. Aside from Roe, only one other, a young woman, barely more than a girl, named Kemra, seemed to want to become an heir. She chattered nonstop about how this was their destiny and their duty, and how morally reprehensible it was to hide your power and deny the world your gift. Most of the others ignored her, even Roe, who clammed up about her plans after seeing how unpopular Kemra’s views were. The other ten women had all hidden their power, because that was what you did if you wanted to live a long life, and that was what your families begged you to do if they didn’t want to say goodbye.

  As the twelfth to join them, Mayara expected to meet more resentment—it was her arrival and her failure to hide her power that had triggered the start of the test. But she was treated more with pity. She’d had less time than any of them to accustom herself to her fate, and she knew less of the basics than any of them. She told them she was a deep diver, an oyster gatherer, who’d been married the day she exposed her power. She told them how she’d lost her older sister to the test, and how she’d promised to avoid the spirits and never use her power. As a consequence, she knew very little about how it worked.

  The introductions were quickly over, though, and Heir Sorka delivered an opening speech, very little of which made sense to Mayara. As she finished, Mayara leaned over to whisper to Roe and Palia, “What is she talking about? How do we ‘expand our consciousness’ and ‘tap into the essential nature of the spirits’? What ‘essential nature’?”

  “She means their instincts,” Roe whispered.

  Sorka pointed to Tesana, Quilan, and Kemra. “You, you, and you! Come with me.”

  Mayara whispered back, “I thought their instinct was just ‘kill humans.’”

  Rising to follow Heir Sorka, the fisherwoman Tesana clucked at Mayara. “Such a beautiful bride. Such a shame.” She stroked Mayara’s hair as if consoling a baby, and then she headed down the hill for her training session.

  “Hey, she might live!” Roe called after her.

  “She probably won’t,” Palia said.

  Roe glared at her. “Must you?”

  Another of the women, Balka, who had been taken from her newborn daughter seven weeks ago, shushed them. “I can’t hear the lesson.” At the base of the valley, Heir Sorka was beginning to lecture the first three women on how best to subdue an earth spirit.

  They were being trained in small groups, at least to start with. Mayara, Roe, and Palia waited near a fire, lit by a lizardlike spirit that writhed over a pile of dried-out driftwood. The others were spread across on the same rocky hill, all focused on Sorka and her first students.

  Listening, Mayara tried to follow the lesson.

  She felt Roe watching her, and her cheeks heated up as she blushed—it’s obvious how little I know. “If we’re going to be a team, you need to know more than ‘spirits are bad,’” Roe said. “Can you handle a condescending lecture from someone nearly your age?”

  Relief coursed through her. Yes, that sounded like exactly what she needed! “Pretend I know nothing, since that’s close to accurate.” Mayara hadn’t realized how little time she’d spent thinking about the spirits. She hadn’t cared much what they were or how they worked, so long as they weren’t chomping on her when she dived.

  “She knows they want us dead,” Palia said. “That’s the important bit.”

  “She may want a bit more detail than that,” Roe said.

  The woman who had shushed them, Balka, glared again and moved farther away, but Mayara noticed that a few others—Nissala, Osa, and Dayine—had shifted closer, listening to Roe. That made her feel less like an idiot. Maybe I’m not the only one who hasn’t done this before.

  “Okay,” Roe said. “There are six kinds of spirits: water, air, fire, earth, ice, and wood. Sometimes that last one is just called ‘life,’ but it means plant life exclusively. The spirits vary in intelligence. Some are as smart as us. Others are as dumb as a barnacle. But they all operate on two basic instincts: to create and to destroy. Their creation powers let them shape the natural world. Unchecked, they’ll just keep creating and creating until the world is in constant flux and completely unlivable, even for them, which is why they need queens, even though they hate us. In the beginning, the land was—”

  Palia cut her off. “Roe, she doesn’t need the history of the world.”

  Across the valley, Sorka was shouting at Kemra, Quilan, and Tesana to fight a fire spirit. Kemra had been burned badly on her arm, and Quilan was running toward a copse of trees. Tesana was cowering behind a rock. It would be good if I knew more before I have to face that, Mayara thought.

  “Sorry. In addition to their urge to create, the spirits also want to destroy. Specifically, they want to kill us, because they hate how we mess up what
they create by living here. But they also need us, as I said . . . or at least they need queens, to keep them in balance.”

  Every Renthian knew this, but Mayara had never heard it laid out so baldly before. Most islanders didn’t talk much about the spirits outside of heroic ballads and stories. Feels like bad luck to discuss them, she thought.

  Guess it’s too late to worry about bad luck.

  “The queens of Renthia are women of power—like us—who have linked their minds to the spirits of their land. Seriously linked, not just the occasional telepathic moment. This bond can only be forged in a coronation grove. Lots of theories on why, but essentially what happens is the old queen dies, the spirits go wild, and then, after a fun killing spree, they enter this kind of stasis until they link with a new queen while she’s in the sacred grove.”

  One of the other spirit sisters, Dayine, interrupted, “The heirs force them into stasis.”

  “Right. Anyway, once they bond with the queen, they give her power. Lots of power. Enough to sense and control all the spirits she’s linked to at once, and enough to help her fight off the spirits she’s not linked to, the wild spirits. And . . . I should probably skip to the relevant bits. What this means for us.”

  Palia snorted. “Oh, I’m sure we can destroy the spirits by boring them to pieces with a history lesson.” In the valley, the three spirit sisters, Kemra, Tesana, and Quilan, had failed to defeat the fire spirit—the Silent Ones corralled it as it writhed, blackening the earth beneath its feet.

  “You aren’t supposed to destroy spirits,” Osa, the dockworker, said. “Not the island spirits, at any rate. They’re linked to the land. Destroy them, and you destroy bits of Belene. We’re supposed to control them.”

  “Go on,” Mayara urged Roe.

  Roe gave Palia a look but continued. “Regardless of how much power they get from the spirits after they bond, all queens start out like us. Spirit sisters. Girls and women with the ability to touch the minds of spirits. We can sense where they are, read their thoughts, and command them—how well we can do this is a mix of how naturally strong we are and how focused we are, which is where the training comes in . . .”