The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea

by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Her father was as unfathomable to her as the bottom of the sea, and nearly as distant. Once she had asked him if he loved her or not. In response he had drained his drink wordlessly and left the room.

It was the name of a murderer. It was the name of a survivor. It was a spell that allowed her to blend in with the crew.

“Know your truth, not your story,”

“You never know.” He examined her, his face inscrutable. “You’ve the feel of destiny about you.”

The notion of one hundred sons seemed too cruel a punishment for any sin she may have committed in her short life.

She was not a creature of courage, but she was one of spite.

“We don’t just read to imagine better lives. We read to be introduced to all kinds of lives. Any kind. Not just for ourselves, but for everyone around us. To understand others better. It’s escape, and it’s also a way to become more connected to everyone around you. There’s power in that, you know. In understanding. It’s like magic.”

“Evelyn. For the last time, silly, call me Evelyn.”

For when a new memory rises and demands to be held by the Sea, a mermaid is born. Rising from her depths, full and whole and beautiful.

The name was less like a spell and more like a shackle.

His eyes — her eyes? Did it matter? Evelyn thought not; her feelings were the same whichever way — shone in the lamplight.

“An operative. There will be justice on this ship.” Florian’s voice was dreamy, but Rake’s smile faded.

Rake laughed. “That’s the spirit. Leave your casket behind.” Evelyn had never heard such a good suggestion in all her life.

Vaguely, she was aware of being lifted by many hands.

And because I do magic and I know things. That’s what I do.

Again, the Supreme laughed, and their laughter was one with the sound of the waves that crashed beneath them. They were beautiful the way the Sea was beautiful — for both the Sea and the Supreme dealt in death. Power was beauty as embodied by them.

Perhaps the pirates and the witches were right to worship the sea. The sea did not die. The sea was no man.

The Supreme’s throne, however, was just a chair. Just a plain chair, made of driftwood. Yet it was surrounded by unimaginable wealth. Rake could not tell if this was laziness or profundity.

“It seems to me,” Rake said slowly, “that all lives worth living bear those risks.”

But one did not simply lift an Imperial lady. Not without permission. Inouye should have known better.

Omg...is he with the pirate supreme o.o

For that was what magic was — it was understanding the truth of something, and then changing it. Reality, Xenobia said, was created by belief,

“There are those who are neither a man nor a woman. Those who were born and called the wrong gender and must reshape their story for those around them. But you. You’re something else. You’re whatever is safe. Both, maybe, but not neither. Or interchangeable. Names are funny things, because they can feel like lies but tell our truths.”

For the first time, she felt she could hold both in her heart. That both might be true.

She was love as much as she was lies and a hope for power.

“You are my love and my equal, and we will see each other through this. If you had not been here to remind me of my conscience, we would not even be here. We’re in this together. Yes?”