CHAPTER NINE
Bloodhound

I woke from a restless half-sleep long before the sun would rise. Staring wide-eyed at the ceiling with a steadily quickening pulse did nothing to help me fall back asleep, so I sat up.

My room had a bitter chill to it that reminded me it still wasn’t summer. I rose and pulled the only outfit from my closet that was still hanging and not tossed to the floor: my Massacre uniform.

They’d been custom-made by the local seamstresses. All earthy tones, all thick to repel the cold, all resistant to water and glued at the seams with a waterproof seal. They were expensive; I had no doubt about that.

I put it on and stood in front of the mirror, hoping to see a fierce warrior and finding a timid, weak-looking teenager instead. I’d gained muscle from all the drills the training master had made us do, but I was still no more than an eighteen-year-old who had yet to grow into her curves.

I studied the copper badge on my chest with mixed feelings. The craftsmanship was so detailed, so impressive up close—but I couldn’t help noticing the anger chiselled into the owl’s eyes, which in nature were only kind and inquisitive.

Nothing pleasant could come of attempting to eat breakfast, so I sat on my bed, wondering how thirty minutes could have passed already. At this rate, I’d be marching down to the docks before my next breath.

I pulled out one of my binders from training and opened it so I could review some notes before my parents got up.

First Aid

Topic 1: Wounds

Types:

- Laceration – tearing. Caused by conch shells, barnacled rocks

- Puncture – calcified sea spears, blow darts

- Abrasion – surface scraping. Falling on deck or narrow weapon miss

- Ballistic – hit from comrade’s iron bolt

- Penetration – stabbing and removal of sea spear

- Contusion – bruising, concussion. Conch shell, rocks, argillite

Treatment:

- Wound infection is common in battle. Cleaning is crucial

- Excessive blood loss weakens the body. Maintaining full strength is vital to survival on the water. Stop blood flow as fast as possible

I snapped the binder shut. I’d accomplished nothing but a cold sweat.

I threw the notes on the floor and curled up under my blankets, trying to stop myself from shivering.

Annith was the best in the class at first aid, and she wouldn’t let me bleed to death. As long as she was still alive.

We’d all proven our strengths over the last five years. I just wished I could be good at everything. Having a weakness—any weakness—was not reassuring when leaving for the battleground.

The lines in the ceiling sharpened as the sun brightened behind my curtains. I glanced at the clock, and somehow another thirty minutes had passed. My stomach lurched.

The floorboards in the hall creaked. Someone was awake. I sat up so quickly it was like I’d just woken from a bad dream.

My next breath, my mother was forcing me to eat canned beans for breakfast. The next breath after that, my parents and I were putting on our jackets and boots. The next one, we were walking down the dirt road to the training area.

The universe must have been playing a cruel trick, making time pass so quickly when I wanted only to cherish my last hours at home.

Home. The same place I’d lived every day since I was born. I’d never spent more than a weekend away from it, and even then, I’d only been down the road at Annith’s house.

We stopped outside the Safe Training Base, where the warriors always said their goodbyes before their families went to wait by the docks with everyone else.

My mother and father stopped and faced me. I looked between them, not knowing what to say.

Around me, other girls said private, teary goodbyes. Annith hugged her sister while her boyfriend, Rik, stood behind her with a hand on her back. Eyrin stood next to them, hugging her parents and her little brother all at once. There was Nora saying a passionate, lip-locked goodbye to her boyfriend, and Akirra glancing around as though not sure if it was uncool to hug her parents in public. Dani stood beyond that, engaged in what might have been an intense strategic conversation with her father. Arms crossed, he appeared to be the last person in the world to give anyone a hug.

“You’ve made me proud, Metlaa Gaela,” said my father, and his hug took me by surprise.

A second passed before my arms unlocked to hug him back. For the briefest moment, I felt warmth in his arms as they wrapped around me, and then he let go.

I turned reluctantly to my mother, who seemed to tremble from the effort of keeping her face brave for me.

I threw myself against her and hugged her as tightly as I could.

“I love you, Mama,” I whispered. Although I was taller than her now, I still felt like a little girl when she held me, and I stooped so I could fit my head under her chin.

“I love you, too,” she whispered into my hair.

We held onto each other. She rocked me like she did when I was a child, and neither of us said a word. I blocked out the sounds around me and listened to her heart beating, trying to savour this last moment when I could feel small and helpless under the protection of my mother.

“Time to go, Meela,” said Anyo.

Not yet. It was too soon.

“Meela.”

“Wait.” I wasn’t done. I pulled away from my mother and looked around, urgency overcoming me.

“Where’s Tanuu?” No sooner had I spoken the words than I spotted him standing some distance away, not talking to anyone but giving me the suspicion that he’d been watching me closely.

I walked over and stopped an arm’s length away.

“The Massacre we’ve all been waiting for,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Make us proud.”

I kept staring until he looked at me properly.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I reacted badly. I don’t know what—”

He put up his hands. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. We’re only eighteen.”

I somehow managed a smile. “Thanks. I . . . I do love you. I just don’t know in which way.”

He nodded and smiled back, and I stepped forwards to hug him tightly. He smelled warm, earthy, like everything I loved about the island, and I closed my eyes to seal it in my memory. He rested his chin on top of my head and held me securely in his arms, giving me the feeling that nothing could harm me as long as he was there.

But he wouldn’t be there. And soon he let me go.

“See you when you get back,” he said, and I couldn’t help but feel reassured by his confidence that I would, in fact, come back.

Anyo grabbed my arm now, threatening to pull me away if I didn’t join the line.

“Bye, Tanuu,” I said, my voice frantic.

I searched for my parents in the crowd.

“I love you,” I called, and I had to turn away because my mother started sobbing in my father’s arms.

I lined up with the girls, front to back. A couple of other girls also had to be dragged into the line—Nora’s lips must have been stuck to her boyfriend’s, for all it took to peel her away—and after another few moments, we were all ready to go. I couldn’t look at anyone else. Many had been crying. I breathed deeply, desperate not to let myself cry, too, because if my mother or Tanuu saw me it would make everything so much worse for them. I had to stay brave for their sake.

Our families started back to the docks to join the crowd, while the girls and I marched forwards through the path in the woods. I could see every dewdrop on the leaves as we strode by, and every particle in the mist curling around the branches. I heard birds singing more clearly than ever, and mud squelching beneath our leather boots, and insects buzzing and even leaves rustling. I inhaled the smell of moss and dirt and tried to commit it to memory before I left it behind. Lifting my face, I let the mist cling to my cheeks, cherishing the clean feeling, soon to be replaced by a sticky, salty spray.

In front of me in her brown uniform, Annith stopped. We’d reached the docks.

A few girls murmured and gasped, and I looked around in alarm before realising they were pointing excitedly at the docks. Floating majestically on the sparkling sea was our brand new ship. My stomach knotted from a wild combination of elation that it was ours, pride that my people had built it for us, awe at the craftsmanship, and fear . . . fear that it was so small against the vast ocean awaiting us.

It was a Mediterranean model, one we’d learned to call a brigantine. The body was wide, flat, and about the length of two orcas from bowsprit to stern. The bottom of the hull would be flecked with iron—just enough to keep the mermaids from smashing holes and sinking us, but not enough to weaken the wooden frame. Two masts thrust high above the water: the fore mast, with three square-rigged sails that reminded me of the mast on a pirate ship; and the main mast, fore-and-aft rigged so the sails ran front-to-back like a schooner’s. The saw-whet owl scowled at us from the flag waving at the highest point of the main mast. A few small windows lined the hull, not far off the waterline, presumably to give us a bit of light below deck. The word Bloodhound was painted on the side of the ship in elegant cursive.

A fitting name, I thought, for a vessel designed to track down mermaids so we could run them through with weapons.

We faced the crowd. I stared into the anxious, excited, frightened, and stony faces of four thousand people of Eriana Kwai. The reality of the ceremony hung somewhere in the distance, not reaching my consciousness. This was it. This ceremony had happened every year in recent history, and this time, I was among the warriors waiting to set sail.

“Welcome!” said the training master into the ancient microphone. He motioned to us with a sweep of his arm. “It’s my honour to present this year’s Massacre warriors.”