The little wooden farm dinghies bobbed with each rise and fall of the gentle waves. There was a sharpness to the air that carried the first signs of approaching winter. Despite the chill that lingered in the shadows, the floating fields were no more or less lively than usual. A chorus of voices carried over the water surface in an almost perfect harmony, bouncing off the limestone karsts and blending into one distinct voice: home.

 Tally poured his little soul into his performance. He contributed only a word here and there, mumbling most of the lyrics in a valiant effort to keep up with the adults. Given he’d never heard the song before, it was almost impressive how quickly he picked up the few words that he had. He was gifted for his age, outshining most of the other children in the village.

 This was his first day in the fields. He’d been so excited that he’d woken everyone an extra hour early, half-citing, half-screaming: “The sun doesn’t wait, so neither shall we!” No one had the heart to tell him the phrase was for fishers who needed to be up before sunrise to chase the fish. There was far, far less chasing involved in harvesting water spinach. 

 Poor Tally missed the cue as the song ended, his little voice belting “Lily and her empty promises!” over the fresh silence. Laughter erupted from every direction and the boy’s face flushed as bright as the tomatoes. Sheepishly, he tucked his head between his shoulders, ducking lower to hide.

 Isa, his mother, stifled a chuckle behind him. She hadn’t sung with the rest of us. A shame, really. Even the sirens themselves would envy her beautiful voice. Or even her flawless appearance. She’d been suffering from morning sickness for days, yet still had the glow of someone who was blessed by the goddess. It wasn’t hard to see how easily she enchanted so many hearts. 

 I bopped Tally’s nose with a handful of freshly cut water spinach. “Want me to teach you the words for next time?” I asked with a sly grin.

 Isa’s smile fell immediately. Her glare pierced through me as though it were a thousand poison-tipped needles, each one aimed squarely at my eyes. The lyrics were absolutely not suitable for a five-year-old child. 

 “Can you?” The boy was practically jumping up and down. It rocked the boat enough that Isa and I both instinctively gripped the sides.

 “Settle. You’ll wake the monsters if you keep moving like that,” she chided, tugging him back onto the seat. “You need to learn how to harvest the plants first. Your Aunt Ebony can teach you some songs later. Much, much later.”

 Tally let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his small arms in the air above his head before finally resting his hands under his chin. His dejected little frown was adorable. I wanted so badly to draw him into my arms and squish him.

 “Your mother’s right,” I agreed, holding out a small net. “Let's start with the duckweed.” At first he glared at the net as though it might bite. When he finally took it from me, it dangled limp between his pinched fingers like a dead rat held by the tail. His expression matched the analogy perfectly. 

 The net was tiny, typically used for catching shrimp fry. It was the perfect size for small, inexperienced hands. Larger nets tended to be unwieldy unless you had as much balance as the karsts themselves. You needed one person to balance the boat while the other weaved the huge net between the water spinach plants.

 “I know how to scoop duckweed already,” he pouted.

 In that moment, he looked exactly like Jay had back when we were young. The boy had even inherited our family’s signature warm brown skin despite Isa being fairer than the moon. Unlike my brother, Tally shared my deep freckles, which spread over his nose bridge. There were debates over which of us he resembled most.

 I pushed a large wooden bucket in front of Tally with my foot. “We need to fill this entire bucket.” It was half filled with tiny green leaves. In truth, there was already more than we would normally gather, however Isa found herself craving duckweed more frequently than in her last pregnancy. It was a main ingredient in nearly every meal for the last few weeks.

 “The whole bucket?” Tally asked, peering into it with some horror. 

 I batted his nose with spinach again. “The whoooooole bucket.”

 He groaned, rolled his eyes and dramatically draped himself over the edge of the boat. Rainbows formed as the net broke the surface and came back together again. It looked like he was deliberately stirring the water to move the duckweed away rather than gather it. As he dragged the net roughly, his hand came precariously close to the purple-black abyss. 

 “Careful, Tally. Don’t splash!” His mother warned, her hand grabbing his wrist. 

 “It’s okay. Water doesn’t hurt me.” Tally objected grumpily. His voice wasn’t hushed at all. 

 There was a cautionary saying among the field workers: Water spinach keeps no secrets. The next boat was a few metres away, but you never knew how keen their ears were. 

 I leaned out to cut a fistful, glancing around subtly from the corner of my eye. It was a difficult angle, but I knew turning my head around quickly would only draw suspicion. 

 Closest to us was Hannah and Marina’s boat. They laughed and chatted loudly to each other, oblivious to everything around them. Their voices were muffled; I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I relaxed and turned back to Isa. Her hand was wrapped so tight around Tally’s mouth that I could see the pressure marks in his skin. 

 “We’re okay,” I assured her with a quick nod. “They’re too far away.”

 I saw the tension melt out of her body as she sank back in with enough force to rock the dinghy again. She still had an iron grip on the boy’s wrist when she turned him to look him in the eyes. “You can’t say that. Especially not out here with so many ears to hear you.” She hissed under her breath.

 “Why not?” Tally asked, rubbing his reddened cheek.

 “You’re special, Tal. You know that. What if people find out?” She looked as though she was struggling to find the right words. The faintest glint of tears welling in her eyes betrayed her stern voice. My chest ached the moment her eyes met mine, searching for something I couldn’t give. We both knew it was a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’. 

 Isa was the strongest spirit I’d ever known. Stronger than even her husband. She and Jay  were more than just a perfect match. It was like the Goddess designed them for each other. Isa was an unstoppable storm, and Jay a tidal wave and… then Tally’s condition manifested.

 Isa had never come to terms with it. How could she? How could any mother? I lost count of the number of nights I found her crying alone in the kitchen late in the night. Beyond a shoulder to cry on, I didn’t know how else to comfort her. We would huddle together on the cold floor in complete silence, waiting for the sky to turn pink before heading back to bed. 

 Those with the affliction were called ‘Blessings’, but it was the greatest curse to befall a person.

 “Let’s get back to work. We want to go home before the sun goes down.” I told the boy, trying to deflect the conversation as hard as I could. The fields were not the right place for that discussion. “Don’t splash anymore. You’ll wake the monsters.”

 “Can I go on a watchboat next time?” Tally asked his mother, his pout returning ten-fold. “I don’t want to catch leaves anymore. I want to be like you and Dad.”

 Isa shook her head slowly. “Not until you are 15 years old.”

 “That’s so old!” He whined.

 “Hey, now. I was 22 years old when I trained for the guards.” She scoffed, “Your father started at 15. If you want to be like him, you have to wait.”

 “Did he scoop duckweed?” Tally asked quietly, turning the net in his hands a few times.

 “He was the best at scooping duckweed.” I chimed in, laughing. “We had competitions could gather the most. He always won.”

 Finally, the boy’s eyes seemed to light up again. “Really?” He asked, though he was examining the net more closely.

 My heart stopped as a deafening bell-ring filled the air. It was the alarm.