Page 1 of She Who Was Once the Sea

Prologue - Marella

Once, there was the sea. Full and shining and bright, it glistened on the horizon with worlds of never-ending promise. It was home, and it was possibility. It was familiar, yet wholly different every day.

I can barely remember it now, but I feel it when I close my eyes: the pull of water through my gills and hair, the pressure that pulsated through the depths in the darkness. It’s still there, somewhere. Beyond the stonework and cobbles of this ancient, labyrinthine city, across the hills and pastures to the east, through the dried-up channels of long-forgotten canals, it waits for us.

And I plan to be the one to return us to its embrace.

It wasn’t always this way. Once, we swam freely between the city and the sea. A tangle of intricate canals laced through the countryside, connecting the bustling city of Rossaia with the Adriatic Sea. We swam through them as we pleased, splashing giggling children and bringing fish to families that lived along the banks.

That was when humans were good. And if I’ve learned anything in my centuries of imprisonment, it’s that this can no longer be said about their species.

It took millennia, but it felt like only a moment, for the most powerful men to realize that paved roads and machinery moved commerce throughout the country faster than water. And despite the fact that water was crucial to the lifeblood of the city, they slowly began campaigning to fill in the canals.

Of course, we fought back. We spoke to the people, to the children and families with whom we shared fish and laughter. But they were few.

The powerful turned us into monsters, unclothed heathens who lured men to their deaths and drowned babies for sport. And the further humans lived from the water, the more readily they believed these lies. Who, after all, were the scaled creatures swimming through their city streets?

My father fought the hardest. He had been respected among the men of the city. He, my mother, my sisters, and I stayed in Rossaia as the crusade against us began. Hundreds of our kin chose to flee to open water, but we stayed, convinced as we were that we could change their minds. Together, we outlined ways we could bring aid to the city—through the delivery of fish, and warnings of rising waters and potential flooding. But nothing could sway the rising tide of change.

"The wheel of time is moving," I remember one man saying. "And your kind can do nothing to slow its course."

Still, we tried.

We were foolish.

When a child turned up drowned on the banks of a canal, the city officials immediately blamed us.

This was when the slaughter began.

Murderers, they sneered. Sirens.

And the people believed them. It did not matter that we had saved far more children from drowning over the course of our long history with humans; it only took one to turn their favor against us forever.

Many of those who had not already fled were caught with hooks, nets, and hands, pulled from the water and dangled from their fins in the town square to dry out and burn in the hot sun. My family was spared for a while, as my father tried to continue negotiations with the city leaders, ensconced in a private pool beneath the home of a foreign diplomat who took pity on our situation.

The last time we spoke with the men, they showed up in matching flowing black robes with red silk stitched along the sleeves and collars, calling themselves Fratelli di Sangue: the Brothers of Blood.

It was not a name I’d ever forget.

"You are enacting a genocide," my father pleaded, the closest I have ever seen him to tears.

The city leaders shrugged. "Vengeance is not genocide."

"You know we were not responsible for that boy’s death."

"Perception is everything," a wrinkled old man sneered, a cigarette dangling from the downturned corners of his paper-thin lips. "Who are we to tell them what to believe?"

"Why are you doing this?" my mother asked, turning around the room, her fierce green eyes alighting on each of the men in turn. "The city will dry up if you close the canals. How will your people survive?"

"There are ways to bring water to the city that will not inhibit the growth of roads and critical infrastructure," a younger man said, this one tall and slender, with slicked-back black hair revealing a receding hairline. "Pipes and plumbing can deliver water faster and more efficiently while leaving us room to expand the city outward."

"And what about fish?" my father asked.

"We will transport fish from the coast using ground transportation." The man rolled his eyes like this should have been obvious. "The simple truth is that we no longer need you."

"This is a mistake." My father’s voice shook as he implored them to see reason. "The city will not thrive without its ties to the sea. It’s not just about the financial practicalities; it’s about balance with the natural world—"

Laughter exploded throughout the room.