The red water turned and whipped past her, the fouled tunnel streaked, then opened. Gray shapes approached: sharks, drawn by the stench. Luce lashed her tail, racing, the soursweet taste of blood still glutting her mouth. She gulped in mouthful after mouthful of salt water and spat it out again, trying to cleanse herself. It didn’t help, though; nothing helped, nothing could ever help. She was in the wild open sea near the cliffs, but the sea was corrupted, slimy with death. She ruptured up through the waves and inhaled, staring frantically around at the endless night . . .

It’s starting, Luce thought, but she barely understood the words. It’s starting, it’s starting . . .

Something black and fast. On the water’s surface, not below it. Luce didn’t even hear it coming until it was almost on top of her, until the helmeted men on board were shouting, hefting huge black guns—until a pointed silver blade whizzed past, nicking her shoulder. A line of blood appeared. More filth for the water.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Luce screamed to the sea. It answered her, rising into what might have almost seemed to be a natural rogue wave sixty feet tall if it didn’t leap straight for the black boat. It came at the men, furious and purposeful, and Luce could hear their small tinny screams drowned out by her own enormous voice, shriek and song at once. The boat was thrown high above her so fast that she could barely follow it, rolling upside down as it slammed into the cliffs. Its hull crunched like a mussel shell, and kicking men dropped into the suddenly outracing swirl. There were rocks in the water; they might survive . . .

Why should she care? All of them were murderers. The mermaids lay slaughtered, and these men were responsible.

No. She was. The guilt was hers. She had known in her heart that this moment was coming. If she’d only listened to Dana, to Nausicaa, only led the tribe away in time, instead of letting herself be fooled by some human’s thoughtless words . . .

It’s starting, Luce told herself again. She was swimming underwater so quickly that all she could feel was speed. This time she understood what that meant. The war. It’s starting. We’ll have to fight . . .

How could they fight, though, when the humans had found a way to block the power of their songs? Those helmets . . .

Everything was broken; everything was destroyed. But she couldn’t collapse, couldn’t allow herself to give in and die. South. Go south; warn Sedna. Warn everyone . . .

She had to find Nausicaa.

Acknowledgments