š§ Press play above to listen as I read Chapter 7 to you!
MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA is a dystopian sci-fi about a girl on the flooded worldās only surviving island, sent out past the atoll into the forbidden ocean to find the sea gods to save her starving village. What she finds instead is an underwater research station full of other humans ā and they have their own plans for survival.
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š First time here? Start at the beginning: Chapter One
š Previously in MAY WE PLEASE THE SEA: The Holy Crone paddled back to the village alone and hid her canoe, letting everyone believe sheād never returned from the atoll, where she left Easla. She found the primes seizing the Harvest Hutās last food, then learned the freshwater spring had stopped flowing, and silenced the matron who told her with the same knife that cut Easlaās rope. Hidden in the Holy Hut with Elly, as screams rose from the Gathering Place, the woman who enforced every rule broke one, and sangā¦
Chapter 7
In our thoughts, the Gods listen. In our actions, the Gods see.
But if the Chosen People turn to Sin, the Gods will turn away.
ā Ocean Law
I turn my head to take a breath, and a wave of unholy waters slams into my open mouth. Salty. Rotten.
I sputter and cough, my stroke falling apart. The water out here doesnāt lie flat like the lagoonās did. It chops and shoves from every direction, making each inhale a risk. By now, Iāve swallowed so much seawater that my stomach sloshes with its own tides. Between that and the stench, Iām as nauseous as a girl on her first canoe ride.
The sun hovers to my left, already three fingers higher than when I left the sunken atoll. Only five strokes since I last checked, and Iāve drifted off course, again.
I re-angle toward the rising sun. Spears of light ripple along the oceanās surface, forcing me to squint. Swim into sunrise. Dive to the seafloor. The Holy Crone could have given clearer directions. How am I supposed to find the godsā home? Thereās nothing out here but endless haze. And below me, the water is a cloudy murk, worse than the air above.
Each pull drags my torn palms through the red water, and the sting flares fresh. My shoulders burn from hauling my arms overhead over and over, fighting the sea.
At least I have two arms to swim with. My mother only had one she couldāve used. But Iām certain she mustāve tried. Last night, when we paddled out for the Offering, I scanned the atoll and saw nothing.
A snapper forgotten on the dock doesnāt vanish. It dries stiff as bark, scales and all, and lies there for moons until someone kicks it back in. A whole harvest out on those corals, and not a sign of my motherās body?
No, she mustāve left the atoll and braved these waters, the way I am now. I wouldāve found hope in that belief, before, but with her shoulder broken, one arm hanging useless? If she did manage to swim this far, she wouldāve only found what Iām finding.
Nowhere to rest.
How much farther must I swim? The atoll disappeared behind me long ago. My pace crawls, but the Holy Croneās words never slow: Kill the gods. Silver jaws. Only three. You, me, and Elly.
The thought of my little sister hurtsāa tightness in my chest that distracts me from my fatiguing muscles.
I force another arm overhead, cycling through the same thoughts Iāve had since I set out. Elly will be all right. Thereās food in the Harvest Hut. She has the freshwater spring. The village will hold on until I return. And Relfyā¦I couldnāt save her baby. But Iāll save her. Iāll save them all.
I roll to my side and suck in another watery breath. Thatās why Iām out here. To find the gods, and instead of killing them and stealing their silver jaws, Iāll kneel before them, the way the first Holy Crone must have knelt upon the atoll, and Iāllā
Iāll what? Beg the gods who sank our atoll to raise it again? A cramp seizes my calf. I gasp, and my next kick comes out crooked. Why would the gods help us now? By failing the Offering, we failed the Ocean Law.
Except, the gods are the ones who let every baby boy this harvest come out dead. How could we offer what they never gave us?
I push the question down with my next stroke and the one after. Swim. Breathe. Swim. Elly will be all right. Thereās food in the Harvest Hut. The freshwater spriā
My fingers smash into something hard.
I yelp into the water and jerk upright, sputtering.
A low wall of bleached coral curves away from me in both directions, dry and white above the waves. Theā¦atoll? I canāt possibly have swum back that way.
I swing my head to check the rising sun.
Itās still ahead of me, exactly where I aim, which meansā¦this isnāt our atoll. Itās another one.
The thought pricks like an urchin spine. The Ocean Law says the gods gave one atoll to their Chosen People. Us. But here is another one, still standing. Hidden all my life beyond the haze.
I haul myself onto the corals and heave water-free breaths, my chest rising and falling like the waves I drank. As always, the poisoned air makes me cough. Then I vomit red water until Iām empty, and collapse. My skin itches everywhere the water touched. Slowly, my stomach settles.
I push myself up on shaking arms and look past the coral wall, to see what this atoll protects.
Inside, black-and-silver rectangles float on a lagoon as blue as ours was before the Offering, glinting in the early light. Flat boats? Tiny docks? Whatever they are, their surfaces are smooth and shiny, unlike anything Iāve ever seen.
Godly.
The heaviness in my chest lifts, and my breath catches, my heartbeat quickening. Iāve found the gods. This must be their atoll.
