Chapter One

"Hello, old friend. And might I say, I'm rather impressed that you managed to pull yourself out of bed long enough to write me."

 

Leshin collapsed onto her bed, seething in rage. That night, the Filial Council had decreed her fate.

They did it. They really did it.

She slammed her fist down on the simple, brown, tapa fabric mat, with enough force that the grass beneath refused to protect her fist from the bare stone beneath. It didn’t matter. Punching her bed again and again, she tried not to scream. She wouldn’t scream. Then, they’d know they’d finally won. Instead, she choked silent tears, ignoring the blood on her knuckles.

Tomorrow, God would have six new priestesses. And it would revel in their sacrifice. Long had the council squabbled over the Fell Rot, the disease that had claimed Leshin’s father not two weeks ago. Father had been such a strong, vibrant man. He’d headed the council and the Thatcher’s Guild for five years, working with the Timber Guild and the Mason’s Guild to renovate the entire city with brand-new housing. She’d never known a burlier man. But within two weeks, he had become ragged, thin, covered in gangrenous, purple sores the size of coconuts. And on that last day, he’d bled. From his eyes, from his ears, his nose, his mouth, his fingernails, his toenails, and his unspeakable places—the disease had forced him to shed all of his blood until he was a dry husk, staring with unblinking eyes at the ceiling he had thatched with his own hands hardly a month prior. With that, he could protect Leshin no longer. God was angry. And God would have its new playthings, lest it raze the Kinfolk further. Everyone knew what had to be done.

The Kinfolk were a quiet sort: peaceful, equitable, nonconfrontational, yes. But spiteful. God’s presence brought a certain camaraderie to their clans—surely, they had no quarrel with each other greater than that common enemy—but in the absence of violence, personal conflicts became as vicious as any war. Swords were exchanged for words, but some words killed just as quickly.

Words like, “The Filial Council’s judgment is thus: at dawn tomorrow, Leshin dono Ki’luin, thirdborn daughter of the Thatcher’s Guild, shall be proclaimed the High Sister of the new priesthood. May God have mercy on us all.”

Scrunching up her bed mat, she tried to rip the thing in two. Sadly, it held.

Should I run? What would they do if I ran away? Glancing to her Slingpan on the wall—a thin, brass plate with three divots in the base—she weighed her options. If she Slung the ocean water and stood on her pan, she could simply ride it off into the horizon. So long as she kept herself hydrated, she could go as far as she wanted. She had the skill—she could control five funnels of water, or Arms, so if anyone tried to chase her, she could just use the remaining two Arms to knock them into the ocean, robbing them of their ability to Sling until they dried off.

But where would she go? No one lived outside of The City for long. This island was the only place Kinfolk could breed. Their eggs would simply shrivel and die if they buried them anywhere other than the island’s soil, just under the shoreline. God wanted them where they were. Anywhere she went, she’d be alone.

Was loneliness worse than a cruel deity’s torture?

She growled.

Not even close.

Ripping the plate off the wall, she snatched a few waterskins from where they hung from the rafters, then went to her stone grain-box to scoop a few handfuls of Kiti kernels into the leather pouch on her waist. She’d have to rely on catching fish eventually, but the Kiti would keep her alive long enough for her to find an island. They were just about the only types of plant life Kinfolk could digest, and they certainly kept fresh longer than meat.

Any dry land would do—after all, one couldn’t Sling while wet, so she just needed a place to dry off after she swam to catch fish. Thanks to the gills behind her ears, she could technically make it underwater for as long as she liked, but despite her webbed feet and thin, smooth, rudderlike tail, she knew Kinfolk were made to live on land. They had more in common with dolphins than fish. And air felt so much better to breathe than seawater. If only she’d spent more time training with the Fisher’s Guild—as fast as she could swim underwater, she had never had the chance to master the dexterity she’d need to catch fish with her hands. Still, if all went well, she’d have plenty of time to practice.

Rushing out the doorway, she stared at the sprawl of The City one last time. Its squat, palm-thatched houses seemed so tiny from this distance, only lit with the faint firelights of roadside torches and bonfires. While the rest of The City laughed and made merry at the coming end to the Fell Rot, Leshin had no such luxury. Thanking the stars she lived so close to the shore, she slipped out quietly. She snuck between the small line of houses that led to a thin grove of palm trees. In case anyone was following, she crept a good, long way off to the North, finding a completely abandoned line of grassy, prickly dunes. After waiting a while, she clambered over the dunes to land on the beach. There, only fifty feet away, was the ocean.

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But between her and it, ten men stood. Her throat went dry. How had they found her?

They stared at her with judging eyes, all wearing bead armor and tapa kilts, carrying large Slingpans on their backs. The tallest approached her, his long, thin, hairless tail flicking in irritation as he scowled in her direction. He towered over Leshin, covered in tattoos and scars. He’d shaved his head bald, as all serious Slingers did, and he cleared his throat as she took a step to the side.

“High Sister Leshin,” he said, “while it might be a nice night for a walk, you are to stay in your home until morning, by the order of the council.”

“Fuck you,” Leshin hissed, bolting to the right.

All ten men chased her, cutting her off from the shoreline. But she wove between their grasping arms, stepping on their tails, tripping them in the sand, and bolting off toward the waves. Just before her feet could get damp, she threw her Slingpan down, then Slung three watery Arms from the water’s edge into the divots below. They picked her up, carrying her off into the ocean. It didn’t matter what direction she chose—she’d find an island either way. But for now, she had to get out. Pushing herself as fast as she could go, she instantly began to feel the watery Arms suck the moisture from her body. She’d have to be careful, but there was more than enough water to drink around her—saltwater tasted awful, but for Kinfolk, it was still good enough for emergencies.

She orbited her Slingpan so she could face backwards, even as she kept moving forward as fast as she could, carried aloft by her Arms, some ten feet above the ocean. Behind her, the ten men had already stood on their own pans, and several had begun to gain on her. While she couldn’t Sling very far from herself, she could toss the water quite a distance. So, with her two free Arms, funneling up from the water’s surface, she started chucking balls of water at the men. Just a tablespoon would be enough to force them back to shore. Sure enough, the closest man took a few drops to the face, and his pan dropped out from under him, sending him into the depths. A large orb nearly slammed into one of the men, but he curved around it and sent a few of his own projectiles right back.

Leshin dodged the first, but the second nearly caught her before she batted it into the ocean with her Arms. Some of those men had seven Arms—if they got too close, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

Taking a swig from her waterskin to stave off the effects of long-term Slinging, she started throwing orbs faster, harder. Another man went down. Then another. Then three more!

Only four remained, but these ones had gotten far too close. Fifty feet away. Forty. Thirty.

They must have had a hundred pounds on her, so they could control a lot more water. And they began throwing a barrage, forcing her to weave off to the side, slowing her down that much more. When she tried to retaliate, she watched in horror as they threw out miniature, brass Slingpans for their Arms to use as shields, deflecting her attacks with ease.

And then, in one awful moment, a few small drops of water touched her forehead. Her power evaporated, her Arms fell back into the ocean, and she tumbled against the water’s surface before plunging into the depths. She tried to swim further down, hoping to wait them out under the continental shelf. But one of the men dove after her and grabbed her by the tail. She thrashed against his overwhelming strength, but he held fast. He dragged her to the surface, where the tall, sneering man’s watery Arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her in midair.

“As I said, High Sister,” the tall man said, “the council has ordered you to remain in your home until morning. We had hoped your duty to The City would be enough to keep you there, but perhaps placing guards would be a safer measure.”

“Please,” Leshin said, “you have to let me go! It’s going to kill me!”

“No, High Sister,” the tall man said with a piteous look. “It’s going to keep you alive.”

 

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