Underwater

The steps lead down to the water. Morning glories, closed against the night’s chill, trailed around the metal handrail; ivy grew over the stone walls that enclosed the staircase.

Water oscillated over the last step, each time covering it with a mere film of moisture. It moved enough so that the moss which covered the boulders surrounding the lake had left the step alone.

It felt pleasant against her feet as she stood there, her right hand cupped against her thigh, her other hand gripping her right arm, just beneath the livid bruise on her shoulder. She closed her eyes as the breeze swept through her hair.

A real wave broke over her feet, splashing on her calves, and she shivered. Opening her eyes, she watched as a current wove its way through the smooth surface of the lake. She rubbed her arm in a distracted manner as she waited, fingers digging white circles into the skin.

Her dress did not fit as well as it once had. The cotton was stressed from its years of use, a few threads dangling loose. The sun—the sun!—had bleached the already pale blue to near-white. But she’d craved its familiar texture and so had removed it from its hidden box.

At the tip of the handrail was a long spike, placed upright, still stained from her last visit. She studied the movement in the water, now circling a small distance from the steps, and sighed. Reaching out, she plunged her index finger onto the thin metal, nearly impaling the digit entirely.

She pulled her finger off the spike and swept her arm in a curve over the water. Her blood glinted silver in the moonlight, falling in a parabola. The drops rested on the surface of the lake for a moment before sinking.

Wincing, she shook off a few more globules of blood into the water before squeezing her finger into her fist. She clasped her other hand around it to provide more pressure. A few breaths in and out did little to dull the pain.

The head that rose from the water was sleek, and covered with scales that glinted like chips of mica. One oval black eye reflected the lake; the other, the moon. Swimming toward her, the whole creature appeared by inches, all of it smooth, shiny, and silent.

She just watched, shaking from the cold and the anticipation. Despite her best efforts, blood slithered down her arm, dripping onto the steps. It was so quiet that the liquid landed with audible splashes. She took another deep breath. “Hello, Mother.”

Her mother folded her arms, leaning against a boulder that rose from the bottom of the lake. “Sefiera.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, as the water rose to the level of her ankles.

“You have not been here for some time, Sefeira.” Her mother placed a hand on the step, careful to keep it under the water. “In fact, I remember that the last time you came to me, you swore that you would never return.”

Sefeira moved a few stairs up, out of the water. “Mother—I—” She swallowed hard. “I was wrong, to say what I did.” She stared back at her mother, suddenly defiant. Neither woman blinked. “But I was not the only one.”

Tapping her hand on the stair, raising little bubbles that floated to the surface, her mother frowned. “This is why you are here? To make peace?” She pursed her wide mouth. “This is. . . unlike you, daughter.”

Shrugging, Sefeira spread her hands wide. “Perhaps I have been too long in the world, mother. Things move. . . differently, out here.” She went to step back down, but caught a toe on the edge of the stair. Unable to catch herself, she fell against the left wall. The wind knocked out of her, she curled her right arm over her stomach, looking down with alarm. She looked up in time to see her mother’s eyes widen.

The other woman pulled herself up towards her daughter with a great effort, arms trembling against the unaccustomed weight of her body. “No.” She gasped, struggling to breathe, her gaze fixed on Sefeira. “No!”

Sefeira put her hand to her mouth. Looking away from her mother, she noticed blood smeared on her dress, a starburst over her left hip. “I. . . yes.” Wiping at the stain with the back of her hand, she let out a quavering sigh. “I’m—I’m sorry, mother.”

Unable to hold herself up, her mother slid back into the water, only her eyes and the top of her head above the surface. “You wore the dress I made you.” Her words were garbled by the liquid, but Sefeira understood. “It no longer fits so well, does it? Especially around the. . . stomach area.”

It was the expected remark, but it still made the woman choke for a moment. Giving up on the stain, she returned to her first position and caught her breath. The solidness of her upper arm in her hand comforted her. “It will be a monster.”

Her mother said nothing.

Sefeira bit her lip. “Of course it will be a monster. I know that.” She dug her fingers into her own flesh, wondering if they would bruise. She risked a glance up at her mother. “I need your help. Please.”

The other woman huffed, raising a plume of water and a cloud of bubbles. “Yes, this makes more sense. You return for my assistance.” She treaded water, her webbed hands barely disturbing the surface of the water. “But. . . what kind, Sefeira?”

She loosened her grasp, instead just stroking her arm, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “May I have. . . may I have my true form back? Just for a moment. I want. . . I want to give it to you.” She swallowed hard again. “The baby. I want to give it to you.”

Her mother swam toward the steps again, the last few of which were still covered by the lake, her expression furious. “He is so perfect in your eyes then, still, that you would abandon your child for him? Even though it is a monster, it deserves more care for you than that! You have no. . . room for anything in your heart except yourself and that man!” She spat the last word.

“It’s not like that!” Sefeira said, glaring back at her mother. She pointed at the bruise on her shoulder with a jab of her bloody finger, her other hand clenched in a fist. “Has algae grown over your eyes? Have you slumbered so long that your mind is only dreams and water?” She poked the bruise itself and hissed at the contact. She whispered, face tight with emotion and pain, “It’s not like that at all.”

Neither woman spoke for a moment. The breeze rippled over the surface of the lake. Her mother reached up and tapped her daughter on the ankle. “You know I cannot leave the lake anymore. I cannot. . . avenge you, my daughter.”

Sefeira smiled, her eyes reflecting the moon, and the lake, her pupils large in the dark. “As if I were asking for that. No, mother, I can take care of myself.” She stopped smiling, but continued to show her teeth. “I can take care of. . . him.” Kneeling to clasp her mother’s hand, she sighed. “No.”

Stroking the back of her daughter’s hand, the other woman answered the sigh with a chuckle. “I see how it is. You wish back your teeth, your claws—you will find the answer to your injuries in his screams?”

Her daughter yanked her hand away and stood again. “Yes, but—” She snarled, her eyes still unblinking. “He’s going to know who kills him. It has to be my familiar face that fills his last sight.” She ran her hand over the spike on the railing. “I just want to give you the child before I go back there.”

The lake rose again, swallowing another step.

“The other humans will kill you.”

“Yes.”

The moon shone on the lake, the light bouncing as the water undulated.

“Why.”

Sefeira smiled. Frowned. Shrugged. Finally she spread her fingers over her stomach and sighed. “Because you warned me, and I ignored you, and now there is a monster. My child, a monster. It will kill everything if given half the chance. My fault.”

Her mother let out a low moan, cupping her hands against her head. “You don’t have to do this. Perhaps. . . perhaps we can change. We can forget about the revenge, just this once.” She pulled herself up a few steps, sprawling at Seferia’s feet. Water dripped as she gasped in the air. “Come home, my daughter. Come home and live with me and your child. We will sleep and dream, and then wake and swim and eat the little fish, and sleep and dream again. You will be safe here.” Panting, she hauled herself to her feet using the handrail, leaning on it. “Please, Sefeira. Please!” Exhausted, she fell to a seated position.

Sefeira sat on the step above her. She spread her hands wide again with a sad smile. “I can’t, my mother. I can’t stand to sleep and dream anymore. I. . . I have been too long in the world.” She stroked her mother’s arm. “I’m sorry. Just. . . please take the child. Give it sleep and dreams instead. Let it dream of a world where its mother is not foolish, not cruel and selfish. A world where it can unleash all of its little nightmares and cause no harm to anybody.” Plucking a furled morning glory, she tucked it behind her mother’s ear, her own eyes wet. “All the nicest dreams, like you gave me when I was a little girl.”

A leaf, floating in the lake, drifted up on the steps and tangled in the lattice-work of the handrail base. Its scallops scraped against the metal, ringing in the cold air.

“I will take the child.” Her mother reached over and took the leaf in her hand. She let it sit in her palm, staring at the intricate tracery of its veins. “You do not even have to return to your—our—old form.” Raising the leaf to her lips, she blew it away again. She half-turned to look up at her daughter and smiled a little. Placing her hand over her daughter’s stomach, she closed her eyes and whistled for a moment, the high-pitched noise echoing off the walls around them. When she took her hand away again, she held a small egg. It gleamed in the moonlight, gelatinous, a translucent gold through which the hint of the child inside could be seen. She looked up at her daughter. “I should kill it now, before it grows into its hatred.”

“Yes.”

The dark blotch inside the egg squirmed a little, and the egg jiggled in her hand. She cupped both palms together and cradled it. She sighed. “But I will not. I will give it the dreams that you want it to have, Sefeira. Ugly red dreams full of pain—the nasty imaginings of an abomination. It will sleep in the caves where it can hurt no-one.” She lifted it to eye-level. “I wonder whose eyes it will have.”

Sefeira reached out to touch her child, then pulled back. Unconsciously, she smoothed her hand over her now empty stomach. “I should go.”

Nodding, her mother looked up at her daughter, sighed, and looked away again. “I would embrace you, but I fear to drop it.”

Her daughter leaned over and put her arms around her mother. The other woman inclined backwards into the embrace, which lasted only a moment before they pulled apart again. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Sefeira.” Something wet shone in her mother’s eyes for just a moment. “You could still stay.”

Sefeira rose to her feet, shaking her head. “That is not our way, Mother. He will be repaid for every injury—I am still enough of your daughter to demand that.” She walked up the staircase, leaning on the rail for support. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

When she came to the top step, Sefeira turned and looked down. Her hand, still resting on the banister, trembled, and she opened her mouth to speak. Her shoulder, twisting as she moved, sent out a fresh spark of pain, and her expression firmed. She raised her other hand in a wave, but her mother was absorbed with staring into the depths of the egg, murmuring to it. Sefeira nodded once, stepped back from the lake, and walked away, stopping only to pick up her shoes from where she had left them.