The Night of the Swarm

came to the beach. A sign warned of rip tides, and declared swimming forbidden. He undressed. He felt it was Thasha undressing him, her loving hands, her knowing smile.

He swam offshore with easy strokes. The current bore him swiftly out, and soon the land looked small and notional above the swells. When he tired, he let himself sink, and stayed there until he saw Klyst coming for him, her murth-beauty breathtaking, her teeth like a shark’s.

He would have to tell her of Thasha, that his heart had many chambers, that he dreamed of another’s return.

Serpentine arms went around him. He was still holding his breath. It’s not forever, he would have to say. But as he tried to form the words in her language, he found that ‘forever’ did not exist in the murthic tongue. There were words for now and later, for tomorrow, for tonight. But not forever. The effort tied him in knots.

‘Land-boy, do you love me?’ she asked. ‘Will you come with me today?’

Today. Iriritha. That was a lovely word, he thought.

He closed his eyes. Last chance. But then her lips brushed the shell beneath his collarbone, and there was no more waiting, no more doubt. He put his arms around her, buried his face in the kelp-forest of her hair. Klyst was laughing as he kissed her. ‘You can breathe again,’ she said.