There were many unspoken rules whispered throughout the Isles. Never eat fish on Aridon. Never venture to the docks after dusk. And, above all, never underestimate the Líadan.

Muirenn broke this last rule several times. They had seen the consequences for themself. If they took a breath right now, they could still smell the salt-encrusted flesh of the last punishment, could hear the wispy voices that chanted the same phrase over and over.

All things borne of the sea return from whence they came.

The hairs on the back of Muirenn's neck rose thinking about it.

They stared into the water. The ocean roiled in time to their thoughts. Foam squished between their toes and tickled their soles.

As they shifted from foot to foot, they ran their thumb over the coin in their hand. A good luck charm, one of the elders had called it. They'd insisted Muirenn carry it at all times to ward them from the evils of the Isles.

It will grant you one wish in life, Child. Wish wisely.

The coin gleamed bright against their pale skin. A mouthed prayer left them before, with a wretched scream, they threw the coin as hard as they could.

It skipped once, twice, three times before setting hard on the waves and sinking out of sight.

#

It was said throughout the Isles that Muirenn had been born during a thunderstorm. They were right, almost.

Muirenn was too old to remember now – really, they had never been able to remember to begin with – but the Líadan had filled them in well.

"The moment you emerged, pale and screaming, the sky split itself in half."

A doctor had cut their umbilical cord, it was said, and a tidal wave overtook the small isle of Verisque. By the time they were swaddled and put to their enbei's breast, another island had gone under water.

And then, as quick as it had come, calm.

It was a proud history to bear, the elders said. So proud, in fact, the Líadan decided to pay Muirenn a visit.

#

Muirenn's first sacrifice came when they were ten. They still remembered the scream cut short as the man gurgled blood and clawed at his throat. Death had not been swift for him.

After the first came a rapid string of others. A death for every year of Muirenn's cursed existence. A death for every flaw. Sacrifices, the Líadan called them. Sacrifices towards Muirenn's improvement. And with each death, the Líadan filled the Isles with superstition.

Before then, Muirenn could've pretended the Líadan were not cruel.

By thirteen, Muirenn stopped counting the deaths their birth had caused. Blood was blood was blood. All things born of the sea returned to whence they came, after all. Muirenn, the Líadan, the islanders... they all would die and become salt-encrusted fish food at the bottom of the sea. In that sense, their lives and deaths were meaningless.

Now they sat on their throne as a small child was pushed to their knees. A simple gown of white engulfed their entire body. A pathetic whimper left their lips.

One of the Líadan brandished her athame, greying hair pulled back tight against her skull. She cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing the offering. "Will you not beg for your life?"

The sacrifice didn't answer. Whether they wouldn't or simply couldn't, it was difficult to tell. Instead, they planted their forehead to the courtyard floor. Sand shifted as they breathed.

"No final words?" goaded another of the Líadan. "No offerings to the great goddex of the sea?"

No reply. The first elder grabbed them by the hair and wrenched their head back. Their lips moved without sound. Muirenn frowned. They're praying. To whom?

The dagger moved quick as a snake and ripped a line of crimson across their throat. The sacrifice fell to their knees, gagging on blood.

It was a long time before the body stopped jerking.

#

For Muirenn's sixteenth birthday, they got a corpse and a coin.

The corpse was cold. They were always cold. Muirenn had been dragged from the safety of their bed to view the spectacle, to watch as the stranger's blood spilled across granite and sand and pooled at their feet. Once, it had been a tragedy. Now it was a nuisance.

Once the corpse had been burned and the ashes scattered, one of the elders had pulled Muirenn aside.

"This is a coin as old as the gods," he said as he pressed it to their palm. "It will grant you one wish in life, Child. Whenever you want it to. Wish wisely, for it is the only wish you'll gain not bathed in blood."

Muirenn hadn't been sure what he'd meant then. But now, watching as the coin sank into the ocean, they thought they understood at last. Perhaps it wasn't the coin that mattered, but what they put the coin towards.

He was wrong. This wish, too, will be a gift bathed in blood. Let this be enough, they prayed as ocean spray flecked their toes. The sea gurgled and swirled where the coin had landed. Then, all was still.

Muirenn turned away. For the first time in decades, a slight smile adorned their face. The world didn't seem so hopeless.

#

For decades, their life was one of routine. Scout the Isles and grant miracles. Watch the sacrifices fall at their knees and die When the time came, bury an elder and welcome a new face into the fold of the Líadan.

The last of that list didn't happen as often as the rest. In all of Muirenn's years, it had come thrice.

The process was a simple one. The elder in question was wrapped in white robes and strapped to a table. The rest of the Líadan drained them of their blood and drank it. Once drained, they were cremated and the ashes scattered.

Muirenn wiped their palms on their robes, satisfied with the streaks of ash they left. If they gave their clothes a careful eye, they could see the bloodstains that hadn't been washed out yet. Something about the uncleanliness brought a smile to their face. Before them, the third elder's funeral pyre continued to blaze.

The next night, the newest elder came to their isle of Cicaro.

Zhe didn't have a name. None of the elders did. The Líadan took their names from them the moment they accepted the role. All Muirenn remembered of this newcomer was zheir blue eyes and the uncanny feeling of... what was it?

Fear. Muirenn couldn't remember the last time they'd been afraid.

With zheir arrival came a change in the rules. No longer could anyone wander out by themself. It sent a bad message, zhe said. The Líadan, and Muirenn, were a unified force. And to show that unity, they had to be a force of numbers.

Gone, too, were the sacrifices that had filled Muirenn's thoughts. Thirty years too late, they thought bitterly when the proclamation was announced. Instead, each transgression was marked on Miurenn's body. Whip lashes, burn marks, thin and fading scars... They never knew what they were going to get when the elders dragged them to the quiet room.

Muirenn hated the quiet room.

Now they stared at the fresh lashes on their forearms, healing under whatever tingly poultice the elders had put on them. Harm and heal, a vicious cycle. It made Muirenn's jaw twitch.

They itched at a bare spot on their foot. Out the barred window, seagulls danced together over the ocean. Muirenn watched them with a sigh. Once, they had been that free. But then, the newest elder snipped their flight feathers.

The poultice on the back of their hand tingled. Sweat – or perhaps blood – dripped down their back. A wet patch was forming in their robes. As they reached back to check, they brushed against something solid. Something... round.

Muirenn felt around the edges, confused. Whatever the object was, it was small and flat and mostly round. Then, as they traced over one of the sides, it came to them.

The coin. Muirenn's gentle thumbstrokes became desperate rubs. The coin.

This coin is as old as the gods...

Muirenn shook the words away. They weren't sure they even believed in gods anymore, but maybe...

With an erratic heart, they reached under their robes and tugged at the hidden pocket. They'd sewn it in – what, ten years ago/ - after the elders tried to steal the coin. It was shoddy stitching and came off without much effort. But, they noted as they rolled the coin on their palm, it had been kept safe.

Muirenn clenched the coin tight. Already the beginnings of a plan was boiling to the surface.

#

At first, the sea remained unchanged. The waves rolled in the out and soaked Muirenn's toes.

Then, as hopelessness crept into their thoughts, a ripple. Hands of ice gripped their skull, touched deep into Muirenn's mind itself.

I'm doing it, they thought around a wince. I'm... doing it.

For the first time they could remember, Muirenn wanted to laugh.

The icy hands gripped their skull tighter, until it was close to bursting. Raw power radiated from their palms, power that made Muirenn's heart ache. Once, they'd had that much power, before the Líadan took it away. Always with the hands. Always --

Muirenn clutched their temple and swallowed down a scream. Ringing filled their ears. The waves surged up to their calves.

Prove your worth if you wish to have control.

As the ghastly words faded to nothing, the ocean reared back. A massive tidal wave crashed against the docks. When it receded, it took Muirenn with it. At first, they couldn't comprehend what had happened. In their sudden panic, the breath escaped them in a rush of bubbles.

Bubbles... Water. I'm...

Now, each breath was its own sort of misery. Water filled their mouth with every gasp they took. As hard as Muirenn fought, the sea fought harder.

Muirenn couldn't breathe anymore. Saltwater choked the fight out of them. Still, as the sea turned black, Muirenn had one final thought.

I'd rather die here than at the temple.

They couldn't move. They weren't scared, though. For the first time in decades, they were... calm.

It was then the ocean decided to spit them out.

Muirenn crashed against the docks hard enough to vomit. Wave after wave of blood and bile and salt spewed from them, painting the dock with flecks of red. The world spun on its axis and refused to still.

They were half-dead. Half-dead, but still alive. Despair wrenched their guts with a knife.

I don't understand. I should have died. I don't understand.

Muirenn tried to crawl and found only splinters under their nails. They weren't strong enough to throw themself back.

I... should've... died.

Salt framed their eyes – it was too painful to cry. Painful still was the realization of their failure. They would be found by the Líadan, a half-drowned rat playing at being a god. Perhaps the elders would invent a new torture for this transgression.

The coin did nothing.

A gentle licking came from the soles of their feet, ticklish but easy to ignore. Muirenn pulled their feet back and tried to sit up, rage and despair their sole motivator.

Then the tickling stopped. A strange firmness washed over them and lifted Muirenn upright. They found themselves standing on the docks. No, not standing, they realized as they stared between their toes. Floating.

No. I couldn't have...

Somewhere in the back of their head slept memories of an older time. All they'd had to was point and...

Muirenn swirled their finger over the pool at their feet. At once, a small vortex bubbled to life. And, they noted with a smile, the headache plaguing them for years was gone.

It was still challenging to stand on their own, but Muirenn decided they didn't care. Flashes of an old life fueled their actions. They made the waves dance at their heels, testing it. Only when they were satisfied did they throw their hands up, a victorious crescendo, and watch the sea crash around them.

Their attempts ended with them face-down on the docks. Every inch of their body ached. Still, they picked themselves back up with a clenched jaw and rode the tempest up Cicaro Hill.

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