Ice Massacre

by Tiana Warner

  “You’re like a rogue cat out there, honey,” said Mama. “Always sneaking around . . . I never know where you are.”

  “Oh, Mama. Where am I going to run off to?”

  A strange smell met my nose, like a kind of vegetable soup. Mama looked up as I entered the kitchen and her eyes fell to the string of shells hanging around my neck. She dropped the soup ladle on the counter. “Where did you get that?”

  I looked around her to the steaming pot on the stove. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Stinging nettle soup. Where did you get that necklace, Meela?”

  I cupped a shell and rubbed the soft underside, wondering if I should’ve tried to hide the necklace. “I found it.”

  She wiped her hands on her dress and marched over to me. “Meela, you know you can’t go to the beach. I forbid you from going outside on your own if you’re—”

  “I didn’t find it on the beach. It was lying in the rocks, by the grass. Don’t worry.”

  She sighed and held one of the shells in her hand, turning it over. “It is beautiful. Make sure you hide it. Don’t let your papa see it.”

  I smiled and hugged her, burying myself in her soft belly that she thought unattractive, but that I thought was perfect for hugging. She felt so warm compared to Lysi. “I won’t.”

  Mama hugged me back, then held me at arm’s length, looking down at my feet. “Honestly, child, they invented shoes for a reason. Go clean up and then come eat.”

  Before I’d made it two steps, she added, “And brush your hair. It looks like a seagull could lay eggs in it.”

  I pushed a matted lock away from my face, wishing my hair was golden and shiny like Lysi’s, which was always pretty, even with seaweed stuck in it.

  Running my fingers through my hair to untangle it, I ducked through the beaded curtains hanging across my bedroom door. Mama never liked them because they got in her way when she was trying to clean up, but the sea-blue beads made me feel like I lived in a grotto. I decorated the rest of my room to match, tying green ribbon in places and pretending it was seaweed. I never told Mama or Papa why, of course—they wouldn’t welcome such fantasies.

  I tucked the necklace safely in the bottom of my closet, which had more clothes on the floor than on hangers.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I said to Charlotte, who watched me from the window. She stayed there, motionless and non-judgmental as always.

  Charlotte hadn’t been a particularly welcome guest, but my window was a great spot for catching flies, so I let her stay and build her web. I didn’t want her to go hungry because of me. That was several weeks ago. When she didn’t leave, I’d picked her name out of an American story Mama once read to me. I liked that story because it made me think about friendship and loyalty, and how anyone can be friends—even if one of you likes to kill and eat bugs.

  I watched her bob idly in the wind for a moment before realising I was hungry enough to eat stinging nettle.

  The front door creaked. Papa was home. I rushed to scrub my feet clean in the tub and dried them by shuffling across the bathroom rug.

  Papa was grumbling when I entered the kitchen, his wide back to me as he stood over Mama. He’d brought the smell of petroleum and wood shavings into the house with him, masking the warm smell of soup and bannock.

  “. . . bad feeling in my bones about this one,” he said. I pulled a chair from the table and he turned, squinting down at me. “Nice of you to join us, Metlaa Gaela.”

  I sat down quietly. Papa almost always called me by my full name. He and Mama had named me after the earth and a sort of matronly figure, a choice I always thought was terrible. I liked the sea better than the earth and I sooner would’ve taken care of a snail than a baby.

  “How was your day, Papa?” I said, not looking up from my hands.

  “No action down at the shop,” he said grumpily. “Nobody’s got a penny to spend.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my eyes on my hands and nodded in an understanding sort of way.

  Mama shuffled over with our largest bowl full of steaming soup and set it down in front of Papa.

  “A man does miss having fish,” said Papa, frowning at the bowl.

  “I know, dear.” Mama looked at the side of his dark face with concern.

  “I’ll have milk with it.”

  Mama hurried to the fridge to pour him a glass. Papa guzzled it and handed it back to her for a refill. I watched him take another sip, then put it down and start on his soup. Mama brought me a much smaller bowl and a glass of water.

  “Did you finish your homework?” said Papa, raising his bushy eyebrows at my full backpack by the door.

  I swirled my spoon around my bowl. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  I lifted one shoulder.

  He looked pointedly at the old handmade clock on the wall. “It’s five o’clock. You should’ve done it straight after school. I won’t have a lazy—”

  “I was at Annith’s house,” I said quietly, still swirling my spoon.

  “Eh?”

  Mama cut in as she sat down with us. “She was at a friend’s house, dear.”

  It was partly true. I was there for a whole hour after school before I’d gone to see Lysi.

  “On a weeknight?” said Papa, sounding angry.

  “She’s only ten years old. They don’t have much homework at that age.”

  “Then give her chores, Hana. She’s growing up to be lazy.”

  Mama said nothing, but I knew she didn’t think I was lazy. I always helped her when she asked.

  Papa returned to his soup and I glanced at Mama. She pressed her lips together in a shadow of a reassuring smile, which made me feel better.

  I lifted my spoon to my lips and slurped tentatively, expecting something grassy and bitter. But the soup was bursting with flavour, and I smiled at Mama, once again amazed at her ability to turn weeds and scraps into something tasty.

  “It’s delicious!” I said, and lifted the bowl so I could drink it more quickly.

  “It’d be better with some meat in it,” said Papa.

  Mama made an indiscernible noise, maybe in agreement or pity, and we spent the rest of the meal in silence. I listened to the loudly ticking clock, then to a sudden downpour of rain against the kitchen window, then again to the ticking clock. I thought of the necklace sitting in my closet, colourful and shimmering. Annith would think it was pretty, too. I’d have to sneak it to school and show her.

  “We heard some good news today,” said Mama, setting down her spoon in her empty bowl.

  I looked up. “About the Massacre?”

  She nodded. “It’s rumoured that the lighthouse reported a sighting.”

  “Nilus’ ship?”

  She placed her hand over mine. “No, honey. This year’s.”

  “Oh.”

  She glanced at Papa, but he didn’t lift his eyes from his bowl.

  My gaze darted from one to the other. “Well, it’s still a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. Elaila will be happy to see her husband again.”

  Elaila was our neighbour. She’d married her boyfriend at seventeen, just before he left on the Massacre.

  Papa put down his spoon.

  “If they’d had any success, we’d know,” he said. “We wouldn’t have so many mermaid sightings because the vermin would all be dead.”

  Mama stared back pointedly, whispering, “Not in front of . . .”

  She nodded towards me.

  I frowned. “I can handle it. You don’t think the sailors are gonna make it, do you?”

  Neither of them said anything, but Papa raised his eyebrows at Mama.

  I looked down at my empty bowl. Why did we have a Massacre every spring when they weren’t working? Every year, we grew shorter on fish to trade with the mainland, which meant no supplies coming into our port. Every year, we had to harbour more fishing boats because it was only a matter of time before the mermaids decided they’d had enough and an
other boat was lost to the bottom of the Gulf of Alaska. Every year, it kept getting worse, and even though we tried to fix it, all we had to show were more boys lost at sea.

  “Whether or not they come back,” said Papa, “they’re heroes to this island. Eriana Kwai only chooses the most able-bodied boys to go on Massacres, and I don’t doubt for a moment they battled for our freedom with all their hearts and souls.”

  “So listen for the Homecoming bell tomorrow, Meela,” said Mama.

  I prodded at the dregs in my bowl. “I know.”

  The Massacre was the only time we were allowed near the water—to watch the warriors depart on the first of May, and if we were lucky, to watch them return some weeks later when they’d driven away the sea demons. When the ship was about to dock, the boy on lookout rang a big rusty bell and everyone went to see it arrive.

  Two years before, my brother had been sent out on a ship with nineteen other boys. The Homecoming bell had not rung in three years.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Deep Waters

  “Unbelievable! Where’d you get it? Did you make it? How many shells are on it? Oh my gosh, is that seaweed? Do your mama and papa know you have it? Are you allowed to keep it?”

  Annith was beside herself when I pulled out the shell necklace at recess. She was my best friend next to Lysi—although she thought she was my only best friend because she didn’t know about Lysi.

  “I found it on—near the beach,” I said, slipping it around my neck. “There are twelve shells on it and, yes, my mama knows, and she thinks it’s pretty.”

  Annith’s mouth gaped open, stretching her long face and making her look comical. She was sweet and freckled, but always wore her sister’s hand-me-down dresses, giving her a distinctly frail appearance.

  She reached out and touched one of the shells. I let her gawk.

  “Maybe a mermaid did it,” she whispered.

  “Maybe.” I forced myself not to agree with too much excitement.

  She leaned in, hazel eyes wide, and dropped her voice even lower. “D’you think mermaids wear jewellery, too?”

  Before I could answer, we were interrupted by a loud, disapproving voice. “What is that?”

  We turned and looked up into the thin, pointed face of Dani, who put her hands on her hips when we didn’t answer at once. She glared at us with slitted eyes. Dani had to be the nastiest person I knew, ever since the day I’d met her in kindergarten, when she slammed the classroom door on my fingers and laughed when I started crying.

  Her eyes bore in the direction of my necklace, wide and malicious. “Did your brother mail that to you from the bottom of the ocean?”

  I zipped my jacket up over the necklace, protecting it from her glare. “Watch what you say about my brother.”

  She laughed, dismissing my threat.

  “I mean it!” I said, my face heating up. “Or someone will have to mail you home from the bottom of the ocean!”

  Annith gasped. “Meela!”

  Dani straightened, her face souring.

  “You shouldn’t have shells,” she said. “Unless you’re trying to show the whole island you’re siding with flesh-eaters.”

  “Are you calling her a traitor?” said Annith.

  Dani ignored her. “They’re a bad omen and you know it. Get rid of them, or else—”

  “Or else?” I said. “What are you going to do about it?”

  She dropped her arms, fists clenched. Annith stepped between us, looking wary. “Maybe we should all—”

  “Stay out of this, Bucktooth.”

  I pushed my way around Annith, a little too forcefully in my anger. “Don’t talk to my friend like that!”

  Annith turned and pushed me back with two hands before I could do anything. “Let’s just go.”

  She took my hand and led us away. I looked over my shoulder, where Dani was already striding back to her friends, three boys who always fought over who would be her partner in gym class. They lingered a small distance away, avoiding our exchange.

  “You have to ignore her,” said Annith, bringing my attention back. “You always let her make you so angry.”

  “She needs to mind her own business.”

  “I know.”

  I huffed. “It’s a wonder she has any friends at all. I don’t know how those boys can stand to hang around a porcupine like her.”

  “Boys don’t care if a girl’s mean, as long as she’s pretty.”

  I watched the way the boys looked at Dani, with her extra long legs and extra wavy hair and extra plump lips, and I decided Annith was right.

  We trudged through the muddy field until we reached Eriana Trench, and Annith deemed it safe to let go of my hand.

  Our field had the most giant puddle in the entire island, so big that none of us knew how deep it was in the middle. Years ago, some older kids had named it Eriana Trench. If anyone was ever brave enough to try and get to the middle—usually on a dare—he would only get up to his waist before a teacher would come over and get us all in trouble. Most kids played there at recess and lunch, battling paper boats and seeing whose could stay afloat the longest. I imagined the trench floor to be a graveyard of paper shipwrecks.

  “Maybe you should keep the shells a secret,” said Annith. “Dani won’t be the only one who thinks—”

  “Man overboard!” I said, pointing into the Trench.

  Annith looked, but I knew she didn’t see it.

  “A bumblebee,” I said. “It’s drowning.”

  I stood at the edge of the puddle and watched it thrash in the water.

  “Let’s save it,” I said, scouring the ground for something useful.

  Annith just watched me in silence.

  “My big sister says we have a famine coming,” she said eventually.

  I peeled a soggy maple leaf off the ground and cupped it in my hand. “That’s stupid.”

  “Is not. She says it isn’t safe enough to go fishing anymore. Even if we did go fishing, the mermaids have eaten all the seafood.”

  “That’s why we’re getting food from the mainland,” I said, tossing aside the maple leaf and picking up a muddy stick.

  “But the mermaids are attacking the ships that bring the food over.”

  I stretched as far as I could with the stick, but I still couldn’t reach. I waded further into the Trench until the water touched the tops of my gumboots.

  “Regardless,” I said, trying to sound like a grown-up, “I do not agree with the Massacres and I think they should stop immediately.”

  “Why?”

  The icy water sloshed heavily inside my boots, threatening to suck them off my feet.

  “Just because the mermaids are eating a bit of our fish doesn’t mean we need to kill them all.”

  “They started killing us first! Besides, they totally don’t belong in the Pacific. My mama calls them an invasive species, and says they’re the worst problem—”

  “We saved him!”

  The bee clung to the end of the stick, and I held him high above the water as I trudged back to shore.

  Annith sighed, offering me a hand when she saw me struggle against my water-filled boots. When I got to land, I sat to take them off.

  Footsteps approached behind us and a boy’s voice spoke up. “Whatcha doing?”

  I looked up to see Tanuu and four of his friends staring at me.

  “Nothing,” I said, dumping the water from my boots. “What are you doing?”

  Tanuu squinted at the bumblebee on the ground. Behind me, Annith was as mute as she always was around boys.

  “Whatcha saving a bee for? He’ll just sting you, soon as he gets his breath back.”

  “Bumblebees don’t sting,” I said, jumping to my feet and preparing to defend the bee from the underside of a boot. One of the boys scanned my muddy clothes and smirked. I crossed my arms.

  “Do, too,” said Tanuu.

  “Not this one. He knows I saved him.”

  Tanuu looked at me, then at the ground,
then scooped the bee up with cupped hands. “Better get him to a dry place, then.”

  Tanuu moved the bee into a clump of bush where nobody would step on it, and I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as other boys.

  “Wanna play Demon Tag at lunch?” he said.

  I glanced back at Annith and saw her peering shyly at one of Tanuu’s friends, Haden. I rolled my eyes. “Sure. We’ll play with you.”

  Tanuu flashed his stark white teeth at me. I looked down. He reminded me of a bear, the way his hair and skin and eyes were so dark but his teeth seemed to jump out.

  “See you at lunch,” I said, and turned back to the puddle as if very busy cleaning the mud from my hands.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Annith give a small wave to Haden, and then she squatted next to me.

  “Oh my gosh, he’s so cute,” she said in the same tone the older girls used when they gushed about boys.

  “You wouldn’t know a cute boy from a toad.”

  “Do, too. His cheekbones just make me melt.”

  I pictured her melting into the puddle at our feet and giggled. “That doesn’t even make sense. You’ve been listening to your sister too much.”

  The bell rang, signalling the end of recess, and Annith stood and smoothed her oversized dress.

  “Well, I think you should go out with Tanuu. He’s totally cute and he’s always talking to you.”

  I made a face. “I think I would rather go out with a toad.”

  I kept my eye on Dani the whole day, ready to pounce if she stepped anywhere near my backpack in the cubby room. But she stayed put. With Miss Paige watching, she was a lamb. Grown-ups always thought she was “such a delightful girl,” and I hated her even more for it.

  Annith was right. All the boys might have liked Dani, but she didn’t have many friends. The thought satisfied me in a vengeful sort of way that probably should’ve made me feel guilty. Whenever Dani did make a friend, only a month or so would pass before I would see the other girl crying by herself at recess. One time, that girl was Annith. In grade one, Dani picked her as her new best friend and they spent every day together for a week. It was when I found Annith crying in the cubby room that she and I became best friends. Real best friends.