Normally, I love the moon. But not tonight.

The moon usually means peace after a long day of fishing or harvesting. It means I can go down to the beach and gaze up at the stars and maybe even fall asleep under their watchful gaze.

But now, the moon means something else. Something twisted by the invaders who arrived on that dark day two years ago, the day my mother’s blood colored the sand and my people’s floral wristlets became chains. They’ve plundered our beloved island, and now they’ve taken the moon hostage and held it responsible for their crooked ceremony. They’re blinded by their greed, acting as if my people are willing participants rather than prisoners.

But I will open their eyes.

“Mihri, it’s time.” Father’s feeble tone barely reaches my ears despite the still evening.

I turn from the gentle waves and follow his voice up the jagged cliffs to where a sputtering torch illuminates his haggard face. It still catches me off guard—he’s not the same strong, proud chief that I used to know. Not only have they taken his headdress, but they’ve taken his spirit with it.

I grit my teeth and push all my anger, my fear, my grief into hurrying up to meet him. One way or another, tonight is where it all ends.

As we trace the gravel path through the village, a chill runs up my spine. The houses are eerily quiet, but something tells me nobody’s sleeping. Some are waiting, waiting to find out if our island will still be ours when the sun comes up. The rest are praying to the gods that they would continue to drive fear into the hearts of our invaders.

Ambassador Harlan’s men are already waiting for us at the end of the dock. Dragging my feet, I head in their direction. I ignore their leering grins as I help Father into the small rowboat that’s bobbing on the gentle waves, then climb in beside him. As we move away from shore, everything is silent except for the slap of the paddles hitting the algae-filled water. It must be nearly ready to bloom.

It doesn’t take long before the shadow of the HMS Valor falls over the tiny boat like a burial shroud. I nearly scoff. There’s nothing valiant about this ship or any of the men on it.

My eyes trace the gentle ridges of the island, noting the lush greenery of the jungle, the rock cliffs that drop into the sea, and how the dark beaches glisten with every lap of the waves. My people stand along the shore, barely visible amongst the trees, waiting and hoping. They’re counting on us—counting on me.

I can feel the ship looming behind me and, slowly, I turn to face it. I won’t let them take our island.

***

I stand helpless on the deck of the ship, Father by my side.

Ambassador Harlan emerges from the captain’s cabin, his face set into a greasy smile. “Chief Teva,” he jeers. “Lady Mihri.”

I force myself to lower my head and dip into a curtsy, stretching the scars on my back from the first and only time I’d refused the gesture of submission.

“Shall we begin then?” Ambassador Harlan asks. “It’ll be nice to finally make this island officially mine.”

My nails dig into my palms and tears of anger prick at my eyes. I have to do something.

Harlan’s blue eyes drill into mine as if he knows what I’m thinking, their color not that of the brilliant ocean like he would want to believe, but the cold blue of a corpse’s skin, leached of life and full of rot. “Lock the girl in one of the cabins,” he orders with a careless wave of his hand.

I struggle as two of his men grab me by the arms and begin to pull me away. The Father I knew would have tossed them into the ocean for touching me, but he only watches, his dark eyes a horrible mix of grief and resignation.

Slumping against their hold, I let them drag me into the dark breezeway. I can’t keep the tears from streaking down my cheeks as they shove me into a cabin. They don’t bother to lock the door behind them. They know as well as I do that there’s nothing I can do. Leaning my forehead against the door, I let myself shake with sobs.

A creak of the floorboards makes me jerk upright, just in time for a hand to clamp over my mouth. I kick and scratch at the stifling arm, but its grip is unwavering.

“Hold still, Mihri,” my attacker urges, tone low and cautious.

I freeze. I know that voice.

“It’s me,” he whispers.

I glower. Of course it’s Etuate. I bet he’s here to secure proof of Father’s incompetence for his father’s campaign to be chief.

Hesitantly, my nemesis since childhood releases me.

Chest heaving, I whirl to face him. “What was that for? Actually, the better question is what in the tides are you doing here?”

Water drips from his wavy dark hair and molds his tunic to his lean form. “I’m here to stop you from doing something stupid that will cost us all our freedom.”

My nostrils flare. “You didn’t actually think I’d let Father sign the treaty, did you?”

“It doesn’t look like you’re stopping it.”

I didn’t think Etuate’s words had the power to hurt me, but I flinch, the sting as sharp as if he’d slapped me. I hate that he’s right. “And you have a plan?” is all I can manage in response.

“Actually, I do.”

“What is it?” I grit out. It takes all I have not to punch him, but the truth is that I need any help I can get.

Etuate leans closer, his soaking clothes dripping onto the wooden floor in a steady plunking. I expect him to refuse to tell me or give some sort of condition, but his plan spills out of his mouth without hesitation or demand.

I stare up at him, dumbfounded not only by the quality of his plan but also his willingness to cooperate. “You’re telling me, just like that?”

He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Mihri, despite who I think should be chief, this is all of our island and I’m not going to let it be taken by those filthy invaders.”

Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath. “Neither am I.”

“Good,” he says, giving my hand the briefest squeeze before adding, “But as soon as this is over, I’m never helping you again.”

“Deal.” I turn to the cabin door, then stop. “Whatever happens, please make sure my father is safe.”

He nods, going still. “Of course.”

No one stops me as I barge out of the cabin and down the hallway. The moment I reach the deck, Father’s gaze finds me.

Harlan doesn’t even bother looking up. “What’s she doing here?” He’s standing over the moontable, its namesake beaming down on its ornately carved surface, causing rivulets of silver to run through its gilded crevices.

Harlan’s men stutter their apologies and stalk toward me, but Harlan stops them. “Let her stay,” he purrs. “It might humble her to watch.”

My heart pounds as Harlan pulls a bejeweled dagger out of his belt and brings it against his palm without a moment of hesitation. Blood spills down onto the table, splattering on its surface and filling the carved channels, replacing the silver with red.

And they called us savages. They seal their treaties with blood while we place our hands on the same conch shell and trust the other person to keep their side of the bargain.

Harlan extends the knife, hilt first, to Father. 

Hands trembling, Father takes it. 

My breath hitches, Etuate’s plan flashing through my mind. It’s now or never.

I lunge forward, grabbing the knife from Father and pushing him back, wincing as he falls to the deck with a thud. Bringing the weapon up, I swipe against my hand. The knife bites into my skin and dark red leaks from the cut.

My blood hits the treaty and seeps through it to the stone beneath.

Harlan watches, eyes wide with horror, as our blood mixes, light erupting from where they touch. The brilliance makes the light of the moon look like a candle next to a roaring house fire.

I throw a hand over my eyes, scrambling away from the light. Trembling, I wait for my skin to disintegrate to dust as the treaty recognizes that I can’t give away what doesn’t belong to me.

But just as suddenly as the light appeared, it’s gone.

I blink, my eyes slowly adjusting. When I can see again, my whole body slumps. The treaty’s edges now gleam with gold, the ritual complete and ready to be signed—our island tied up in a neat little bow.

Harlan’s gleeful laugh sends a chill up my spine. “Good idea, but it didn’t work, little girl. Your stupid ideology that the island belongs to everyone backfired.” His eyes light with a cruel gleam. “It looks like I could’ve gotten any one of you to come out here tonight. I guess you’ll be the one signing the treaty instead.”

He’s right. Etuate and I—we failed. I rack my brain to come up with a new solution, but I know it’s hopeless. Anything I try will only earn both Father and me slit throats, and Harlan won’t give up until the treaty is signed.

A sob climbs up my throat—I want to collapse with the pain of it, but I refuse to give Harlan the satisfaction. His smile is wide enough already.

He takes a quill from one of his men and scrawls a sloppy signature across the bottom of the treaty.

Our island isn’t even worth his best handwriting. He holds out the quill to me. “Sign it, Mihri.” My eyes sting with tears.

I take the feathered quill from him. My feet drag with every step toward the treaty, but the knife at Father’s neck keeps me moving.

Just as I’m lowering the pen to the treaty, a humid gust of air sweeps over the side of the boat, bringing with it the briny scent of algae, and pulling clouds over the moon.

Algae. Something clicks in my mind. The humidity of an incoming storm.

Please work, I pray to the gods whose very names invoke fear in the invaders. “Hurry up,” Harlan snaps.

I slowly look up at him, letting my whole body tremble. “I–I can’t. The gods are displeased.”

The blood drains from Harlan’s face, but he holds his ground. “Stop with your nonsense and sign the treaty.”

“There’s blood in the water,” I say, dropping my voice to an eerie whisper. I hold my breath.

A young man with a pockmarked face takes the bait, his face pale with terror. “Ambassador Harlan!” he exclaims. “Look at the water!”

Everyone rushes to the edge, gasps and curses echoing out from them. Advancing my performance, I fall to the deck, my whole body quaking.

“Sir, she’s possessed!” another man says.

“She’s faking it, you idiots,” Harlan snaps.

“But the water,” the young man repeats, voice cracking. “Sir, look at it—it’s red as blood. That ain’t natural!”

I increase my flailing.

Right on cue, lightning streaks the sky, followed by a clap of thunder that shakes the deck.

“The gods have passed their judgement on us!” a sailor wails.

“It’s just a storm!” Harlan shouts, but his voice is weak amidst the strengthening squall.

I grow dramatically still just as the rain begins to pound against the ship. Screams erupt from the ship’s crew. They only increase as Harlan sways abruptly before folding over and heaving all over the deck. I almost forget to keep up my act as the foul smell hits me.

“What’s wrong with him?” someone shrieks.

“The gods are cursing us,” another howls.

Their cries rise to a crescendo. “Toss the islanders over! We need to get out of here!”

Hands grab my arms and drag me to the boat’s edge, desperation in the way their nails dig into my skin. I struggle and flail as they pull me toward the edge, but the moment they hold me over the side I relax, and I allow myself to fall into the choppy water.

Freshly bloomed algae tangles with my limbs, its crimson pollen swirling through the water like juice fresh from a dragon fruit. I wince as the salt water bites into the cut on my hand, but I still can’t stop a smile from spreading across my face, savoring the slimy texture of the algae against my skin.

Another splash sounds beside me and Father’s head pops above the waves. I quickly swim to his side and loop an arm under him. A shadow looms above us before Etuate dives into the water with barely a sound. He surfaces, shaking water from his hair.

“What was that?” Etuate laughs. “I didn’t know you could lie like that.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t stop a grin from spreading across my face. “Well, your plan failed, so what was I supposed to do?”

“I’ll help him,” he says, taking Father’s weight from me. “We need to get out of the water before lightning strikes again.”

As we make our way slowly through the seaweed, the grinding of a rising anchor echoes across the water. I turn, treading, and watch in disbelief as the invaders’ ship unfurls its sails and begins to glide away, taking their corrupt treaty with them.

My laugh echoes over the water. We are finally free. Harlan and the Commonwealth will never bother us again.

Abby Henderson

Abby Henderson is a teenage writer from Minnesota. She’s written several short stories, a series of novelettes, and two novels, though Treaty of Vengeance is her first piece of writing that’s been published. When she’s not writing, you can find her reading a good book with a mug of chai tea, or singing her favorite songs while she plays the piano. If you want to connect with her and learn more about her projects, you can subscribe to her newsletter at The Introverted Writer.