Part 3 of 6 · 5 minThe Dock Master’s Warning

The boat scraped against a sandbar, grinding to a halt as Kavya fought for balance. Her arms trembled, the oars slipping from numb hands. The water around them churned with a strange, oily sheen, reflecting nothing but a distorted version of the sky that was already bleeding red at the edges. She reached out, fingers brushing the bronze bell hanging at her throat, but the metal felt warm and heavy, pulsing like a second heart.

"Turn harder," Vemulapalli called from the larger skiff behind her. He sat upright, his own boat rising and falling in rhythm with his song, a low thrum that vibrated through Kavya's ribs. "The tide waits for no one, girl. Especially not a shadowless one."

Kavya spun the boat around, but the current caught her side like an invisible hand, dragging them toward a cluster of jagged pilings jutting from the shallows. She needed to buy time. With a surge of desperate will, she grabbed the bell's rope and pulled it down hard. The bronze clanged against her collarbone, a sound that echoed not in the air but deep within the water itself.

A wave erupted beneath them, smooth and silent, lifting their small craft high into the air before dropping them back onto the sand with a wet thud. They rolled sideways, spilling brine-slicked water across Kavya's lap. She scrambled up, coughing, her vision blurry.

"Again!" Vemulapalli shouted, his voice cutting through the hiss of surf. "Pay your toll, taxmaster! The river demands a price for passage!"

Kavya stood, breathless, and looked toward the mouth of the river. It had narrowed into a dark throat, the water turning black and still despite the wind whipping her hair. In the center of that blackness, something shifted—a shape like a mountain made of liquid, waiting to swallow anything foolish enough to step forward.

She tightened her grip on the bell. "Then I will pay," she said, her voice hoarse. "But let us find where the old songs end."

Without another word, she paddled hard toward the edge of the black water, aiming for a cluster of rusted iron pilings that marked the site of an ancient dock. The wood was rotted through, swaying under the weight of her boat as it cut through the shallows. As they approached, a figure emerged from behind the pilings, leaning on a staff carved from driftwood and bone.

"Old Man Ramu," Kavya gasped, tugging the oars free. "You knew my mother would leave this to me."

Ramu squinted at her, his eyes milky with cataracts yet seeing everything. He nodded slowly as she anchored the boat against a post. "She was wise. You are… lighter than you were an hour ago."

Kavya looked down at her hands. Her skin felt papery, stretched tight over bones that seemed too sharp. She tried to recall her mother's laugh, but only found a hollow space where the sound should have been. "Lighter," she repeated. "What happened?"

"Payment is due," Ramu said, stepping into the boat as if he weighed nothing. He gestured toward the black water behind them, where Vemulapalli was circling closer now, his skiff cutting through the waves like a shark. "The bell was not forged in fire or earth, girl. It was made from the teeth of a drowned god. Every toll you ring costs a piece of your soul."

Kavya stared at him, the bell warm against her chest. "Then why did my mother survive?"

"Because she paid enough to forget who she was before the salt," Ramu replied, tapping his staff on the hull. "But even gods have debts that compound with interest. Vemulapalli knows this. He senses your shadow fading, and he intends to collect what remains."

Before Kavya could ask how to stop him, the water behind them surged again. The black tide rolled forward, forming a wall of darkness that crested high above the pilings. Vemulapalli stood up in his skiff, arms spread wide as if conducting an orchestra. His voice rose in pitch, harmonizing with the bell's hum until it became a physical pressure against Kavya's ears.

"Trade what you love most!" he sang, the notes twisting like serpents around her head. "Give me the face of your mother! Give me the taste of rain on dry lips! Anything to keep the water from claiming yours!"

Kavya clutched the bell, feeling its heat burn against her neck. She watched as the black wave crested once more, ready to crash over their bow. If she struck it now, she might lose the memory of her mother's face forever. But if she held on, the water would fill her lungs and drag them down into the deep.

Her fingers tightened around the rope. "Fine," she whispered. "Take it."

She closed her eyes and focused on the image of her mother—her smile, her laugh, the way she braided Kavya's hair before dawn. As the black wave crashed over them, filling the boat with a cold rush, Kavya reached inside her mind and pulled that memory free, handing it up to the tide like an offering.

When the water receded, her mother's face was gone, replaced by a smooth, blank surface. Yet her body remained strong, lighter than before.

Vemulapalli laughed as his skiff dipped low in the water, almost touching the black depths below. "Good choice," he called out. "Now we sail toward the real prize."

Kavya looked forward, seeing the river mouth stretch out into a vast, unknowable expanse where the sky and water merged into one dark plane. Behind them, Vemulapalli's boat picked up speed, leaving a trail of foam that glittered like crushed glass. Ahead, the black water seemed to swirl with a life of its own, pulling at their hulls as if inviting them deeper.

Ramu leaned forward, his milky eyes fixed on the horizon. "The backwaters lie beyond," he said softly. "There, under the full moon, the water turns truly black. The bell will reveal its true power there."

Kavya gripped the oars harder. "And what happens then?"

Ramu smiled, a crooked expression that didn't reach his eyes. "Then you'll learn why your mother chose to forget herself."

The three of them pushed off from the pilings, heading toward the dark mouth of the river as the black tide rose again, higher than before.