Victoria Collins, author

Below is the original version of the opening scene, for comparison’s sake…

Rabid waves shoved Ria backward as she reached for the ForeignThing. White-water bent her like a strand of weed, but nothing short of a moonbird could make Ria command her body stop at this moment.

Her mini dress clung, transparent, to her stomach and thighs and an undercurrent yanked at her feet.

‘Let it go, Ria!’

A far part of her mind struggled to name the voice, but the ForeignThing was so close…

A wave crashed itself against her, sweeping her backward and under and shattering her world into foam and murk. Salt and sand ripped into her lungs and out her nose like acid.

Sandy broth filled the entire, craggy little bay, with long bubbly streaks where rips raced to sea with such force they created outgoing waves that smashed against those coming in. The wind Ayeesha spiralled round, whipping the waters into peaks, wringing her hands, ‘No, child, no!’.

The people of the island had twelve names for the winds but only one for the ocean: the everstorm. It denied passage to all who would cross, but occasionally brought to Ria morsels of proof of those other places from which it kept her.

The bleached seed pod bobbed on top of the water: sideways and forward, sideways and back. It was bigger by far than all her other foreign treasures; bigger even than her favourite piece of driftwood which looked just enough like a sleeping sparrow that it might have been carved by distant hands, their tool marks smoothed anonymous by the waves.

Sand and shell-grit skinned Ria’s buttocks and palms as she scrambled underwater for a sign of up versus down – and something from which to push off. Another inbound wave wrenched her over and under and over again. Her lungs screamed for breath and the world turned the colour of bruises, then the cloudy white of almost-unconsciousness. She punched through the white and sucked in warm air and bubbles.

‘Ria, for stars’ sake you don’t NEED it, I’ve got-’

The far part of her mind settled on a name for the voice, but it was an impossible name. The everstorm roared over it.

Oren.

Here.

Close.

What could Oren possibly have for her? WHY would Oren possibly have something for her?

‘..something better. Just WAIT!’

The everstorm threw her aside and slammed her limp body against the muscle-encrusted rocks. She fumbled for a stronghold but the carpet of baby muscle shells felt like a bed of nails, their paper-thin lips slicing her skin. A leathery strand of kelp slithered round her ankle, and she lost all control like a kid before a ghost.

She really shouldn’t be in the water again; shouldn’t be pushing her luck. But life feels twice as powerful when sharing a pool with death.

Just like last time.

And the time before.

The first time, she was mostly curious. Secretly she hoped the everstorm would carry her off to the places Ayeesha and her sisters knew but spoke of in other languages. To Ria’s terror the everstorm very nearly did take her, and much faster than expected. At nineteen, Ria’s body was about the same as when she was thirteen; she had no chance no matter how strong she swam.

The second time, she didn’t care what the everstorm did to her – but the fishermen pulled her into their basket-raft. Again.

The everstorm dragged her beyond handhold. The ForeignThing disappeared. A hand clutched the back of her mini-dress and pulled her free of the water with shocking ease, holding her up like a dripping kitten.

She registered then that Oren was in the water, too, standing sure, dark and dripping; long hair and shirt waterlogged like some sea-giant made of kelp and webbing. He pulled her to his chest, cupping her thighs in his other huge hand, hesitating as his skin met hers, wincing, then settling on a handful of her dress instead. He waded half way to shore and stepped up onto the rocks as easy as the step at her mother’s front door.

Ria realised she was trembling. Almost at the tip of her nose, at the neckline of Oren’s shirt, a triangle of his smooth dark-olive skin pulsed. She wanted to inhale it.

‘Ria! Get away from there!’ She knew this voice but it made Oren jump.

‘Shit!’ He set her down and stepped back like a kid caught with a broken vase.

The stocky fisherman she knew as Burly charged round the bay toward them. Without another word, Oren ran for the cliffs that surrounded the little bay and, before Ria’s mind could make sense of Burly’s words, disappeared over the top.

Burly swung her round, panting and blustering, ‘What’d he do? Gimme a look!’.

Then, mostly to himself, ‘What the stars was he doing so close?’.

© Victoria Collins 2011. (NOTE: if you’re reading this and it doesn’t sound like the first version you read, go to the NEWS page for explanation. )