Fish have a very distinct odor, even when they're fresh. It's a metallic tang mixed with the salty lifeblood of the ocean, a fishy, drowning thickness that clogs your nose and feels heavy in your throat. Father says I need to sharpen my senses if I want to find the best fishing spots like he does. He has a knack for it, as though he can smell the fish from leagues away, and that's why our boat is out front. We lead twelve boats, cutting waves across the dark water of the sea.

I love this air, away from everything. Even if the boat stinks from lifetimes of fishing. I hold the rolled-up net firmly in my hands, the sleeves of my robes folded back to reveal my pale arms. The netting feels gross, but I raise my head and inhale through my mouth. The air is cool and crispy. It's just us out here in the darkness, guided by starlight.

We can't see the lights from the village anymore, but countless stars clutter the sky. For once, the wind is calm. There aren't any clouds, and the promise of a big catch makes me restless. Most of our fish will be sent off to the Emperor, but it’s still exciting.

On our boat, it's me and father and two boys from the village who row. Kota and Akio, twins whose parents died a few years back when the coughing sickness scattered graves all over the land. They're good boys, about a year or two younger than me, and my father likes them. Says they'll be excellent fishermen one day, and then he'd tease me about how they'll ask for my hand in marriage. They'll have to fight to decide who'll be my husband.

At least, I hope father's just teasing me. You never really know with him. Mother passed giving birth to me, so it was only ever us. He's the honorary chief fisherman of the village, and I'm his rude daughter.

He doesn't treat me like other men treat their daughters. He cooks in our house. I help him of course. We take turns cleaning and washing clothes. He used to tie my hair. He taught me how to properly wear robes, the ones at home, the ones for fishing, and the ceremonial ones for festivals. He had our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Nakashima, teach me about my body. She takes care of the twins, and shakes her head at my upbringing, but father brings her the biggest fish from the catch, so she never complains.

The other girls of our village never go fishing. They only clean, prepare, and cook the fish. They stay home and focus on "womanly duties". They learn to be tidy, soft, and sweet. Dainty, my father says. The things expected of women. But he's the one who taught me how to mallet a fish with a swift blow to end its suffering. How to cast a net. He taught me how to read and write. If it was up to him, all the girls in our village would learn too.

I know some people say things behind our backs. But nobody has the nerve to say it to our faces. Father's the best fisherman in the village, recognized by the Emperor himself, and he holds his chin high. So do I. But sometimes, their gossip gets to me. It’s confusing. I don’t even know why it bothers me, it just does. I dream about leaving. I don’t really know where I’d go, just that there’s a huge world out there beyond the Emperor’s land. Beyond our fishing village.

I've heard little about people from the mainland, that we’re at war with them, but what are they like? What happens in their lands? The Emperor tells us that they’re horrible, disfigured monsters who’d eat us if they could, but that can’t be true. I think they’re just like me and everyone else. Trying their best. I’d like to travel, but we’ve always been at war, and how can I leave my father? How can I leave the only life I've ever known, even if I don't fit in as seamlessly as I want to?

Sometimes, I'm jealous of the other girls. There's an assuredness in their prescribed lives. A road that's easy to follow. But it just seems suffocating to me. Especially when I taste the salty spray of a foaming wave, the thrill of reeling in a net full of fish. The lanterns of the heavens hanging right over our heads, and the bottomless darkness below. I don't want to be tucked away like a fragrant flower, kept and watered in a pretty vase.

Wind tussles my hair. Waves crash against the side of the boat. I wonder how many we’ll catch this time. How many we’ll get to keep.

"Almost there," says Father. He scratches his beard and turns his head. I know he's trying to look at me, and I grip the netting tightly. I want to seem extra prepared. Father's been more stressed than usual, quiet and grim. It must be his eyes.

For a while now, it's been difficult for him to see things directly in front of him. He says there's a spot in his vision, right at the center. A leftover from when he was sick with the illness that took so many villagers' lives. He calls it a patch of cloudy darkness that hides things. So, if he wants to get a look, he'll turn his head to the side and try to make it out like that.

I've tried that. Just to see what it's like for him. Trying to look at something with my head turned. It hurts. It's all blurry and out of focus and impossible, and it worries me. But I can't show him I'm worried, because that makes father worry more, and he worries enough as it is. There always seems to be bad news about the Emperor and the War lately. Not enough food. Not enough soldiers. Not enough lives. We have to send more fish. We have to eat less so our military can be strong.

"Good catch today," says father, sniffing the air. The twins murmur in agreement, though I'm pretty sure they're just sucking up to father. I inhale deeply too, but all I smell is saltwater and the boat.

I glance at Kota and Aiko. They're identical. Their heads shaven, their pale faces frowning with concentration. They're wearing the same white robes I am, fishing robes. I like their arms, muscular from all their rowing and reeling. I wish I had arms like theirs, not the thin branches stuck to my shoulders. But I'm strong too. I can cast a net further and more efficiently than they can nine times out of ten. I know it makes them jealous. I also have a better handle on numbers, but father says I shouldn't tease people when it comes to learning. Everyone learns at their own pace, and people will often surprise you.

We keep rowing. A few of the other boats have lanterns lit, and I watch their orange lights bob on the waves. They look like little stars fallen from the sky. It's late in the evening, but I'm not tired. I've gotten used to our twice-a-day fishing schedule. Father likes to say the fish will be asleep. That they sleep together in large numbers to feel safe, which is perfect for us. Makes them easy to catch because they’re near the surface, far away from land.

But I'm old enough to know he's just saying that. It's a story. We've only started fishing at night a few months ago. Sometimes father and the twins go out a third time, leaving me to prepare dinner. It's because the Emperor's taxes have gone up, and we need to supply more and more fish for his army. Our village is working itself ragged. Though I never voice my frustrations. Father doesn't like me complaining about that. He says we should quietly fulfill our duties. One should never talk ill of the living God, but I'm not sure I believe the Emperor is immortal.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

It has to be a myth. A story, just like the stories about sleeping fish, or the stories of demons that the older fishermen love talking about. Demons that lived beneath the waves, who'd take the forms of beautiful women to drag unsuspecting people into watery demises. Something to frighten the children and keep them away from the water. I used to be frightened too; then I grew up. I realized they were just stories. And I'm pretty sure that's what the Emperor's stories are. Things made up to keep everyone frightened and paying taxes.

After a while, father raises his hand and makes a fist. It's the signal to stop. Nobody says a word, but once Kota and Aiko stop rowing, our boat slows down. The other boats follow our lead. I'm half standing, my arms trembling with anticipation, my eyes glued to father's hand. His eyes are shut, head tilted in concentration, so his blindness isn't an issue. He sniffs several times.

The wind, the clouds, and even the waves seem to be holding their breath. It's so quiet, and we're so far from land, it's like we'd rowed into an entirely different world. When father's hand opens, I throw the net as hard as I can. Rope whistles through the night air and strikes the water. The other boats do the same, and we're rowing again. Moving, turning. I hold on to one end of the net as it drags through the waves. I picture the netting catching dozens of unsuspecting fish, waking them from their slumber, trapping them.

And then I'm pulling on the rope. Kota and Aiko help me as well. The water and fish make the netting very heavy, and father lends his powerful arms. We reel the entire thing in. Water bubbles and splashes as the silvery fish thrash about. I grab my mallet and get to work.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

One fish jumps into the air but Aiko catches it with his hands. Another one manages to flop over the side. We call those the lucky ones, the spirits who make it free. Kota and father pick out the young ones and cast them overboard. They have to grow fatter before they can be useful.

Our catch brings us thirty-four fish. Long, meaty forms, their scales shining in the starlight. They're blue with silver underbellies, eyes wide and unseeing. They lie still in a pool of water and blood in the middle of our boat. It's not a bad haul, even if it stinks, and I'm sure the other boats did similarly well.

"Alright," says father. He pulls out his cutting knife, and I do the same as Kota drags out the ice boxes. We get to work. Kota and Aiko row as father and I cut and clean. I hate this part, and I hate having to do it on the boat, but it saves us a lot of time. And I'm quite good at it. Slit through the belly. Keep any eggs for ourselves. They're quite delicious if you fry them and serve them over rice. It's my favorite treat.

We chop off their heads - the Emperor doesn't want the fish heads, only the meat. But the heads make for excellent stew, and we make use of every part. We throw the entrails overboard so the other fish can eat and grow.

My stomach still turns despite the thousands of fish I must've cut by now. Blood and guts. The thick scent of death. I should be used to it, but at least I don't feel the need to retch over the side anymore. I'm nearly as quick as father, and it doesn't take us long to finish. There weren't any eggs this time, and I wonder if father will want to fish some more. But he shakes his head, says that's it for tonight, and our boat stays on course for home.

There's a balance to catching fish, he'd say. And we're disturbing that balance by fishing more and more, but if we catch too many in one night, we'll leave nothing behind to grow. And then we'll starve.

With the fish boxed away and most of the muck thrown out, I lean against the side and clean my knife with a cloth. My knife is just like father's, old and beautiful. It's large, with a very sharp edge and cuts through fish with ease. The handle is metal, and the knives have been in our family for generations. If I ever have children, I'm to pass down father's knife.

We don't talk much. Father prefers quiet when we're out at sea, though I can hear the voices of the other fishermen celebrating the catch. Some have already started drinking, but our boat is quiet. It shows reverence to the gods. Another myth. I look over the side, wondering about the beautiful demons who live underneath. How beautiful are they? Will they want to drag me down too? Or will they be upset that I'm not a man. I used to dream about them. Pale faces. Bodies as long as an eel’s and covered in scales like fish. Teeth like knives. I’d always wanted to meet one. I’d always wished they were real.

A shrill scream cuts through the night. Father stands so quickly the boat rocks. We can't see the village yet, but more screams follow, fading around us in the night. Is it the demons? My heart skips a beat, but father motions to the other fishermen to turn off their lamps, and one by one, their lights go out. Kota and Aiko have slowed down, we're all listening, straining our eyes. In the distance, there’s a bright orange glow.

"What's going on?" whispers Kota. Aiko tells him to hush. Father tells them both to keep rowing, but as softly as they can. My heart is pounding as I clutch my knife and stand beside father.

A short while later, after more harrowing screams send chills down our spines, we see the village. It's on fire. Smoke rises into the sky like serpentine pillars, and all the homes that we can see, including our own near the harbor, are burning.

"Rika," says father, grabbing my arm. "Is your knife clean?"

I nod, frightened by his sudden intensity.

He takes it from my hand, then grabs a fistful of my hair and starts to cut. He cuts like he's trying to remove scales from fish. "Father," I whisper. "What are you doing?"

A girl isn't supposed to ever cut her hair. Not like this. Not so close to the scalp. And the village is on fire.

"Row!" he shouts forcefully at the boys who'd stopped to watch. Then, more softly, he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. His hands shake as he cuts through another fistful. "You'll have to pretend to be a boy, alright? A boy. You're a boy now. Take my name, okay? Hayato. My boy." He repeats that to the twins. That I’m Hayato, their brother.

I've never heard my father sound so frightened. But he pulls on my hair until I say, "Yes, father."

"This is my fault," he whispers as the last chunk of my hair falls away. Tears run down my cheeks, panic tightening my throat, but the boat reaches shore. Father thrusts my knife into my hands and kisses my forehead. He tells me to stay here before rushing off the boat. He shouts at the others to arm themselves.

Kota and Aiko follow closely, holding the oars like weapons, and I chase after them. No way was I just waiting here.

We leave the fish behind. Our feet splash through shallow water, then wet sand. Then dirt and grass, and the stench of burning things clogs my lungs. Ashes drift all around. Screams encircle us like the wind. Fire spreads from house to house, everything a blazing blur. And then we hear shouts. Someone is shouting orders, and we run. Maybe it’s the samurai. Maybe we’re being invaded, and the Emperor has come to help.

The foreigners from the mainland... why would they attack us?

In the center of our village, where me and the twins used to chase each other around as kids, we find the villagers. Most of them sit in the center, surrounded by samurai clad in the red armor of the Empire, held at sword point. Women are crying, clutching their children. The elderly sit quietly.

My heart sinks. Why are the samurai holding our people hostage? Why are they burning down our houses?

Most of the men had gone fishing. We were fishing to provide fish for the emperor’s samurai, and here they are? Attacking us? Father raises his arm, and we slow down. We stink of fish and blood. Then I see the bodies all over the ground. Women and children. Lying with ugly gashes in their robes. Blood pools around them and glistens in the firelight. It looks like many of them were dragged out of their homes.

One of the samurai steps forward. His red armor clinks as he raises the long shining blade of his katana. His eyes glower with rage. "Kneel!" he commands in an ugly voice. "Kneel for your Emperor."

----------------------------------------