Where’s mommy? Where is mommy? Where’s mommy? A little girl cried, looking up at her father with wide, questioning eyes. Her tiny hands clutched the edge of his wrapper, tugging as if the answer might fall from his lips. Her voice trembled, filled with hope and sadness. Her father froze. He looked down at her, his chest heavy, his throat tight. He wanted to answer.
He wanted to explain, but instead he forced a smile that did not reach his tired eyes. Zara, he whispered, his voice gentle. “Come, let us eat. You must be hungry.” But Zara was not hungry. She was searching. She was longing. The question burned in her heart. Many years ago, in the quiet village of Utuma, there lived this girl called Zara.
Utimma was a place of tall palm trees that swayed gently in the wind. Children ran barefoot across dusty paths, laughing as they chased each other between huts made of red earth and straw roofs. The smell of roasted maze often filled the air, and the sound of drums and flute songs carried through the evening breeze. Zara lived there in a small compound with her father.
Everyone in the village knew her as the girl with big searching eyes, eyes that always seemed to be waiting for something. Her father loved her deeply. He was a strong man with broad shoulders and hands that carried both the weight of work and the gentleness of care. People often said, “A man like him should not raise a child alone, but look at the way he loves her.
He is both father and mother. Yet despite all his love, one thing was missing. Zara had no memory of her mother. Not a single one. From when she could talk, Zara would ask, “Papa, where is mommy?” At first, her father thought she was too small to understand. He would tell her, “Later, my child. I will tell you later.” But later never came.
Each time Zara asked, her father’s face would darken for a moment. Then he would quickly change the subject. Look Zara, see the birds up there? They are building a nest. Or he would say, “Come, let us go and fetch water. We must hurry before the sun gets too hot.” And little Zara would follow, her questions swallowed by silence.
But as she grew older, her heart grew heavier. At night, when the fire crackled in front of their hut, Zara would sometimes sit beside her father. She would rest her head on his arm, staring into the flames. The shadows danced and she would gather courage. “Papa,” she whispered once. “Why don’t I have a mummy like other children?” Her father’s body tensed.
He stared into the fire, the orange glow flickering against his face. For a long moment, he did not speak. Then, slowly, he placed his large hand on her small head. “You have me,” he said softly. I am here. I will always be here. But Zara’s heart achd. She loved her father dearly, but she knew his answer was not the truth she wanted.
She wanted to know who her mother was, where she was, and why she had never come. The hardest moments were when Zara played with other children in Utoma. She would watch her friends run to their mothers after play. One mother would clean dust off her child’s knees. Another would offer roasted groundnuts to share.
Some would call from the doorway, “Mozi, come inside. The food is ready.” Zara would stand there quietly, watching. When she returned home, her father was always there waiting, smiling, ready to lift her into his arms. But still, the empty space remained. “Why not me?” Zara thought. “Why don’t I have a mummy to call my own?” The truth was, everyone in the village knew something Zara did not.
They whispered about it sometimes, but never in front of her. When she walked past, the women would glance at each other, lower their voices, and say, “Shh, the child is here.” Her father kept the secret locked deep in his heart. It was a wound too painful to open. But secrets do not sleep forever. As Zara grew older, she began to feel something deep inside her.
It was not something she could explain to anyone, not even to her father. Whenever she walked along the riverbank, especially in the evenings when the sun was dipping low and the water shimmered with golden light, she felt strange. It was as if the river was alive, watching her, calling her. Sometimes when she leaned close to the water, she could swear she heard whispers, soft, gentle voices.
Zara, Zara. At first, she thought it was just the wind playing tricks on her ears, the rustling of the palm trees, the movement of the water, maybe even the croak of frogs. But no matter how she tried to explain it away, the voices came again, clearer, closer, and each time her heart beat faster.
One afternoon, Zara was returning from the market. She carried a small basket of yams on her head and hummed to herself as she walked. When she reached the narrow path beside the river, she slowed down. The water was calm. The ripples danced lazily under the sunlight. Birds swooped down to catch fish. their wings brushing the surface.
Then it came, a soft voice like a song carried by the wind. Zara, come closer. Zara. Her feet froze. She looked around. No one was there. The only sound she heard was the flow of water and the rustling trees. But deep inside she knew she had heard it. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the sparkling water. For a brief moment, she thought she saw something move.
A shadow, a figure, a shape beneath the surface. Her chest tightened. She dropped the basket, the yams rolling into the dust. She took a step back, her breath quick and shaky. “No,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just my imagination.” She picked up the basket quickly and hurried away, but the voice stayed in her head all the way home.
That evening, as her father repaired his fishing net outside the hut, Zara sat beside him. Her mind was restless. She wanted to speak, but fear held her tongue. Finally, she gathered courage. “Papa,” she began softly. “Yes, my child. Today, I think I heard something.” Her father’s hands stilled. “What do you mean?” she lowered her eyes.
When I walked by the river, I I heard voices. They called my name. They sounded like they were inside the water. For a long moment, her father did not answer. His jaw tightened and his eyes darkened as he looked into the fire. Zara’s heart pounded, waiting for his response. Finally, he spoke. His voice was sharper than she had ever heard before. “Zara,” he said firmly.
“You must never go close to the river again. Do you hear me?” Zara flinched. She had never seen him so serious, so commanding. His eyes were hard, almost fearful. But papa, she tried to explain. No. He cut her off. Promise me, child, you will stay away from the water, especially at night. Promise. Zara’s lips trembled.
I I promise, Papa. He sighed heavily and pulled her into his arms. His grip was tight, as if he feared she would slip away from him. You are all I have, he whispered into her hair. Do not let the river take you too. His words confused her. Take me too. What did he mean? But he said nothing more.
That night, Zara could not sleep. She lay on her mat, staring at the ceiling, her father’s warning echoing in her mind. Do not let the river take you too. What did that mean? Why did her father look so afraid when she mentioned the voices? And why did she feel drawn to the river as if something inside her was connected to it? Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She wanted answers.
She wanted the truth. But every time she asked, her father only gave silence. Days passed, weeks passed, but the whispers did not stop. Every time Zara went near the river, even just to pass by, she heard them. Sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes strong and urgent. Zara, Zara, come. Once she thought she saw a hand, pale and delicate, rise from the water before vanishing again.
Another time she saw glowing eyes peering up at her from beneath the surface, disappearing before she could blink. The strangest thing of all was how her body reacted. Instead of fear, a strange calmness washed over her. The voices did not feel threatening. They felt familiar, almost comforting, like the embrace of someone she once knew.
Could it be her mother? Despite her father’s warnings, curiosity burned inside her. She remembered the way the villagers sometimes whispered when she passed. She remembered how children sometimes teased her, calling her the river child. She remembered how her father always avoided questions about her mother. And now the voices.
Piece by piece, the puzzle formed in her mind. Could the river hold the secret? Could the water be the reason her father never spoke of her mother? Her heart told her yes, but her father’s warning thundered louder. Never go close to the rivers, especially at night. One night when the moon was full and the air was heavy with the sound of crickets, Zara woke from her sleep.
Her ears pricricked the voices. They were louder than ever before, echoing clearly through the night. Zara, Zara, come to us. Come. Her eyes widened. She sat up on her mat, trembling. Her heart thudded like a drum. The sound was pulling her, drawing her, calling her. She looked at her father, sleeping soundly on the other side of the hut.
His face was peaceful, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Zara’s hands shook. She wanted to wake him, but something inside whispered, “No, go alone. The answers are waiting.” She stood up quietly, her bare feet soft against the floor. She pushed aside the mat at the doorway and stepped into the night. The moonlight bathed the village in silver.
The air was cool, almost cold, and in the distance, the river shimmerred like a silver snake under the night sky. The voices called again, “Zara!” Her steps carried her forward, one after another, closer and closer to the river. Her heart pounded with fear and excitement, and for the first time in her life, Zara felt she was walking straight into the secret her father had tried so hard to hide.
The moon was high above the night sky, shining like a bright lantern. Zara’s feet carried her toward the riverbank as if an invisible hand guided her. Her heart thudded hard, each beat echoing in her ears. The closer she got, the stronger the whispers became. Zara, come to us, Zara. Her eyes darted around nervously.
The water shimmerred, glowing as though the moon had poured its silver light directly into it. The air was still. Even the frogs and crickets seemed to have fallen silent. The moment her bare feet touched the water, everything changed. The calm ripples turned wild. Something unseen seized her ankles and tugged. Zara screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the rushing splash of water.
She tried to pull back, but the grip was too strong. “Papa!” she cried out desperately, but he was far away, fast asleep in their hut. The river yanked her in. Cold water wrapped around her body, pulling her down. She thrashed, arms flailing, trying to float. Her head broke the surface for a moment, and she gasped for air.
But then a strange force dragged her deeper, deeper still. Her chest burned. She kicked with all her might. Her hands clawed upward, reaching for light. But no matter how hard she struggled, the current pulled her further into the darkness. Her lungs screamed for air. Her vision blurred. She thought it was the end.
She thought the river had swallowed her whole. Then everything went black. When Zara opened her eyes again, she was no longer drowning. She was lying on smooth, shining stones, surrounded by glowing light that danced like tiny stars. She sat up slowly, her heart racing, her hands touched her chest. She could breathe. But how? She was still underwater, yet her lungs filled with air as easily as if she were on land.
Her eyes widened as she looked around. Before her stretched a kingdom unlike anything she had ever seen, tall towers made of coral rose high into the water, their surfaces glowing with green and blue light. Schools of golden fish swam between them, darting in perfect harmony. Bright shells decorated the ground, forming patterns more beautiful than any cloth Zara had seen in Utimma.
Strange flowers bloomed underwater, their petals waving as though dancing to music only they could hear. Zara’s mouth fell open in awe. It was beautiful, too beautiful to be real. But the most shocking thing of all were the people around her. They were not like the villagers she knew. Their hair was long and flowed like rivers of silk, shining in colors she had never seen before.
Silver, gold, deep blue, emerald green. Their eyes sparkled like jewels. And where legs should have been, they had long, gleaming tails covered in scales that shimmered under the glowing lights. They were half human, half fish, muroke. Some swam gracefully in circles around her, whispering in voices as soft as the current.
Others pointed at her, their expressions filled with wonder. Zara felt her skin prickle. “Where am I?” she whispered. Her voice, though quiet, carried clearly through the water. She looked down at herself, expecting to see her own legs missing, replaced by a tail. But no, she was still Zara, still human.
Her feet touched the smooth stone floor. Her eyes traveled upward and froze. At the center of the glowing hall was a throne carved from pure pearl and decorated with shells that sparkled like diamonds. Upon it sat a woman so radiant, so majestic that Zara felt her knees weaken. The woman’s hair was long and black, flowing like waves of silk.
Her tail shimmerred brighter than the rest, its scales glowing faintly gold. In her hand, she held a golden staff shaped like a trident, and her presence filled the water with power. The other mer folk bowed their heads slightly when she looked at them. She was their queen. The woman’s eyes softened as they rested on Zara.
A smile touched her lips, warm and welcoming. “Come here, my child,” she said in a voice as smooth as a song. “I have been calling you for a long time.” Zara froze. Her legs felt rooted to the stone floor. She could not move. Her mouth hung open, but no sound came out. The woman’s words echoed in her ears. My child, what? What did you say? Zara stammered, her voice trembling.
The queen rose slowly from her throne, her golden staff glimmering. She glided forward with elegance, her tail moving gracefully through the water. She stopped just before Zara, her eyes filled with love and sorrow. “Do not be afraid,” she said softly. Zara shook her head in disbelief. “Who are you?” she whispered under her breath.
The woman lifted her hand gently, her voice steady and filled with truth. “I am your mother.” Zara’s heart almost stopped. The woman’s eyes glistened as she continued. “My name is Sarah,” she said. I am the queen of this kingdom and you Zara are my daughter. My blood runs through your veins. Zara’s breath caught in her throat.
Her lips parted but no words came. She had imagined her mother in many ways before. She thought she might be an ordinary woman from the village, someone who had gone far away, or maybe someone who had died. But never, not even in her wildest dreams, did she think her mother would be the queen of an underwater kingdom.
“No,” Zara whispered, shaking her head. “This This cannot be true. My mother is gone. Papar never told me.” Her voice broke. The queen’s face softened with pain. She reached out as if to touch Zara’s cheek. Your father kept the truth from you to protect you. But I have been watching you. I have been calling you.
The river has always been your path back to me. Zara stumbled back a step, her chest rising and falling quickly. Why now? She asked. Why are you telling me this now? Why not all these years? The queen lowered her gaze, sorrow clouding her eyes. Because the time has come. The blood inside you is awakening. You are not just a child of the land, Zara.
You are also a child of the waters. Zara gasped, her hands trembling. No, no, I’m just Zara. I’m just Papa’s daughter. I don’t belong here. But even as she spoke, deep in her heart, something stirred. Something in her veins hummed in response to her mother’s words. And as Zara stood trembling before the queen, the kingdom around her seemed to whisper the same truth. You are one of us.
Zara’s legs trembled as she stood before the queen. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her heart hammering as if it wanted to break free. My mother, this woman, this queen. Her head spun with questions she could not form into words. The queen’s eyes never left hers. calm, strong, sad. Yes, Zara, the woman said softly.
I am your mother. But I see the fear in your eyes, the confusion in your heart. You wonder why I was not there to hold you as a baby. Why your father raised you alone? Why you had to grow up asking, “Where is mommy?” Zara’s throat tightened. Tears threatened to spill, but she clenched her fists. Yes, she whispered horsely.
Why? Why did you leave me? Why did you let me suffer without a mother? The queen closed her eyes for a moment as if the words had pierced her. When she opened them again, they shimmerred with sorrow. “I never wanted to leave you,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “But I had no choice. I had to protect you.
” Zara blinked, struggling to understand. “Protect me? From what? The queen lifted her staff and the golden light from its tip spread across the hall. Images appeared in the water around them, moving pictures like memories given shape. Zara gasped. She saw a younger version of her father, strong and proud, standing beside a woman. This queen.
They were holding hands, smiling. Zara’s chest achd as she realized this was her mother and father together. He loved me, the queen said softly. And I loved him. Against all rules, against all laws, we came together. A man of the land, a queen of the waters. We broke the barrier between worlds. Zara’s lips parted.
She had never imagined such a story. The queen’s voice grew heavier. But the elders of this kingdom did not forgive me. They feared the child we would bring into the world. They said you would be too powerful, too different, neither fully of the land nor of the waters. They said you would bring change.
Change they were not ready to accept. Zara’s breath caught. Me? The queen nodded. Yes, you. The images shifted again. Zara saw shadowy figures with glowing eyes and dark tails gathering in a circle. Their voices were sharp, angry, rising like a storm. They wanted to take you from me the day you were born, the queen whispered. They wanted to end your life before you could even breathe. I could not allow that.
So your father and I made a choice. I gave you to him. He carried you away from the waters into the safety of the land. Zara felt her knees weaken. She shook her head. No. No. This cannot be true. The queen’s eyes glistened. Your father raised you with all the love in his heart.
He gave up everything to protect you, but he could never tell you the truth. If the wrong ears heard, if you were discovered too soon, the river would come for you. Zara’s stomach twisted. She remembered his words. Do not let the river take you too. So that was what he meant. He had always known. Why now? Zara asked, her voice breaking. Why call me back now after so many years? The queen’s gaze deepened because the blood inside you is awakening.
Have you not felt it? The whispers, the pull, the way the water speaks to you. You are growing into what you are meant to be. And when that happens, you cannot hide anymore. The two worlds will know of your existence. Zara’s heart pounded. She remembered the voices at the river, the strange calm she felt when the water called her.
The way she could now breathe beneath the surface. It was true. Something inside her had changed. “But I don’t want this,” she whispered. “I just want to be me. I just want to be with papa.” The queen’s face softened. “I know, my child, but destiny does not ask what we want. It comes whether we are ready or not.” The hall grew silent.
Only the sound of gentle currents filled the space. The mer folk who had been watching bowed their heads in respect as if this conversation was sacred. Zara looked at her mother, then at the glowing kingdom around her. Her chest felt torn in two. Half of her longed to run back to her father, to their little hut, to the life she knew.
But another part of her, deep and hidden, stirred with a strange longing. Something about this place felt familiar, like a song she had forgotten but somehow remembered. “You said I must choose,” Zara said finally, her voice trembling. “Choose what?” The queen’s grip tightened on her golden staff. “Soon, a storm will rise.
The waters and the land will collide, and you, Zara, will stand in the middle. You will have to choose whether to embrace the blood of the waters or remain with the land. But either choice will come with a cost. Zara’s mouth went dry. A cost? She whispered. Her mother’s eyes darkened. Yes. If you choose the land, you may never return here again.
If you choose the waters, you may never see your father again. The words hit Zara like a knife. Her throat closed. Hot tears filled her eyes. Never seep aart again. she choked. The queen’s face was full of sorrow. She reached forward and touched Zara’s cheek at last, her hand cool but tender. I know it is cruel, she said.
But it is the truth. You cannot live in both worlds forever. Zara’s breaking heart. Zara’s body shook as tears rolled down her face. She pulled away from her mother, her fists trembling. No, that is not fair. I never asked for this. Why should I be the one to choose? Why should I lose either my father or you? Her cry echoed through the hall.
The Muroke looked away, their faces heavy with pity. The queen closed her eyes. Because you were born of both worlds, and with that gift comes a burden. Zara hugged herself, rocking slightly as sobs shook her. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage, forced to pick which wing she would cut off. Her mother’s voice softened again, though it trembled with pain.
I know this is heavy for you, my child, but you are strong, stronger than you know. That is why the river called you. That is why you are here tonight.” Zara sniffed, her tears blurring the glowing hall around her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But deep in her chest, she knew she could not escape. Her life was no longer simple. She was no longer just Zara, the girl from Uttoma. She was something more.
And one day soon, she would have to decide who she truly was. Zara stood there, torn between two truths, her heart heavy with a pain she had never known before. All her life, she had longed for her mother. All her life, she had stared at the fire light in their little hut, wondering why her father’s eyes always grew dark whenever she asked about the woman who gave her life.
And now here she was, standing face to face with the truth. Her mother was alive. Not only alive, but a queen, a ruler of a kingdom more beautiful than Zara could ever have imagined. A kingdom beneath the waters, full of wonders and secrets. But with that truth came another weight. She was not just a child of the land.
She was not just her father’s daughter. She carried the blood of the waters, the blood of her mother flowing strong within her. And because of that, she would never live a simple life. The queen’s words echoed in her chest like the toll of a heavy drum. You must choose the land or the waters. One will give you love, the other will give you power, but you cannot keep both.
Zara’s tears streamed freely now. She thought of her father, the man who carried her on his shoulders, who wiped her tears when other children teased her, who cooked her food and told her stories when the night grew dark, the man who loved her enough to raise her alone, even while hiding a truth that tore at his own soul.
And then she looked at her mother, the woman whose eyes mirrored her own, whose voice had called her through the river since birth, whose kingdom sparkled with beauty, but whose arms she had never known. Her chest achd with a pain too great for words. The kingdom around her grew silent. Even the current seemed to pause, waiting.
Zara pressed her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking. “Why me?” she whispered. Why must I lose one to keep the other? Her mother’s voice, soft and heavy, floated through the water. Because you were born for more than just yourself, Zara. You are the bridge. You are the one who can bring two worlds together.
But bridges do not stand without sacrifice. Zara’s heart cracked. She wanted to scream, to run, to undo everything. But she knew deep inside that her mother was right. She was no longer the little girl crying, “Where is mommy? She was Zara, daughter of the land, daughter of the waters.” And her life would never be the same again.
As the golden light of her mother’s staff shimmerred around her, Zara closed her eyes, letting the weight of her destiny settle inside her. The story of her choice had not yet been written, but one truth was clear. Zara belonged to both worlds, and both worlds would one day depend on her.
