Shallow Waters

Book : Daughter of Three Waters Trilogy

by Anita Kopacz

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

In this “captivating” (Harper’s Bazaar) and lyrical debut novel—perfect for fans of The Water Dancer and the Legacy of Orïsha series—the Yoruba deity of the sea, Yemaya, is brought to vivid life as she discovers the power of Black resilience, love, and feminine strength in antebellum America.

Shallow Waters imagines Yemaya, an Orïsha—a deity in the religion of Africa’s Yoruba people—cast into mid-1800s America. We meet Yemaya as a young woman, still in the care of her mother and not yet fully aware of the spectacular power she possesses to protect herself and those she holds dear.

The journey laid out in Shallow Waters sees Yemaya confront the greatest evils of this era; transcend time and place in search of Obatala, a man who sacrifices his own freedom for the chance at hers; and grow into the powerful woman she was destined to become. We travel alongside Yemaya from her native Africa and on to the “New World,” with vivid pictures of life for those left on the outskirts of power in the nascent Americas.

Yemaya realizes the fighter within, travels the Underground Railroad in search of the mysterious stranger Obatala, and crosses paths with icons of our history on the road to freedom. Shallow Waters is a “riveting and heartbreaking” (Publishers Weekly) work of ritual storytelling from promising debut author Anita Kopacz.

Release date: August 3, 2021

Publisher: Atria/Black Privilege Publishing

Print pages: 224

Sample

PROLOGUE

A long grunt escapes my lips. My body is numb. I cough up the last gulp of water I had taken in and held before I passed out. As I sluggishly blink my eyes, one thought repeats in my mind: I have to break through as soon as possible. I didn’t need to breathe during the transformation, but now my need for air is urgent.

My nerves awaken from the inside out. I can feel the change in my body. Everything is different. My eyes are dry. I blink a few more times in the darkness, working to clear away the crust that has formed over my lashes. Slowly I become aware of a dim light penetrating the shell of my cocoon. The sun’s rays reveal a complex webbing within the shell’s walls, strong enough to withstand the ocean’s waves.

My body stirs, and I can feel the shrunken cocoon chafing against my skin. I pull away from the rough interior. Something’s wrong. I’m lying on my back and I can feel that the pod is still—no longer bobbing along the ocean’s surface. I have to get out now! I push with every molecule of my body, but it’s no use. The shell is as hard as rock. I fumble in the darkness trying to find the last section of the cocoon that I had sealed, in hopes that it might be a bit softer. My fingers meet at the top of the pod and I use my thumbnail to puncture a small hole. A bright beam of sunlight streams in and momentarily blinds me. As I had suspected, there is no water. I begin to panic. Where am I?

I need the ocean’s pressure to help me break through the shell. I frantically chip away at the small hole and attempt to push one of my newly developed legs out. The sensation of being able to move my lower limbs independently throws me off balance. They flail weakly as I try to maneuver them over my body to thrust them up and out.

Although I’ve watched humans walk and dance and kick, I don’t know how to use these new limbs on my own. I grip the backs of my smooth thighs with my hands and pull my knees toward my chest. It’s so strange to feel skin and not scales—to have no control over what was once my powerful finned tail. I position my feet against the top of the cocoon and kick the damaged shell with all my strength. The debris shatters away from my body.

Stunned by the bright sunlight again, I clamp my eyes shut and roll over. I strain to push myself up, and wobble as I attempt to stand steady. For the first time in my life, I am vertical, held upright by two feet! I squint through tears and I’m terrified to see that I’m surrounded by a pack of them. Humans who I do not recognize. They don’t look like the ones from my home, but I am somewhat relieved to see that they do not look like the pirates, either. I am completely exposed. My body trembles so violently, I’m afraid I will collapse.

 

1HIM

Three Months Earlier

The coarse net hits my face and abruptly thrusts me into my bleak reality. I fight with all my might, but it makes no difference. I am ripped from the water. The sting of the crisp morning air shocks me and makes it easy for the fisherman to pull me aboard his splintery boat.

His eyes are the first things I notice. They are deep and dark—like the mysterious realms of the ocean. His hands are gentle and warm, so I surrender to his touch. His coarse hair holds perfect droplets of water as if cradling them until they fall and return to the sea. His skin is so black, I can see a hint of the brilliant blue coral reflected in it. There is something oddly familiar about him.

He lifts the net, gapes at me, and yells something to his friends on the shore. I try to cover my ears because his voice is too loud. Everything is muted in the sea. His deafening tone ignites my will to survive. I begin writhing to free myself, and I manage to flip out of the boat. On the way out, my tail bashes the top edge, and I return to the sea amid the wreckage.

When I look back, he is leaning over the side of his boat. His eyes are alert, and he is breathing heavily. Before he turns back to his companions on the far side of the reef, he spots me. I hold my breath, and I think he does, too. We are frozen in that moment, our eyes glued to each other until his friends come to rescue him. I retreat back to the ocean floor.

His boat returns the next morning, patched with fresh strips of palm wood. I watch as he releases his net into the waters. His strong hands grip the trap, pulling an array of sea life aboard. As he turns to assess his catch, I see the scars on the back of his neck: three straight horizontal slashes.

Obatala!

---

Ten years have passed since the last time our eyes met. I had erased that day from my memory, but Obatala’s scars have reopened deep wounds.

My father knew how much I loved the shells lined with iridescent mother-of-pearl—the shells that could only be found in the shallow waters beyond the reef.