by Robin Zubek

Content Warnings: Death and Suicide

Jurata was the first god to die.

She did not die in battle, and she could not die naturally. Jurata died as peacefully as a god has ever died.

Jurata loved the Baltic with her whole heart. From her golden palace under the surface, she ruled over all of its inhabitants, from the nymphs and the mermaids to the smallest clams. She cared for it with a watchful eye, and though she let the fishermen take what they needed, she never let them take too much. When they went to sea in the early morning, she would keep the waters calm, and watch over them as though they were a part of her kingdom. She liked to listen to their songs. They knew that she was there, and would call out to her for luck, though they could not see her.

One day, when such a fisherman cast his net, his foot was tangled within it. Trying to free himself, he fell overboard, and could not swim to the surface.

Jurata heard his call, and was already nearby. She freed his limbs from the net and gave him air to breathe. She brought him to the shore, where she laid him on the sand to rest.

“Who are you?” He asked her.

“I am Jurata,” she said. “Who are you?”

Frightened, the fisherman scrambled to his feet and bowed to her. “I am Toś, your Majesty.”

“Toś,” Jurata tasted the name on her tongue. “What a beautiful name.”

From that day on, Jurata found herself looking out for Toś whenever she watched over any boat. He was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. But he was never there.

Until, far away, Jurata heard a song she had not heard before. It was unlike anything the mermaids sang and more beautiful than any fisherman’s song. It had her name in it.

Queen Jurata of the Baltic sea
Kind and brave and beautiful she
Mortal Toś of the peninsula
Naive, foolish in waiting for her
Yet he waits for her every night
Hoping to see her one more time

“What a beautiful song you wrote for me,” she said.

He looked unsure of what to say, unsure of whether she was even real. That uncertainty, the shifting thoughts behind his eyes, it made him all the more beautiful. She reached out to the edge of the boat and put her hand on his. The thoughts behind his eyes solidified for a second, and he took her hand and pulled her up into the boat. Her hair dripped saltwater onto the deck and she wrung it out into the sea. He reached out, the uncertainty returning into his shaking hand, and touched her face. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for until he did that. Leaning forward slowly, as if not to scare him away, she pressed her lips to his. He tasted like earth and air. He closed his eyes and let his hands travel from her face into her damp hair.

After that, they met every day. They spent whole nights on his boat, talking. She would take him down to her golden palace and they would lie together in her chamber. She loved him more than she ever thought possible, though it hurt her heart that he was mortal.

Soon the other fishermen sang his song too, like a good luck charm. Though none sang as beautifully as her Toś did, she would reward them handsomely for singing it.

The song reached the ears of the king of the gods, King Perkun. He had heard of Jurata before, and decided that he must see who inspired such a beautiful song. He travelled to her golden palace and was received warmly.

Before the evening was over, Perkun had fallen in love with Jurata’s beauty and kind soul. He asked her to marry him and move from the sea to his palace on the land. She smiled graciously as she denied him, explaining that she was already in love, and that she couldn’t dream of leaving the sea.

“Which god has stolen your heart?” Asked Perkun. “He must be very beautiful for you to choose him over myself, when I could give you power over every mortal and every god.”

“He is not a god,” she told him. “He is a fisherman. And it is his heart which captivated me, though his beauty is beyond any god I have seen.”

“A mortal?” thundered Perkun. “You dare choose a mortal over me? You insolent woman!”

Perkun stormed off, creating a hurricane like no one had ever seen. The lightning was so powerful that it split the sea to the very bottom. Each crack of thunder reverberated through the entire Baltic and could be heard in all surrounding lands. When the storm started, Toś was fishing, and Jurata barely managed to get him to her palace between the rods of lightning.

They lay down in her bed and held each other.

“The storm will stop soon,” said Toś.

“Yes,” lied Jurata, “we are safe here.”

Her voice trembled, and Toś must have known that she was lying. But if he had any doubts, he did not voice them, only held her tighter.

Far away, Perkun howled in rage and sent lightning crashing down onto her golden palace. It came tumbling down, crushing them under its weight. Jurata was the first god to die, but she did not die then. She held her lover in her arms as he drew his final breath. Then, with a sharp piece of stone which she drew from the rubble, she pierced her own heart, staining its golden edge red.

The storm raged on for three days. When, after the storm was over, the fishermen returned to the shore, they found small golden stones littering the sand. They began to gather them for all sorts of decorations, and named them “bursztyn.” Amber. Jurata came to be known by another name, “Bursztynka,” for this gift that she had given them.

Robin (they/them) is a UK-based Polish writer who seeks to put the experience of second generation immigrants into words. Their stories explore loss, longing, and the feeling of never quite being home. When they aren't writing, Robin reads, paints, and goes on long walks to collect wildflowers.