Baby’s First Shipwreck

James had never given much thought to how he might die. If asked, he likely would have said in his bed, of old age, sounded by his progeny. To drift peacefully away into the arms of the heavens was the dream of any man of sound station, after all. Drowning in the middle of the sea, cowering behind crates of tea and silks would have not even made the top twenty of his ideas. While the Kingdom was coastal, he had never been much of a mariner.

His mother, bless her sweet heart, had begged him not to take passage on the merchant vessel. The route it was meant to take, she insisted, would cut right across the part of the waters that were a known prowling ground of The Basilisk’s crew. The privateers were well known for their fondness for finer goods and an insatiable lust for a fight. Rarely, if ever, did survivors from their attacks come to shore. A proper naval vessel was due to dock in less than a fortnight, after all.

And yet, as he heard the splintering of wood from somewhere outside of the Captain’s cabin of The Unison that he had been shoved and locked in to when the black sails had been spotted on the horizon, a watery grave seemed to be making its way up the “cause of death” ranking rapidly.

Patience had never been a virtue that James presented. Running headlong into things would be his downfall, his elder brother was always telling him. Risky in general, and all together quite a flaw for a scholar. Always reading a novel’s last page to determine if it is worth his time to read.

“How fortunate, dear Marcus,” he could hear his last words to the man echo in his own ears as he took cover under the heavy desk in the room’s center as the shouting outside the doors grew louder and was joined by a clashing of steel. “That the Viscounty will fall to you one day instead.”

An argument, slammed doors, and petulance was to be the last memory his precious family would have of him. James pulled his knees tighter to his chest and rested his chin upon them. He closed his eyes tightly, as if that might keep the sound out better.

Surely, he reasoned with himself The Basilisk will be able to reason that I am worth ransoming. I’ll tell them exactly who my father-

The blood curdling scream of the guard outside the door as a pistol flash alighted in the small window was less assuring than he would have liked. There was the splintering sound of another cannon’s shot tearing through the port side of The Unison’s hull, right through the wall of the room. Silence came before darkness as his head struck the back of the desk that had been his hiding place.

#

“Mother did you hear, did you hear? Kel was just here to tell you, weren’t they? They said they could see the haze from their post; it was so close!”

“Pause, Serra. You are shouting.”

Serra groaned, crossing her arms across her chest. She had swum directly home from where she had been cutting grass for the manatees. The guards gathered so close together by the patch they were minding, so it wasn’t eavesdropping when she overheard them talking about what the commotion had been. There had been a battle between two land walker vessels near to them. Closer than they would have liked for the comfort of the buildings, but there shouldn’t be a problem.

The first wreck of the season, and a very late start to it by all accounts. Normally, the traveling Scrapers would have been out and back a few times already. Serra had seen missives from other settlements as they were passed to her mother, and it seemed to be the trend across all of them: A slow, quiet season. She had been hoping to beat their messenger to the elder woman, but Kel was the fastest among all of them.

“A wreck, Mother.” Serra blurted out when her mother finally motioned to let her speak again. “Brand new, within the last change of the tides. I have to go. Please mother? You have to let me go with the Taggers to do the first scope of checks.”

“I have to do I? I was not aware that I had grown so feeble that you were now giving orders.”

The older woman smirked in a way that parted her thin, green lips and revealed the razor-sharp teeth behind them as Serra groaned and threw her arms in the air with a trail of bubbles. She watched with amusement as the darling girl’s tail thrashed in equal annoyance as she kicked backwards to put distance between them. As if the coral lounge chair she often stretched out on was a necessary shield. Her daughter had never been one for masking her feelings.

“I’m old enough now! Older than you were even when you saw your first. You always told me you were only eight summers old. I’m nearly double that.”

“That wreck happened directly above our Settlement and we were unable to move away from it, my Little Moon.” She reached out her clawed hand and patted Serra’s blue-tinged cheek gently. “A still settling wreckage pool is no place for a young one.”

“But Mother, you’d be able to see it, if something happened.” Serra’s voice had just a tinge of the whine she was doing her best to keep out of it. As if doing her best to prove exactly how properly prepared she was. “This close to the Settlement and the full group of all of us, there’s practically no danger at all.”

Knowing these things and the involvement of one’s only child were two separate matters. Something Serra might come to understand in the future, if she ever settled down. As the young woman continued to explain just how ideal of a situation it was for a very first live wreckage, her mother had shifted the hand away from her cheek. In the same way she had since Serra was barely large enough to swim the length of the room on her own, she counted the stormy blue scales on her right shoulder. In a rhythmic, soothing tapping, she patted the center of each one of them with the tip of her middle most claw.

“Please, Momma.” Serra’s voice softened; in the way she knew her mother could never say no to. “I promise I’ll be extra careful. I’ll listen to whatever Xiphias says.”

“And you will DO whatever Xiphias says.” Their eyes met as her daughter leaned back, caught in her very carefully worded promise that could have let her still get into trouble. “You’ll do EXACTLY as he says.”

It wasn’t a question, but Serra nodded repeatedly as if it needed an answer, floating a little higher as her tail fin seemed to have a mind of her own in the excitement. When the older woman gave a sigh of defeat, Serra shrieked and threw her arms around her in a tight hug.

“You know what you need to bring with you.”

“I have a whole kit I’ve built up in my room.”

A whirlpool of bubbles followed as Serra swam for the archway in the small home’s eastern wall. Judging by the banging and crashing, it wasn’t exactly put wholly together and out waiting for her. Her mother shook her head fondly, turning her back to the archway.

After a few more moments of noise, Serra re-emerged to the central room. A bag of woven kelp was at her hip, the strap across her bare, blue chest. Her shoulders and chest rose and fell quickly, heaving as her gills fluttered to catch up with her.

“You’re missing something.”

Serra frowned, lifting the little flap of the bag. All the chisels and marking tools were tied neatly inside so they could not float away. The intricate knots bound them all in size order, biggest to small, all along one side. Enough room for the blade to sit inside, and the spark rod put together by the Witches. Besides, her mother had her back turned and wasn’t even looking at her. There was no way she could know that she was missing anything.

“Momma I-”

When Serra looked up and dropped the flap back down on the bag, her mother was before her once more. Her arms were both held out. Resting atop both hands, palms to the ceiling and fingers starting to unfurl was the haft of a stark white trident. The stark, white, whale bone was almost always at her side or across her back. The tips of the spikes were coated in a shining gold metal, to match the dusting in the runes. Across the bone, carved in intricate whorls, were glyphs of protection. Of power. Interspersed amongst the story of her family’s warriors, each who held the weapon in their lifetimes before them.

“Thank you, Momma, thank you.” Serra spoke with soft awe, placing her own hands on the haft, closing her eyes and bowing her head. “I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” The elder woman released the haft and pressed her lips to the crown of Serra’s head. “Come along. Best not to keep the others waiting.”

#

Xiphias had not seemed at all pleased when he was told that Serra would be joining the Tagging group for the initial inspection of the wreckage. He waited for the settlement leader to be out of earshot before turning to face the young girl.

“Let me be clear, Girl.” The growl of his voice had never felt more intimidating than in that moment. The scars from a slash wound across his gills always made him sound like he was swallowing Seaglass. “I am not a babysitter. You WILL pull your own weight.”

“I am well aware.” Serra puffed out her bare chest, straightening her shoulders as if she could hope to match the rigidity of the warrior guard that literally looked down at her from their size difference. “I have been studying-”

He had already turned his back to her, and she could not help but snarl and roll her eyes at the back of his head. Her affectionate mother with her “Dearest” this and “Little Moon” that made her feel adored, but also made others feel as though she was too small. Especially with her slight stature, a “gift” from her father’s bloodline. Little as she was, she was no baby. She deserved to be here. But, she knew it would be Xiphias, with his terrible attitude and dislike of newness that would have the final say in her success or failure in this test. So, she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough so she could taste her own salty blood instead of retorting.

“Since we have a guest in our company,” he went on as he moved to the front of the small pack. “And it is the first trip of this sun cycle, it seems appropriate to review the ground rules and safeties in place for excavations and surveys. To ensure that there are no accidents.”

“Lighten up, Xiphias. It might have been two Kingdoms ago, but you were a pup once too.”

Serra turned her head at the voice that had come from the back of the group, fists she had not realized had clenched falling loose at the sight of Her.

Actinaria, Actin for short, was closer to her own age than Xiphias. Though, she supposed, most of the others in the encampment were. Actin had just been passing through but decided to stay with them for a while, a nomadic guardian in the icy waters and on her way back to them after a family celebration brought her back to warmer waters. Beautiful as she was deadly and self-sufficient, her many-appended body captured Serra’s attention whenever she was near enough. Even now, she could not keep the blackish blush from rising to her cheeks as an arm was slung around her shoulders.

“I’ll keep tabs on the Matron’s little pup. You just keep an eye out for those biting eels that were in the area.”

Xiphias shot back some sort of response that Serra was certain was a cutting thing meant to get under her skin or send her with her fins tucked back to her mother’s home. She heard none of it, though. Only the sharp bark of laughter it drew from Actin.

“Don’t you mind the gray-scale. His teeth aren’t as sharp as he likes to pretend, they are.” Actin removed her arm from Serra’s shoulders. “A review wouldn’t be so bad though, now would it?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Serra was certain that Actin could have instructed her on the finer points of hoisting her onto the spikes of her trident and she would have tested it for herself happily. She met her molten gold eyes only for a moment and had to look away. To clear her head for the review.

“Good then.” Actin nodded as the group began to move towards their destination. “Rule number one. Follow the instructions and directions of the lookout guard and Elder Scavenger. They are chosen for their ability and strength to protect.”

“Even if he is a pompous dolphin-brain?”

“Especially then.” The almost scolding tone surprised Serra, but she listened as Actin went on. “Xiphias is absolutely pompous and may be a bit of a jerk. But he’s earned it. He has been watching over scouting and excavations longer than many of us have been alive. He was a guardian at the War of Sands.”

“I thought that was just something that he said to frighten people…”

Actin’s silence made Serra look back at the shark-finned man who was leading the diamond-shaped group in front of the two of them. When he turned his head to the side and you could see his profile, the gash-like gills at his throat; he did seem like he would have fit in on the stone carvings of the last war with the sand-dwellers.

“If he says no, or that we need to move or run, we listen. Even if we roll our eyes at him later. Age brings wisdom, don’t forget that.”

The other rules weren’t quite so questionable. Serra hadn’t been lying when she said she had been working towards this for a very long time. Besides, a lot of it was common sense. Don’t touch anything you cannot identify with absolute certainty. Ask for assistance if you come across anything that is fragile, heavy, or questionable. If it starts to move and it shouldn’t, or stops moving and it should, leave the area and inform the lookout guard. And lastly, most importantly-

“Have you ever actually seen a still living shorewalker at any or the wrecks or places you’ve been to? The medicas always say because of the way their bodies are made, they don’t last long this far out in the water.”

“Not usually, you’re right.” Actin nodded. “Some of them are more resilient than others. Or lucky, depending on how they might view it. I’ve seen a few of them though. Especially on a fresh trip like this one.”

“And so you’ve…”

“Serra.” Actin stopped moving and put a hand on Serra’s scaled shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about that. Not on your first few trips out at the very least.”

“But the rule says that even if they aren’t moving, you take your spear, trident, or blade through the center of their mass to ensure they stay that way. Because-”

“Because it is better to gather meat than it is to become meat.” Actin said it, so the smaller woman did not need to. She gave the scaled shoulder under her palm a gentle squeeze. “But, that rule is also why me and the gray-scale are here. You aren’t expected to take that on, okay?”

Serra swallowed, looking down at the disturbed sand below them. Knowing it and believing it weren’t the same thing. She felt her gills flutter when one of those meaty arms lifted, the slender tip of it (suction cup free at the very edge) rose, under her chin. She looked upward as she was directed to meet Actin’s eyes again.

“You see any shorewalker, moving or otherwise, and you come get me. Got it?”

“I…Yes, Actin. I will.” Serra spoke softly, almost making herself bleed when for the second time in such a short time she bit into the meat of her cheek again.

“There’s a good girl.” Actin moving away meant she didn’t hear the whimper that the words pulled from Serra. “Now, let’s find some good loot. Got to have a story for your first live wreck. I’ll race you, come-on!”

#

Serra had never seen anything like it. The shift in the color and current around them was equal parts terrifying and beautiful. Grey, from the fine powder that the shorewalkers would use to shoot flames at one another. Serra never understood quite how it worked. They had nothing to compare it to below the foam.

And then…then there was a swirl of red, from the blood spilled. Not so much red, Serra decided, but instead a pink that mimicked the colors of the horizon when the sky started to grow dark and to grow light again. It was darker, more like the red on shorewalkers insides from the paintings and carvings she had seen, around the bodies that had already started to take on enough water, thanks to the big holes through them, to sink.

As the group passed through a particularly potent stream, the taste of metal filled her mouth, as the water rushed across her gills. She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose and smack her lips, to try and get the taste to recede. Was this the flavor of the man-flesh before it was handled? No wonder Elders said to never eat it raw.

Visibility was incredibly limited, thanks to a combination of the disturbed sandbars and the tainting of the water. Each of the scavengers pulled from their similar looking bags the light emitting rods designed by their priests and priestesses for just such things. Each one no longer than two hands fingertips to palm. And yet, from a crystal near the top of it, came a light enough to surround its holder and space around them of an arm length and a half.

The elder scavengers moved in two sets of pairs, wordless as if they had already picked their partners before. And perhaps they had. Two to move around to the far side of the reck, the two most experienced to move with Xiphias himself closer to the epicenter of the shifting brown and gray. Serra looked up at Actin, rod in one hand and holding the strap of the bag with the other.

“Here.” Actin said, pointing to rocks and cracked crates near enough to them to one side. “A good enough place to start, right? They carry their more delicate things in the ones like this. Normally have some kind of padding to keep things whole, even if the outside is broken like this.”

She swam forward, keen eyes relying more on the shapes and her own instincts than the light that Serra who moved beside her emitted.

“You know the different marks and what the colors are used for.”

“I do.” Serra nodded in response though Actin had not asked it as a question. There was a firm determination in her features as she swam in front of her Cacelian companion to get a better look at what they had come upon. “X for waste, black if it needs to be destroyed. A circle for pickup.”

She went on through the list of colors and shapes she could see so clearly when she closed her eyes, as if they were tattooed on the inside of the lids. Each one she counted on a long, clawed finger, as if she needed the repetitive motion to be able to recount the information. Actin chuckled, staying near enough that she could watch and make sure that Serra was correct in what she was doing but giving the girl space to move as she seemed to need to in order to process.

Serra set the light emitter into a loop made for it on the strap of the bag before carefully removing the remnants of the shattered crate lid from the nearest one.

In two different sizes, the one as large as her head and other ones as small as her palm. Accompanying them was a case of some kind which she lifted next. A seam separated it in the middle into two halves that were held together, not closed but not open either. Serra tugged at one side, and yet it did not budge. As she snarled, gills flaring and teeth bared, Actin chuckled which got her attention back.

“See those there? The two shapes on either side, in the golden color.” she swam behind Serra, reaching up and shifting the girl’s hands. “Press into them there. It is a sort of lock. The landwalkers do not like to show or share their treasures.”

The words went in one ear and out the other, as Actin pressed on her fingers to show her how to open the little locks. They flipped open, and Actin moved backwards again so she would be able to see when Serra opened the lid of it.

Tiny, thin knives. And even small tridents. No, that wasn’t quite right. Serra lifted one of them, balancing the case on her other hand. Four tines, not the three of a trident, or even the five she had seen on larger, ceremonial weapons. They had a weight to them but were too small to be useful in the hands of any grown thing.

“They even give their pups weapons?” Serra shook her head and put the case back into the ruined crate, closing it up. “How monstrous.”

She turned the four-tined weapon in her hand, seeing the matching symbol of a crown smaller, but identical to the one on the circles. The same, shiny metal, and a decent amount of it. She pressed her thumb to the flat back of the thing, and the metal so easily bent in half and snapped off.

“Oh!” she gasped at how easy it had been. Barely any effort or pressure on her end. No wonder they had to resort to setting one another on fire if their weapons were made of such things.

Serra caught the pointy head of the thing before it could float to the sand, dropping the handle of it into the box with the other bits and pieces. It fit perfectly in the center of her palm now.

“Keep it. A good treasure.” Actin encouraged her. “Now, what have you learned about the material, and what should it be marked as?”

“Metal, salvageable.” Serra turned it over in her palm once more before she put the metal bit into her bag. As she pulled out the marking tools, she couldn’t help but be pleased she would have something new to show her mother. “But it is not strong enough to be good for a weapon. So…Secondary pickup?”

“Good girl.” The words stirred Serra’s focus just as they had the first time. “Get it done and then we’re on to the next.”

#

They hadn’t been out for long, or at least it didn’t feel like it had been very long. The time passed easily with Actin there watching over Serra, guiding but allowing her to take the lead. A few of the bolder carnivores had started to taste the tang of the blood in the water. More than once, Actin moved further away to not so gently redirect the beasts. Of course, they would have their share once the Scavengers had finished their work. They were not so selfish as to refuse to share the wealth with the Sharks and Barracudas.

Serra found herself humming as she made another mark on a crate filled with some sort of odd plants in tiny little bags. They were making the water inside the crate a dusky brown, and the taste of the water as it ran along her gills became oddly medicinal. It was, she decided, worse than the tang of the metallic blood of the shorewalkers. But also, not entirely useful.

“Actin, I need your assistance with this one. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Serra straightened herself up, looking over to where she had watched Actin swim off to. But she was no longer there. No longer in her line of sight at all. She reached behind her, fingers wrapped around the trident haft before she felt the first change.

There was a warmth that had not been there before. Further up from the Settlement, the water was bound to be warmer; She had expected that. Had been enjoying it really until this moment. It had become too warm, nearly unbearable really. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the visibility had gone down more significantly outside of all the boxes she had been digging in as well. A murky gray, and not as coarse as the sand as she braved a few inches into the cloud of it.

There was something more in it that had not been there before. The taint of the reddish blood was gone now and seemed to be replaced with something that sparkled like the too soft metal she had seen before. It hung suspended amongst the gray and black of the powder, like a scattering of shells across the seabed.

One hand still firmly wrapped around her weapon, Serra raised the light rod in the other as it was doing little good dangling near her belly. More light did not help her define the glittering sparkles, though. If anything, it only made it clear just how many of them there were amongst the grime and blackness.

“Actin?” Serra called out in the direction she had seen her move again, unable to keep a whimper bubbling in her throat when there was no response. “Actin this isn’t funny come on. Where did you go?”

There was a groan, sounding deeper within the cloud of gray and glitter, but it was no animal she had ever heard. Spinning around with her tail as a rudder, Serra pointed her light towards the center of the wreckage, where the others had gathered. Where the sound seemed to emanate from. As she dared to push herself towards it, there was a sudden, brilliant flash of heat and light. Painfully bright, even at the distance from where it started at the center of the wreckage. Each little glimmer in the waters around her seemed to act in response, heating up to the point the water around them bubbled and burned.

Without warning, waves and waves of heat, light, and force pushed from the epicenter of the light. Serra stabbed her trident into the shifting sands, in hopes of finding a purchase to withstand the force of rushing water. There was none to be found, as the sand all but melted away from around the weapon.

Away. She had to get away. Fast as her tail would take her, she changed her trajectory. Not a buffet against this too bright storm, but to the horizon line above her.

#

The sounds of crashing and booming forced James’s eyes open, pulling a gasp from his lungs as the chunk of wood he had managed to cling on to was rocked violently. It felt as though it had been days since he closed his eyes. The piece of….Hull? Deck? He supposed it didn’t matter now. It had been large enough once he got the water out of his throat that he could lay on it and gather his strength. The rumors of the Basilisk crew taking no prisoners had, unfortunately, not been exaggerated.

No, the last bombardment right into the Captain’s quarters that had been his hideaway blasted him through one of the holes, clear into the water. The heavy desk that had been his protection, was certainly to be his grave as it pinned him quite firmly beneath the water. He had never been a man for prayers, but as he kicked and twisted to try and free himself, he found himself saying them. Any that he could think of, and there were dozens of them thanks to his schooling.

It seemed that one of the many gods was listening, as he managed to free himself and break surface just as black dots swarmed his vision. Fortune seemed to favor him as he managed to clamber on top of the piece of wood to rest. Or, more accurately, pass out completely. But for once, he was not too overly concerned with the specific details.

What concerned James now was that he was awoken by some sort of explosion, and yet could see no other ships. He was not sure how far they were from shore or settlement, but surely along this sort of trade route all this commotion would have to draw another. As he pulled himself into a more upright position, he finally could take some stock of what was left of The Unison above the waves.

And there was not much to see, not at all. Debris, bits of wood and metal and he wasn’t even sure what was above the water, and the main body of Her was nearly…two thirds below now? The smoldering fires made it hard to tell what was still left of it. Even wet wood and fabric would burn until there was nothing left to feed it when Lancets were involved. In another moment, the fact that these scoundrels had access to Naval weaponry like those damn magicked cannons would upset him. Now, he was glad for the warmth the flames gave off as he was soaked to the bone-

Bone. Not the best word to have in mind as he scanned the blood-red water. Bodies. Numerous ones. Stab wounds. Shot wounds. Simply drowned. Some with all their limbs, others without them. Even the scent of the remnants of mana-maintained fires couldn’t keep away the smell of dead flesh out in the sun. James couldn’t keep himself from crying out when a rocking of the wood caused the edge of it to hit one of the nearest bodies.

The sight of the cabin boy, who had brought him his meals, run through with wooden shrapnel and staked out like a carnival snack roasting on a flame made him retch. Or would have, had there been anything in his stomach to come up. Nothing but spit and seawater as he wiped the mouth on the back of his hand. He needed a plan, and he needed one quickly.

Certainly there would have been a case with flares or an emergency Movement stone. With all the value on board, I’m sure of it.

James nodded as if he needed to do something to agree with his own thoughts. Any Captain with the money to run such a ship would have had a backup plan. The question was: where?

The water was too…Disturbed, too filthy, and he hardly had the strength in the moment to go diving around for a box he couldn’t even be certain existed. But, it was an option. The roar of his stomach reminded him of just how empty it was. And redirected his plan to the moment in front of him: he would need food, and water that wasn’t salt. Or, more importantly, what looked to be almost eighty percent-

A splash. A gasp. Somewhere behind him. Another survivor. Truly, he’d have to try and remember exactly what prayer it was he said last. Clearly, there was some divine that he had pleased and would need to repay. He turned, quickly as his bruised and battered body would allow, to welcome his fellow survivor back to the realm of the living.

Even at a glance with his still starred vision, it quickly became clear that the figure rising out of the water was not one of the members of The Unison’s crew. While traders were certainly more progressive than the navy, there were no women on the ship. And the bare breasts were far too full to belong to any man. Even covered in the viscera from the water it emerged from, this was clearly a woman.

Didn’t pirates say they were bad luck? James was certain he had read stories that they did. He fell backwards, scooting on his rear against the wood when she…It? Made a move closer. Certainly “she” was a stretch. For all the curves it bore, the bald head was one of them that was not as feminine as the tapered waist. Or what he could see of them. They were still more than half in the water.

Another splash, but not another body. The tail of a large fish, made up of scales in Seaglass greens and blues. A marlin, or perhaps something even larger and close. So close it seemed to be right next to the figure that was clutching an oddly shaped and pointed staff and-

He gasped; whatever thought had been present now gone with what was left of his breath. Of course, it made so much sense. A Sidhe. A beautiful master of the water. The one who had heard and answered his prayer. Sailors said they were guardians of the sea and storm, after all. Ensuring safety of the innocent and faithful in their wake.

And perhaps in the stories there were one or two in which they hunted and destroyed those that would harm their watery domain. But again, no time for such specific details.

James instead rose to his knees, slowly and shakily with the energy he could summon up. The figure still did not move from where it surfaced. But its head tilted to the side, watching him. He closed his eyes, falling, prostrate with his forehead pressed to the wood. Panting, laughing, barely breathing. He felt madness seep into him in an instant.

“Please. My goddess. My guide. Deliver me-”