Here’s to Being Found at Sea
Dear Aitana,
I can hardly believe it’s only been a few weeks since I bid you farewell. I miss you dearly. Fortunately, I’ve found good company on this ship, and it has done wonders in distracting me from my loneliness. My crewmates have proven to be spirited, kind, and occasionally riotous souls. If your mother ever took up sailing again, she and the first mate, Carlotta, would get along swimmingly. They remind me of each other; both brash and commanding, with standards higher than Leocadia’s mainmast—in the best way, of course.
I expected homesickness to take a toll on me once I arrived, but I was blindsided far worse by seasickness. It was so bad the first week, compounded by harsh weather and unruly waves, I could hardly complete my necessary tasks as a deckhand before retreating belowdecks to the isolation of my berth, bucket in hand. The cook’s assistant—Keller, if I’m recalling the captain’s introductions correctly—was a boon during this time, bringing me food and water multiple times a day. He’s a younger boy, pensive and quiet—though I will admit, I wasn’t able to offer up much in the way of conversation during my first week on board. Still, I don’t think he spoke a single word to me in all our exchanges; he just looked at me with big, scared eyes, handed me a plate and glass, and scurried away. I wonder what could’ve happened to him in the past for him to be so intimidated by a scrawny, bedridden 22-year-old like me.
Finally, the weather let up, and I was able to venture onto the upper deck, where I was greeted by warm sunshine and a crew of smiling faces. Leocadia seemed more like home then.
Of course, I couldn’t escape the chaff I earned for being laid up so long. Although, I like to think most of the crew took it fairly easy on me, perhaps because they underwent the same experience as I did. Even Raoul, a mean-spirited man from the Southern Isles, went quiet when the crew brought up his first time in rough waters last winter.
Aside from that, we’re about two months out from an infamous stretch of sea the crew calls the “Sleeping Trenches,” and one of their favorite pastimes is telling monster stories they’ve picked up from other sailors who have braved those waters. All thirty-something of us crowd around the middle of the deck before retiring for the night, some spouting tales of woe, others listening with rapt attention. I cannot tell which stories are true and which are false—tales of massive sea monsters, insidious flesh-eating mermaids, giants, dragons, and other strange beasts. Some men claim to have seen these monsters firsthand. Their stories are hard to believe, but they also make me wonder what we’ve missed, cooped up and sheltered for years in Lotinbend. My crewmates tell me I’ll know soon enough; if I stay with the Leocadia for a while and help with privateering assignments, there’s a strong chance I’ll witness something outlandish. I still don’t know if I’m concerned or excited by the possibility.
Most of the time, I regret leaving your side, but neither of us can deny we need the money. I’ll be able to earn more out here than I would back home, and hopefully learn more about becoming a good father. I have to impress your mother somehow.
I wish you all the best, my dear. I’ll be back soon.
Love, Marion
It has been a number of weeks since Marion left. Lately, I have started losing track, but as the days blur together I have entered a phase of acceptance. It feels too final, as if a door has slammed shut between us. Marion gave me his reasons for leaving and promised me he would come home, but he did it all with wringing hands and a shifty gaze. I am infuriated with him, not only because he left but also because he never told me what to do in his absence. Will he be back before our baby is born? Will he return at all?
I was never taught how to be a parent alone. Marion was never taught how to be a parent, either, but I was comforted by the knowledge that we would overcome that challenge together. Now, how should I know whether he is even alive or not? At what point should I accept that he has died at sea and will never return? I care for Marion deeply. I do not want to move on without him.
I worry that Marion does not understand why I committed myself to him. Every day, I wake up anxious that it was I who pressured him to ultimately set out on his own. Though he will never see this futile piece of writing, I wish Marion comfort in the thought of my love for him. I chose to marry him and carry our child of my own volition, not to appease our parents or to live the life I was raised for. I wanted this, and I wanted Marion. I still do, regardless of how I feel about him leaving.
I have faith that he will someday return, if he is able. Marion is not the type to leave forever. He is an intelligent, loyal partner. Besides, if nothing else brings him back, his guilty conscience certainly will. Mother is trying to act relatively unperturbed by Marion’s absence, likely because she decided years ago I could settle for better. However, he has been such a fixture in both our lives, I wonder if she misses him, too.
I’m waiting for Marion to come home, but I hope he understands the baby cannot hold out forever.
Dear Aitana,
I have quite the story to tell you, the next time I see you. Until then, I’ll write it here, so I’m able to recall the details.
Having made close friends with Captain Malik and the rest of the crew, I was invited on a mission of negotiation by Carlotta, the first mate, whom I’ve determined likes me decidedly better than your mother. Apparently, the crew believes I have a knack for reading people, and my linguistic background has proved an asset in communication. I suppose I have my parents to thank for that—if not for all the instructors and business colleagues I was forced to meet as a child, I would be just as incompetent at charismatic banter as I am at manual labor.
Leocadia docked at the port city of Priedava, where we promptly disembarked. My breath puffed out in clouds, and I wrung my hands against the chill. There was actual snow on the ground, Aitana. There was so much of it, too, piled up in drifts. I didn’t have time to lie down in it, but I wondered if it would feel like resting on a cloud. I wish you could see it.
Captain Malik, Carlotta, and I were to meet with the leaders of a tribe of half-giants, the Kjemper, to discuss trade routes to and from the North. Naturally, this was an opportunity for us to…well, to “legally” exploit them for our financial gain. I had never negotiated a contractual deal with anyone before, much less using a false contract, so I was jittery with anticipation. However, the knowledge that we would come away from the deal ten times richer and deprived of nothing, assuming it was successful, helped strengthen my spine.
The hulking architecture of Priedava was nothing to scoff at; as we crossed the dock, I had to crane my neck to take in the sheer scale of their massive buildings. The city of Priedava was a maze of interconnected, blocky concrete buildings with steel roofing. Carlotta told me this type of architecture lent itself well against the cold, snowy climate of the North. All of the buildings were around the same height, short and stocky compared to their widths, yet they each stood at least thirty meters tall. However, coming face-to-face with the Kjempe leaders made their buildings seem like toys. The two Kjempe warriors waiting for us at the edge of the dock were easily twice my size, and just as bulky in their fur-lined, monochrome garments.
By the time we reached them, I was shivering, and not just from the cold. When I greeted them, my voice was steady and amicable. Captain Malik and I talked around the deal for a few minutes, attempting to develop a camaraderie with the solemn half-giants. Malik and I had practiced their native language for a fortnight while sailing to Priedava, and I did my best to incorporate a few cultural subtleties into my mannerisms. The Kjemper were wary of our attempts at establishing favor, but they eventually warmed up to us. They were pleased at our obvious fascination with their society, and seemed especially curious about our travel plans following our exchange.
“We aim to sail across the Eastern coast,” Malik said. “Our next destination is Gringo, to deliver medical supplies from the West. Twitching fever is making its rounds.” I knew he was lying; we couldn’t afford to be tracked down by their warships. Leocadia is a noble vessel, but if the captain’s word is to be trusted, she wouldn’t stand a chance against the massive, steel-framed Kjempe ships.
Lago, the Kjemper’s second-in-command, squinted in concern. “You had best show caution in those waters, unge. Legend tells of a monster of the seas, Laurbaer, who controls all the oceans of the East. She is said to attack ships with stolen goods.”
“Mm,” Captain Malik said, expression blank. I kept my face carefully neutral, too. Lago was clearly trying to scare us out of a potentially false exchange, but my racing heart was not receptive to that logic.
After pleasantries were offered once more from both sides, the deal was made fairly quickly. Contracts were signed by Captain Malik and then the two Kjemper in wet ink, and handed back to me to “review.” The Kjemper, in turn, presented a chest of currency to Captain Malik as payment on behalf of the crew. While they were finalizing their agreement, I surreptitiously lifted a thin swatch of waxy fabric from my vest pocket. I pressed it to the signed document, and when I lifted it, the Kjemper’s signatures had transferred onto the cloth. I quickly switched out the official, government-sealed contract with a false copy, pressed the signatures onto the first page, and handed the fake document to Malik, deftly tucking the official contract into my vest.
Malik handed the false contract to Siv. And it was about that moment that I made a crucial error.
“To be clear,” said the Kjempe chief, Siv, “you and your company will refrain from raiding our trade ships passing through your Southern territory, as long as we present you with these documents?”
“Correct,” I said with a smile. “If that’s all, we’ll be on our way. This was truly a pleasure.” I bowed low, a symbol of respect in Kjempe culture. When I did, the hidden contract slipped from my vest and fluttered to the ground.
Captain Malik, Carlotta, and I stared at the fallen document in horror. I scrambled to pick it up, but it was too late. The Kjemper had already seen it in all its glory, and were taking a second look at their own fake contract.
“We like to keep a copy of each contract in our records,” I said half-heartedly. Siv snarled in response and unsheathed a battle axe.
Now, to be honest, the next few minutes were…blurry. I like to think I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but never before had I faced down an angry half-giant wielding a sharp weapon. So, naturally, I panicked and ran. What I didn’t account for was the Kjempe woman’s incredibly long stride. She caught up to me in about three seconds, grabbed me by my shirt collar, and flung me in the opposite direction as the ship. I hit the ice-packed ground, coughing out all the breath in my lungs. Once again, I lost my grip on the crumpled contract, which skidded across the wooden planks in front of me. Siv charged after me, and I gasped and flailed on the dock like a beached fish. It was vaguely humiliating, but mostly terrifying.
The only thing that crossed my mind in that moment was that time you challenged me to a wrestling match when we were seventeen, and you won. I know, it was a stupid thing to think when I was about to die across the sea from you, hundreds of klicks away from home. But how was I supposed to stand my ground against an actual half-giant out for my blood when I couldn’t even win a playful wrestling match against my (beautiful, intrepid, and admittedly strong) girlfriend?
Turns out, I didn’t need to fight Siv. The contract did that for me. I assume, anyway. I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst, when I heard a strangled cry. I opened an eye, and Siv was falling straight toward me, contract flying into the air behind her. I rolled out of the way just as she crashed through the dock, sending a fountain of water splashing over my head. It felt like an ice bath, but I was filled with too much adrenaline to care. I turned tail and ran for my life.
The captain and Carlotta were running ahead of me, stolen treasure held between them, having already incapacitated Lago. My crew was already up-anchoring, and as Captain Malik and Carlotta threw themselves onto the ship, they set off. I pushed myself faster, hearing angry footsteps growing ever closer behind me, and launched myself off the dock just far enough to catch hold of the cargo net. I slammed into Leocadia’s port side, barely managing to hold my grip on the rope with frozen fingers. As I hung there, catching my breath and clinging to the netting for dear life, I looked back and saw the two Kjemper on the dock, shaking their fists in a rage. I was so relieved, I started laughing like a madman, even as a line was lowered to pull me back onto the deck.
Turns out, the Kjemper had tried to scam us, too. The only thing in the large chest they gave us was a pile of fake gold Dirrua.
If you were here now, you would be chiding me for being deceitful and putting myself in danger. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned at sea, it’s that acting in one’s own self-interest is the best way to stay alive. If I’m being honest, it’s a nice change of pace to be respected and valued for my skills instead of criticized for them. I’ve been pressured to conform to other people’s standards for so long, dropping the mask felt like shrugging off a heavy lead cloak. My only regret is that you can’t be here with me now. I think the crew would love you almost as much as I do.
Love, Marion
The longer Marion’s absence stretches, the more I wonder whether he is ever coming back. My late nights have been restless, my stomach roiling with worry for my husband and the increasingly frequent movements of the baby. It feels how I imagine seasickness does. I wonder if Marion understands my discomfort.
There is a full moon tonight. I watched it slowly rise over the horizon from my bed. For hours, its light shone brightly through the window. I am writing this letter under the faint glow that remains, but just like Marion, the moon’s light is transient and flees quickly into the night.
I understand why he left. Sometimes I am angry, cursing those that forced us to grow up too quickly, and cursing Marion for leaving me alone to grapple with the consequences. Sometimes I am listless, having lost my closest and only friend to the throes of adventure. Rarely, I am hopeful for the future, taking comfort from the warm, increasingly apparent presence of our child. But most of the time, I am stuck pondering whether the demons Marion is facing at sea are worse than those he left behind.
Fear is a powerful force, but I do not want that to be what brings my husband back. It has already done what it needed to, driving him away in the first place. I do not want him to come back at all, unless he is ready. I don’t want to be disappointed by false hope again, and, deep down, I suppose I want Marion to live his life the way he desires. I still love him too much to think otherwise.
Mother just came in, reminding me to go to bed. She is very invested in the health and wellbeing of our child. She did not ask what I was writing; if I had shown her, I am not sure what she would do. She thinks Marion left to prove himself a worthy husband and father, and so, despite him leaving at the most inopportune time, Mother’s respect for him has grown. Of course, I still believe she will try to fight Marion to the death when he returns. The only thing that has changed is she now believes he would stand a chance at winning.
When Marion does return, I’ll stop Mother before she kills him, but not before she gives him a well-earned beating. I think I deserve to see him suffer as much as I have these past two months.
Dear Aitana,
I am beginning to worry about what exactly might be hidden within the depths of these waters.
Late last night, the full moon shone through the porthole, casting an eerie light across the ship’s berths, and I lay awake, staring at the overhead. I had been kept up most of the night by Jons’ snoring, which sounded like the insufferable squeals of the hogs on your mother’s farm. Really, I haven’t the slightest clue how you’ve been able to stand those creatures since childhood. I know it’s insensitive of me to say such a thing, and I was a very privileged child to have been raised in the city. I will grant myself this brief moment of entitlement, though, as compensation for being so tired in the mornings I can hardly move. But I digress.
As I was lying there in my berth, heavy with exhaustion, I heard it. A slow, grating shriek, a distant-sounding noise growing steadily closer to Leocadia. I held my breath, waiting for the noise to cease, or to recognize it as a long gust of wind or even a passing vessel. Just when I thought the sound was a figment of my imagination, I felt something move the ship. It was like some huge creature had suddenly attached itself to the hull and was dragging itself across its length. Leocadia creaked and tilted. I braced myself for something terrible.
But nothing happened. A moment passed, and it was over. There were no more mysterious sounds, and Leocadia was completely still. Only the two-pots-scraping-together noise of Jons’s snores remained. Everyone aside from me seemed to be asleep, undisturbed by whatever had just happened.
As spooked as I was, curiosity overtook me. I needed to see whatever was so massive it could displace such an imposing ship as Leocadia, especially when the waters were so quiet. I crawled out of bed as silently as possible and crept upstairs. The unfiltered moonlight was blinding after lying in the near-dark for hours. Still, I stared across the vast expanse of black sea, at the light rippling over the water’s surface in small, consistent arcs, and I saw nothing.
When I turned to go back to bed, though, I was startled by Keller, who was sitting on the steps of the helm and staring straight at me. Nervously, I greeted him. He did not answer, but as I left for the berths, he inclined his head in my direction. That child is a mystery I cannot decipher.
It was only after I settled comfortably into bed that I realized I never asked Keller if he had experienced the same strange event as I that night.
The possibility I was hallucinating from my lack of sleep has crossed my mind multiple times since, but the memory is so vivid I cannot bring myself to dismiss it, even as I write this. I do not think I should bring it up to the others yet; all that will earn me is a fair amount of ribbing from the more experienced crewmates. I suppose, if something truly is stalking us, we’ll all know soon enough.
Love, Marion
The longer Marion is gone, the more intense the weight pressing down on my chest becomes. It has been close to three months since he left, and I have begun having night terrors. I cannot remember most of the nightmares, but the ones I can recall have ended with Marion dying and me left alone to raise a child by myself. Poor Mother is woken by my screams every night, rushing from her bed to check on me. The longer Marion is gone, the more bitter Mother becomes, and I can feel the same fuming frustration that twists her scowl beginning to curdle in my own chest. Each kick of the baby’s feet against my ribcage serves as a crushing reminder that I am in this alone.
I used to be able to distract myself with farm work. Feeding and caring for the pigs, chickens, and our ever-growing number of cats could take up most of the day, if I let it. Now, I can hardly move from my bed. Mother brings me meals, but I do not have a large appetite lately, especially when I look down to see my bulging stomach.
Our baby is coming soon, I can feel it. I still wonder whether Marion will make it home before I give birth, but I’m starting to lose hope. I have not heard a word from him since he left. I cannot bear the possibility that he is permanently lost at sea, and I may never see him again.
I will wait until the baby is born to surrender my hope. He deserves that small grace.
Dear Aitana,
I can’t handle my own tension anymore. Every night, our ship is haunted by the same giant phantom I described in my last letter. I finally brought it up to Keller, whom I’ve repeatedly seen awake since the first night, staring at the stars from his perch at the helm. All he ever says about the matter is, “I can feel her, too.” I don’t understand what he means, and frankly, I’m scared to ask. I told the rest of the crew about my experience two days ago, and the following night, they all confirmed my worst suspicions. I have a horrible feeling that we’re about to be eaten alive by the sea, and the perpetual crease between Captain Malik’s eyes does not ease my fear in the slightest.
I’m terrified, Aitana. I miss you. I’m beginning to wonder if I made the right decision leaving home in the first place. And the worst part is that I think I’m finally ready to be honest, both with you and with myself.
Every night, I lie awake for hours, trapped in my own head. I’m constantly wondering how you and the baby are doing. I wonder if he has your slender hands or my hair or your cute ears, and immediately, I feel guilty for wondering. I could have stayed with you, but I chose this life instead; I could have settled for the job my parents wanted for me, made a good living as a writer or a teacher, and now I don’t know whether I’ll make it back home. I miss you so much, but I may just die out here on these waters, just because I couldn’t bring myself to come back when I had the chance. I was so desperate to drag all these excuses along with me until I ultimately returned to you, but with money lining my pockets and enough experience to make your mother at least a little proud, it’s becoming harder and harder to deny the truth.
I wasn’t ready to have a child. I wasn’t ready to give my life away, so I tried to escape it.
I wonder if you know I left because I was afraid.
Our baby was born today. Perhaps it is finally time to accept that Marion is gone and move on.
Mother helped deliver her. It was the first time I’ve seen her cry since my father passed. After so many long months, I found myself holding a tiny baby girl, splotchy and pink and squirmy, with soft tufts of blond hair. I loved her immediately.
I have been thinking of names, and I’ve decided on Marinera. She reminds me so much of Marion, I had to cement her title as my little seafarer. Besides, “Mari” is an adorable nickname.
I sang Mari a lullaby when she was born. It was a song sung many times to me by my mother as a child, shortly after she retired from sailing. I had never thought about the words before singing them myself, but the song is a story about a woman named Lorelei, who drowned herself at sea in despair over a faithless lover and was resurrected to take eternal revenge on hapless sailors who find themselves in her waters. I hate that it reminds me of Marion.
If my husband is miraculously still alive, I wonder where he is now. What does he think about during the quiet moments of his day? I wonder if he suspects his child has entered the world. I wonder if he cares that Mari’s world is one without him in it. I wonder what he wishes he knew about her, about us.
I wonder if Marion wants to know that our baby has his clear blue eyes.
Dear Aitana,
Do you remember the stories our parents used to tell us about the Lures of the Deep? They were a fun little fairy tale for us to shudder and giggle at before falling asleep in the comfort of our soft beds.
What if I told you the Lures of the Deep were real? And I would know, because my crew was attacked by one as we sailed through the Sleeping Trenches.
The wind howled, carrying with it an unearthly, grating shriek that begged me to cover my ears. Leocadia rocked against the storm, and my crewmates began throwing themselves over the starboard desperately, as if something truly evil was chasing after them and the roiling, murky waves were their only escape. I was shouting warnings at the top of my lungs from my tedious perch in the crow’s nest, but that horrendous shriek—which seemed to be coming from everywhere at once—drowned my voice in the wind.
Even from as high up as I was, my clothes were soaked through with seawater. As I squinted through the squall, I recognized Captain Malik by his worn black captain’s hat. I shouted at him as loudly as I could over the wooden railing I gripped like a lifeline.
Miraculously, Malik seemed to hear me, and his gaze lifted heavenward to meet my own. Like myself, he was unaffected by whatever had come over the crew, but he appeared panicked over the storm. I had never seen Malik so frightened, ever since I first joined the crew, and the knowledge felt like ice in my bones. I tried to point toward the starboard side, where the captain’s sailors were fighting each other to dive into the sea, and Malik must have understood, because he turned on his heel and sprinted after his men.
I watched helplessly from the crow’s nest as Malik caught one of our crewmates—Rudie, I believe—by the arms and dragged him away from the balustrade. The man thrashed against Malik’s grip, yelling at him angrily. The more I watched him, the clearer it was that he was struggling out of desperation, even yearning, when he should reasonably have been motivated by fear. It was like he wanted, needed, something that only the sea could give him. That was the moment I realized we were being attacked by a Lure.
Leocadia groaned against the beating of the storm, and I was half-convinced she would break apart against the waves. The prospect of the mast splintering and plunging me headfirst into the roiling ocean froze me in place. I wanted to help my crew on the deck, but I could hardly keep my own two eyes open, much less let go of the crow’s nest railing. Instead, I focused on the pounding of the waves surrounding the ship and thought of you.
A couple years ago, you recited a story your mother had told you. The sea cannot be controlled, you told me. She commands respect. To earn it, you must give up a part of yourself to her.
For a moment, I listened to the ocean’s fearful rage, her lack of composure. That was also something you told me. When the sea is angry, it is always for a reason.
Even now, I can recall the horrifying sound of my crewmates crying out below me as they drowned, one by one. Wave after towering wave smashed against the hull, and I was nearly overcome with terror. I couldn’t die that day; not when you were at home, waiting for me. Not while I knew our baby was living in the world, having never met his father.
At that moment, I closed my eyes and surrendered my fear to the heavens. For the first time in a very, very long time, I chose to have faith—in myself, in you, in whatever fate had in store for me.
Almost simultaneously, the world fell into a hush. The ship seemed to still. I kept my eyes shut, but a bright thread of hope shot through my lingering dread. I thought that perhaps the Lure of the Deep had fled.
Of course, my luck isn’t that good.
Foolish child, a honey-sweet voice resonated in my head. It was tinged with the same unbearable screeching noise I had heard earlier, and it was the worst sound my ears have ever had the displeasure of experiencing. You and your crew are doomed.
I couldn’t even take a breath before the screams of my crewmates resurfaced, Leocadia rocked violently, and I was thrown backwards out of the crow’s nest.
I was so sure I was going to die, right then and there. It was a disorienting fall, sea merging with sky as I tumbled headfirst toward the deck. I remember bracing myself for the fatal impact.
Right before I hit the deck, a burst of water slammed into me from below, slowing my descent just enough that I wasn’t crushed in the fall. I still landed hard, tumbling across the deck and slamming against the foremast. I sprawled against the grainy wood and laid there for a second, too disoriented to think straight. I coughed, and it sent a sharp pain through my ribs.
When I finally sat up, I was surprised to see Keller. He was gasping for breath and looking a bit queasy, like he had just finished the most strenuous exercise of his life. His hands were lifted in my direction, and he was staring right at me. Maybe I’m mistaken, but I swear his palms were glowing with golden light. No, I’m not saying he indisputably has magic! I’m just saying, water doesn’t normally jump to save people falling to their deaths on its own. Besides, possession of the arcane would explain a lot about that boy.
A moment later, Carlotta grabbed me by the arm and hauled me to my feet. “What did you do?!” she screamed at me. I had no idea what I did, other than almost die, and it must have shown on my face, because Carlotta looked like she wanted to throttle me. “You provoked her,” she said. She did not elaborate on this accusation, opting instead to push me out of the way, grab hold of the ballista at port, and squint into the mist-engulfed horizon. I followed her gaze, but I hadn’t the slightest clue what she was searching for.
I turned my focus to the opposite side of the ship, where most of our crewmates had thrown themselves to the depths. Captain Malik was still there, and had somehow immobilized four or five men using only spare rigging. I rushed over to help, but just as I was about to catch Jons’ arm, a terrifying human-like figure rose up from the sea and perched against the balustrade.
The woman bore crazed orange eyes, matted seaweed hair, and the blanched, swollen features of a body long-drowned. “Lorelei,” Jons whispered in awe, and rushed toward her even more fervently than before. I stood rooted to the deck in horror—so, this was the monster that had haunted my nights for weeks on end.
Carlotta wasted no time launching a ballista spear directly past my head at the Lure, but the drowned woman evaded the bolt easily, weaving fluidly around it as if she were an extension of the water. She laughed, then, a noise like a cacophony of wailing children.
The creature leveled her piercing gaze over my shoulder at Carlotta, and grinned a hideous, cracked grin. Your lives are for naught, her voice screeched in my mind. She brought her arms up—except her arms weren’t arms, they were massive waves—and brought them down severely against the bulkhead. The wood splintered under the force of the strike, Leocadia tipped almost perfectly sideways, and despite my best efforts to cling to the deck, I lost my footing and crashed into the freezing sea.
As I sunk deeper and deeper into the ocean, and watched the surface fade further from view, the fighting spirit leached out of me. It was as if the Lure was pulling my will from my very soul. The ominous depths of the ocean cupping my head had never felt so welcoming. I knew that if I let go and surrendered myself into the arms of the sea, all would be quiet and peaceful.
But the arms of the sea are not your arms, and I didn’t want peace and quiet. I wanted to hear the bubbly laughter of a rosy-cheeked toddler with your smile and my eyes. My life up to that point was laid out in front of me, and it finally became clear to me what I desired unconditionally—my mistakes and other people’s expectations be damned. I steeled my freezing limbs, willing them to propel me to the surface, and somehow, I managed to meet the sky again.
Thankfully, Leocadia had not capsized against the siege, and it was close enough for me to find and cling to a fallen rope. It was a slow, laborious process, but I managed to drag myself up the netting and onto the deck. I was soaked, in pain, and entirely out of creative ideas, but the ballista was still attached to port, and there were two spears left in its quiver.
I limped toward the weapon, thrown off course only temporarily by the heaving waves. I took hold of the ballista, grabbed one of the steel bolts and slotted it into place. Then I waited. I scanned my surroundings carefully, twisting the point of the ballista to follow. The ship creaked and groaned, and I swore I heard faint laughter behind me. I yanked the ballista around, but saw nothing except the battered deck. The ship was thrown astray again by a crashing wave, and the bulk of the ballista served as my only handhold. As I righted myself against the port side, I saw her. Just a sliver of seaweed hair, a single orange eye peeking over the masthead.
In hindsight, I can’t say I aimed. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and fired blindly at the Lure. I could tell I missed because of her mocking laughter. The boy tries to survive for his family, she whispered. A futile effort.
I fumbled to load another bolt into the ballista. The monster narrowed her unsettling, dead eyes on me and launched herself around the ship in my direction. With shaking fingers, I cranked the bolt into its firing position and took aim this time, at the spot where I guessed her heart would be. I pulled the lever of the ballista, and the spear went spiraling toward its target. Just as I saw my shot land, the creature’s liquid arm slammed into me with the force of a typhoon. The ballista and I were both launched airborne, and when I hit the deck, the massive weapon collided into my right arm, pinning me in place. My arm was crushed under its immense weight, sharp wood and metal cutting gruesomely into my shoulder, and the pain was so unbearable my vision went white. However, I do recall the screams of the Lure of the Deep dying away, the waves subsiding and the clouds clearing from the sky.
I woke up in the infirmary. Somehow the captain and Carlotta had both survived, along with Keller and a few other members of the crew. Carlotta had managed to stay on the ship when I had fallen into the sea, but she had been pinned down by a heavy chest in the captain’s quarters for the duration of my battle with the Lure. When the monster attacked me, the motion sent the ship careening hard enough that Carlotta was able to push the heavy furniture off of her. She found me afterward, bleeding out on the deck, and it was thanks to her quick thinking and medical prowess that I am able to send this letter to you now. In fact, she is writing it for me, seeing as I’m still bedridden and my writing hand is out of commission.
You should tell her hi, too, Carlotta. Oh, come on now. You and my wife would get along marvelously. Fine. Could you tell her I’m doing just fine, I love her, and I can’t wait to see her again? Thank you. Sign off, too, please.
Yours forever, Marion
I held a funeral for Marion today. It was unofficial; a brief, silent service composed in his name while feeding the baby.
If he ever comes back, will it feel like a revival, a resurrection of all the intimate feelings we shared before he left me? Or will it feel like digging up a dead man from his grave?
Dear Aitana,
Last night, I had a most interesting conversation with Captain Malik.
I was up and about for the first time in weeks, scrounging for something extra to supplement my skimpy dinner. I found myself on deck, staring at the bright constellations hanging prettily in the night sky. You would love the stars, if you could be here with me now.
The captain found me at the hastily repaired balustrade, running my fingers over Leocadia’s fresh battle scars. “You are thinking about your wife,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” I said. “And the sea monster.”
“Ah. You are wondering why you were not affected by the siren’s song.” Malik nodded sagely. Then, he told me his story. He had been a sailor for years, and when he was younger, he was terrified by the possibility of losing himself at sea. I thought he meant dying, but when I asked, he shook his head. “Without attachments to rely on, it’s far easier to be lost,” he said, and in that moment, I think I understood. He was trying to tell me that my desire to return home to you and the baby kept me from the Lure’s influence.
I asked what keeps him from being lost. “Leocadia, of course,” the captain chuckled. “Can’t bring myself to leave the old girl to the wrath of the tides just yet.” He patted the balustrade affectionately, wincing when a few shards of wood broke off into his hand.
We spent the rest of that night into the dawn staring silently into the calm, sparkling sea.
In other news, I lost my right arm a week ago. Despite the wonderful skills of the healers aboard Leocadia and my own best efforts, Carlotta unfortunately had to amputate it at the shoulder. Infection does not play nice with injuries accrued aboard a close-quarters ship.
This letter has taken three times as long as the others to compose, thanks to the loss of my writing hand. But for you, I will record everything I can.
I’m being released from duty. I suppose I’m not well-suited for living on a ship my whole life, anyway. From the goodness of his heart, the captain provided ample compensation for my loss, so I’m bringing home significantly more payment than I set out for.
Not that I view the amputation of my arm wholeheartedly as a loss. How can I complain, now that I’m able to see my child for the first time?
I’ll be seeing you in a matter of days, too. I am terrified, but it’s a feeling I’ve recently grown familiar with. I hope my journey serves as a testament to the effect your love has had on me; you strengthen me, give me courage, and help me find the good in this world that otherwise I would overlook. Having taken your presence with me everywhere I traveled, I return to you with a bright heart, some newfound experiences, and far bigger muscles.
Oh, and a “hello” from the whole crew.
Love, Marion
Kiara Lingenfelter is a third-year creative writing student at the University of Iowa. She enjoys activities like team sports, playing D&D with friends, and staring longingly out the window at people’s dogs. She spends most of her time daydreaming about magic and mystery, and hopes to inspire the same feeling in others someday. Or maybe she’ll just build her own pillow fort.