Wicked Winters

by Melanie Karsak et al.

  "And you expect to find that among the human ruins?" he calls behind me. He quickens his pace and starts swimming side-by-side with me. "What does that have to do with your sister?"

  He doesn't know the truth. He doesn't know why I'm suddenly interested in the human way of life, and I know that it's forbidden to tell him anything. So I glare at him and keep swimming, shrugging off his question with a curt answer. "It's stuff that you shouldn't worry yourself with."

  "And you should? Where are you going anyway?"

  "To the newest shipwreck."

  He stops, and it takes a moment for him to be laughing hard enough for me to hear it. With a snarl, I stop and turn around to look at him. He's nearly doubled over in laughter.

  "What's so funny?"

  "If you're heading toward that one," he says, pointing to the very ship that I was heading to, "you're not going to the newest shipwreck."

  I look back at it, and it seems relatively new to me. At least, I think so. Now that I look at it, this particular ship is more ornate than newer ones, and I can see barnacles and rust covering the sides of it. I realize now that I'd been drawn to it because it looks more interesting than the others. "How old is it, then?" I venture.

  He shrugs. "At least older than your father."

  Oh. "Do you know which one would be the newest?"

  "Yes." He looks smug, which means he'll want something from me.

  I sigh. "Okay, where is it?"

  "I'll tell you," he says, "but you have to give me a kiss."

  I stop and frown at him, my heart pounding in my ears. "A kiss? But..." I stumble. "No. I don't want to kiss you."

  That cocksure smile he has falters slightly. "What?"

  "I don't want to kiss you, Theseus." I struggle for words. "You're my friend. And I don't feel that way about you."

  His smile dissolves, and he swallows thickly. "So, you're not..."

  I shake my head.

  He laughs and combs a hand through his hair. "Huh. Well, I thought that you liked me, and..."

  "No. You're my friend. I'm sorry."

  I want to squeeze his shoulder because he looks so hurt and confused, but he shakes his head and shifts out of my reach. He gives himself a little shake and composes his features before he looks at me and gives me another brilliant smile. "Well, your princessness," he says, his voice sugary-sweet. "You've passed my test."

  "I have?" I ask, even though I doubt I've passed any tests of his.

  His bravado slips for a moment, but he composes himself again. "I wanted to make sure you were just a friend, too. You know, given that we're all migrating and everything."

  "Theseus..."

  "It's that way," he says, pointing due north of us. "A big rectangle. A fish told me that it fell off maybe thirty days ago. Still fresh. Still new." He meets my eyes. "I think we'd be the first mers to explore it."

  I still feel bad for Theseus, but the excitement of being the first to see the ship’s remains overshadows that, and I take his hand. "Come on!"

  He obligingly follows me as I pull him along with me.

  It's a few leagues' worth of swimming, not too far at all. I would have missed it if it weren't for Theseus being with me because it's not what I think of when I think of shipwrecks.

  "There it is!" he says, pointing toward it.

  I halt our swim and look at where he's pointing. And then look back at him. "That's not a ship."

  What he's calling a ship is a big box. There are no masts or a hull to keep it afloat. Even just looking at it, I can tell that the object isn't seaworthy. It's not natural either, because nothing in nature can make straight lines like this.

  But a shipwreck this is not. I don't know what it is, though — a big, metallic box.

  Theseus lifts a shoulder, feeling nonchalant. "A ship or not, this sank from the surface only a short while ago. And I do think I'm right in that it hasn't been explored yet."

  I'm about to tell him that we're going back to the rest of the wrecks to look at a real ship when that familiar feeling in my stomach bubbles up again. That gut feeling that means that my future sight is at work again.

  There's something that tells me that I need to be here. To open up whatever this is and to go inside.

  I swallow back the lump in my throat. "Do you know how to open it?"

  He shakes his head. "No, I don't," he says. "But that doesn't mean we can't figure it out."

  We swim up to the structure, and it's bigger up close than I thought it would be. I place a hand on the cold metal as we circle the perimeter of it. "So, what is it?" I ask. "I don't see a way for it to float. How could the humans have had it sink out here?"

  "I think it was on another ship," Theseus says. "And that this fell off."

  That part makes sense. I see some human writing on the side, in big, bold strokes, its angles are just as straight and pointy as the object itself. Fortunately, I've learned enough about the human language to be able to read it. Atlantic Shipping Company, it says in its harsh scrawls, and I roll the words over in my mind trying to make sense of them.

  It's for transporting goods across the ocean, I realize with a start.

  I'm about to tell Theseus my findings, when he yells, "Hey! I've found an opening!"

  I swim down to one of the ends of the structure to see him tugging on a lever on the small end. "What are you doing?" I ask out of curiosity.

  "I think this is the door," he says.

  "The door to what?" I ask.

  He stops and looks up at me, exasperated. "Let's find out."

  I'm usually a little more cautious than this, but I swim down to him, grab a lever, and help him pull. The lever gives way with a loud metallic clang, and I can feel a mechanism work that unlatches part of the big box.

  "All right," Theseus says, "I think we've unlocked it."

  "What next?"

  He frowns, looking at it up and down. "It opens in the middle. Here, help me."

  I do. Somehow, between the two of us, we're able to pry the door open enough for us to slip inside.

  It's much darker within the confined space, and I feel a slight surge of panic as I wish I'd had more magic than just future sight. I would magic up some source of light so that we could see inside here.

  He must feel this way too because I feel him give a shaky breath next to me. "Should I go find an anglerfish or something to help?" he asks.

  I've never met a cordial anglerfish — they're always so intent on whatever is in the space of their light, they don't care for much else in their world, but I nod. "Yes. Please, some fish that can offer us light."

  We exit the ship, and he tells me to wait by the structure so that no one else goes inside before us and gets to claim whatever’s inside. I shiver. There's no way I'm moving.

  While Theseus is gone, I take that moment to look around. We're so close to the shore, and I wonder if there are humans out on the beach, having fun. Then I wonder if it's too cold for them to be on the beach. While I can feel that the water is getting considerably colder, I know that humans like to swim in much warmer water.

  It is winter on the surface, after all. Maybe they're farther inland. Perhaps they migrate like whales.

  And maybe Guinevere is with them.

  I sigh and look around. I shouldn't be concerned with all that. But there's something here that I need to find.

  I run my hand along the smooth surface of the box, wondering what kind of engineering marvels it must have taken for this to be built. The human world is so complex, and while we have a lot of our own technological advances, seeing this makes me wonder just how much is happening up there that I don't truly understand. And maybe never will.

  But when I'm the queen of Atlantis, I will be sure to do my best to open up trade and communication with my human cousins. Much like the doors of this box, it may be hard to find out where the locks are and even harder to pry the doors open, but there has to be some way for us to coexist.

  And maybe that's all the reason I needed
to be out here today — nothing to do with Guinevere and everything to do with me realizing my place among the humans. Future sight can be funny like that.

  "I've found someone," Theseus announces, and I jump with an eep.

  I turn to see him with a jellyfish that emits her own light. I recognize the species of jellyfish as belonging far beneath the depths of our kingdom, almost to the sirens' realm. Theseus must have swum a long way to find someone.

  I bow my head in gratitude. "I am honored you are helping us," I tell the jellyfish. I've met and dealt with many, many jellyfish in my time, and while they tend to be flighty and a little scattered, they mean well, unlike the anglerfish, who are testy in their best mood.

  The jellyfish's colors turn a bright magenta, the color of pride. "I am honored to do it, Your Majesty," she says. "Although forgive me if I'm a little out of place. It's been a while since I've been this close to the surface."

  I don't know where her eyes are, but she lives in a world of darkness, hence the need for her own bioluminescence. So I smile at her. "Your help is greatly appreciated."

  "And I look forward to the fish that was promised," she adds.

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise, and behind her, Theseus is miming for me not to ask too many questions about that. So I don't let my smile falter any, and I only nod. "Right. Yes. We will definitely serve you your fish."

  I hope that Theseus has a plan for this.

  But that's enough to appease the jellyfish for the moment, and I show her the door to the human not-boat. She has darkened her lights as she goes inside, and Theseus and I follow her silently. I wonder if this is what her world is like, deep within the ocean's depths.

  For a moment, there's darkness. And then she warms up her lights, and she pushes back the darkness bit by bit.

  I look around at what's inside, and there's only one word that escapes my lips: "Wow."

  There are boxes inside this not-ship, all stacked to the ceiling. The area that we are in is just at the front, and only enough for us to be here side-by-side.

  "This is not what I was expecting at all," Theseus mutters as he reaches out and touches the boxes in front of us. He frowns. "They feel...mushy," he says with his frown.

  "I don't know what they're made with," I say. "It's not wood, or else it wouldn't look that way. But..." I purse my lips together as I look around. "What are they, and why would humans be transporting boxes like this?"

  "Perhaps," the jellyfish muses, "these boxes are like the bigger box? There's something else inside of them?"

  I clap my hands excitedly. I admittedly feel bad that I may have written off the jellyfish's intelligence when she first arrived — they don't have brains, after all. But she had been able to solve that faster than Theseus or I would have been able to do.

  "Can you help me bring a box out?" I ask, turning to Theseus. "I want to be able to look at this outside."

  "Are you sure you want this?" he asks. "There have to be hundreds here. And," he adds, patting one of the boxes that is closest to us, "who knows what's behind this. Maybe there are more boxes behind these? It is a big place, after all."

  I know. And I also know that I won't have time to sift through all these before tomorrow. I could maybe look through half of them, but I'd be missing from the palace, and my father would be asking questions. No, what I need to do is choose one.

  I run my fingers along the sides of the boxes, wondering if my gut feeling will come back. I don't know what I'm looking for necessarily, but I try to keep an open mind about it.

  "Hmmm..." I mutter.

  And then I spot some more human words on the side of a box. The Night Before Christmas Storybooks, I think it says in those big letters. It looks like a label, that this box is full of whatever a storybook is.

  My gut twists as I ponder it longer. My gut feeling is telling me that I need to look inside this box.

  "This one," I say, patting it. "This is the only one I think I need."

  Theseus frowns. "You sure?"

  I nod, trying to be as vague as possible because I don't want to let him know about my gut feelings. Not yet. "Yes. Can you help me?"

  Of course, the box I want is in the middle of the stack, so there is a lot of weight from the boxes bearing down on the one that we're trying to pull out from the stack. But somehow, between Theseus and me working while the jellyfish lights our way, we're finally able to pry the box from the stacks.

  And cause all of them to come toppling down on top of us and barring our exit.

  "Theseus!" I cry as I drop the box I'm holding, just as he throws his shoulder against the other door, and we push and push to open it. It opens, little by little, and we're finally able to get the door open with a loud screech of metal against metal.

  Theseus heaves great breaths, bubbles flying all around him as he looks back at me. "Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again," he mutters between every breath.

  I swallow thickly and nod. "Sorry."

  Although I'm not quite sure what I'm apologizing for. After all, we were just able to get the box that I'd been looking for.

  The box! I'm not sure if it got buried under the others or not. I turn back to the pile of boxes where some are splayed outside the door like it's a cave full of forbidden treasures. Is it at the bottom of all that? Will I be able to find that one box now that it's under all of those other boxes? I bite my lip to keep from crying. This isn't going to do. Not at all.

  "Hey!" the jellyfish calls, drawing our attention over to her. "Is this the box you need?" She's hovering over a box that's at the very edge of the stack. Somehow, she was able to stay inside the bigger box as everything else collapsed underneath it. She points with one tentacle toward the box on the ocean floor. "This is the box you're looking for, right?"

  I follow where she's indicating, and The Night Before Christmas Storybooks box is proudly displayed underneath her, if not a little crushed. That's all right.

  I let out a sigh of relief and swim over to the jellyfish. "Yes," I say in excitement. "Yes, that's it!"

  The jellyfish turns a bright orange color. "I did well?"

  I nod. "You did. And Theseus here will get your fish now. You've done so well, you get two fishes!"

  From Theseus's glare, I know that's not what he had in mind when he had bargained with the jellyfish, but I'm so relieved that my box made it out that I don't care. He holds his glare one more long moment before he finally nods. "Come with me," he tells the jellyfish. "I'll show you where you can get your fish."

  I know that as a princess of the seven seas, I should be concerned for the health and wellbeing of all my subjects. Father taught me a long time ago that there is a fragile ecosystem underneath the water, that smaller creatures are eaten up by the bigger ones until they get so big that when they die, they sink to the bottom of the sea where they're eaten up by other tiny fish. It's a part of life and living, he said. So I wonder what kind of fish Theseus will find for the jellyfish, but I do know that it won't be in vain.

  As Theseus and the jellyfish swim off, I tug the box with me along the ocean floor, stirring up clouds of sand around me. I grunt with every step, wondering if humans pull their cargo around like this, too?

  I dig my fingers in underneath the flaps of the box. Whether it's because the material has been weakened from the excitement inside the not-ship or from being underwater, I'm not sure, but the brown material of the box tears underneath my hands, and I open it.

  It's full of books. Human books. And they're all identical.

  "Oh, wow," I murmur as I take the first one off the top and flip through it. The pages of the book are incredibly fragile being underwater, so I'm careful not to turn any pages too quickly. If I had joined the migration and found this wreck in the spring when we came back, the large metal box may have already been explored by other sea creatures, and there might not have been anything left to discover.

  Maybe it's fate then that I found this book.

  Mers have books, too, although ours are made ou
t of seaweed and, if it's a particularly important piece of literature, on the skins of fishes. We treat our books like gold, so I'm surprised to see so many here all at once.

  I close the book and look at the cover where, sprawled in decorative lettering with curly styling that somewhat reminds me of coral, I read The Night Before Christmas. On the cover, I see something that looks like a landscape, although it's so foreign to me, I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at. I see through a window that there's a human child in its bed, while there is a man in the foreground with a red hat and clothes. His white beard matches the white of something thick that coats every outside surface of the abode. I look at that white stuff, wondering what it is. I touch it, thinking that it may perhaps give me some clue as to what it is.

  I've traveled all around the seven seas, and I haven't seen anything like it. I've heard tales, sure, in the far north and south where soft, fluffy water falls from the sky, but that seems like it would almost be impossible. It's far beyond the reaches of the mers. For us, water has always been clear. Liquid and pliable.

  Not this stuff.

  I sit on a rock and read through the pages of the book, marveling at everything that I'm seeing. There's a family inside this house that's going to sleep during what's known as the night before Christmas. And I learn that this fat man on the cover, the one with the white beard and red clothes, is named Saint Nicholas, and he enters their home and puts presents out for the family.

  There's nothing like it in mer culture. And it makes me wonder just how crazy life is for humans.

  "I've paid off the jellyfish," Theseus announces, coming back from taking care of her.

  "Thank you," I say without looking up. I'm too enamored with the strangeness of this book that I don't want to look away, not even for a second.

  "You're welcome," Theseus says. "Is that what was inside? Books?"

  I finally tear my eyes away from it to look up to him. I can't help my smile. "Yes! This is what winter is like on the surface for humans! They have something called Christmas."

  He frowns. "Christmas?"

  I nod and then launch into an explanation of what I've read in this book. And when he doesn't believe me, I open the book and read it for him. He sits with rapt attention as if trying to understand this crazy world that we've found within the books. And when I finish reading him the story, and he's had a look for himself at every page, he finally hands it back to me.