A Tear in the Ocean

by H. M. Bouwman

  Una was excited to go to Raftworld. She’d begun weaving warmer clothing so that she could survive the walk to the ocean and the days and weeks at sea. Rayel began building a raft they could lug out of this place in pieces and put together at the water, a raft with a small cabin for Una to stay out of the cold.

  But all the while they were building and weaving, Rayel kept thinking about the frozen land around them. And finally one day she said what she was thinking, even though it would make Una unhappy. “Before we go, I’d like to walk around outside for a while.”

  “Underground is nice,” said Una. “Warm.”

  “But we don’t know what’s out there,” said Rayel. “Not all of it. There could be more places like this cavern. Or better places. We’ll just go look. Then we’ll go to Raftworld.”

  Finally, reluctantly, Una agreed: as soon as she’d woven enough cloth to make a warm outfit for herself, they’d explore.

  Another month passed, and finally Una’s snow outfit was ready. By that time, Rayel had finished the little raft with the cabin—it sat in several pieces on the ground near the waterfall—and she was so bored she was almost ready to climb the walls of the sunny cave. It was all so perfect and so still and so aggravating. She wanted wind, and shifting ocean, and the feeling of cold weather looking for her and not finding her.

  It was just past the height of summer, or what passed for the height of summer in the deep south, when they stepped outside. The sun shone almost all day long, setting for only a few hours each night. The brightness felt like life to Rayel. For though she could not feel cold, she could feel heat, and she realized she hadn’t felt direct sunlight in a long time.

  The two girls took turns pulling a sled filled with items they would need: fresh-caught fish for Una; dried food for Rayel; a change of clothes in case Una’s clothing became wet; a little tent for Una to keep warm in (there was room for Rayel in the tent, too, but she didn’t need it); and a little stove with a pile of wood scraps, for Una. Most of the sled, in fact, carried sticks for burning.

  On their backs the girls wore cloaks that Una had made. Rayel wore one, too, but only because her friend had made it; she planned to give it to Una if Una got too cold in only her own cloak. And they’d fashioned visors from tinted gypsum, to protect their eyes from the bright glare; it was impossible to see without the visors pulled down over their faces.

  Even through all those layers, Rayel could feel fingers of sunlight tickling her head and shoulders. She loosened her cloak.

  Una, meanwhile, pulled hers tighter and hunched against the wind, shivering. “How long are we going to stay out here?”

  “We’ve just started,” said Rayel. “And you’ll warm up when we walk. I promise.”

  Una nodded, willing to try, and they set off inland, away from where Rayel’s boat had sunk, toward a slight rise in the land.

  A couple of hours later, the slight rise in the land was closer, and it was more than a slight rise. A mountain? Distances and heights were hard to judge here. But it looked rocky as they got closer to it, and Rayel thought it would be a good place to look for more underground land—or even just normal, nonmagical snow caves—and for any other signs of life. She gestured toward it. “Let’s get as far as we can and then set up camp for the night.”

  Una rubbed her mittened fingers together and stuffed them under her armpits. “I don’t know if I can make it that far. My feet are getting really cold. Sore. I don’t want frostbite.”

  Rayel tried to imagine what frostbite would feel like. Such a strange word.

  Looking up at Rayel, Una explained: the tingling in the fingers and toes, then the numbness and clumsiness. If you stayed out long enough, the eventual death from cold.

  Rayel listened, though it was all just words to her. She couldn’t feel it. “I believe you. Should we stop now? For the night?”

  Una nodded, relieved. “I just need to warm up.”

  They set up the tent, and Una crawled inside with the stove, lit a piece of wood from the small stock they’d brought along, and huddled over it. Rayel crawled inside, and they shared a lunch and rested. A couple of hours later, they started up again.

  They walked for two days, zigzagging away from their cavern, stopping often to warm up and nap, traveling toward the mountain and then climbing the mountain.

  Although they could see far into the distance from its smooth, windblown summit, they didn’t spot any entrances to underground caverns, and they couldn’t see any trees or grass or anything alive. They’d discovered frozen land and snow that seemed to go on forever.

  Una was cold all the time now—and more and more uneasy the farther they got from the ocean. At the top of the low mountain, she pivoted slowly, scanning the horizon for water. There was none in sight. “Can we go back?”

  “We still have enough food and wood to go a bit farther. Maybe that next mountain.” Rayel pointed into the distance. “Then we’ll go back. I promise.” She felt sure there had to be more to this southern world. There was the magic already of her gift with cold, and the astounding underground cave, and the presence of Una herself . . .

  It was hard to even imagine her as Nunu anymore. The transformation was so believable.

  As if she knew what Rayel was thinking, Una said, “I think the world gets wilder and more magical the farther south you go. That’s my theory. Everything’s more intense here, so the magic is, too.” Then she sighed. “But I don’t think there’s more to this land. I think we’ve already found all the enchantment here.”

  Rayel nodded. Una was probably right about the magic being stronger in the south. After all, here was where she had found a home where she was solely loved. That was magic, too.

  As soon as Rayel had that idea, she thought, Solomon. And memories from her old life—mostly memories about her little brother—flooded back. Things she had tried not to think about too much since she’d left home. So many things she missed about him. His warm skin, smooth under her hand when she touched his cheek. The feel of his head brushing against her arm when he snuggled up to her. His quick smile. The way he laughed when he beat her at games—and the way he laughed even more when she beat him. His head bent over a book and his light, high voice slowly making out the words. The way his nose wrinkled when their mom said something unkind to anyone (especially his sister). The way he ran across the docks when it was time to go boating, a flock of boys and girls running along with him.

  She missed him. Even on the other side of the world, she’d never stop missing him. She understood this better now than when she had left Raftworld. She’d always missed having parents who loved her, and she’d thought Solomon made up for that. But he didn’t; his death taught her about different kinds of sadness. The pain of losing Solomon was staggering. But somehow the pain of losing love she’d never had was almost worse. It would always be an ugly scar. How could she go back?

  “We should stay here,” she said. The words fell out of her mouth unplanned. “Not here, not in the snow. But in the cavern. I’ll go out and explore sometimes on my own, and you won’t even have to go out in the cold, and we’ll live in the cavern together, and it’ll be safe, and we’ll be happy.”

  Una stared at her. “You promised.” There was real anger in her voice—and coldness, too. She turned and walked down the mountain, pulling the sled behind her, toward the warm cavern.

  Rayel sighed. She’d messed up. But she didn’t understand why it was such a big deal to Una—it wasn’t like Raftworld was her home, or even like she remembered her original home.

  She was, after all, a dolphin.

  Una was a small figure partway down the mountain. It was amazing how quickly she could move when she was angry.

  Before Rayel followed, she looked around one last time, hoping to see something. Something amazing.

  And she did. Far off in the distance, she saw what looked like two . . . What were they? Large white creatures, almost the
same shade as the snow, made visible by their blue shadows. Lumbering across the ice. So far away they looked almost like toys. They looked exactly like the way bears had been described in the stories she’d heard when she was little.

  Two of them—like Una had said. One for each.

  She shook her head, and suddenly they were gone, merged back into the landscape. Or maybe imagined in the first place.

  Rayel turned and followed Una home. She wouldn’t mention the bears—if that was what they were.

  * * *

  • • •

  IT TOOK them only a long day to get back to the underground world. Rayel trailed behind as Una stormed ahead, refusing to stop for any amount of cold, determined to get back.

  In the cavern, Una dove into the stream and swam for a long hour while Rayel unpacked the sled, parked now next to the raft pieces. When Una finally emerged from the water and shook herself off, Rayel said, “I’m sorry. But it’s the truth. I don’t want to go back. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It—it wasn’t a good place for me.”

  “But I’ll be there with you,” Una said, “and it will be better. And I want to go. I need more people than what we have here. Maybe a boyfriend someday, maybe children someday, definitely more friends. I was never meant to be alone. I belong in a group.”

  “So I’m not good enough for you.”

  “That’s not fair! I didn’t say I was going to get rid of you. I just need other friends, too. And I’m trapped here—I can’t explore, I can’t go anywhere—because of the cold. You don’t know how that feels.”

  “I know what it’s like to be trapped.” Rayel glowered. “I was stuck on Raftworld. Besides,” she said, “I think my vote counts more. It was my home, not yours.”

  Una flinched as if she’d been slapped. She straightened and said in a low voice, “I thought our votes were both worth the same.” Her eyes darkened even more than usual, the two dots in them glinting like double pupils. “You think I don’t matter as much as you.”

  “I never said that! I just don’t want to go back. Not now.”

  “And maybe not ever.”

  Rayel nodded, relieved. Una understood. Una always understood. She had come to the deep south for Rayel, after all.

  Una stared her in the face for a full minute. It seemed like forever. “Selfish,” she said.

  Then she turned and dove into the stream, swimming away from the water fall and downstream, toward the hard gypsum walls of the cavern. Rayel ran along the bank calling after her, but Una’s head never came above the water; she never heard Rayel—or if she did, she was too angry or hurt to listen. She swam all the way to where the stream ran into a crevasse in the cavern wall on its way to the sea, and she swam into the crevasse. She disappeared.

  * * *

  • • •

  RAYEL WAITED at the crevasse for hours, but Una never came back.

  She returned to the waterfall, and there she cried. For Solomon. For Nunu. Most of all, now, for Una. For all the mistakes she’d made and the awful thing she’d said. The awful thing she’d thought. How could she think someone else wasn’t as important as she was? That her needs outweighed theirs?

  Finally, she cried for herself, because she could see a pattern now, a pattern of herself losing those she loved, a pattern of grief tracing itself out over and over again, like a child practicing rowing: circle and pull, circle and pull, circle and pull, all the motions connected, on and on in an endless invisible chain across the wide sea.

  As she cried, she hardened. There is no other way to describe it. She felt like the cold had finally found her and she was turning to ice, or maybe to stone. She wasn’t sure. She cried for hours, standing on the edge of the water, stiff and unmoving. Then something happened.

  Something arrived.

  A bear. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. One bear. Where did the other go? One for each of us. One for everyone who lands there. Had the other one followed Una, and was this one hers?

  The bear approached her slowly, sniffing and growling. It was enormous.

  Something snapped inside Rayel. The bear wasn’t scared of her at all. It made her so angry. She didn’t move. She kept crying, tears running down her face and neck. The bear swiped at her one time, raking its claws across her stone-hard arm and then whimpering when its claws were damaged. She felt a rush of power. Her arm didn’t even bleed.

  And with a mighty effort, she moved her almost-frozen body, and she grabbed the bear and held on. This bear was hers.

  * * *

  • • •

  LATER, IT was just Rayel again, on the bank of the stream. She stood next to the waterfall, in the shade of the tall tree, and she cried. For what she’d done to the bear. For how it made her feel inside. And for everything and everyone she’d lost, including herself.

  She hardened even more. She remembered how Una had tried to describe frostbite. But this wasn’t freezing, which begins in your fingers and toes and your nose and cheeks and slowly moves from these outposts to your limbs, and only after your limbs surrender does it invade your internal organs and your brain. No, when Rayel hardened, it was something that happened from the inside out. First, all hunger disappeared. Then her heart and lungs slowed down, finally solidifying like granite. Then her brain felt heavy and slow, and her thoughts calcified (gone, gone, gone, their final and repeating word). Lastly—though it all happened quickly at this point—her body petrified in place, statued under the tree next to the river.

  The only thing that did not freeze?

  Her eyes.

  Or more correctly, her tear ducts, which continued to produce tears. The tears ran down her hardened form and slid off her toes into the stream. The stream ran down into an underground river.

  The river carried the tears all the way to the sea. A constant current of tears. And over the long years, those tears altered the enormous ocean.

  Rayel’s tears.

  The salty sea.

  Part Three

  The Bears of the Southern Sea

  1

  PUTNAM AND ARTIE.

  PUTNAM STOOD on the snow just a few steps from the tunnel, walking stick in hand, the bears rearing above him. When they roared, he screamed at them and jabbed the stick forward. He did not feel brave. He knew he would die when they attacked. But he didn’t know what else to do.

  He tried to sound brave. He tried to sound like he had a trick up his sleeve, like maybe he had some magic that would suddenly transform him into something even bigger and scarier than a bear. And who knew? Maybe he did. Maybe there was something special in him that would reveal itself now, when he needed it most.

  But of course that was wishful thinking. He screamed as loud as he could manage, and he jabbed his walking stick, and he didn’t transform even the tiniest bit, and the bears didn’t look at all impressed. They slapped back down to all fours and glared at him. One of them licked its chops. Then they sauntered toward him.

  It was almost insulting how they didn’t even run at him. Like they knew he couldn’t escape.

  Despairing, Putnam hurled the stick like a javelin. It hit the closest bear in the face, just above the eye, and the bear’s head jerked back as if a small bird had struck him. Then it shook its head slowly and sauntered forward again.

  Putnam turned and ran.

  No, he didn’t run. He practically flew. He didn’t even draw breath; there wasn’t time. He plunged away from the bears, toward the hole, blindly hoping to get there before they reached him.

  When a bear raked its claws across his back, Putnam didn’t feel pain, not exactly. He knew what was happening immediately. The sharp burning slash pulled a cry out of him in a voice that didn’t even sound like his own. He stumbled. Fell to his hands and knees. Felt his body give up.

  There was a next blow coming. He knew it.

  He couldn’t look back, but he knew they were there; he knew they were waiting
for him to turn his head so they could kill him as they looked into his eyes.

  He knew.

  Slowly, he turned his head.

  And at that moment, his hands were gripped in a fierce vise, and he was dragged forward, faster than he could imagine, into the tunnel.

  * * *

  • • •

  ARTIE HAD run to the tunnel almost without thinking, the screaming and roaring propelling her forward like a bird blown by a hurricane. But the jarring drop into the tunnel shook her breath out of her, and she was able to make her feet stop, force herself to pause.

  Putnam.

  The entrance to the tunnel had plunged down several feet to a small ledge—she was now perched on it—and then there was a steep downward slope. If she’d taken even one more step forward she’d have hurtled into a narrow tube, a smooth slide that appeared to go downward forever. Who knew where it ended up? And she’d have been gone, unable to help Putnam at all.

  As it was, she needed to do something.

  He’d saved her.

  No one had ever saved her before.

  Now she needed to save him.

  But she’d never saved anyone. She had no idea how to do it. Or if she could.

  Artie poked her head out of the ground just in time to see Putnam, only an arm’s length away, wheezing, on his hands and knees. His head slowly turned away from her to look back at the bears, who were right there above them. One had a claw raised as if it had just swiped at Putnam—or was about to.

  No time. Move. She grabbed Putnam’s wrists and yanked as hard as she could, falling back into the hole as she did and slamming into the little ledge again. Putnam lay on top of her, a dead weight. Was he breathing?