Raging Sea

by Michael Buckley

  “They told me that we owe you our freedom,” Terrance says.

  “I’m working on getting us all out of here,” I whisper.

  He sighs, as if hope has let him down so many times, he can’t stand when it’s in the room.

  “Take care of my son,” he says, then walks back through the doors.

  “C’mon,” I say. I push Samuel until we are standing in front of the group. “Children, this is Samuel Lir. He is one of us. His father is Sirena, and his mother is human. Sammy here is going to keep us company while we train.”

  “That’s not all,” Spangler interrupts. “That’s not the end of the surprises. I have presents.”

  The doors open, and a parade of scientists in lab coats stream through, carrying large silver cases and video equipment. They put everything down at Spangler’s feet, then go to work setting up cameras and tripods. As they finish, Spangler unlocks the cases, revealing a collection of gloves identical to mine. He removes one and holds it out for all the children to see.

  “Fathom brought one for each of you,” he promises.

  Fathom enters and the children thank him, then they crowd around Spangler, reaching for the glove like it’s a bag of free candy.

  “Now, now, let’s line up and—”

  Fathom tries to catch my eye but I refuse to look at him. His presence makes me angry. I can’t tell whether giving the children gloves or the person who brought them is more disgusting.

  “Wait!” I shout.

  Spangler gives me a wary look, and I’m chilled.

  “What is it, Ms. Walker?”

  “If you put one on, you need to know that it doesn’t come off.”

  One of the teen girls steps forward. I think her name is Abigail. She looks confused. “Ever?” she asks.

  “I don’t know about ever, but I think so. When you go out into the real world, people will see it, and everyone will know you are different. People may react with fear and anger because you have it on. Lots of people don’t understand what we are, and it scares them—”

  “Because of the sickness,” Spangler interrupts. “But soon they’ll understand that you aren’t contagious. When that happens, you’ll all be seen as the heroes you are. Now, there’s something that I didn’t mention. The Oracles will take away your migraines.”

  Chloe takes my hand. The rings around her eyes are deep and purple. She must have been up all night with headaches.

  “Is that true?” she asks. There is so much hope in her eyes, and why shouldn’t there be? If I had known that I could be free from my pain if I wore a cool metal glove that gave me superpowers for the rest of my life, I would have leaped at the chance.

  I nod, defeated.

  “I want mine!” Riley cheers, pushing to the front of the line.

  Spangler hands him one, and the boy turns it over and over again in his hands, studying the metal and the carvings. He fumbles with it, trying to put it on the wrong hand, until Doyle flips it over and closes it with a snap. It locks itself in place, and Riley’s eyes glow like someone turned a strobe light on inside his skull. A second later, his hand joins the laser light show.

  “Whoa!” he says. “That’s crazy.”

  Scientists buzz around him, taking pictures and videos. One waves a machine that looks like a Geiger counter over the boy. Its needle bounces around wildly.

  “How do you feel, Riley?” Spangler asks.

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Please try,” Spangler says. “We’re making history here. There are lots of people who would like to know everything they can about this experience. It could lead to other kinds of discoveries.”

  “It’s like being dropped into a bottle of soda,” I say.

  Riley smiles at me.

  “Yeah, just like she said.”

  The other children chatter excitedly.

  “My head doesn’t hurt at all!” he continues. “Just like you said, Donovan.”

  Spangler taps on his tablet, and suddenly Riley’s eyes open wide with surprise.

  “I hear a voice!”

  I hear one too. It’s telling me to take the shot, but both Spangler and Doyle are watching me like hawks. Fathom takes a step closer to me, presumably to have a better position if he has to attack me.

  “What does the voice say, Riley?” one of the scientists probes.

  “It’s whispering to me, asking me if I want it to do anything. I swear it’s coming from the pool underneath us. Who is it, Lyric?”

  Everyone turns to me.

  “A friend of mine named Ghost believed that the voice belongs to the Alpha god, the Great Abyss,” I say, feeling like a phony. I’m the last person in the world who should be explaining the religion.

  Cole is the next to get his glove, then Tess, Emma, Jane, Finn, Alexa, Dallas, Priscilla, Pierre, Harrison, and Geno. Spangler hands each kid one with a smile. They help one another put them on, and once each glove is in place and snaps shut, the children’s eyes shine like supernovas. They celebrate and chatter incessantly about how it feels or how their brains don’t hurt or what they want to do with this incredible power they have just been given. Each time I hear a glove snap shut, I die a little more, knowing that another life is forever changed. Chloe is the last one to get a glove, and she holds it out in front of her hands and studies it closely.

  “Doesn’t Samuel get one?” she asks, looking to the boy in the wheelchair.

  “I’m not sure that Samuel could make it work, Chloe,” Spangler explains.

  Chloe frowns.

  “That’s not fair. If he can’t have one, then I want to give him mine,” she argues.

  “Chloe, now honey, I don’t think you understand.”

  Harrison steps forward and pulls Spangler out of the conversation. He has a million questions about the carvings and the metal and how it works. Meanwhile, Chloe looks at me with her sad, tired face. She doesn’t understand that Samuel is a broken kid who serves no purpose to Spangler other than to keep me satisfied.

  When all the children have their gloves, the pool is opened and the kids are ushered to its side. The scientists lug their instruments and cameras over and set them up to eagerly watch what happens next. I guess that’s my cue to start.

  “All right, I’m going to be honest. I’m not much of a teacher, but I think that starting small and simple is the best strategy.”

  “That means you kids can’t throw me in the pool on the first day!” Spangler says.

  The children laugh at his joke. They believe that my attempt to kill him was just a stunt.

  “The gloves were invented by—”

  “Oracles, Lyric. We call them Oracles. We’ve trademarked the name,” Spangler insists.

  “They were invented by the Nix, a clan in the Alpha Nation that is known for their work in science and math. The gloves were meant to help the Rusalka with their headaches, because the Rusalka were once part of the Alpha Nation as well. Now, before you start thinking the Nix were being nice, the Rusalka were practically slaves. Their clan did all the hard work, and if they had headaches, everything slowed down, so these gloves—”

  “Oracles!” Spangler says.

  “These Oracles were supposed to be medicine. Now, like lots of medicines, they had a side effect. When the Rusalka put them on, they found not only that their headaches were gone, but also that they could manipulate water. No one really knows why.”

  “Was it just the Rusalka?” Breanne asks.

  “No, some Alpha could use them. Ghost had one, and his girlfriend Luna. There was a boy named Thrill. I have a friend named Arcade who is a Triton, and she wears one.”

  “Where is she?” Riley asks.

  I turn to Spangler, and every eye follows.

  “She’ll be here soon,” he promises.

  “Great! So, the Rusalka were suddenly very powerful, and they realized they didn’t have to be slaves anymore. Long story short, the Alpha refused to let them live in freedom, so the Rusalka declared war on the rest of the
empire, and here we are now.”

  “So, the Rusalka aren’t actually evil?” a blond teen asks from the back. I think her name is Sophie.

  The rest of the kids have the same confused expression on their faces.

  “Thank you for the history lesson, Lyric. Maybe we should move on to your demonstration,” Spangler insists.

  I shrug and lift my hand high over my head. The glove goes off like a bottle rocket, and the children watch me in stunned silence. I hear my mother telling me to take the shot, but Doyle is right. It’s not going to work, at least not today. I need to make a plan, and until I do, there are just too many moving parts. I need to wait for my moment, just like I did when the silver bowl wouldn’t go through the slot. Someone will make a mistake. I just have to be ready.

  For the next few minutes, I use the pool water to create a number of different objects, from spears to tridents to enormous fists. Anything my imagination can conceive becomes a living sculpture of liquid.

  “Anything you can imagine, you can make, but I suggest you stick with things you’ve seen in real life. If you understand how long something is or what it’s actually made of, then it’s easier to mold that shape. I know what a hammer looks like. I know how heavy it is. I can use that information to make a larger version. I know a sword is long and pointy—you get what I’m saying. Stick with real-world stuff today. Tomorrow we’ll get creative.”

  A blast of liquid springs out of the pool and morphs into the shape of an anaconda. It wraps around Riley and lifts him off the ground. The children gasp.

  “It’s okay. I won’t hurt him,” I say, looking little Chloe directly in the eye. “I promise I will never hurt any of you.”

  “It’s cool,” Riley says, and his grin is bigger than ever. “But you’re getting my tracksuit wet!”

  I set him down, and he leads the applause.

  “Water is liquid, but it can be solid, too. You can pack it together to make it dense. You can thin it out to make rain. It’s up to you. So, everyone, let’s aim your gloves at the pool,” I say. “I guess you don’t actually have to point it at the water, but it helps me to focus if I do. Good. All right, now concentrate on the surface, and let’s see if you can affect it. Try to make a little ripple. It doesn’t have to be big. It can be a tiny thing, like you dropped a stone into a still pond. You’ve seen a ripple a million times.”

  “I’ve got it,” Riley says as he closes his eyes tight.

  I turn to Spangler. He smiles and nods approvingly. I want him to think he’s tamed me, at least until I can get off his leash.

  “All right, now, here’s where things get tricky,” I say, turning my attention back to Riley. “It’s not your imagination that makes the ripple. It’s your spirit.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “I’m talking about you—the big, awesome force that is Riley. The stomping giant that hides in your heart. That’s what fuels your Oracle. It’s the same thing that makes that sarcastic grin.”

  The children laugh.

  “So it’s like the Force?” Cole shouts from the crowd.

  Riley’s face lights up, and he smiles at me. He’s always smiling at me. Why?

  “No, not the Force. This is about raw emotion, not calm meditation. The person who taught me to use this told me that if I wanted to make it work, I had to be a force of nature, like a hurricane, all turmoil and raw emotion.”

  “Show us,” Finn begs.

  I’ve got more than my fair share of raw emotion, and letting some go will do me good. Best of all, I know just who to unleash it on.

  I turn to Fathom. He hovers in the shadows, watching my lesson and doing his best to keep his distance. I raise my fist and his eyes widen. When my entire arm explodes and light flies upward to illuminate the rafters, his mouth opens in shock.

  “Watch and learn, kids,” I shout, and at once all the water in the pool is in the air. It sails across the room until it is directly above Fathom, and then it swirls into a bubbling whirlpool, spinning faster and faster until his hair and clothes flap in an angry wind. Then I send it crashing down on him. He’s caught in my churning heartbreak, and his body flails about as he struggles to free himself. He’s not quick enough for my attack and his body slams into the floor over and over again, until he comes down in one bone-cracking slam. I direct the water back to the pool and watch Fathom struggle to stand, fighting with his lungs for a breath. He shoots me an angry and frustrated expression but I turn my back on him and face the children.

  “Don’t worry, kids. He’s not hurt. In fact, Fathom can’t feel anything. That’s how he’s made,” I say.

  I expected the kids to be shocked and afraid, the way they were when I attacked Spangler the day before, but they are smiling and eager, if a bit intimidated.

  “I don’t think I feel anything that powerful,” Chloe says.

  “My ability is fueled by loss and betrayal, something I’m sure all of you have experienced. But you don’t have to feel pain to do what I can do. Happiness is just as good. Fear, anger, love—”

  The word feels dry and tough in my mouth. I’d spit it out if I could, right here on the grass. I’d step on it and squish it into nothing. Fathom has recast its very meaning so that it feels unwelcome and foreign. I can recall the feelings, but they are covered in so much despair, like the sudden loss of a person. Like how I feel about Shadow. All I can do is mourn. Put it aside, Lyric. Lock it up in a box and shove it deep under the bed. Don’t let him see what he’s done to you. Don’t turn and look. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had power over you.

  “Lyric? Are you all right?” Doyle asks.

  “Sorry. I was saying you don’t need to feel something that intense. It could be something as simple as a happy memory or the secret wild thing inside you.”

  “I’m lost,” Harrison admits.

  “Have you ever read Where the Wild Things Are?”

  “Riley reads it to me,” Chloe says, giving him a wink.

  “Remember when Max wins the staring contest and the wild things bow down to him and make him their king, and then they do that crazy dance?”

  “The wild rumpus,” she says, standing tall and proud for knowing the answer.

  “Is there a wild rumpus inside you?”

  Doyle crosses the room and stands close.

  “Maybe I can help,” he says. “What is it that you want them to do? Give me the instructions, and I can help them understand.”

  “There aren’t instructions,” I snap. “This isn’t a microwave. It’s fueled by feelings, the more powerful the better. It doesn’t have to be happiness. It can be aggression or arrogance or rebelliousness or even overconfidence. It’s like punk rock. It’s like a first kiss. It’s like a fistfight. They need to tap into something that rocked their world. This stupid park you’ve created for them is—”

  Doyle looks at me skeptically.

  “He’s doing it!” Priscilla cries. I turn to the pool and watch the water rippling back and forth until it becomes a violent wave that sloshes over the sides.

  “I can’t believe it,” Riley says.

  “You made it move! What did you think about?” I cry.

  He gives me that grin again but keeps the answer to himself.

  “Let’s let someone else give it a shot,” Doyle says.

  “Riley, are you okay?” Chloe whimpers, then points to his face.

  Blood is trickling out of his nose.

  “Amy!” Spangler shouts, and from his mob of groupies comes everyone’s favorite nurse, urging the boy to tilt his head back and pinch his nose. She leads him away while Spangler stares at me like I’m mold.

  “It’s okay. That happens to me sometimes too. He’s not hurt.”

  Spangler punches a couple of buttons on his tablet.

  “Is he sick?” Emma asks.

  I shake my head, but to be honest, I don’t know. These gloves could be killing us all.

  “Let’s take a break,” Doyle says.

  He
takes my arm and walks me out of everyone’s earshot.

  “You’re confusing and scaring them,” he says. “They don’t need to know the Rusalka were mistreated. You don’t tell a soldier to empathize with the target. You tell them they eat babies and will kill us all in our sleep.”

  “I’m not trying to scare them. They need to understand what they’re getting into and why they’re fighting,” I argue.

  “That’s not your job,” he says with a sigh. “You’ve also got to get specific about how to make these things work.”

  “I can’t be specific. I’ve tried to explain this the best I can. The glove is fueled by their spirits.”

  “We don’t have time for spirits!” he says. “And what’s this about the nosebleeds?”

  “Hey, look!” someone shouts from the crowd.

  Doyle and I turn toward them, only to see Chloe hovering near Samuel. She slips her glove onto his hand, and it clicks into place.

  “Chloe, no!” Spangler shouts, but it’s too late. Samuel’s eyes glow and then dim.

  “It wasn’t fair he didn’t have one,” she tries to explain. “I want everyone to play.”

  Samuel lowers his head and looks at the glove on his hand, then looks up at me. For a moment, he seems like his old self again, but then it fades.

  “That is a very big problem,” Spangler says to me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WHEN I GET BACK TO MY ROOM, IT’S FULL OF NEW FURNITURE—someone has even patched the holes in the wall. But Bex and my parents are gone. The soldier who escorted me has no idea where they are but uses his radio to find out, while I have a panic attack.

  “They’re okay, Lyric,” Doyle says when he finally shows up. “Your dad is in the infirmary getting x-rays on his ribs. Bex is eating lunch with your mother. They’re safe.”

  “Spangler is going to hurt them. He thinks I made Riley’s nose bleed.”

  “I told him you didn’t, and he believes me,” he says.