Born of Water: An Elemental Origins Novel

by A. L. Knorr

  "There was a set of eight of them. Do you see the faces?" she asked, outlining the shape with her finger. The design was of two bearded heads put back to back so they were facing away from the centre of the chair. Their mouths were open in an angry snarl and their eyebrows were knit down into an expression of fury.

  "Friendly," I said.

  "Threatening, right? Martinius has a historian looking into the origin. Only a destination was listed in the manifest. My guess is that a military general, or someone similar, commissioned them. Maybe they were to be used at a negotiating table."

  "Where were they going?" I said, admiring the fine detailing of the men's beards. Their hair swirled around their heads like an eddy in the ocean.

  "The manifest says the Port of Tallinn in Estonia. Often the ports these goods were delivered to was not their final destination. They were picked up by other delivery services and taken further inland."

  "Would that have been the case for most of these artifacts?" I asked.

  She nodded. "Many of them, yes. Once Novak Shipping delivered them to port, their job was done."

  We listened to the questions and speculations of the people around us. The cargo of The Sybellen was drawing people together. English accents mingled with Canadian, American, and Polish accents as well as accents I didn't recognize. There were at least three languages being spoken and all of them held tones of reverence and fascination.

  We walked slowly along, taking in the artifacts: Rosaries, silver candlesnuffers and tapirs, a pair of scissors, a snuffbox, jewelled cufflinks, a collection of spice jars and shapely oil and vinegar bottles.

  "Does everything look different now that it's out of the water, or do they look the same as when you first saw them?" I asked my mom.

  "Everything you see here has been cleaned, so they do look much better than they did when they were first recovered. The Novak team took time to choose which artifacts to put on display and cleaned those first. We recovered a lot more than what you see here."

  An elderly man ahead of us in the line overheard her. He turned towards us and asked in a British accent, "Excuse me, but were you part of the dive team that discovered The Sybellen?" Others around us looked at my mother with interest.

  "Discovered, no. Salvaged, yes," she replied.

  His eyebrows shot up, "Begging your pardon but are there many women salvage divers on your team?"

  "No. Just me."

  A woman with white hair next to him, who must have been his wife, said, "You see, my darling, how times have changed? Nowadays women do everything that men do."

  "Only better," I chimed in, and everyone within earshot laughed.

  I wasn't sure if it was because they were from an older generation or the fact that they were Europeans that triggered her to vocalize the observation. In North America, and to my generation, it was old news that women could do the same jobs as men.

  "Are you going to be a diver too?" asked the woman.

  "I wasn't planning on it until I came here," I said. Mom smiled at me.

  "The magic of the treasure hunt has captured your imagination, has it?" said the man, kindly.

  "Something like that," I replied, smiling.

  I sipped the champagne as we chatted. Before long I felt warm and relaxed and no longer worried about not belonging. After a while I started to feel like everyone's granddaughter.

  When word got out that my mom was one of the salvage divers, she quickly became a centre of interest. They wanted every detail about the dive, where the ship was, what shape it was in and how the salvage operation had been executed. All manner of questions came her way, one after the other.

  Everyone at the party was connected to Martinius in some way, whether it was through family, business, or government. The Sybellen was a legend in this circle and many of them marvelled that she'd ever been found, against so many odds, let alone salvaged.

  "Where was she found?" asked the British gentleman.

  "What did you think when you saw her for the first time?" his wife added, a sapphire tiara glittering from atop her thinning grey curls.

  My mom took a breath to answer when another lady asked, "Aren't you horribly afraid to be all those meters under the sea? I would think it to be frightfully dark and cold."

  More well-intentioned people closed in and more questions came before she had time to answer. I felt Mom stiffen, her eyes darting from face to face. The people were just curious but my mother was very uncomfortable being the centre of attention and I could tell that she was starting to feel claustrophobic. She stumbled over her words in an effort answer them but she had lost her composure.

  I was desperately trying to think of a polite way to extricate my mother from the interrogation when a familiar scent washed over me. It erased all thought and made my knees weak. I felt his gentle hand at the small of my back and my eyes closed in involuntary pleasure at the warmth that swept over me in response to his touch.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Antoni said, without giving any hint that he was addressing the crowd purely to rescue my overwhelmed mother. "I'm pleased to inform you that there will be a presentation after dinner complete with video clips and animation to help you fully enjoy the salvage journey."

  The crowd made comments to show how much they were looking forward to the presentation and slowly dispersed. My mother took a deep breath and began to relax. She gave Antoni a small but appreciative smile, which was more than I had seen her give to any man aside from Martinius since we'd arrived here.

  Antoni returned her smile then looked down at me. My breath caught in my throat at the look of care on his face. "You'd better save me a dance," he said, his hand still on my back.

  "Of course she will," said my mother with an uncharacteristic stroke of gentility.

  "Good," he said, and walked away.

  "What did you say that for?" I asked, giving her a steely look.

  "Well, were you actually going to say no? He's a good man, Targa. They're few and far between. And relax, it's just a dance," she replied. "Lets find our seats."

  I followed her with mixed emotions. She knew how confusing my feelings towards Antoni were, how just being near him made all my logic fail so utterly and the mating instinct kick in. So, why was she encouraging me to dance with him? It seemed unlike her to involve herself, even in so small a way. I wondered if the lack of salt in her body was to blame for this too.

  Mom and I made our way to the seating map, which had been placed near a fountain just inside the door. We found our names and saw that we'd been placed at the table nearest to the head table, where Martinius would be sitting. We were seated with a blend of Bluejackets and Novak employees. I recognized the names of Simon and Eric; the other four names were Polish.

  As everyone got settled and the room grew quiet, a dark-haired woman in a grey satin gown stepped up to the microphone. She waited until the orchestra finished before she began speaking. She spoke in Polish first and the depth of her voice surprised me. Once she was finished her speech she switched to English. She had a heavier accent than either Martinius or Antoni and so I struggled to understand a few words, but I so enjoyed the sound of her voice that I didn't care.

  "Welcome friends, family, and colleagues," she said, looking completely at home in front of the mic. "My name is Hanna Krulikoski, Chief Financial Officer of Novak Stoczniowców Braciz. As many of you know," she continued, "In 1870 the Novak family and company experienced a heart-breaking personal and professional tragedy. The loss of Mattis Novak and his wife Sybellen nearly spelled the end for the company. The Sybellen, the company's prize ship, was lost at sea along with all the souls on board and the precious cargo. For over 150 years the Novak family has been searching for her and has never given up hope."

  She gave a brief overview of the story and how the ship had been discovered before introducing Martinius. "I am so pleased and honoured," she said, crossing her gloved hands over her heart, "to be the one to welcome you to the celebration of her recovery and to as
k our friend, colleague, and leader to the microphone, Martinius Joseph Novak."

  The ballroom filled with applause and everyone stood up as Martinius made his way to the front. I looked around at all the warm faces and found myself thinking that neither my mother nor I would ever have a room full of people who were as fond of us as these people were of Martinius.

  He too spoke in his native tongue first before he moved to English. He thanked everyone warmly for coming and teased someone named Otto of showing up only for the vodka. The crowd laughed when a balding man with a red face stood up and held aloft a small crystal goblet with a clear liquid in it.

  "Many people believed we were foolish to continue searching year after year for the wreck of The Sybellen. We've been ridiculed mercilessly over the years for throwing good money after bad, and for our obsession. But you..." He swept both gloved hands out wide to the crowd and then brought them together with a loud clap, clasping them in a sincere gesture of gratitude. It would have looked funny on anyone else but perfectly suited an elderly European gentleman like Martinius. "You understood that without obsession, a task like this is only a dream. You are here because you never wavered in your support, you never stopped believing that she'd one day be found."

  As he was speaking, four young men in black tie appeared behind him. It seemed that they were pushing something heavy, as they were bent at the waist and their hands were on something in front of them. The sound of plastic wheels rolling across the hardwood floor found its way to my ears. I craned my neck to see what was being presented; my imagination conjuring up an elaborately decorated cake.

  As the big black box was rolled into view, I felt the blood drain from my face and a wave of dizziness swept over me. My vision fuzzed out at the sides and I gripped the table, hoping that I didn't faint. I recognized the box instantly. It was the one my mother and I had put the masthead in.

  Twenty-Nine

  My blood turned to ice in my veins. "Mom!" I whispered urgently, and patted her thigh under the table. She'd seen the box too and her whole body was stiff. She grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed it painfully. "What is he doing?" she said under her breath. "We had an agreement."

  "This celebration is our thank you for your enduring faith in our quest. It is a thank you for the hard work of all those involved. And it is a celebration to mark the return home of our long-lost Sybellen," Martinius continued.

  The black box had come to rest beside Martinius and the men hovered nearby. A spotlight had been lit and was shining down, ready to light up the carved face that would shatter our safety. Each of the men had taken hold of one of the corners of the box and was waiting for the go ahead from Martinius, to let the sides drop away.

  "We're leaving. Now," my mom hissed under her breath. "Calmly. No need to panic. We'll be gone before anyone makes the connection."

  I wasn't so sure and I wasn't convinced that there was no need to panic. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. As though we had the idea at the exact same time, my mother and I grabbed our water glasses and drained them. We pushed our chairs back quietly, keeping our movements smooth and unhurried. I was grateful that all attention was on Martinius. My heart was pounding and I felt a rush of adrenalin. The champagne/water blend in my stomach soured and I thought I might be sick. We began to move slowly towards the door.

  We had trusted Martinius; we'd believed him when he'd promised to keep the masthead a secret. The enchanted evening had turned into a nightmare.

  Martinius continued, "Please join me in welcoming her home again. I give you..." the men let the sides of the black wooden crate drop away from the glass box inside, "...The Sybellen." Martinius began to clap and the crowd joined in and stood up. People were craning their necks to see the contents and a gush of appreciative sounds filled the air.

  I was afraid to look, as though seeing the face would seal our fate. My mom grabbed my hand and I looked up at her to see an expression of genuine surprise. I followed her gaze and saw that inside the box was not the masthead but a large bronze bell.

  Mom and I shared an incredulous look and she started to laugh in relief. I let out the breath I didn't even realize I had been holding and then began to laugh too. The realization that he hadn't betrayed us made my limbs feel weak. We were safe. I held a hand over my heart in an effort to steady the pounding and then joined in the applause.

  We hadn't gotten very far. We moved back to our seats and sat down along with the rest of the guests at our table as the applause died away. I glanced around the table, relieved to see that no one had even noticed that we'd been about to abandon ship.

  As my heart calmed, I looked at the bronze artifact which my mom had told me had never been found. The bell had a crack in it but looked otherwise whole. There was an inscription along the base of the bell, which I couldn't read from this distance but I knew it would have the name and the date The Sybellen had been built inscribed into it.

  Everyone was chatting about the beautiful bell. A few people from tables that were further away got up from their chairs and approached to have a better look. People were kneeling down beside the bell and taking photographs with it.

  "How did you not know that they found the bell?" I whispered to my mother over the general murmur in the room.

  She shook her head, bafflement on her face, "I had no idea." She leaned towards Simon, who was on her other side, and asked him about it.

  He nodded at her and said, "We found it less than three hundred metres from the wreck. You weren't there because it was a Saturday."

  She whacked him across the arm and he made a show of cowering against her mock fury. "And you didn't tell me? How could you not tell me?" she said in a fiery whisper.

  He held his hands wide, "I thought you knew. I thought for sure one of the guys had told you."

  She turned back to me and rolled her eyes, "No one tells me anything."

  Eric had watched the exchange with a smug look. He'd enjoyed keeping a secret from the team superstar. It was a testament to how poor my mother's relationships with her colleagues were that not a single one had bothered to tell her about the bell, not even Micah.

  It was a good thing that nothing her colleagues did could hurt my mom's feelings but I was offended enough for both of us. I shot Eric a hard look but he didn't have the decency to look ashamed. He looked back at me as if to say, what are you going to do about it?

  As the din died down and everyone settled into their seats again, I looked at Martinius to see if maybe he would look in our direction. Had he known that the rolling out of the identical preservation box would put us into a panic? Did he realize that my mother didn't know about the bell?

  As though she knew what I was thinking she leaned over and said quietly to me, "Don't blame him, he doesn't know that my own colleagues hate me. I'm sure he thought I knew about it. Its one thing they've found without my help for once. Let them have it."

  She said it without any self pity whatsoever but in that moment my heart broke for my mother. Once again I was reminded of the sacrifice that she had been making for me and just how miserable her life was. Emotion swept over me. I felt my lower lip tremble and I took a sip of champagne to cover it. Now that I was a mermaid too what excuse did I have to continue to let her suffer?

  As the first course of dinner, a gourmet salad, was laid out in front of us, I looked down at it and frowned. I no longer had an appetite.

  My mother noticed that I was pushing radicchio around on my plate and asked, "What's wrong, Targa? I cannot believe that you aren't as starved as I am."

  I forced a smile and speared a few leaves, putting them in my mouth and chewing. They tasted as bitter as I felt. If I didn't at least pretend to enjoy the meal my mother would know that something was up and I didn't want to steal this night away from her.

  So, I chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, until the bitter feeling began to subside. Dinner was six courses plus coffee. I was stuffed by the fourth and felt sleepy by the time the video p
resentation came on during dessert.

  The lights were dimmed and the presentation started. The video was well made, with interviews of people from Novak as well as the Bluejacket team. Animation showed the condition of the wreck and demonstrated how artifacts were removed from the site safely. I noticed that even the animated version of the ship had no distinguishable masthead. Martinius had been true to his word.

  My mother didn't have any speaking presence in the video but I saw her in the background in some of the clips. In one, she was working on the deck of The Brygida in her diving gear and in another she was bobbing in the water next to the ship and looking up as she spoke with Simon, who was kneeling on the deck next to her and giving instruction. Or maybe he was taking instruction from her, I couldn't be sure.

  She never acknowledged the camera and she never smiled. I could tell she was miserable and once even saw her pulling at the neck of her diving gear uncomfortably while she worked. She looked like someone who hated her job. No, worse than that, she looked like someone who hated her life.

  I looked over at her in the dim light and wondered what she thought about how she looked. She caught my eye and I'm sure she knew what I was thinking. She gave the tiniest shrug in response and took a swallow of coffee. She looked bored throughout the whole presentation.

  After the video ended, the orchestra started up again and the sconces illuminated the room. In no time a few older couples were waltzing prettily across the dance floor. What was it with this generation? They all knew how to ballroom dance. My generation knew how to gyrate and jump up and down, not how to float across the floor like kings and queens. I felt like I'd gone back in time. I realized that I hadn't taken any pictures so I took my phone out of my clutch and snapped some photos of the dancers, the orchestra and the room.

  I texted a few of the images to our group, letting them know where we were and that we were celebrating the close of the project. I sent a caption along with one of the photos of the people waltzing.