Elemental Origins: The Complete Series

by A. L. Knorr

  We were a long way down. Micah had said The Sybellen was at 90 feet. There was still sunlight down here, and plenty of life.

  We slowed as we approached The Sybellen, stopping a short distance away and taking her in. I don't know why I was startled at her size; in my imagination she hadn't been so big, but she dwarfed us. The images that Micah had shown me had not done her justice. Gooseflesh prickled across my arms as she loomed out of the darkness and up from her bed of sand like a ghost from the distant past.

  "Wow. I have never seen anything like it," I said. And truly, nothing I had ever experienced could rival this moment.

  "Sometimes, I forget," Mom said. "I have seen so many wrecks that I forget that they really are a link to the past and always have a story to tell. Human divers never get to experience a wreck the way we can, let alone the worlds under the sea," she said. I followed her as we drew closer.

  The Sybellen was sat upright on the ocean floor, as though she'd just drifted down slowly from the surface and had come to rest peacefully. The front two masts were still upright but the rear mast had snapped off and was nowhere to be seen. Ropes draped haphazardly across the ship, coated with algae. The wreck had portholes all along both sides and a bowsprit that shot out in front like the nose of a swordfish. A railing with shapely spindles lined the deck. The balustrade was broken in places and though algae grew on every surface, the spindles could be easily made out.

  "Mom.” I pointed at something white and half-buried in the sand not far from the wreck. It was a human skull.

  "Yes," she said. "Wrecks are often tombs. You'll have to get used to seeing things like that I'm afraid, although less so in saltier water with fast moving currents."

  A gaping hole where a hatch had once covered a ladder disappeared down into the hold. A doorway in the fore of the ship opened into the belly as well. The hollows yawned darkly, like a giant's frightening mouth. I had a lot more appreciation for the bravery my mother had to have in her job, mermaid or not.

  "Listen." Mom's voice filled the water around me. She looked at me with her big black eyes. "I don't want you going inside with me. It's dangerous in there, even for a mermaid. I'll go in and take a look around. You can watch from the portholes, ok?"

  "Dangerous how?" I asked, squelching my disappointment.

  "Wrecks are fragile, things can shift and fall without warning, even here where there's very little salt. I've seen men become trapped in the blink of an eye."

  "Have you ever been trapped or hurt?" I asked, now a little worried.

  "Not seriously, no. But I don't want you to take the risk right now, ok?"

  "Ok," I agreed. I was curious about what it was like inside but I understood.

  I watched as she approached the square hole in the deck, the one with the ladder. She didn't touch anything, she didn't use any of the ship around her for leverage and she just let herself drift slowly down into the hold with barely noticeable movements of her body. The last bit of her long tail finally disappeared into the hold.

  I swam down to the side of the ship and peered in through a porthole. The inside of the ship was a mess of barrels and chests, cannons, stairways, and beams both upright and sideways. Whatever had happened to this ship, it looked like it had been shaken like a snow globe.

  I could see my mother easily as she swam through the gloom. She still didn't touch anything. She scanned everything around her, probably taking inventory in her head.

  "It's not often you get to see a ship as old as this one in such good shape. It's like it was frozen in time," she said.

  I thought it looked like a bomb had gone off but this was the first wreck I'd ever seen, so I took her word for it. "What is all that stuff?"

  "According to the manifest, it's a lot of different things, much of which will be decayed beyond recognition, even in the Baltic. Spices, textiles, wine and spirits, ledgers and books," she paused and looked at me. "Coinsssssssss and Goooooold," she said, hissing on 'coins' and drawing out 'gold’, waggling her eyebrows.

  I got goosebumps at the spooky look on her face with its big black pupils and the resonance in her voice. She'd put the violins into a minor key, making her sound haunting. But I couldn't help but laugh at her clowning around. She didn't give a crap about gold. Everyone else did – that was what everyone was always after.

  Suddenly, I remembered something. I couldn't believe we'd forgotten. "Mom!" I said with urgency.

  She stopped floating to look at me. "What? What's wrong?"

  "The figurehead!"

  "Oh yes, I forgot about it. Let's go take a look." She swam towards a square gun port and gingerly floated through it.

  As we approached the figurehead from the rear, I could see that it was a woman's figure after all. That made sense. The ship was named The Sybellen, after Mattis' beloved wife. It was probably a sculpture of her.

  Soon I realized I was mistaken. It was not a woman but a mermaid. Of course it was. The mermaid was the symbol of the Novak family. I should have known. It was probably still Sybellen; only she'd been gifted with a mermaid tail by the sculptor.

  We drew in close and examined her. She was covered in algae, so even though it was obvious what she was, her details were obscured.

  For the first time, I watched my mother do something to disturb the wreck. She didn't touch it; she just took water in through her gills and expelled it through her mouth in a steady jet stream strong enough to remove the algae, but without damaging the sculpture.

  For the first time since we'd entered the sea, the cold began to seep into my bones. I watched with a growing horror as the visage of the figurehead was revealed.

  I was looking into the face of my own mother.

  Chapter 21

  We floated there in stunned silence – both of us in shock. I looked from my mother to the figurehead and there was no mistaking it, they were identical, even down to the tiny cowlick at her left temple where the hair flowed back from her forehead. The face of the sculpture was a mask of serenity, the lips closed and turned up slightly. I'd seen my mother with the same smile many times. My stomach filled with dread.

  "But, this ship is 150 years old!" I cried, finally.

  Mom didn't say anything. She drifted there, taking in her own wooden reflection.

  "How is this possible?" I asked. And then, "Mom!" when she didn't answer.

  "I don't know, Targa," she answered, slowly and quietly. She looked thoughtful, but I could see anger growing in her eyes. With her pupils dilated the way they were, it was an expression that struck fear into my heart.

  When she finally moved again it was to put her hands on either side of the figurehead, feeling around for the crack between it and the ship.

  "What are you doing?" I said, alarmed.

  "I'm going to destroy it, of course.” She sounded surprised that I should ask.

  "No! Mom, you can't do that! You don't know how many people know about it. Maybe there are images of it floating around that you haven't seen yet for some reason. If it's all of a sudden missing, then they'll start investigating." I put my hands on her arms, knowing that I would not be able to stop her if she was determined to rip the figurehead away from the ship. "Let's think for a moment, please," I begged. "If you destroy it now, then you could be putting us in a worse predicament."

  She hesitated, pulling her hands away. Then she seemed to get an idea. "Ok, lets go," she said, and took off at a speed I could barely keep up with.

  The swim back from the wreck was tense. We were both disturbed by what we had discovered, and even more troubled that Martinius had directed my mom to it.

  "Martinus asked you specifically to look at the figurehead. Why?" I asked as we swam, trying to keep the fear in my voice to a minimum. Our musical voices were far more expressive than a normal human voice.

  "I don't know, Targa," she answered, without turning back. "But we're going to find out."

  "How are you going to do that without giving us away?" I asked, straining to keep up to her. M
y tail had begun to ache with the effort.

  "I suspect he already knows our secret, don't you?" she threw over her shoulder, and the stress in her voice was palpable. She was pissed. "I think this was his way of telling us that he knows. Otherwise, why would the figurehead not be on the manifest? No one else on the team even knows it exists. Why would he call me into his personal library, all alone without Simon, the project lead, and then tell me specifically to check it out?"

  I didn't know what to say or think. She was right. It didn't look good. A horrible thought occurred to me, "Do you think he lured you here? Using the job as bait? Maybe we shouldn't go back?" I gasped, both in fear and exhaustion because I was working so damn hard to keep up with her. "Can you slow down, please?" I panted. It was a strange feeling to have my gills struggling for oxygen instead of my lungs.

  She slowed just a little. I eyed her gills and realized that she wasn't panting at all. I had a sick suspicion that she was traveling at less than half her top speed. I had a lot of growing up to do, as a siren.

  "I don't know what to think, but we are going back. I'm not afraid of him.” She had a hard sound that gave me chills which remained as we pulled on our clothing at the beach and jumped into the Jeep. We peeled away, sending a spray of gravel shooting out behind us.

  My mother brought the truck to a halt in front of the manor, shutting off the engine and getting out in nearly the same motion. She left the door open behind her. I scrambled to undo my seatbelt and follow her. She sprinted up the front steps and through the huge front doors; one of them opened with a bang.

  The valet had been crossing the foyer and he clutched at his heart in a dramatic manner. I would have laughed if things hadn't felt so serious. He watched wide-eyed as we barrelled past him and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. We must have been quite a sight, my mother with her eyes flashing angrily and both of us with our hair still wet and tangled from our swim.

  "Mom," I hissed, "what are you going to say?" I twirled my hair into a rope, trying to put it into some kind of order.

  "I'm going to find out what's going on," she said, calmly. Her tone did not match the pace at which she was taking the stairs.

  "Just, don't do anything crazy. Please," I pleaded, stumbling after her. She headed straight for Martinius' office on the second floor.

  She didn't stop at the closed door; she barrelled right on through. I followed her into the room, an apology ready on my lips. The doors slammed open, startling two of the cleaning staff who were dusting and watering plants. Martinius wasn't there.

  "Where is Martinius?" my mother asked, bluntly.

  The maids looked at each other. One of them said, "I believe Mr. Novak is in his library, ma'am. Everything okay?”

  Mom turned on her heel and left, storming past me.

  "Sorry about that," I said to the ladies. I followed my mother up to the fourth floor through the narrow staircase. We arrived at the same room where I'd overheard her and Martinius talking.

  "Mom, maybe you should..." I started. She barrelled through this door, too. I sighed. "Knock.”

  I looked around, finally able to satisfy my curiosity. The room was a small, cozy library. The fire was lit, casting a warm glow over the red carpet and brown overstuffed leather chairs angled toward the fireplace. A long sofa faced the fire, an antique coffee table in front of it. The legs of the table were sculpted wooden mermaids.

  Why had we not suspected that mermaids were not just an icon for the Novak family? How much did he know? Even my own father never knew that my mother was a siren.

  The ceilings of the room were sharply vaulted and the room had a dormer window. Ruby curtains framed the window and the seat below it was upholstered in scarlet and gold velvet. Bookcases lined the low walls, rows upon rows of antique books filling every nook. A ship encased in a green glass bottle with a short, fat neck and closed with a crumbling cork sat on a bookcase. I recognized it as The Sybellen.

  What startled me the most was Antoni. He was gazing into the fire with a hand on the mantelpiece. He looked up when Mom and I came barrelling into the room.

  Antoni's eyes flicked from her to me and widened. He thought we were there about what had happened between us that morning. The colour drained from his face. He opened his mouth and I gave him the subtlest headshake, no. He snapped his mouth shut.

  Martinius was seated in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, a closed file folder on his lap. He also looked up abruptly, but he wasn't surprised like Antoni was. He'd been expecting us.

  "We've seen," Mom paused and flicked a look towards Antoni. "Do you mind?" She invited him to leave with an open palm.

  Antoni and Martinius shared a look. Martinius nodded. Antoni walked towards the door, and me. I looked him full in the eyes and held his hazel gaze. His scent thrilled my blood as he passed, then the door clicked quietly shut behind him.

  "We've seen your figurehead," my mother said. I detected a faint violin. "What game are you playing?"

  "Have a seat," Martinius replied calmly, gesturing to the sofa. He closed the folder on his lap and tucked it between the cushion and the arm of the chair.

  "I don't want to have a seat. I want you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

  "Please," he said. "I can see that you're angry. I did not mean to upset you."

  Mom perched pertly on the edge of one of the chairs and I sat on the sofa. The leather squeaked and I stifled a nervous giggle.

  "Talk," Mom ordered, as though she was the one in charge. And it certainly seemed that she was. It no longer mattered that Martinius was her client.

  "My grandfather, Jan," he began, "used to tell me stories every night before I went to bed. My favourite were the pirate stories, the tales of murder and mayhem on the high seas-"

  "Cut to the chase, Martinius," she interrupted, her teeth bared.

  "Mom," I said, quietly. I wanted to hear what he had to say. There was nothing threatening in his demeanour so far.

  He continued, graciously allowing my mother's rudeness to pass. "But my grandfather's favourite stories were about The Sybellen. He'd make up some wonderful adventure tale and put The Sybellen at the heart of it. He made Mattis out to be a privateer and the crew his fighting men. Sybellen, of course, was a mermaid, a magical creature that Mattis had rescued from the clutches of a kraken." Martinius got up, went to one of the library shelves and pulled out an old leather book. He came back and sat down, setting the book on the arm of his chair and steepling his fingers on top of it. From what I could see, the book didn't have a title and it looked antique.

  "As a child, I knew it was all fairy tales but when I got older, I stumbled across some family records. Aleksandra, Mattis' mother, had kept a diary. She was concerned when Mattis returned from the West Indies with a mysterious woman and intent to marry her. In those days, the family all lived together in the same house. So you see, Aleksandra was able to observe her son's new wife, Sybellen, very closely."

  It occurred to me that the book under his fingertips was most likely the diary. Curiosity fired up in me like it had a ripcord attached. I wondered if he'd let us read it, then I wilted when I realized it would be in Polish.

  "Of course," he continued, "they were madly in love and that was what Aleksandra wished most for her son. But it bothered her that Sybellen appeared to have no family, no heritage, no personal documents, and she disliked very much to talk about herself. She was extraordinarily beautiful, or so the diary says. With long, wild black hair, bright blue eyes, and pale skin. Not unlike you two young ladies," he said pointedly. "Sybellen was known for being abrupt and distant with everyone but Mattis and her children. Eventually, even with those she loved most, she began to grow detached. Aleksandra writes that she spent an inordinate amount of time down at the sea, especially after she'd had her twin boys."

  I stole a glance at my mother. She was nearly as expressionless as the wooden figurehead.

  "Jan had always told me that Sybellen had sailed with Mattis on that
final journey, but the truth according to the diary, was that Sybellen went missing the night before they were meant to depart. Mattis was beside himself, but he didn't go to the authorities or send a search party to scour the shorelines or countryside. No. He quickly gathered the minimum number of men required to sail The Sybellen, and took the ship to sea in search of his beloved wife. He left that very night, and Aleksandra writes that there was a fearful storm. He also took one of the twins with him, Emun Jr, and the diary reports that Mattis believed that he would find Sybellen faster if he took one of their boys. Rather a strange choice for a father, don't you think?" he raised his eyebrows at us and paused for a moment.

  Still my mother didn't react.

  He continued, "Aleksandra writes that Emun Jr was very attached to his mother. Perhaps Mattis thought that the attachment would be enough to lure Sybellen to the ship. It didn't make much sense to Aleksandra, and it didn't make sense to me when I first read it either. But now that I've met you..." He paused, perhaps waiting for us to fill in some gaps. "Well," he went on, "the ship and all of those on board were never seen or heard from again."

  The flames were crackling cheerfully in the fireplace, completely unaware of the tension in the room.

  Martinius continued, "The real story behind how The Sybellen went missing had to stay a secret because there was insurance money at stake. Aleksandra doesn't give a lot of detail about that situation, but she alludes to her husband meeting in secret with the sailors that had been contracted to sail but not been on the ship when it left that night. No doubt, he struck their names from the crew list so that the insurance company wouldn't be the wiser, and he promised to compensate them well from the insurance pay-out in exchange for their silence. If the insurance company had known that Mattis took the ship out of port on a stormy night to search for his missing wife, they might never have paid."