Gele stood along the silver shoreline, watching the waves go in and out. Seafoam washed over his feet, coaxing him to crawl into the shallows. It seemed to wait for him, hungry. I have to go. If I stay any longer, I may never leave the island, stuck at home on Galu until I’m dead and rotting. Now’s the time to go! There was a comfort in the smell of salt—the seamless black void of the ocean, the rhythm of waves sliding across the sand. Gele yearned for it, standing on the threshold of fleeing and frozen. The world of fish, mermaids, and krakens, would it take him? How often had he stared out at the water, wishing to grow fins? What if the ocean around his home, the Sea of Shrouds, rejected him too? No, Gele swallowed his sorrows, falling down his throat prickly and cold. Shame though. That was an everlasting toxin. His muscles were sore. Bruises lingered on his skin, mud tangled in his hair—Gele hid it all behind a shawl of tattered barkcloth. Again and again, anxiety swirled in his mind, scraping against his better thoughts. It, too, came in and out, along with the hum of the murky gray surf.
The old canoe he stole wobbled as he pushed it out into the water. Gele saw Galu one last time as he paddled away from home. Basalt mountains painted with palm trees still loomed over him. Even in the twilight, the far-off leaves glistened like emeralds—a pile of treasures unfortunately left behind. Hanging from the branches, tree rats scavenge for fruit. The ones that glanced out towards the sea became witnesses to his escape. Better them than anyone else. Rumors circulated fast. How long until someone noticed him gone? Would running make the stories worse? Would it matter if he was not there to hear? No, I’ll know what they think of me one day. There is no running from the Second Sea.
Gele’s sight trailed from the tips of green hills to the openness of the sky. Between him and sunset, blankets of clouds built their towers. Dusk called for it as it dipped below the horizon, halfway hidden. The night was coming, the full moon too. Gele had little time until they would awaken. The ceiling of the world hung over him. The Second Sea enveloped the earth, a mantle of water that sat atop the atmosphere, miles above the ground. It ran parallel to the Sea of Shrouds, boasting over the lower ocean’s dark depths. Sheets of upside-down seafoam danced on the surface, cutting into the evening’s sun rays. The Second Sea’s hue was a mix of teal and turquoise-green, with a luster that sparkled like dewdrops and gemstones. Fighting waves clattered together above the sky, causing the wind to twirl around, slicing into the tallest clouds and creating fluffy white plateaus.
Things swam up there in the Second Sea as far-off figures or formless shadows. Fish schooling in the thousands blocked out the sun as overcast clouds do. Serpents fought sharks in desperate duels. Rays flew like birds in the water. Then, like bulky kites, they would spring out of the water and take to the air below, splashing water down on the tops of Galu’s mountains, then diving back through the Second Sea. Gele’s eyes would trace their paths, watching them soar. Their wings made flight look simple, mocking all of humanity below.
Coral reefs rooted on whalebone loomed overhead. There, eels and crabs did battle. Though, both would lose to the squids. It was a ferocious food chain. From the ground, it was easy to get lost in watching the chaotic war. Old wrinkled storytellers claimed mermaids had once made their castles in these reefs before vanishing into the depths of the sky. Gele used to spend hours watching the water, trying to find them. His favorite creatures were the lazy whales that drifted across the sky. Yet, other things stalked him, even from so high up. They were there, the spirits, judging him. His ancestors were up in the heaven inside the Second Sea, invisible but ever-present. Unless he grew gills and dove into the dark, murky ocean at his feet, he could not escape them. Mocking us, trapped down here with nowhere to go. Gele would find himself often lost in thought, trying to comprehend how far the waters above went. All he could see were the shallows. The summit of the sky was only a window tinted by the feebleness of mortal eyes.
Feral winds served as Gele’s first obstacle beyond the shallows. It bit and gnawed at him, tugging at his hood as he still tried to hide. Gusts brushed through his shoulder-length black hair and brought chills to his dark, umber skin. Under the shawl, all he had was a barkcloth scarf and skirt, a dancer’s attire. Then there was the coarse black hair carpeted his body, barely holding off the seabreeze’s chill. There was nothing else: no treasures, no heirlooms. He only brought himself with him as he fled.
With Galu now far behind him, Gele stood up and gripped the mast. He unfurled the canoe’s sail loose, giving it to the gales. Then, he was one with the water, gliding over the bobbing waves and bouncing splashes as he carried on. There were so many places that he could go. The jungles of Vall, where the trees kissed the clouds. Rem, a rocky labyrinth of caves and crags, stretching miles below the earth. Then, Ail: a tiny atoll full of men who shared their tables with giant intelligent lizards. No, think even further. Think of what’s beyond! Gele would visit them, trade, and admire the land, but there was much more than the belt of islands surrounding Galu. I’ll go everywhere now that I’ve left home behind. A nomadic life where he never stopped exploring. Would that feed the wanderlust?
Yet there was sickening fear that still vexed Gele as he watched the canoe cut through the Sea of Shrouds. Memories of the night before resurfaced, again and again, a recurring disease. The bruises on his stomach ached. The strange taste of blood lingered on his tongue. He was still there, in a way, standing at the shrine. Time trapped him at that moment, unable to press on. His heart fluttered when he remembered how there was just one more trial. That was his right, as a man now—twenty years old and ready to earn his title. King Peal sat on his stone chair, wrinkled and tired, and with his raspy voice, he called for Nab to be Gele’s challenge. The Prince was a whaler, having alone slain fourteen of the monsters this year. What good were a few good punches against the staggering power of a warrior? Nab only struck three blows straight to Gele’s stomach before he fell groveling. The crowd, all spectators to his failure, laughed as the squeaks and groans crawled from his throat as he stumbled away. His dances and kicks, both graceful and fluid, were no match for brutal might. Even before that, he stuttered his words, slipped when he walked to meet his rival, and panicked when Nab asked for his name. When did it all fall apart? Was every aspect of him too inept to succeed?
Gele spat the sour taste into the sea. Where he was going, from where he would never return, the shame could not cling to him now. But the witnesses always followed. And as the night came in, riding on the heels of twilight, the full moon came walking up afterward, slow and cautious. Pale and fat, it seemed to press the sky onto Gele as he looked up. Swiftly, he dove down to his canoe and lowered the sail. His arms grasped his cloak and covered himself as if it was some indestructible shield. Constellations woke up: the woman and the man, the spider crab, and the tree. These stars dwelled behind the window of seawater and the thousands of other twinkling lights. Then, once the full moon lifted itself firmly in the sky, the dusk began to vanish. Stars retreated, wiped away. In the far distance, opposite the sunset, beautiful whirlpools formed on the horizon’s edge. Strange light destroyed the night and its stars. The Second Sea lit up, the water boiling with a glow that flickered and twitched. They have awoken—the spirits, always watchful, revealed themselves. They swept across the Second Sea, a carpet of luminescence, a colony of souls that lived like little polyps with a single interconnected mind. One entity weaved from the ghosts of everyone who had once lived. The invisible souls of the departed only revealed themselves with the full moon. Gele did not know why. All he knew was that something in his chest quivered when he saw them—like how a lodestone attracted black iron sand. Hairs on his neck stood up and his heartbeat hastened. This single organism, far greater than anything in the Second Sea, was everything. Gele hid his face and blocked his thoughts. Father, Sister, don’t look at me. Humankind would see his desperate escape, attributing it to him if he showed his face. One day, he would join them. And through death and then assimilation, they would know what he did.
Alone on the water, the waves rocked his boat. Did the spirits already know? Silencing his breath, Gele peeked out from under his shawl. There, he saw home again. Over the hills of Galu, blubber-oil lanterns took to the air like shining bats. Right now, his mother would be with the other ten-thousand inhabitants of the island, sending messages to their ancestors and relatives. Tonight was a sacred night. No one would be looking for him. Yet, he dared not think what letters his mother would send him next month. No doubt they would assume he died at sea rather than successfully fled.
Billions of little lights, each soul twinkled with their color, with the appearance of paint poured into the seawater, caught in vortexes, and splattered among the creatures. Sea serpents came forth with them. They hunted the whales, striking their pods while the humble giants were blinded. A curtain of red blood was the last thing Gele saw before dark clouds blotted out the spirits and Second Sea. Thunder crackled and barked. Bad omen; the spirits were angry. Their rage summoned fierce storms. In a panic, Gele released the sail. More than anything, he begged for winds. Gele stopped hiding, throwing off the shroud, grasping the ropes, and steering the sails. To return home or commit to his escape? The spirits already knew, scornful and full of wrath. The bruises on his stomach nearly brought him to his knees. Gele bit down on his tongue to dull the pain. And, brazenly, he decided to strike out against the spirits. A stupid thing to do, but if he could not be a warrior before his people, he would be a warrior before all the people who once lived.
Wild waves licked the sides of Gele’s canoe as the wind lashed at him. Each hill of seawater launched him, sending him crashing down with a hard thud. But the canoe held firm and somehow stayed afloat. Gele laughed aloud; the boat was dancing! Taunting the spirits and their storm, it leaped and twirled around the rough surf. Even if he cringed at the booms of thunder and the lightning strikes, nothing could interrupt the rhythm he set in place. But Gele could not remain in control forever.
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Rain pelted him like blunt arrows. The barrage smacked him hard as the ropes slipped through his fingers. The sail twisted, the squall stealing his wind. The cloth ripped from the mast. Thrashing about, it nearly knocked Gele from the canoe. With the sail stolen by the spirits, he would have to row. Grabbing the paddle, he looked back to Galu but only saw rogue waves. His mother would be looking for him in the morning. His friend, Emned, a dancer like him, would be waiting. And the people who saw his failure would wonder where he died. The spirits did not reward his hesitation. A rattling roar took over the sounds of the storm. The Sea of Shrouds cheered in tandem with the Second Sea as if they were one. Gele glanced up, but saltwater sprayed right into his eyes. Amidst the chaos, he witnessed a blurry shadow plummet from the sky. A weapon of the spirits, a whale’s carcass struck the ocean like a blood-soaked hammer.
The dead beast sent shockwaves across the sea. Upon impact, it exploded into a pasty red mist. Bones and meat sent Gele flying from his canoe and under the waves. Below the surface, saltwater stained crimson blinded him.
It was like trying to swim through mud. Gele scrambled to find where up was. He first tried to follow the thunder’s tremendous croaks. His fingers broke through, reaching for anything floating. His heart begged for driftwood, but his luck gave him nothing. The waves only came down on him again. Pushed down back below, Gele fought for just a single breath of air. Hands clawing at the surf lifted him. He earned one gulp before he fell back down.
Underwater currents ensnared Gele. Salt burned his eyes and seeped into his skin. His clothes were too wet and heavy, simply unraveling and washing away with everything else. There was no fighting back now. Gele was dragged deeper into the dark as if his bones had turned to iron. Thick-headed fish slapped him as they swam past—or maybe it was just the current.
No light dwelled at the bottom. Gele felt his feet press against a bed of sand, and pressure pushed down his shoulders. Wandering lost in the abyss, Gele nearly believed he was dreaming. I am going to die. I am going to die a failure in my people’s eyes. A panic surged. His lungs begged for air. Yet, his legs did not swim. Glancing at his feet, Gele stared into the eyes that glared up at him. He stood atop the creature’s long flat body. It was the biggest fish Gele had ever seen: twenty feet in length and maybe thirty feet wide. The flounder had no scales, only brass-colored bones. It had a hundred eyes, all different colors, like a pile of diamonds, pebbles, and pink bubbles. The pupils were warped and oval-shaped. Gele, barely able to see through his blurred vision, mistook them for eggs, something twitching inside. An Anima, this is how I die? An ancient fish, legends said it predated men, trees, and even meat; all its mouth could eat were souls. And there, the ghosts faced oblivion, consumed by a beast who challenged the ages.
Gele ripped his feet from the Anima’s barbed body. He pushed for the surface as he felt his strength wither. What was worse, facing scrutiny in the Second Sea, or being annihilated by a beast? Gele flailed his arms, trying to get away. Each second lasted hours as his lungs ached for air. All he could do was sink. Finally, he turned back to stare at the fish before it took him. The Anima’s jaws opened wide. Its teeth were akin to grindstones, scraping against one another. How would it devour him? Could it pull out a soul just through vicious crushing and gnawing? I’ll get my answer just before I’m erased. There would be no escape. Gele would never see another shore. He would never fulfill lost promises. Could his sister see him struggle? Could her soul say goodbye to him before the Anima swallowed him? Shame felt like bliss as he gazed into the abyss of atrophy, then obliteration. But did all that matter now? Naked and drowning, all he could do was meet the jaws or let his suffocating mind give in first.
A sudden glint caught his senses as he surrendered himself to Anima. Sound, light, or taste? He was too delirious to tell. Inside the jaws of the ancient fish, something rustled between the rows of crooked teeth. A flicker of purple violet, an orb that had ripples run across its surface. Stuck there, the soul burned bright as a lantern. The ghost wore down the jawbone and eroded the enamel, determined to fester as a parasite inside its grave. Yet, it was trapped in the Anima’s mouth all the same. The fish could not let it go. Where could a soul go without a body? Gele reached out to the ball of purple light. The lost soul beckoned for him, saying words in a language he could not understand. The Anima’s jaw snapped close as Gele whipped his hands back to his chest, stealing the soul from the ancient thing. Bubbles whirled around him as he coddled the phantom. Again, it tried to speak to him in a foreign language. How long had it been there, so lost and alone?
The flat flounder groaned, a roar coming from its gullet. Gele looked at the Anima’s many eyes, then at the ghost quivering in his palms. His thoughts began to fade. He nearly opened his mouth for air before better judgment stopped him. Gele started to flail again. Thrashing through the water, he pulled himself away from the Anima. The fish merely waited on the seafloor, expecting him to die. Instead, newfound panic surged over Gele. Shockwaves bounded across his muscles. His body felt separate from himself. It was as if he had fallen, but his legs were moving anyway. No, his thoughts did catch up.
The surface waited for him, then a beach Gele had never seen before. The spirit in his arms fed the vision to him. As his legs slowed, Gele saw a ship—a great monster resting on the ocean’s calm. The stark black hull blended in with the lull of the night, sleeping in a faraway harbor. Ash-gray sails stretched up, hugging the mast and slicing into the clouds. Gele had never seen anything like it, nothing so large, nor with its shape. It must have come from across the world. Or maybe, he was taken there. Off the beach, something burned, an island consumed by smoke. Stone towers crumbled in the heat, and wood houses vanished in pools of ash. People wearing blankets of fire screamed and tumbled. At the edge of the blaze was a woman holding a charred torch. She set her sight towards the Second Sea, ignoring the wails of a burning city. From where she stood, the smoke took the shape of wings flying up into waters only the spirits could reach.
The wild currents peeled away as he rose. His body went limp as water poured down his throat. The vision decayed when Gele ran out of strength. Saltwater swilled in his lungs. Things went dark as he scrambled for air that would never come. His fingers tightened around the spirit. He was choking. Everything tensed up. It was there, the surface! Just a little bit farther. Gele knew it was there, even if his body had already given in. He rested in a bed of seawater. A calm came over him. He found his place here in the ocean. Never would fish mock him, only eat off his bones. Rocking with the damning rhythm, he let himself sleep. The last thing he felt was something sink into his chest and then hoisting him up.
Gele could see the ship again as he felt a faint thump against his chest. It was warm, wherever it was. Thump. Something soft under him, a bed of flowers? Thump. Someone was screaming. He thought he could hear it now.
A sharp pain ran through Gele as he shot up. Hacking up spit and brine, he keeled over, letting his flooded lungs empty in his lap. He coughed and coughed until his throat went sore, then he puked from the pain. Finally, he was back in his canoe. Pain shot through his chest. More bruises surfaced on his skin, bright red and purple. The wind stole the sail, and waves ate the paddle. His food and medicine fell overboard. But he was alive. The storm was over. The spirits calmed, dispersing the squall and sending its clouds away. The glow of the ghosts remained overhead, watching. Little lights, all woven into a carpet that spanned the sky, welcomed Gele. They flickered between a deep purple and a staggering violet, colors twirling as they changed shades. Shadows of sea monsters pranced with them, swimming around the souls. Then, the spirits shifted to a bright yellow-orange—the night mimicking the sun. Gele sat up, marveling at the honey-colored sky. The Second Sea and its spirits had seen it all. What point was there in running now? He should have kept the hood on and quietly braved the storm.
“Hey! Lay back down! You shouldn’t be moving yet!” A wicked voice snapped. “It’s better to watch while laying on your back anyways. To no surprise, the Second Sea still looks beautiful after all this time.”
The sound startled him, striking him like a whip. Gele almost fell from the canoe again. The woman was sitting next to him at the bow of the little boat. A cold wind brushed him when he first saw her. She was shrouded in a purple luster, the same shine as the soul he rescued. Her body was transparent, with bubbles and ripples swirling inside, the ocean molding her form itself. Yet, even with a body of brine, the ghost was dressed strangely. Clothes were tangled with threads of mist, and her jewelry was caked in light. A heavy longcoat, thick furs inside and embroidered on the out, was wrought with holes and tatters. On the jacket’s breast, badges and medals hung proudly. Each was tarnished and augmented by cuts and scratches, forming new honors of carnal symbols and monstrous beasts. Clothes sewn from animal skins had been painted over with patches and stains. An empty holster and scabbard rested on her belt, weapons gone with flesh and blood. She dipped her high leather boots into the water as her legs dangled off the side of the canoe. Shoulder-length scraggly hair hid under a bandana. Necklaces and weird amulets weighed down her neck. And a myriad of shallow scars cut into her face. The deepest of which went from her temple down in a tilted line to her chin. Yet, the most grizzly of her wounds was a missing ear. A soul shouldn’t be here. Gele looked at her as if she was a washed-up carcass on the beach, morphed by rot into something new but unequivocally dead. Who exactly did I bring back from the brink of annihilation?
“You alive?” She asked when all Gele did was gawk. Her eyes were sharp as if plucked from a hawk. She waved a mangled hand in front of his face, two of the fingers mere stubs.
“Who are you?” Gele managed to gasp in between heavy breaths. He still felt like vomiting. The rocking of the boat and the strange apparition before him did not help. He could understand the ghost perfectly now, despite thrashing nausea.
She pointed at herself with her thumb, voice fuming to a valiant volume as she spoke, all said through a wry smile. “I’m Admiral Sawyer Jean, pirate lord, the scourge of the Allecrean Empire, captain of the Harpy, Queen of the Northern Seas, slayer of sea monsters, known to her enemies as the Salt Wench. I’m the one who will fly up and touch the Second Sea with my bare hands. And you just saved my soul, thank you.”