Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Orvik
The water welcomes me like an old friend, its cold embrace washing away the day's frustration.
I dive deep under the waves off the shore of Saltford Bay, my tentacle hair finally unbound and flowing freely around my head, each strand reaching for the currents, twisting with joy and fulfilled longing for the deep.
My gills flutter open, filtering in the rich brine, bringing oxygen more efficiently than my land-dwelling lungs ever could.
This is freedom. This is home. This is a world I belong to.
Against my chest, the pearl stirs like it always does the moment it comes in contact with salt water.
A low, pulling song moves through it, through me, like a current that has no surface and no shore.
It doesn't sing in words. It sings in direction.
South and down, always south and down, toward the place where the sun has never reached and never will.
Toward the deepest, darkest part of the ocean, where the black oysters sit on their beds of silence and create black pearls from their flesh under tremendous pressure no land dweller could survive.
I press my palm flat against it, stilling its song. Like I always do.
I will not follow the siren’s call of the deep. Not today. Not ever. This is my shame and my burden. I can never go back to the place where my ancestors’ bones are slowly turning into the sands that saw my kind born.
The water pressure increases as I descend toward the depths in the cold waters of the New England shore, a comforting weight against my skin.
My fins, usually kept flat against my body while on land, now fully deploy, webbing extending between my fingers and along my forearms. The transformation isn't complete, I'm not fully in my kraken form, but it's enough to remind my body of what it truly is.
What I truly am.
Water fills my senses. The taste of fish, seaweed, and the clean tang of the minerals coming from the depths reaches the back of my tongue, wiping clean my worries.
My senses, dulled on land, sharpen underwater as the world comes to life all around me.
I can feel the subtle songs of the currents against my skin, hear the distant calls of whales miles away, see clearly despite the deepening darkness.
This is where I belong. Alone in the cold, lurking in the depths.
Times passes as I lose myself to the brine. Minutes, then hours.
A movement in the deeper water catches my attention.
Something large, a looming form gliding through the depths near the lighthouse peninsula.
My heart sinks like an anchor, a territorial instinct as old as my species surging through me.
My tentacles rise in outrage, spreading wide from my head, reading the water currents.
I give chase without hesitation, my body cutting through the water with powerful strokes.
I'm not afraid. Krakens are apex predators in these waters, and I've dealt with sharks and other large marine creatures before. But this is different. The way it moves, the deliberate path it takes. It's too purposeful for an orca, too large for a shark.
The buoy surfaces in my mind unbidden, with its carved shell and its burden of memories.
As I close the distance, certainty builds within me. This is no animal.
This is another kraken. One that has invaded my territory.
The cold water rushes past my skin as I pursue the intruder, my eyes perfectly adapted to see through the murky depths. The form stays just ahead of me, moving with impossible grace toward the end of the peninsula. Toward open ocean.
Fleeing. He's fleeing.
But not panicking. That's what sends my mind into a spin even as I push harder. This isn't the flight of a creature caught somewhere it shouldn't be. This is controlled. Deliberate. The retreat of someone who knows exactly how much distance to keep.
Someone who has done this before. Who knows how I move. Who knows how fast I am.
I push the thought away and push harder through the water, determined to close the gap.
Just as I'm about to reach it, the form disappears from view around the rocky base of the peninsula. I surface quickly, scanning the water's edge and the rocks leading up to the lighthouse.
Nothing. No sign of disturbance on land, no trace of another kraken in the water.
I dive again, circling the entire peninsula, searching every crevice and shadow.
Nothing. I hover in the water, doubt creeping in where certainty had been moments before.
Perhaps I've been alone in these waters for too long.
Perhaps I wanted to find another of my kind so badly that I conjured one from shadows and kelp.
Just a trick of the mind. Nothing to worry about.
But the carving on that shell was mine. Two brothers, carved with patience and dedication for the one I intended to make my second as I ascended to Captain’s chair, once my father vacated it. Once my father passed his black pearl to me and watched me carry on his legacy.
This isn’t going to happen now. I was gifted that pearl by my father as a burden of shame, not trust. It’s a mark I’ve worn since the day I lost everything for the sake of someone who betrayed me.
And now that someone has found me.
I don’t know why the past came looking for me among the land dwellers and I don’t know how, but I know one thing. The past can lurk behind every corner, hide under every rock.
I’m done with it. And I’m done with him.
Nothing more I can do now, though.
I swim up and up, ascending until I resurface where the lighthouse casts its relentless circular glow on the small town of Saltford Bay like some sentient, silent guardian.
I should check on the battery system.
I swim to the rocky peninsula, water streaming from my body as I emerge.
My gills seal shut, lungs expanding to take in the cool evening air.
The transformation back is always uncomfortable, like changing from well-worn clothes into a stiff uniform.
My fins recede, skin tightening as it adjusts to the air.
Twilight paints the sky in deepening blues and purples as I climb the rocky path to the lighthouse. Water still drips from my body, leaving a trail of darkened stones behind me.
As I approach the lighthouse door, I stop abruptly. It stands ajar, swinging slightly in the evening breeze.
"What in the Depth Lord is this?"
I wear only a pair of tight-fitting trousers, preferring the embrace of the water on my body to the feeling of land-dweller clothing.
It never seemed like a bad choice for my long swims until now.
I can’t help but feel exposed, barefoot and barely clothed as I stand in front of the open door.
Humans and most Others are always wary of me, of the obvious difference of my sea-worthy body, and I make a point in dressing as normally as I can in their company.
Too bad if I frighten whoever is in there. It’s on them, not me.
My tentacles darken and tighten against my scalp in irritation. The lighthouse is off-limits to the public. There are signs clearly posted. Rules exist for a reason.
Despite all that, each year, a handful of trespassers enter the building. Some even have the gall to mess around with the control panel and the settings I’ve carefully set to make sure the numerous vessels off our shores are safe in the night.
I push the door open and enter the building, my body still dripping, listening for any movement inside. I hear shuffling from above, confirming my suspicions.
Tourists. Always thinking rules don't apply to them. I curse under my breath.
I climb the spiral staircase, my wet feet leaving prints on the iron steps. My tentacles are now fully darkened, their usual sea-green color turned nearly black with annoyance. The stairwell is narrow, forcing my broad shoulders to turn slightly sideways as I ascend.
At the top of the stairs, I find the hatch to the catwalk open. Through it, I can see a small figure leaning against the railing, golden hair catching the last light of sunset.
I push through the hatch, allowing my frustration to bubble to the surface.
"This is a restricted area." My voice carries over the sound of the wind and the waves. "You're trespassing on Coast Guard property."
The figure turns quickly, startled by my voice.
It's a woman, a human one. Short and slim, with long blond hair, startling eyes as blue as the summer sky above the ocean.
She's wearing jeans and a light sweater that flutters in the evening breeze, showcasing slim bones and rounded curves.
For a moment, those eyes widen as they take in my appearance, my height, my tentacle hair, my still-damp skin.
I’m a monster of the deep and she sees me for what I am. Good. Hopefully this will teach her a valuable lesson.
She takes a hasty step back, no doubt shocked by my appearance. She's standing precariously close to the edge of the narrow catwalk.
The metal catwalk is about three feet wide, its railing barely reaching waist height. One strong gust, one wrong movement, could easily send someone toppling over the edge to the churning waves below.
One of the many reasons the lighthouse is closed to the public.
“Watch out!” I shout as I take a step closer, instinctively concerned for her safety.
The sea breeze shifts, carrying her scent toward me, like wildflowers and berries on a warm summer day. Clean and sweet and intoxicating. My freshly cleaned gills spread in an involuntary gesture as the fragrance of the woman hits me like a tsunami.
Without warning, my body betrays me.
It begins as a tingling sensation under my skin. The patterns along my forearms start to pulse, then illuminate with a soft blue glow that intensifies with each heartbeat. The crown of tentacles adorning my head stirs slightly, their tips beginning to phosphoresce like distant stars in a night sea.
I feel the tentacles on my head wiggle, reaching blindly in her direction.
What in the abyss is this?