Chapter 55
My fingers are clammy as I turn the key in the ignition.
It takes three attempts before the engine starts. Then it comes to life with a roar. Old Man Ingvar’s boat is older and more temperamental than our orange one, which is now lying at the bottom of the Baltic Sea.
I steer away from the dock, and the mooring line falls into the water with a plop.
Darkness spans before me like thick tar. There’s no point in even trying to see where I’m going. No time for that. My instincts will guide me much more effectively than any modern GPS.
The old metal boat flies over the waves. One wrong move and I’ll capsize. But I can’t afford to worry about anything like that.
The sea carries me on its black wings. Islands and skerries rush past like shadows in the night. I know I’m getting closer.
I can hear them.
The sound is loud and low, a dull drone in stark contrast to the hush of the sea. It dawns on me that this is what’s been putting me on edge for the past few weeks. These hateful tones that appeared about a month ago, layered underneath the waves and winds.
Something jarring in the otherwise constant background noise.
A scraping, wrenching, ugly sound has been grinding into my eardrums night after night. And it has unearthed an ancient anger buried deep inside me.
An anger that doesn’t belong to me alone. It is much older than I am.
Every cell in my body yearns to restore the sea’s natural melodies and to silence that noise. Silence it forever.
The headwind makes my eyes water, and I swerve just in time to miss a barely visible rock. My hands are stiff with cold on the wheel, but that doesn’t matter.
I can hear them more clearly now, their determined movements.
They are preparing.
They know I’m coming, but they refuse to give up the hunt. Their fury fizzes up to the surface. They are nearing their prey. I can sense it through the water, like radio waves traveling through space.
Their quivering, razor-sharp glee.
They are laughing at me.
“Mom!” I roar, but my voice is swallowed up by the wind. How far away can she be? I doubt she will hear me, but I have to try.
“Mom!”
The only response I can hear over the engine’s roar and the waves striking the hull is a faint whisper.
Their beckoning call.
It’s a trap. I see that now. But I have no choice.
This is what I was trying to tell Rasmus on the beach earlier today. This has to end, one way or another.
Just not Mom. I can’t let them take my mom.
I think I glimpse shadows up ahead, and then, through the piercing cold and tears of terror, I become aware of another sound.
Something snaking back and forth with increasing fervor.
The boat is already going at top speed, but I try to accelerate just a little more as I cower behind the wheel and beg my ancestors for more time.
I barely feel the first impact. It’s just a slight nudge, but the boat rocks perilously. I almost fall, but regain my balance and clutch the steering wheel even tighter.
There. I can see Iris’s boat.
Mom’s colleague has given her a ride many times, and I recognize her vessel from a distance.
It’s moving, but it’s too dark to tell if anyone is still on board.
Time stops.
“Mom!” I shout again, forcing myself to throttle the engine and slow down despite all my instincts screaming no, no.
I slowly putter toward the other boat.
Are the serpents lurking behind the stern? Are they already waiting with open jaws beneath the hull?
“Hello?” I shout. “Mom? Iris? Are you there?”
Nothing.
Then I hear an anxious voice from the other boat. It’s only a few yards away at this point.
“We crashed into a rock or something. ?sa hit her head.”
I can make out two silhouettes. One is sitting down with her hand pressed against her forehead.
“Tuva?” It’s Mom. Her voice is faint, almost inaudible, but I hear it.
My knees nearly give way with relief.
“What are you doing here?” Mom continues, turning in my direction. She sounds dazed.
“It’s not safe out here,” I shout. “You have to get to land. Now, right now!”
Then the serpents strike again. Not a warning, this time—a hard blow.
The side of the boat groans under the impact. The outer metal casing buckles, and the whole thing rocks violently back and forth.
Come and play
“What was that?” Iris shouts.
She sounds frightened, and I’m sure I can see my mother’s eyes shining, even though it should be impossible to see anything in this darkness.
“You have to get out of here, right now,” I shout. “Please, just do as I say.”
Suddenly, the cloud cover breaks open, and a crescent moon appears in the sky.
In the cold white light, I see Iris standing up in the boat and facing me like a thin shadow. But I look past her, at my mother. I see that she is finally beginning to understand the danger.
I love you, Mom.
“Go now!” I scream wildly.
In that moment, some gleaming black thing rises from the water. My stomach lurches at the sheer size of it.
“Go! Go!” I roar again.
There is a splash right by where Mom is sitting. Iris yelps in shock. Something moves beneath the surface, dangerously close to the stern.
Finally, I hear their engine sputter to life. The boat bounces over the water and disappears in the direction of the nearest island.
Now I’m all alone in this fragile, rickety metal vessel. This is what it’s all been leading up to. I understand now.
They won’t chase Mom and Iris anymore. They don’t need to.
I am here now.
Suddenly calm, I let go of the steering wheel and kick off my boots, pull off my sweater and pants in one movement. My skin prickles with goose bumps. It’s almost November.
Soon it will be winter.
I wish I’d gotten to see the first snow.
I step up on the side of the boat and jump.