“Well… Now what?” I
asked.
Iola and Iason gave me blank
looks.
“Well, you’re Sea People,
right? You must know something to get us out of… this!” I slapped
the water’s surface, making a little splash.
“We’re monster slayers,”
Iola replied. “Do you see any monsters?”
“I could stab the ocean if it’d
make you feel better.”
“Shut up, Iason."
"I mean, you’re the one who got
us into this mess, maybe you have bright ideas how we can get out of it?”
Iason continued.
“Shut up!”
Problem is, he was right. Ish.
It was true that I’d–quite justifiably!–set the captain of our ship on
fire. And okay, the rest of the ship. But that part was an accident! Even
so, I had to admit if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be clinging to a
four-foot-long, five-inch-wide, slightly charred bit of deck in the
middle of the ocean.
I just wasn’t going to admit it out
loud.
“At least the ship stayed
in sight of land,” I said, looking at the distant shadow on the
water, just before the horizon. “If we can just figure out a way to
get there…”
“Um, Lemma?” asked Iason.
“What’re you looking at?”
“Land,” I said,
pointing.
“The shore is the other
way,” said Iola. I looked over my shoulder to see where she was
pointing–rather closer than the horizon, but still much too far away,
was a rocky shore.
“Than what’s that?” I
asked.
“…Fuck,” said Iason.
“Do you think those are storm clouds?”
Iola peered into the distance, her
brow furrowed. “They might be.”
“You don’t know!?” I
sputtered. “You’re Sea People!”
“We’re! Not!
Sailors!” Iason shouted. “Just because we’re Sea People doesn’t mean we’re… sea… people! Do you fit every stereotype of
Lemurians!?”
“Well, she is a powerful
spellcaster who thinks she’s better than everyone else,” replied Iola.
“Can we focus on the oncoming
storm maybe?” I asked. “Before it drowns us?”
“We don’t know for sure it is
a storm,” said Iason. “We might be fine!”
* * *
It was a storm.
The waves grew harsher and
choppier as it approached, tossing our makeshift little raft like–well,
like the flotsam it was. Or jetsam, I can never remember the
difference.
Lightning flashed as the sea
surged. “This is bad!” Iason shouted over the growing din as we
drifted momentarily through the air, before smacking down into the water,
hard.
“You think!?” I shouted
back. “Urgh…” My stomach lurched with the waves.
Iason saw my expression and his
widened. “Oh no,” he said. “Don’t do it, Lemma!”
I shut my eyes, trying to
fight down the nausea while I clung desperately to the raft. The storm
was going to kill us, I knew it. If the waves and wind didn’t get us, our
own exhaustion would. We were powerless.
Power…
“I–ulgh–have an idea,” I
said.
“What!?” shouted
Iason.
“She has an idea!” shouted
Iola back.
“Then do it!” he
yelled.
My stomach was twisting around
itself and my chest was burning. “It’s… not a very good idea…”
“What!?”
“She said it’s not a good
idea!”
“It can’t be worse that
drowning!”
I hope you’re right, Iason.
(To be continued…)
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