Bloom

She is calmer than a girl her age should be. Alone, as she is, in the sea at night; but then, the wind is still, and the waves are calm and knowing.

With her back to the coastline and the small house that she used to call home, nestled between barren rock, she pushes the boat further out. The frigid water is sloshing around her shoulders, and as she pulls herself up and over the side of the small vessel, she sinks to the bottom of the boat and gasps for air. 

Sage grew up on the sea. She was taught to unhook a fish, to cast a net, before she could talk. Certainly before she knew the dangers of such work. When her father realised that she was the better fisherman, more at home in the ocean than he could ever hope to be, he started to send her out alone. He liked to brag to the other fishermen about how adept she was, how she always knew where the fish were waiting. The bragging stopped the day that the jellyfish came.

***

They arrive on the back of an unusual tide. Bloated pink domes as far as the eye can see, bigger than anything the locals had ever seen before, some even twice the size of Sage’s boat.

Their arrival heralds death.

When the first young fisherman dies, tempted by their pink hues, the village elders forbid all from entering the water. Perhaps for their own safety, but more likely, because of lingering superstitions. There are stories, old stories, about gods whose names have long been forgotten, gods who were always vengeful and never kind; and the elders, whose memories are longer than most, heed the warnings before their eyes.

So, for the first time in years, Sage returns home empty-handed.

Three days later, they run out of food, and without anything to trade or sell, Sage’s parents are becoming desperate. Sage herself feels bereft. This forced separation between girl and sea is tangible; her skin is dry and rough, there are blue circles beneath her eyes and no matter how she tries to busy herself, her thoughts always return to the water.

Two days after that, when her parents leave the village in search of food, Sage goes down to the beach.

The tide is out, leaving behind fields of fresh seaweed and clusters of small rock pools. Barefoot, soaking in any lingering salt water, she picks her way across, scavenging for crabs and small fish. Any meat is better than none, after all.

“You’re not meant to be here.”

Startling, spinning and almost toppling entirely, Sage notices Aurelia for the first time. She is sitting amongst the weeds, her bare feet splashing in a small rock pool. Her skin is like wet earth, bronzed and creviced with sun and age. When Aurelia grins at Sage, the girl shivers. There is a weight behind the woman’s stare. It presses against a person, holding them captive. When they think she isn’t listening, the other villagers whisper about Aurelia, about how she too arrived on an unusual tide, and is not entirely human.

“I wasn’t going in,” Sage defends quietly.

The woman grins even wider as she rises, closing the distance between them. “Those jellyfish sure are creating an awful commotion,” she says, the rings on her fingers glinting  in the sunlight as she gestures out to sea.

Sage nods, making a low noise in the back of her throat.

Aurelia clucks her tongue and reaches over to grasp Sage by the shoulder, turning the girl so that they are both looking out to sea. “But you feel it, don’t ya? They’re not here to hurt anyone. They’re just messengers.”

“Messengers for who?” Sage asks, the words falling from her tongue like stones, landing between the woman and the girl with a thud

“For the Sea King, of course,” the old woman cackles, startling Sage. “Your parents never tell you the story, girl? He was a god once, ruling the waves and the underwater worlds. He lost his power though, a long time ago now, when the people forgot about him and stopped their prayers. But he lives still, I can feel it. And he’s waiting…waiting for his power to return.”

“How?”

Aurelia’s grip tightens and her nails dig into Sage’s arm. For the briefest of terrible moments, those wrinkled, brown hands look less than human.

“With an army, of course,” the old woman replies. “The jellyfish are conduits of his magic, sent to find those desperate creatures living a landed life.”

Sage shrinks in on herself, distantly aware of the small crab attempting to wriggle free from the top of her bag.

“Sage!” her mouth shouts from ashore, having apparently already returned.

Aurelia startles, looking between the other woman and Sage as if in confusion, before turning back to the sea and humming softly to herself. Sage rushes towards her mother, but despite the growing distance between the pair, Aurelia’s words are clinging, threatening to suffocate the girl.

They eat the crabs that night; her father glutting himself on more than his fair share, crab meat gets stuck in his beard as he chews. When it is time for bed, her father is half-way to drunk, having purchased mead rather than the food they need. Sage asks her mother about the Sea King. Her mother’s expression is horrified. There is only one god, she reminds her daughter, and to say otherwise is blasphemous. It is neither the answer that Sage is seeking, nor wants.

Four days after that, the jellyfish have multiplied and litter the entire coastline. Discontent is at its peak, and yet, no one braves the ocean waters.

The displeasure in Sage’s heart is growing, threatening to eclipse everything else about her altogether. Or at least, it almost does, until the sound of her parents arguing becomes too difficult to ignore.

“We’re going to starve to death if we don’t!” her father slurs. “Is that what you want, huh? All of us will, her too!”

Sage’s mother’s sobs are harsh and desperate, rattling low in her throat. “I won’t let you,” she wails hoarsely.

“You ain’t got no choice,” he snarls. “It’s done. He’ll collect her tomorrow.”

The mother screams again, and Sage winces, recognising the sound of her father’s lurching steps, and the familiar noise of flesh striking against flesh. But for the first time, it does not silence her mother’s cries.

“I ain’t sold her to a brothel or nothing. She’s gonna work on the farm. She’s strong, she’ll do well. You’ll forget about her soon, maybe have another baby. Maybe even a son.”

Sage doesn’t wait to listen for her mother’s reply, knowing that no words can change her fate. Running down to the beach, she throws herself down on the sand, screaming into her hands. She can’t go to the fields. She’s seen what happens to the girls that are sent away to work. Their bodies quickly become crippled, bones become twisted long before they reach womanhood, and when the pain becomes too much, and they are useless, they are cast aside completely.

Salt clings to her cheeks and lashes as she cries. When there are no tears left and her face is tear-streaked and swollen, she rises to look up and out at the sea. She curses the jellyfish, and on the off-chance that he is real, the Sea King too. Her life has never been her own, but at least before the jellyfish came, she had the sea, and therefore, some measure of freedom. With no other choice, she eventually returns home.

Her mother says nothing when she tucks Sage into bed, her face impossibly tender as she strokes her daughter’s hair back from her face. Kissing her brow, she leaves the room, casting a last, lingering look on the child. The arguing begins moments later, her mother’s voice desperate. Sage closes her eyes, swallowing the sobs that want to claw free, knowing that tomorrow she will be sold.

She is asleep when she hears it first; the sound rouses her into wakefulness. A low thrum that roots into her stomach, tugging at some invisible, unknown part of her. It calls to her, devoid of words but brimming with meaning. It is an invitation, a seduction of sorts. She can already taste the salt on her lips and feel the wind and water against her skin.

Sage isn’t helpless. She is not without choice, but she chooses not to fight it. In truth, she doesn’t want to. Rising from her bed, she makes her way towards the sea.

With unsteady breaths, she grabs the oars and slowly but surely rows further out. Her shoulders and arms, the bare skin bronze and freckled, tire, forcing her to rest for a moment. She’s never been so far out, so far from home.

The sound from earlier and the accompanying feeling is ebbing, making her wonder if she imagined it. She sees the jellyfish then. Illuminated in the moonlight, a sea of pale pink barely a hairsbreadth beneath the water’s surface. Leaning over the side of the boat, ignoring the splash of sea-salt, she watches as they swim closer to her, gathering near the boat.

Her heart is threatening to claw itself free from her breast. They are here for her, these enormous, monstrous creatures. Ducking beneath the wave, ignoring the salty sting, she tries to get a better look at them.

The yearning in her chest grows. To be a monster of the sea. To be venomous and wild, and able to sting. Perhaps it is this yearning, or more likely, something else altogether, that urges her into the water.

Entranced, Sage slides over the side of the boat, pushing herself down into the sea with strong, sure strokes. She blindly reaches towards the jellyfish, whose pale tentacles are similarly reaching out.

The moment they touch, the distance between their minds erased, and for the span of a single breath, Sage is the jellyfish, and everything that she is or was is eviscerated. It is its own sort of agony, and when Sage jerks, her mind alight with darkness and promise, she sinks further down, and towards the ocean’s floor.

Eventually, she stills and disappears entirely.