Astrid is the crown princess of Atlantis, but she barely has time to worry about the kingdom with six younger sisters to watch over, especially with the youngest coming into her powers as a daughter of the sea to navigate time. When Astrid fears tha...
"Woman overboard!" he yells over the thunder, and I wonder why. He seems to be alone on the ship, so he can't be alerting another human. And it seems silly to be informing me of my own condition.
Perhaps there is a hidden message in those words up here. Everything is strange up here.
I swim closer, to tell him I'm all right, and maybe to steal a kiss.
He grabs a red and white tubular device, and moves to the rails.
Suddenly, though, a gust of wind blows into his sail, and it goes flying right toward him. The tip of it hits him on the head, and he goes flying into the ocean with me.
I dive under and make out his form as he sinks downward, his eyes closed, and his blood pooling out behind him.
Panic seizes. Unless Cerce really is like every other two-legged creature, these things can't breathe under the water like I can.
He's going to drown, and take with him my one chance to break this curse naturally.
That is, if he isn't already dead.
I dive down, kicking my fin until I'm beside him. Then I wrap my arms around his waist and propel us both up.
We break the surface, and I half-expect him to gasp and start breathing through his nose like I do when I'm above surface. But his face doesn't move.
My panic sinks deeper, and I wonder what to do now. Perhaps, if I put him on land, or his boat, the magic of his home will heal him?
Even as I think that thought, a bolt of lightning comes down onto the mast of his ship. The vessel bursts into flames.
I swim backward, startled. Flames are no friend to a water-creature. Or, I assume, even an earth-creature.
An earth-creature who desperately needs his native element.
Glancing around desperately, I make out what appears to be the coast just a matter of laps from us.
The water is already starting to boil near the ship, so for both our sakes, I swim toward the beach, keeping the human's face out of the water as much as possible.
Years of carrying around baby sisters in the water have prepared me for this moment, and we make it to the beach quickly. I toss him onto the sand, but his feet remain in the water.
And his lungs still do not move.
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