The next day marks the longest amount of time I've ever spent on a body of water. The longest ferry ride I've ever taken has been to the City, which isn't more than an hour or so, and I don't think swimming in the lake counts. I mostly spend the next 24 hours journaling – it's been a few days, and I haven't been able to write. Part of me wants to catch up on sleep as well, but once I think about putting everything down on paper, it's like a hunger or an itch: I can't ignore it for long.
I write about how much I miss Alan and Eb and Mom and Dad - I haven't thought about Mom and Dad or Ivy and Pippa in a while, I think with an ache - about running in the water with Gwen and Leo, about Amelia, and, by the end of my third page, I realize that I haven't, not once, written about the future. I can't decide if it's a good or a bad thing. After all, Summer is almost done, and I really would like to go to school, even if it's an infinite amount of stress to think about. Burr's mandatory homeschooling can get you pretty far, but some things you can only learn from other people.
I flip back through earlier parts of the journal, before I left the village, and almost every single entry mentions something about school and my future life, be it a sentence or a whole paragraph. I never realized how...nice, or distracting, it is to just get away. To think. I can't think of any reason that I'd be closer to finding an answer, but something inside me feels peace anyway. Like the stars, though not visible in the day, are telling me that I'm on the right path. My path.
Yes, my path includes a somewhat rickety boat named Ophelia and a bright blue sky, a sun as supportive as a good friend, and two lovely cats who I turn to smile at. Their silhouettes are black against the window. The first day at sea is indescribable.
The second day, however, is perfectly describable: Shitty.
First of all, I'm thirsty, and the cats are thirsty, and we kid of forgot about, you know, water, and we can't drink the sea because it's salty, since when Jonathan the Great came in a hundred or so years ago and was able to control salinity, he was told that some places just had to stay salty for, you know, wildlife purposes, which is totally worth it, but I kind of want to scratch out my own throat right now.
"Isn't there some sort of survival kit in here?" I moan from my spot on the floor. We're all crowded away from the window to avoid the sun, which is rapidly becoming less and less like a good friend and more and more like an annoying neighbor.
"Hi, neighbor!"
"Oh, hello Mr. Sun."
"Hello, yes, could I borrow a cup of sugar please?"
"Um, I don't have any sugar."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"What about a sugar substitute? Honey? Maple syrup? Juice?"
"No, I actually don't have any food at the moment."
"Are you sure?"
"Goodbye Mr. Sun."
I finally pull myself off of the floor after a few more minutes of moping and start digging through a few of the drawers by the captain's wheel. There's a thick blue book, a pair of enchanted earrings like Mason's but flamingos that raise their legs, and a pencil. I join the cats in the corner near the door and crack open the book. Dust practically flies at my face, making me cough.
"The Sea Survival Manual," I read. "Hey! Helpful!"
"Keep reading," Leo groans.
"Fine. Let's see...chapter three, lack of water. Apparently there's a spell invented by the salinity guy to change water! We're saved! Someone grab a bucket, it's drinking time."
For lack of a bucket, I pick up my bedsheet and head outside. There's no breeze – everything is perfectly still. I stare out over the horizon; there's nothing to see but miles and miles of water. I see a little splash in the distance that sends a little chill up my spine, so I quickly dunk in the sheet until it's soaking and scurry back inside.
I spread out the sheet and quickly say the spell; I then squeeze the water into my mouth to test that it's not salty. It isn't. I drip some into Gwen and Leo's mouths before giving myself some.
"Congratulations, guys," I say. "We just survived our first near death experience in about twenty minutes. This bodes well."
"Oh yes," Gwen mews. "Our first near-death experience."
Anyway, so that's the first reason today sucks. Secondly, after resting for an hour of blissful ignorance, Ophelia decides to leap into the air. The air whooshes out of my lungs as I almost hit the ceiling, closing my eyes as if that will help. I land on the ground with a large smack!, the cats with smaller thumps, both managing to land on their paws.
"What was that?" I say, the words barging out of my mouth as I cling to the ground, though there's nothing to cling to. I stare into Leo's wide, dark pupils, the definition of fear.
"The window!" Gwen gasps. I jerk my head in the direction, but the sight of the bouncing view just makes me sicker. You never know if you have a weak stomach until you decide to embark on a potentially life-threatening journey, I suppose.
Finally Ophelia settles down a little bit, or at least enough for me to look out the window without being sick, and I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or terrified to see, a few yards in the distance, a whale's tail disappearing with a humongous splash. Relieved because, one one hand, it's just a whale, but terrified because, on the other hand, it is also just a whale, a very powerful being that has the ability to overturn Ophelia in a quick second.
I notice the map has fallen on the ground, so I crawl over to it and tuck it into my shirt. The floor feels wet beneath my palms, making my breath stop short.
"Leak," I mumble, moving another hand forward. "Ouch!" I jerk my hand up – glass! What here has glass? I look around until I notice a spot of red in the corner, under the wheel. Amories.
When I pick her up, cradling the body in both my hands, she's frailer than I ever imagined. She barely takes up space in my palm, and her hair is all tangled. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
"Put her on the towel!" Gwen shouts. For once, Leo doesn't look like he wants to eat her. I wrap her up in the dark red and ask the stars for it to be enough. She moves her hand a little bit, so I move my finger towards her.
"We need a new jar," I say. "Mermaids can breathe in air, but her body can't be fully submerged in it for long. The towel might be enough, but..." This mermaid is my first and only pet. Imagine your pet, right now, be it a forest dragon or a pup or even a frog – and imagine you being the reason they die.
"Here! Here!" Leo says. I watch as he pulls a container out of my backpack using his teeth – Birdy's food! We dump out the little remaining, moon-old soup somewhat regretfully onto the towel not occupied by mermaid, and I scoop her into my hands; Gwen drags the towel outside in order to refill it with water. Quickly, systematically, we rinse out the container, fill it up, and, not a moment too soon, toss the mermaid inside. We watch anxiously. She floats for a moment – I'm breathing, but loudly. Panic strikes my heart with every beat – ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
Then, slowly, shakily, she raises her arm, tiny fingers curling slightly. I want to cry.
I cover the container with its lid and place it back on the counter, this time securing it with some rope. I also tie some rope across the width of the boat, knotting it to a window on one side and the desk on the other, so that if there's ever another incident we can grab on before becoming a little too well acquainted with the roof.
Believe it or not, all of those shit-tastic events have taken place over the course of two and a half hours, at the end of which I'm exhausted and ready for a little midday nap. Instead, since I want to let the cats sleep, I settle down at the desk with my map. I trace where we've gone with my finger – from the village across the lake to the City, from the city to Hopper's Forest, from the forest to Lucinda's Meadow, then to the beach, and from there, Ophelia. I smile. We've left Burr. I never even intended to leave the lake's perimeter. I find where we probably are – about 1/8 of the distance between Erin's beach and the Frost Towns – and chuckle at the perfectly placed whale tail. I feel like the mapmaker is with me, laughing along. Now this was a person who truly saw everything.
I stare out the desk window and try to imagine them. Were they tall and intimidating? Tall with a friendly glimmer in their eyes? Were they mysterious or spunky? Fearless or brave? There are so many contrasting qualities to be a hero, an adventurer – it makes me feel a bit more optimistic about myself. I imagine someone imagining me, Fel the Adventurer, who set forth on a quest of self-identity with nothing but a bag and a few friends. Would they picture my short black hair and its constant tangles, or long strands of bright red? Would they hear my walrus laugh, or a haughty, confident trill? I have to admit, it's kind of nice to feel so fluid. Like what matters isn't how I look or sound, but my choices, my actions.
I spin around in my chair, standing up and stretching my arms up to the ceiling. When I look down again, I almost shriek. The cats are both sitting up and facing me, worried looks in their eyes. Leo won't meet my gaze.
"Hey. What's up? Did you sleep well?" I ask, dreading what may come next. They're going to tell me we can't keep going. They want to go home.
"Fel," Gwen starts. Her tail thrashes, back and forth, back and forth. I sit down on the floor so that we're all level. "We haven't been exactly honest with you."
"About...about what?"
"About why we're here," she mews.
"Like, in the Lands? Oh my goodness, are you guys stars? Celestial beings? Do you know the meaning of life?" I laugh somewhat nervously.
"Not now, Fel." I'm taken aback my Leo's seriousness.
"Okay." I sit up straighter. "Sorry."
"Anyway," Gwen says. "The truth is, we told you we were from the village when you first found us, remember? That we'd been separated from our litter."
"Yes. And that's all you told me. You wouldn't say anything about where specifically you're from, or how you got separated, or - "
"Well, that's not true," she interrupts, hanging her head. My mouth stays parted.
"We were born somewhere else, and I'm not going to say where for...for reasons. We were born somewhere else and came to Burr looking for someone."
"Burr? You're not even from Burr?"
"Forget I said that!" Gwen squeezes her eyes shut and tilts her head to the ceiling as if she's waiting for it to rain. "Anyway, we came to Burr looking for someone, and we found you and we had this big long talk about whether or not to give up the search and stay with you because you were – are – so nice, and you made us laugh."
"So you stayed." I have so much more I want to say.
"Yes," Gwen continues. "We stayed, and I'm so glad we did, but then, right before we left the village with you, we saw something that made us realize we shouldn't have given up."
"Shouldn't have stayed with me."
"This isn't about you, Fel!" Leo cries, eyes flashing as he suddenly looks up. "I mean, I guess it is to some degree, but you have to understand that this person is important to us. We realized that, though we don't regret being with you, we need to keep searching. Which is why we decided to go along with your adventure. So that we could keep searching."
"So that's why you encouraged leaving the City? Not for me, but for this...this stranger who you won't even tell me about?" I don't remember when I stood up, but I'm suddenly towering over the cats. Gwen flinches and shrinks back.
"I'm sorry, but yes."
I sit back down in my chair with a thump. This whole time I thought they cared about my well-being. I thought they were just going along on the adventure – instead, they were somewhat controlling it. I feel like I just found out there are strings attached to my wrists and they've been pulling me along. I'm nothing more than a marionette. I'm not the brave, strong adventurer. I'm a tag-along.
"And...you're still looking?" I manage to push out.
"Yes," Gwen says. "We will look wherever we go. We never managed to searched outside of Burr before we met you. Please, Fel, don't be mad. We're so, so happy you're here with us - "
"I need some time, please." I turn away. I can't think in anything but questions. What made them decide to take up the search again? What land are they really from? Who the stars are they even looking for? Who could possibly, ever, mean more to them than me?
"Yeah. Yeah, fine," Leo says. I've never heard him so angry before, and that makes me angry, too. I feel selfish, but this was my adventure, and now it's not anymore. I feel anxiety about everything start to pour in again. If I'm not on an adventure for me then I'm not helping myself. I'm wasting time.
I'm wasting time, and it's too late to turn back. I feel my eyes burn and I take a deep breath in. I'm on a tiny boat in the middle of the ocean with two...strangers. I can't even begin to imagine how this past has played into every aspect of our time together, so that everything I thought I knew about them isn't true anymore. I was seeing Leo and Gwen through a two-way mirror that was actually one-way, and only I didn't know it.
The mapmaker isn't with me. My family isn't with me. My friends aren't with me.
I have never, ever felt so alone.