2

Gillinalie watched as the boy squirmed in the bonds holding his arms and legs together. As he sank he reminded her of the eels she would catch back home, squirming and fighting to break from the net that held them. Her experience with eel escapees made her naive to the boy’s ability; she actually hoped he would break free. She hoped he would swim to shore, she hoped he would save himself. But as she watched the boy fall limp, the air retreating from his lungs, and the life being suffocated from him; she knew she had to do something or watch him die. 

The boat she had her hand on sped away, leaving her alone, staring at the boy on the bottom of the ocean. The water had never felt so cold to her as she looked at the Otarian. The boy hit the ocean floor with a thud that seemed to jump around Gillinalie’s chest. As the sand wafted around his body it was as though she was snapped from a trance. 

She rushed to the boy, moving his hair out of the way to stare at his limp face. When it wasn’t framed by horror she could see the boy was quite handsome. His straight nose and square jaw was not to be forgotten; much like the dancing contrast of complexion across his face. It was true that she had never seen someone like him before, Maybe because he’s dying?!

She recognized the fact that no bubbles were escaping from any visible air-ways. She shook his shoulders, hoping to shake the oxygen back into his lungs. When that didn’t work, she cursed under her breath at the thought of a memory.

“Kelp,” my mother had said during a particularly boring lesson of ‘plants and animals’, “such a useful material, I’m surprised your father doesn't request a bigger supply.”

“What could kelp possibly be used for?” I asked so ignorantly.

“Oh, so many things my child. Medicine, weight-loss, it could even give breath to a drowning brethren,” her honey-smooth voice had told me as she pinched my nose.

“But mom, we can breathe water,” I had mistakenly said, playfully rolling my eyes.

“Despite what your father may tell you, not all brethren would be like you,” she scolded. 

Gillinalie remembered the leftover leaves she had stuffed in her pocket from before. Almost dropping and scattering the leaves, she ripped them from her gown. She let the training take over as she used her saliva to glue the leaves together, then stick them to the boy’s face. She kept a hole open by his right ear so she could blow her own air into the mask. Leaning down, cheek-to-cheek, she felt awkward being so close to a boy she had never met. What does it matter? I’m saving his life. 

She blew till she felt her own lungs might deflate, giving the mask over his mouth and nose enough air to react with the wax coating of the leaves. If her memory served her right, her own saliva and the oxygen from her breath would react with the leaves to temporarily provide more oxygen for the Otarian to breathe. She considered the amount of kelp she used and assumed they would only have a few hours to hope to make it to shore safely. Even then she worried it wouldn’t be enough. 

Useless, her father hissed in her head. 

The boy’s eyes began to flutter as he adjusted to the mask on his face. His intense dark eyes met hers and Gillinalie felt the moment draw out. Her heart beat rapidly again, wrapped in his gaze. He furrowed his brow at the sight of her, taking in her face.

The moment was torn as the boy flipped, pushing himself away from her. Once again, she felt a cold rush as his eyes studied her whole. She knew she didn’t like to be watched but this was a different kind of inspection. 

“Are you okay?” she asked as she watched him watch her. She reached for the rope around his wrist but he flinched, pulling away. He looked at the rope, then at her again. She figured he decided it was safe enough for her to help him because he held his hands out to her. As she untied the rope her finger grazed his wrist and her skin crawled. He ripped his hands away as the bind fell to sand. He didn’t let her help unbind his ankles, watching her as his fingers worked the knot away. 

The second his legs were free the boy’s hand shot to his mouth, feeling the leaves encasing it. He looked at her in alarm as he attempted to rip the mask from his face. She tried to push his hands down, but he pushed away, fleeing from her touch. She couldn’t tell why but it stung.

“It’s a mask-,” she began to say but the blank stare on the boy’s face reminded her even if she wanted to talk to him his ears could not pick sound the way hers could underwater. She watched him as he continued to scratch at the leaves, failing to give way. We’re running out of time. Then it hit her. She tapped his foot, the boy looked at her bewildered.

‘Can you sign?’ her hands formed the words, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at the Otarian until she was done. His shoulders tensed as he shook his head up and down. She sighed in relief but the boy had almost looked more tense than before they could communicate.

‘What is on my face? And how can I breathe? And why am I not floating right now?’ His hands rushed and she almost missed the in-between words as he waved at her. He was moving too fast, and had too many questions. She didn’t know where to start. The boy raised his eyebrows at her, urging her to explain it all to him.

‘It’s a kelp mask,’ she tried to explain in a way he’d understand so they didn’t waste more time, ‘It’s giving you a temporary supply of oxygen. There is still water in your lungs, that is why you are not floating and if we don’t get to shore in time for you to cough it up you will drown again.’

The Otarian just stared, his hands falling from his face to his lap. 

‘Do you know what direction you came from?’ she tried to ask him.

The boy looked around, his eyes lingering on the surface. He shook his head, ‘No, I would have to look from above.’

Gillinalie pushed herself up from the sand, beginning to swim to the surface but the boy grabbed her foot. She met his eyes, they were begging her.

Letting go, he signed, ‘You can’t, those men could be around.’ She could tell this wasn’t a negotiation, so she dropped back down. Scooping up some sand she decided she would have to estimate it. She let the sand fall, it poured in a slant facing away from the forest.

‘Land might be that way,’ she told him.

‘Might?’ he asked with an attitude Gillinalie was unaware could be given to words formed by hands. 

‘We have no other options, and need I remind you, you cannot breathe water. So can you swim or do I have to drag you?’ 

The Otarian only nodded as she turned from him and began to swim in the direction the sand had fallen. Gillinalie led and the boy followed as they journeyed along the ocean floor. As they pushed forward the sand slowly began to incline toward what Gillinalie hoped was land. She was as surprised, just as in the forest, at the lack of sea-life. With a bleeding and foreign follower she was sure they’d encounter another wicked monster, but it never came as they swam.

She had allowed herself to fall into a drift, her body still moving but her mind focused only on what was ahead. She hoped the boy was keeping up, but lacked the energy to check on his attitude more than she had too. She knew this was a mistake when the sand had only stretched thirty feet from the waves above. As she turned to look where the boy’s pace was, his flailing arms caught her eyes. She whipped around, seeing the full scene.

The boy was being pulled toward the sand by a vomit-green tentacle. He swung and threw his hand, attempting to swim up, but whatever the tentacle belonged too was too strong for him. His hands and eyes searched for anything to help him as the sand below him began to sink. Gillinalie could see the blade-like teeth of a mouth emerging from the floor. The rows of fangs rotated in multiple directions, awaiting the boy, begging to shred him into tiny otarian pieces. 

Again Gillinalie had found herself frozen in fear, the breath in her lungs becoming too harsh, her head reeling. She had allowed herself to become comfortable, she had allowed herself to ignore danger, she had allowed herself to become unaware. And now instead of harming herself, she had put a stranger in the grasp of death. Useless, her father buzzed again. 

He had flipped and turned, he was nearing the teeth now. His movements were desperate, failing to set him free. As she stared, his eyes met hers, her breath caught in her throat. She could see the urge in his eyes. She was ripped from her shock. 

Gillinalie was at his struggling body in two kicks of water. Her hands found his wrists and she pulled with everything she had. They lifted but the monster below them hauled the opposite direction and they sank again. She thought her and the monster were either going to rip the boy in half or her arms would pop right out of their sockets. But she pulled anyway, hoping for the surface. 

The Otarian’s hand slipped from hers. She panicked, wrapping both of her hands around the other arm she still had a hold on. The boy's hand was frantic as it ripped up the cuff of his pants. It found the handle of a blade. Pushing away from Gillinalie, he pried the small dagger from the sheath around his ankle, and with a firm grip he sent it through the bulky meat of the monster’s tentacle. An ear-splitting screech filled the water, as green, milky blood fled from the stab. The boy kicked the thing off of him before eagerly pushing to the top of the water. 

Still dazed, Gillinalie followed him above the waves. Her head popped up before the Otarain could come crashing through the surface. Again she felt the rush of the wind along the ocean. She felt the comforting suns—letting her gills adjust—she took a deep breath of the fresh air. The boy immediately ripped the mask off his face. Gasping too much air too fast, his body forced him to cough up the water that had been subdued before. 

“What was that thing?!” he howled at her. 

Her nose crinkled in disgust, “I’m not sure, but I think it was a womberkeeper.”

“A what?!” he questioned, still yelling.

“Stop yelling!” she cried. He stared at her with the same look before, as if she had grown an extra eye. 

“We need to get to land,” she continued, hoping the fluctuation in her voice would soothe him, “If it was a womberkeeper, there will be more of them-”

“More?!” the Otarian burst.

“Womberkeepers are pack animals,” she said—as if explaining to a small child, “do you really know nothing?”

“Hmmm, maybe because I don’t live in the ocean, for the love of the suns!?” he snapped. 

“There is no need for such language!” she shouted above his aggressive mumbling.

The boy began to swim but hissed, holding his leg.

“What?” she came closer, but he put his hand in her face, keeping her at a distance.

“Nothing, I need to get to the land,” he shot. She sniffed at his slant and continued toward the shore coming into view. They had over a hundred yards but that was a breeze for Gillinalie. I’m so close.

“If we stay at the surface, they shouldn’t be able to reach us!” she called back at him, refusing to look at the brat.

“And what happens when the water shallows and they get closer?” he called, further behind than she expected.

“They shouldn’t be that close to the shore. However, we’re lucky there was only one, instead of a whole family to tear you apart.” she laughed openly at the grimace that painted the boy’s face. They swam, ebbing closer and closer to the shore; closer and closer to freedom. The boy was slowing, his pace growing weary. She didn’t think he was this weak, as he swam well with her under the water, she assumed it would be easier above. And yet he was lagging too far behind, too far for it to be safe. 

Gillinalie slowed, matching his pace, but he fully ignored her existence as she swam next to him. 

“Are you feeling alright?” she said, examining his laboring form.

“I’m fine,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

“You look like you’re going to faint.” The boy was growing pale, and at a quickened rate. Gillinalie could tell he was continually slowing as they splashed through the steady waves.

“Your voice is not helping me feel better,” he growled, still struggling.

“So you admit you don’t feel good,” she jested. However, the boy was not approving, shooting her a cold glare. She dipped below the water, to see what she could not above. She watched the boy below as he pressed on, to the land. They were nearing closer still, but as she watched the boy his right leg could barely kick. The leg the womberkeeper had a hold on.

She spun to the other side of him. Scanning the leg from below she knew it was causing him trouble. The pant leg was torn, relieving scalded and shriveling skin below. Gillinalie popped back up through the water on the other side of him. He flinched but didn’t pay her much mind, continuing on. 

“You were stung,” she declared outright. The Otarian cringed but ignored her still, “The more you move, the quicker the poison will kill you.”

“What am I supposed to do then? If I stop moving I will drown,” the word seemed to grind out.

“You could let me help you,” she swam past him.

“How?” he countered.

She circled, “Let me swim, I can carry you on my back or something.”

He threw her another icy scowl.

“I’m obviously a better swimmer,” she circled him once again, his speed frighteningly slow, “And the more you go the sooner you’ll die, not to mention at the rate your swimming you’ll drown before anything else can kill you.”

She played it off as if it didn’t bother her, she hoped the boy wouldn’t be able to read the pure dismay in her voice. Gillinalie didn’t know what she would do if he refused, she didn’t want to let him die. Although she figured it would be easier to continue without this whiny, snobby brat slowing her down and fighting any kind of help she attempts to provide. She could simply swim ahead and leave him to die. How could I think like that?!

“Could you actually drag me?” his voice snapping her out of her thoughts, “I’m quite larger than you, and if you don’t want me to swim it would be like carrying a dead weight? You think you can handle that sweetheart?”

Sweetheart?! Who does he think he is?! Patronizing me when I’m trying to help him?!

He grinned at her, she flung her tongue out at him. His brows lifted in disbelief, but Gillinalie studied him. Taking his size into consideration—he was much taller, and while he was thin, his form was broad—doubt crept in. 

“What choice do you have?” 

His face fell at this. They both knew there wasn’t another option where he lives. 

“So,” he swallowed, an awkward blush creeping his face, “How are we gonna do this?”

“Well, you could wrap your arms around my shoulders and I could drag you to shore,” she thought aloud, “It would be tiring but it's the only thing I can think of.”

She looked at the boy again, he was forcing himself to breath, she could tell the venom was taking it's toll. He could only nod as Gillinalie positioned herself in front of him. The Otarian awkwardly wrapped his arms around her, his elbows enclosing her shoulders. She could feel his breath along the back of her neck. She wished that it sent chills down her spine for a reason other than each felt like a lethal struggle.

He didn’t lie to her when he said it would feel like lugging a dead weight. The Otarian boy didn’t move at all, as Gillinalie pushed herself to swim the last stretch to shore. She found herself feeling girlish, as the fact that a boy was holding on to her made her heart race, and her blood pump in her ears. She considered herself insane since she felt this way about saving someone's life. Cursing herself she realized she had never even gotten the boy's name.

“Hey, since I’m literally saving your life, could I ask a question?”

“Depends on what kind of question it is,” the words slurred together as he spoke. Gillinalie picked up her pace, I cannot let him die. 

“I never got your name?”

“Oh,” he paused as if calculating an answer as simple as his name, “It’s Ovin.”

“Ovin-” she pressed.

“Does it matter?” she felt him shift, feeling his breath again.

“Just making conversation,” she mumbled.

He sighed in her ear, “Ovin Assian.”

“Well Ovin Assian, I’m Gillinalie Caladir,” she boasted. 

“Caladir?” Ovin mumbled, “where have I heard that before?”

Bile rose in Gillinalie’s throat. What would he do if he found out she was a princess? Would he return her to Dorgan? Tie her up and drop her right where he could find her? She would never be able to escape again.

Ovin clicked his tongue, but he sighed, “Must be just something familiar to what I’ve heard before.”

She sighed in relief, he shifted again, holding tighter to her shoulders. She could hear his breathing slowing again, becoming more forced. They were nearing the shore, but the waves were becoming more aggressive as they pushed on. 

“Gillinalie’s a mouthful,” Ovins words became faint, as if he just woke from a nap, “what if I just call you ‘Gills’. Cause, like, your name is Gill-inalie and you have gills,” he chuckled to himself, lost in his own world.

Gillinalie wished the moment could feel sweet, but it soured in the pit of her stomach, knowing the venom was slowly killing him. She willed herself to push on, fighting the waves as they tempted to pull her away. The beach became more defined as they neared. The sand was fading to a light yellow, as it had been deprived of its true color by scolding suns. The pink ocean danced elegantly along the shore line as white foam coated the swaying water. The beach called to her, the lush green jungle behind even more tempting as she pushed forward. Escape!

With the added weight of Ovin, Gillinalie couldn't recognize the dip in the water. The massive wave sent them flipping under the water, Ovin’s limp body was torn from Gillinalie. She tried to right herself but she wasn’t used to the currents so close to land. She was tossed as though she was a rag doll, being played with by an aggressive young child.

The next thing Gillinalie knew, she was thrown onto the sand, grating against her smooth scales. She laid there, trying to keep her stomach settled, allowing the suns to beat on her. Despite the sting, she opened her eyes to see Ovin sprawled across the sand twenty yards away. She pushed herself, wobbling as she tried to walk. Gillinalie felt as though she was floating. She wasn’t used to the lack of pressure she was accustomed to at home. To her own surprise, she adapted quickly, pushing her sore muscles toward the Otarian boy. Ovin Assian.

She fell at his side. Once again she found herself staring at his limp face, He really needs to stop putting me in this situation. Her eyes found the sting, but it was hard to tell how desperate she needed to be. So, she lifted the cuff of his pants, trying to keep it from rubbing on the skin, but the sting wrapped his whole calf. Ovin’s eyes fluttered, hissing as he met her gaze. 

“What are you doing?” he pushed himself up on his elbows, moving his leg. 

“I’m trying to see how bad it is,” she scolded. Ease filled her bones; if he had energy to be rude, she had time to help him.

Gillinalie stood, Ovin tracked her with his eyes. As she headed for the waves once again she could hear him rustling behind her. She waded into the water, feeling a familiar sting at the lack of care he gave that she was leaving. She was going to help him no matter what he said but how could he be so cold?

When the water splashed against her waist he called to her, “Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to help you, don’t move, you’ll make it worse!” she replied before dipping back into the ocean.