Chapter 3
(Plot 2)“Tighten up the mizen, lads!” the captain shouted across the Trawler’s deck. “We don’t want her fallin’ out of her corset so long as this wave keeps up; eyes sharp and ropes tight as she goes!”
The “wave” was the doing of the Wonderful Pitcher, as wielded by Calufray himself. He had leaned out over the ship’s stern and upended it, pouring out an endless spout of seawater. The resulting wave had been pushing the ship faster than their sails could pull them, the sails even slowing them down as the canvas caught the wind rushing past. For this reason the captain commanded the sails be reefed until they reach the Merrow Sea.
“You’re sure about this plan, Cal?” shouted the captain over the roar of the waters rushing from the Wonderful Pitcher.
“Sure as sure, Cap’n. She took my father. I can’t let it stand.”
“The merrows have been a bane on sailors since before the Trawler took her sails,” the captain replied. “I’ll be happy the day we never see another one break the surface. But I can’t say as I understand provoking them.”
“Not all of them, Cap’n. Just the one.”
“All the same,” said the captain dismissively, and turned back to the helm. She flattened her tricorn to her head and scouted the horizon. “We’re coming up on it,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Take a rest at yer pourin’ lad. The sails will take her the rest of the way.”
She ship’s sails were reefed again when they arrived at their destination. The anchor was let go and the captain gathered the hands for Calufray’s departure.
“We were happy to see you alive at the tail end of that signal fire, boy,” said the captain. “You sure you don’t need us to hang about?”
Calufray gripped the Pitcher’s handle in one hand and balled the other into a fist. “You’d just dump me overboard if I brought a school of angry merrow back. Better this way.”
In answer, the captain drew her falchion and planted it tip down in the deck, a wry grin on her face.
“Thanks, Cap’n,” said Calufray, “but my father and I will be better off heading home—our real home.” He added, and turned away.
“Good thing I haven’t paid you in weeks,” the captain shouted after him, “or I’d dock you for abandoning ship.”
With a grateful glance over his shoulder, Calufray leapt from the forecastle, the Pitcher outstretched toward the water. The Pitcher had formed a whirlpool before he had even reached the surface, drinking in the water beneath him to speed his descent. He inhaled, feeling the familiar rush of cool seawater enter his lungs as the Pitcher pulled him down, down into the depths.
Opening his eyes, he saw the mouth of an underwater cave. Aiming the Pitcher at it, he approached with all speed. Inside, he found a short tunnel that opened into a large cavern. Toward the other end was an outcropping of stone decorated with jetsam. Within, Calufray could see the form of a siren with narrow shoulders. Chang was nowhere to be seen.
Approaching, his father caught sight of him. “Calufray, we’ve been worried! Your mother and I have been expecting you back for some time now.” They embraced.
“Father, you need to come with me. That merrow isn’t Mother.”
“What do you mean?” said his father with some alarm.
And so Calufray told him everything, ending with how he got the Wonderful Pitcher from his mother.
“So, her stories weren’t just stories,” said Wapasha, taking in all Calufray had told him. He seemed thoughtful about the details of his wife’s past, and had been especially interested in Calufray’s news that she had had another child. But he said nothing of these things. “Let’s get out of here, son. She’s gone hunting and I’m much stronger now that I’ve gotten away from the open air.”
And so they left, never to see Chang again. But it was not the end of her treachery.
Their journey took them north toward the Siren’s Sea, Wapasha’s ancestral home. Their careful pace kept them away from roaming schools of merrow, and they hunted what they needed along the way. It was much slower than going by boat, but the Pitcher helped Calufray swim, and he enjoyed this time with his father, now more cheerful and vibrant than he had seen him since he was a child.
With the discovery of his gills and the gift of the Wonderful Pitcher, Calufray finally had what he needed to accompany his father to their homeland, a thing which would have prevented years of his father’s anguish and suffering if they had been discovered earlier. But there was no conversation between them about it; Wapasha just seemed happy to be in good health, near his son, and on his way home.
It was on the fourth day of their journey when Wapasha started showing signs of poisoning.
“She gave me a potion in a sponge every day,” Wapasha explained. “She said it was so I could regain my strength. It always tasted odd, but I drank it anyway. It made me feel so much better, I didn’t think anything was amiss.”
“Of course it made you feel better in the moment; it must have been the concoction of a sea-witch! Why would you take it?” Calufray demanded.
“I thought she was your mother,” Wapasha justified, wincing. “She took such good care of me otherwise. I think I wanted to believe it was all true. We could have been such a happy family…”
“We need to make better time,” Calufray stated, scooping his father up in his arms. “From here on out we make haste and chance the consequences. Your people can see to your recovery when we get there.”
For the next several days Calufray used the Pitcher to its full effect, sucking in the water ahead of them to create a vortex, increasing their speed dramatically. It taxed even Calufray’s great strength, but he pressed on through the strain and the fatigue. There were even moments when Calufray put all his strength into his grip and consented to being pulled by the Pitcher to conserve energy.
Despite his efforts, however, the poison was taking its toll all too soon. Wapasha’s withdrawal was worsening by the hour. They were still a day’s journey away from Wapasha’s tribe when his grip on Calufray’s shoulder faltered and he fell behind.
“Father!” Calufray was at his father’s side in a moment. Wapasha’s eyes had rolled back into his head and his body was seizing. “What can I do, father? What do you need?” Though he was strong, Calufray felt like a helpless weakling, uneducated in the body and its workings.
“Wahi do!” Came a shout from across the ocean floor. As fate would have it, a siren scout had been passing by and caught sight of the pair. She approached with concern.
“To´ked eniciyapi he?” the scout asked.
“Wapasha,” Calufray’s father replied weakly. “Miye wamatuka ye.”
“To´kiya yati he?” said the scout, setting down her fishbone spear and cupping Wapasha’s head in one webbed hand.
In response, Wapasha lifted a hand, gesturing the direction the scout had come.
The scout paused, looking at Calufray’s father with sudden intent. “Wapasha?” said the scout with recognition. She turned to Calufray. “You. Where did you find him? How did you arrive so far below?”
“Help him, please,” said Calufray. “He’s been poisoned.”
The scout laid down a net made of woven sea-fiber and rolled Wapasha into it, offering a bundled mass of the net to Calufray.
“Yakuwa,” said the scout and hauled Wapasha’s body along. Calufray followed.
It was a tense journey. The scout glanced over at Calufray only a couple of times, eying the Pitcher that propelled him forward through the water, but said nothing of it. Calufray glanced back at his father, uncertain of his condition, and wondered several times if he were even still alive. Ignoring the impulse to look again, he concentrated on going as fast as the Pitcher and the scout could take them. With the scout’s help they were able to make the edges of the tribe’s camp sooner than Calufray expected.
“Wahi do!” the scout shouted as they got closer, and almost immediately a swarm of sirens came to see what the matter was. The scout addressed the crowd collectively, speaking in the common tongue for Calufray’s benefit: “Sisseton, bring the healers. Wapasha has returned.”
Several younger sirens departed, presumably seeking the healers. In the meantime, several older sirens came near, uncovering Wapasha from the scout’s net. Calufray helped them, anxious to see how his father fared. He was barely conscious.
Wapasha looked around at the sirens near him, raising his webbed hand weakly. “Sissinnguaq? Etalpalli? Nina!” And his body seized again, his eyes rolling back into his head.
“Father, be strong,” Calufray demanded. “We’ve made it; the healers are on their way.”
“I’m home…” said Wapasha with a weakening smile. “They…they never forgot me.”
And the life left his body.
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