Young Writers Society

A tiny fishing trawler journeyed far out to sea, towards the glinting sunset and the prime hunting grounds of dusk. The crisp sea breeze almost masked the stench of ever-present smog, oil, and decay in the air.

Almost.

Marisol wrinkled her nose, watching the watery horizon from her perch on the bow, crouching amid the lines and netting waiting to be cast into the murky waters below. Her brother was somewhere on the stern, probably talking to Vance. Or rather, being talked at by Vance.

The man never shuts up, Killick would often laugh to her as they’d lay in their cots side-by-side. I probably know more about him than anyone, just ‘cause I have nothing better to do than listen.

“Kelp!”

Marisol startled, jerking away from the rigging she’d been leaning on. She snapped to her feet. She barely missed cracking her head on a weight as her boss, Murdoch, strode towards her. The man was as thick as a power pole, with an electric temper to match. She shifted, weary.

“Yessir.”

His red beard glowed like actual flame in the dying light, bushy as a threatened stray cat.

“What do I pay you for, kelp? To stare at the sun and daydream?”

Marisol didn’t flinch at the slur, but an angry warmth burned in the pit of her stomach. God, she hated this job.

She blinked rapidly before turning her gaze to the cracked wood floor, stained with decades of fish blood. “No, sir.”

Murdoch crossed massive arms over his overall-clad chest. His right hand ended in a stump right above the wrist, supposedly from a shark that wasn’t pleased about being pulled from the depths.

I’ll bet the government cut it off for stealing someone else’s rations, Killick had muttered after hearing the tale. Murdoch had overheard and nearly had him whipped. It did nothing to soften Killick’s smart mouth.

“Well, get on it then. The waves are too choppy.”

They weren’t, but she knew that he just wanted an excuse to yell at her. Marisol took a deep breath before lifting her hands, palm up, and began the sea-calming spell. The comforting roll of the words on her tongue calmed the anger in her belly, and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the sea’s presence. Her role as a sea mage was one of the few things she was confident in.

Quiet down, please. We mean no harm, she sang to the waves, knowing full well the fishing trawler’s one intention. The language was similar to the chirping of crickets, and although her intonation was off and she often stuttered, the waves soon calmed, and the winds stilled. The only sounds that remained were the smooth humming of the boat’s motor, the quiet murmur of conversation from behind the bridge, and the cries of starving seagulls circling above them.

When she opened her eyes, Murdoch was eyeing her with a curled lip. He snapped his gaze away as soon as he saw she was done.

“It’s unnerving,” he grumbled, turning to the side with a huff. He stomped to the bridge and leaned over the sonar readings, scouring the sea for what few fish remained.

Marisol’s shoulders sagged. Sea magic left a sick taste in her throat when she was in the company of Murdoch and his crew.

Killick leaned his head around the bridge and flashed her a gap-toothed grin. His skin shone the color of red clay, and dark hair fell in floppy curls over his eyes.

Help me, her brother mouthed, overemphasizing the words with a pointed glance behind the bridge.

Marisol tuned in to the sound of Vance talking, continuing a one-sided conversation aimed at Killick’s back.

“...an’ so, I says to the man, ‘Never in my days, in all my days of bein’ out on the sea, have I ever seen a siren, no sir.’ But this man, he has the gall to say, ‘But you ‘ave! They just make you forget ‘em!’”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “He said that they’s afraid of bein’ found, like all other magic folk. An’ I don’t know about you, but tha’ just gave me the spooks. It did! It gave me the spooks.”

Marisol rolled her eyes and rounded the bridge to where the two men were lounging, cross-legging on the stern floor. Her brother gave her a grateful smile.

“Sol,” he said easily, dark eyes shining with humor. “The waves are calm, the night has begun. Got any news for us, sea mage?”

She kicked him lightly in the side. He gasped a little too loudly, laughed, and shifted over so she could sit by him.

“No news,” she said flatly, collapsing to lean against the hull.

Killick gave her a pointed stare. She exhaled, returning his gaze irritably.

“...except that Murdoch wants you check in, Vance.”

The older man straightened, scrubbed a hand over his laugh-wrinkled face. As a cousin of Murdoch, he was also a grizzly bear of a man and noticeably gruff, but clean-shaven and significantly more pleasant to be with. He tilted his head.

“He does?”

Marisol nodded, unwilling to justify the lie further. She shifted her hips in a vain attempt to get comfortable on the hard floor. Killick’s mouth twitched in a barely-concealed smile.

“Better get going, man.”

Vance shrugged his massive shoulders, then pulled himself to stand with a groan.

“You kids relax while you can. It‘s near dark.”

He gestured to the crimson sky, then ambled around the corner to the bridge, out of sight.

Killick exhaled. “Thanks, sis.”

Marisol leaned her shoulder into his, breathing in his scent mingled with the salty sea air. It was rare to get much time with her brother alone, these days, except right before sleep, and even then, they were usually both so exhausted that they barely managed to exchange a goodnight. They had been working harder than ever recently. Trying to get both of them through school and managing to eat at the same time sometimes seemed impossible.

“He can talk off Murdoch’s ear instead of mine, for once,” Killick said.

“Captain won’t have it,” Marisol snorted. “He’ll get shut down faster than a riot.”

“Mm.” He flicked a strand of her black hair off of his arm. They listened to the boat’s motor for a while, felt the vessel’s smooth movement through the now-glassy waters.

Killick rubbed the back of his neck. A cold breeze tossed his curls, and if it weren’t for the wrinkles of worry in his forehead, he would be quite handsome.

“Should be time soon. Feel anything?”

Marisol shook her head. The ocean was as empty as ever. When she was younger, the fish farms hadn’t taken up entire countrysides, and the water was still held a semblance of clear. There had still been some wild schools of fish left, some predators, some tuna. She’d go out on their father’s boat and could feel their swirling, fluid motion in her very being. She’d draw energy from the life of the sea.

But now... the sea was dying, and so was everything in it.

Dead, or long gone. Fished out of existence. And she, and Killick, were contributing to that. Scraping the end of a barrel, long past its expiration date.

Her guts twisted at the thought.

Murdoch’s voice rumbled over the boat’s surface, tinged with excitement.

“Fish.”

The motor died, and the boat began to coast without any real direction in the sudden, eerie silence. Marisol and Killick exchanged a glance before scrambling to their feet, anticipation hot in their stomachs. They rounded the bridge to find Murdoch pacing the ship, his figure outlined in the dim light.

“Found some,” he said, nearly breathless. “Good catch, finally. Can you feel it, kelp?”

Marisol blinked, then reached out with her mind, down into the depths. It had been so long since she had encountered anything beyond the scrubby deep-sea fish, tiny crabs, some squids, that she’d started to tune the sense of them out.

She had begun to ignore the sea, because it was often too depressing to dwell upon.

But now, there was something there. A large creature, larger than most anything that remained, with almost all of the predator species gone.

It was tangled in the net, along with some smaller catch- some squid, some anglers, maybe an eel. Slimy and unappetizing, but usually edible; decent catch. They were at a depth so far away that she couldn’t fully comprehend them, but of one thing she was certain...

The large one wasn’t moving.

She opened one eye, shooting a glance first at Killick, then at Murdock. “There’s something there, but...” She swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s alive.”

Murdoch’s excitement didn’t dim. He swept his stump hand at the other two men.

“Pull it up.”

Killick and Vance rushed for the ropes to the trawl, and began to haul it up, hand over hand. They grimaced at the unexpected weight.

“Biggest catch we’ve ‘ad yet,” Vance commented with surprise, callused hands working the rope.

“Just get it up, okay?” Murdoch snapped, anticipation clearly getting to him. “The weekend market starts tomorrow and I’d like to have something to sell, for once.”

Killick snorted, tried to cover it with a cough.

“I’m the one paying you, boy,” growled the captain, peering over the side of the ship anxiously. “And I can fire you anytime. You don’t have any fun magic to convince me not to, either.”

Both Killick and Marisol darkened in embarrassment. Her brother pulled harder on the net, eyebrows furrowed, and she tried to ignore the sick sensation rising in her stomach at the thought of a large, dead sea creature being dragged slowly up to the surface.

Still, she drew closer to the hull, peering into the murky sea water lapping softly against the boat’s sides.

“Got ‘em,” Vance gasped triumphantly as the net finally emerged from the black water. The men locked the net in place so that they could all get a good look at today’s catch. The initial movement of the fish and the sloshing of the water obscured their view for a few moments.

Marisol could hardly believe her eyes. The sick feeling roared up like a wildfire in her chest.

“God,” Murdoch muttered, eyes wide. “What is it?”

Killick ran to the edge, wiping the sweat from his brow. A gasp escaped his lips.

Amid the flopping eels and gasping lanternfish, tangled in green plastic netting, was a man. A young man, with skin and hair as pale as a winter moon, eyes closed and still. His lips were tinged with blue, and he had a... tail.

Awe and disgust bloomed twin flowers in Marisol’s throat.

“It's a merfolk,” she whispered, mouth dry.

Vance made a choked sound.

“I thought they was a myth.”

Killick nodded, eyes never leaving the creature below.

“Like those sirens.”

Marisol gripped the edge of the boat, nails digging into the wood as they all stared in silence.

The smaller fish continued to flop around the man as he lay motionless in the net. His tail was the color of pale jade, all muscles and sinew shimmering with a layer of scales that ended right above his hips. The way he was positioned, with his back twisted and his arms pinned beneath him, made Marisol’s stomach clench. Something was very wrong.

He wasn’t breathing.

Murdoch apparently realized this at the same time.

“Kelp,” he said, the normal sharp tones of his voice softened by some emotion Marisol couldn’t identify. “Can you revive it?”

Marisol swallowed. “I... Maybe. It’s a- I mean, he’s a deep sea creature.” She stammered over her words. “He’s used to vast pressure and different water temperature and-”

He’s not breathing.

“Fix it, sea mage,” Murdoch growled.

Marisol snapped her jaw shut and raised her hands obediently, shutting her eyes in concentration.

She could feel the creature’s essence in her mind, warm and solid, glowing with life. The merfolk was still there, but he was fading. She could also feel the water, her own lifeblood, and his. It yearned to break free from the calm that she had tethered it to, to lash out against the boat, tear it to pieces, even. For the guilt that was gathering in Marisol’s stomach, she almost wished that it would.

Instead, she coaxed the water to gather into glistening orbs, floating above the surface. She gestured to them, urging them to cover the purple-red gills on the sides of the creature’s neck. She begged the sea to bring him back to life.

The merman gasped. His gills flared as he sucked in deep gulps of salt water.

His head jerked up, and Marisol felt a shiver go down her spine. His eyes were a pure, milky white, like pearls, edged with white-blond eyelashes, but no eyelids. Terror flashed across the creature’s face. He curled into himself, shifting the net from side to side.

Something was definitely wrong with one of his arms, his back. The merman seemed to be trying to thrash about, but his tail barely moved, and his left arm remained twisted beneath him. His working hand gripped the thick netting between slender, webbed fingers.

“There we go,” murmured Murdoch, leaning forward intently.

Marisol’s stomach clenched. They had a merman in their net, an injured sentient creature, and she knew that there was no way Murdoch was just going to throw him back. He was alive and breathing again, but for what? So that he could suffer further, endure more fear and pain?

A strangled cry erupted from the creature in the net. He began calling out in a foreign language. It was harsh and melodious, full of clicks and whistles, like recordings of whale song Marisol had heard once or twice- hauntingly beautiful in spite of everything.

“Kelp, keep replenishing his water,” Murdoch commanded, eyes hard. His shoulders tensed every time the creature made a sound.

“You two,” he threw a finger at Vance and Killick, who flinched. “Pull him up.”

The men moved somewhat reluctantly to the ropes, and slowly began to haul the catch in. The man cried out again as the net began to move.

Marisol couldn’t look away. The merman craned his head upwards, and his cries stopped as he stared straight ahead at the approaching ship with mute horror. The dying fish surrounding him wriggled and leapt as the water receded below.

She finally tore her eyes away when the net reached the ship’s edge, unable to face the sharp fear in the man’s expression. Vance and Killick gave a final triumphant shout as the net’s contents spilled onto the deck- the merman, the fish, and all.

There was the sickening, wet thud of flesh hitting wood, the swishing of tails skittering across starboard.

Marisol drew in a sharp breath at the sound. She fought the urge to run to the merman, and instead remained rooted to the spot, trying to think of anything but this disaster.

Her gaze was drawn back to the creature sprawled in a boat, white hair gleaming in the sun, stuck in a realm where he should not be.

He lay on his back, tail limp, chest heaving. He was silent now except for some soft clicking sounds under his breath, and he stared at the sky blankly, almost as if he didn’t know that the humans were there. Water glinted on his skin. The other fish leapt over each other on the bare deck in futile attempts to return to the water.

The four of them watched in silence. Murdoch scrubbed his chin in thought, brow furrowed into deep wrinkles.

Finally, the captain stepped forward, kneeling beside the creature. Beside the older man with scratchy skin, scars, and a missing hand, the merman looked extremely young, his skin soft and babyish despite its pallor. Murdoch’s expression betrayed his disgust as he gently lay his good hand on the creature’s arm.

As soon as his fingers made contact against pale skin, the merman flinched away in terror, hands scrabbling against the ground. He tried to push himself away, but before his shoulders fully extended, he stiffened and collapsed, face contorting in visible pain.

“He’s hurt,” Marisol gasped before she could stop herself.

Be careful, she wanted to shout. Help him.

Murdoch shot her a venomous glare. “Of course he is. How else do you think we managed to catch him?”

The merman froze at the sounds of their voices, focusing on them with fierce intensity. Marisol wondered why he had not known that Murdoch was there. Then she looked at his white, pupil-less eyes and realized- he was blind.

She glanced at Killick. Her brother met her gaze evenly, his mouth set into a line, but she could see the confliction in his dark gaze.

“What do we do with him?” Vance asked, shifting his weight. The merman’s head tilted in Vance’s direction, following the sound.

Murdoch examined his fingers, coated in a slick slime, similar to an eel’s.

“We can’t throw it back,” he mused aloud. His black hair fell over his sweaty forehead in smooth chunks. “The opportunities are too good. And besides,” he gestured to the man, who had leveled his unnerving, unseeing gaze at the night sky once more.

“I doubt it’d make it back to the depths it came from, even if we did.”

Marisol’s vision turned red. “Opportunities?”

Murdoch leveled his gaze at her. “Yes. Need I remind you that my business is dying, kelp?”

He waved a hand over the merman. “This could change everything.”

“How?” she demanded.

He sighed. “I don't know, yet. I’m thinking on it. But if you could keep it alive until we get back to shore tomorrow morning, that would be fantastic.”

Marisol clenched her fists at her sides, images of commanding the water to throw Murdoch overboard filling her mind. She saw Killick give a small shake of his head, frowning. She took a deep, shaking breath, and reluctantly relaxed her fists.

Murdoch smirked before rising to his feet, wiping his hand on his overalls.

“Alright. You keep it company, kelp. And you two.”

He jerked a thumb at the writhing fish on the deck.

Killick’s arms were limp at his sides, his eyes downcast. Marisol knew that her brother hated the “processing” part of his job.

“Get to it.”

***

Marisol settled next to the merman, leaning her back against the cool metal railing. The sun was a purple smear on the horizon, and the only lights were the two electric lanterns that swung from the bridge, their harsh fluorescents cutting across the sea.

She carefully replenished his water supply, drawing more floating orbs to cover his gills. The creature shifted towards her, feathery purple gills flaring open and closed as they took in the fresh, cool water. His eyes stared straight ahead.

He never seemed to blink, Marisol thought with a shudder. Then she wondered with a jolt if he even could. Even if he was blind, his eyes could be drying out.

She quickly commanded the water to cover his whole face- his eyes, his mouth, his ears, the tops of his shoulders- just in case. His mouth twisted, first in confusion, then relief.

“Thank you.”

Marisol started, her hands springing back. Some of the water splashed over her face and into her mouth. The salt burned her wind-chafed skin.

She spluttered and spat the water out, eyes wide. Had he just spoken to her? In her own language?

“What-” she stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Through the distortion of the water, she could see that his white gaze had turned to her. He didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth shifted up ever so slightly. His white hair fanned out within the bubble she had provided him.

“Sorry,” he said, voice soft and strangely clear despite the barrier. It wasn’t harsh clicking and low cries anymore, like his vocal chords had been corroded by sea water, but rather...like a song.

Marisol struggled to regain her composure. “I-It’s okay. It’s just that...It’s only. You can talk?”

The merman tilted his chin to the side in a shrug-like gesture. “I have been. But you couldn’t understand.”

“No,” Marisol said, her gut twisting. “I couldn’t.”

“The language of my people only works in the water, so,” he tilted his chin, bubbles rising from his nostrils, “this is good.”

“Oh.”

Marisol scrubbed her eyes, a wave of exhaustion crashing over her. She was almost glad she hadn’t been able to fully understand him when he had first arrived, crying out in pain.

She felt like her chest was full of fire, shame permeating her every breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

The merman regarded her, expression flat.

“For catching you,” she added lamely, and immediately cringed at her own words.

He didn’t respond, just watched her with those pearl-white eyes that bore into her very being. The water must have allowed him to see, as well.

“You are a sea mage?” he asked instead.

She nodded slowly, wondering if this held a great significance to him. Instead of explaining, he shifted, tried to push himself into a sitting position.

Pain puckered his mouth, and he collapsed onto his elbows once more. He sucked in a hard, painful gulp of water.

“A-ah,” he gasped, lowering himself slowly back onto the wood, wincing.

“You’re hurt,” she said softly, guilt balling up in her stomach.

He fixed her with a stare, and a shiver ran down her spine. She gathered her shawl closer to her shoulders, hunching into herself.

His voice was low. “Your nets... they are full of sharp heat.”

The electric net, Marisol thought, with a flare of anger. They were only meant to stun small fish, the ones that they targeted, but they had never caught one as large as this merman. The electricity must have done something to his spine, or his innards, or something.

How else do you think we managed to catch him?

Marisol shuddered. She didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m... sorry,” she said again.

He didn’t respond, just turned his head to rest on the wood again. He lay there on the deck, helpless, and Marisol was suddenly aware of the heavens stretching out above them, black and speckled with brilliant stars. The sea breeze ruffled her hair, the waves shushed against the sides of the boat as it hummed its way back to shore.

It was beautiful, and it was wrong.

“What is your name?” she whispered.

His eyes reflected the fluorescents, the stars. White sand, glittering stones.

“Yoka.”

“Yoka,” she repeated, tasting the vowels on her tongue. The merman nodded, and she saw that his lips were deepening in their bluish tinge, and a sickly gray was spreading down his pale chest.

She took a deep breath, pulled her eyes away. “My name is Marisol.”

Yoka tilted his head, his gaze deep and wise, as if he could see into her very soul. She shifted uncomfortably, wishing that she could escape those never-blinking eyes.

“Mar y sol: a being of the sun and sea. Your name tells me so. You are an in-between, sea mage.”

Marisol licked her lips. She had never met one to recognize her reality in a truer way, yet this being hadn’t known her more than a few hours.

“In a way,” she said slowly. “But people rarely listen to sea mages.”

“They should,” murmured Yoka. “The sea has a lot to say.”

An hour passed, and Yoka was silent. Marisol lolled her head against the railing, glancing at the being beside her. His skin was greyish-blue, and his white hair lifted from his feverish forehead within the water bubble. His lips were the color of an old bruise.

He’s sick, Marisol thought. He’s dying.

And she was doing nothing to fix it.

“Hey, Sol.”

Killick sauntered over to the mismatched pair- merman and sea mage. His eyes roamed over Yoka, intense curiosity gleaming in his dark brown eyes. He finally turned to Marisol, took in her sombre expression.

“Processing is nearly done, sis. Murdoch sent me to check in. We may try to catch one more net’s worth before returning to shore.”

“Mm,” Marisol said, pushing herself up a little straighter. Her stomach twisted at the nonchalance in Killick’s tone. How could he not see what was wrong here?

“Not much to report. Just a death on my conscience, is all.”

The venom in her tone surprised her, and Killick took a step back, raising his hands in caution. Yoka shifted, glancing at her in mute surprise. Marisol remembered that Killick didn’t know that the merman could understand them.

“Geez, Sol, keep it down,” her brother muttered, glancing about the ship. His curls whipped back from his forehead in a sudden gust of wind. The deck was still peaceful, no sign of the captain or Vance, who were most likely still going through today’s catch. Marisol could hear the muted sounds of metal on metal, knife blades on the processing tables.

“Murdoch would beat you if he heard you talking like that.”

An unfamiliar bitterness blossomed in Marisol’s stomach. She swept a hand over Yoka’s frail, deteriorating body, his twisted back, his labored breathing.

“This is wrong,” she spat. “I can’t believe you can even stand it. I don’t want to be part of this.”

“Neither do I,” Killick snapped. His lip curled, and Marisol flinched at the pain in his eyes. “I hate this too, Sol.”

Of course. Guilt shot through her. How could she have accused her brother in such a way? Of course he felt the same as her. He was just better at hiding it.

He turned away from her, swiped a hand over his face. His voice was low, strangled. “We don’t have much of a choice, though, do we? A sea mage and her brother. What can we do, huh?”

“You could take me home.”

Killick spun around at the sound of Yoka’s soft, labored voice. His mouth opened and closed.

“What? He can-”

“Yes,” Marisol cut him off, then placed her hand on the merman’s arm. His skin was hot to the touch. “We can’t, Yoka. We’re... miles away from where you were, and you’re so sick, now...”

“And Murdoch would kill us,” said Killick. He crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed. “He thinks this is his last chance. His business’s saving grace. We take you away from him... he’ll flay us alive.”

Marisol remembered the time that Killick had accidentally opened a net before it was fully in the ship, and half the catch had escaped into the water. The captain had nearly blinded him for it, giving him a black eye that lasted for a month.

Yoka was no mere half-catch.

The merman met Killick’s stare evenly, but the heaving of his chest gave away the pain he was in.

“I’ll ask you this, human.” He took a deep breath, gills flaring. “Do you like it here?”

Killick blinked. “What?”

Yoka tilted his head towards Marisol. “Your sister, a sea mage, she does not. That much is clear to me. As her brother, do you like it here?”

Killick glanced at the bridge, fear shooting over his expression before he turned back to the merman. “What kind of question is that?”

“My time is short, human.” Yoka’s voice was reedy, flaking away. “Let me go home.”

Killick’s face closed off, and he turned around in a huff. Marisol sucked in a harsh breath.

“You can’t even sit up,” she told the merman, throat dry. “There’s no way you can swim back. How could we help you?”

Yoka continued to watch Killick’s back, hesitating. Marisol wondered if he had started to fade when he turned to her, white eyes boring into her.

“Come with me, sea mage,” he said softly.

She pulled away sharply, her shoulders tensing. “What?”

Yoka didn’t flinch at her harsh tone. “Come with me. You are a magical creature, one of the sea. The ocean would accept you.”

Killick spun, lunged forward and jabbed his finger into Yoka’s chest. The merman gasped in pain, tried to squirm away.

“Don’t put such ideas into her head,” Killick hissed, eyes wild. “You’ll get us all killed.”

“Killick-” Marisol cut in. Her head was pounding. She couldn’t think.

Yoka lifted his chin with a bitter smile. “I’m already dying.”

“Don’t!” Killick cried, voice breaking. “I can’t... You can’t make us make this decision.”

The sound of boots clanging on metal stairs echoed in the still ocean air. A light on the bridge flashed on.

“Kelp?” came Vance’s deep voice. “Killick? Everything alright?”

Yoka’s head began to loll. His gills shuddered open and closed, struggling to breathe. His scales gleamed in the dim moonlight.

The words slipped out from between his lips like a sigh.

“I want to go home.”

Marisol’s heart wrenched in her chest. The sea’s presence battered against her mind like storm waves against a bow. It was calling her.

Do you like it here?

The ocean was her lifeblood, her only comfort.

With instinct more than a conscious decision, she swept her arms under the limp body of the merman, behind his back and under his tail.

She glanced at her brother, who stood stricken with horror.

“Help me,” she said, but he didn’t move. He stood with his arms at his sides, eyes wide, his hair whipping over his brow in the wind. Heavy footfalls came up the bridge’s stairs, began across the deck.

With a surge of energy she never knew she possessed, Marisol heaved Yoka’s body upwards until she could lean him against the top of the railing. He shuddered in her arms, clutching the fabric of her shirt in his webbed hand.

“The sea will protect you,” he breathed.

Time stopped. Marisol stared into the darkness before her, listened to the soft lapping of the waves. The salt breeze tickled her nostrils. A lone seagull circled in the starry, moonlit night.

She gently tipped the merman over the edge, and let go. There was a echoing crash as he hit the water’s surface. He began to sink down into the depths, limp and paralyzed. He needed her.

“Sol! No!” cried Killick, snapping out of his trance. He reached for her, desperate.

Vance strode quickly across the deck, followed closely by Murdoch. Their expressions shifted from confusion to rage.

“What the hell-”

Marisol lifted one leg over the railing, balanced for a precarious second. Killick froze, dark hair whipping across his face in the breeze.

“Come with me,” Marisol yelled, grabbing his arm.

Killick looked frantically between his sister and the fast-approaching captain, his lips pulled back in a terrified grimace. He shook his head wildly, but he put a leg over the railing. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“This is crazy, Sol,” he choked out.

Marisol hooked her arm around his waist in response, and leaned into the darkness. She could barely glimpse the pale body of the merman below, waiting.

“STOP!” screamed Murdoch, but it was too late.

The siblings fell overboard, to be welcomed by the sea.