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I knew he was the very first time I saw him. When I arrived on this part of the coast and he was there on the beach at the base of the lighthouse. He wore a mismatched pair of socks, and his feet were buried in the surf, waves caressing his ankles. His eyes had been closed, a gentle breeze rustling his hair, and my heart took one look at him and knew.

Mine.

I came to this little village because this lighthouse standing proud among the rocks called for me. She needed me. This old, barren building, with her weathered walls and her spiral staircase. That’s how it’s been for hundreds of years, how I’ve always known where I had to be. Drawn through the oceans and seas surrounding the United Kingdom by the pulse of a lighthouse that only I can detect. A call for protection in times of distress or turmoil.

Moving with urgency, gills open, fins extended, I dive into the unwelcoming sea, pushing against the torrent. It’s hard going. Harder than it should be for a creature born to this sea, yet I press on, determination like fire in my blood. Because now, as waves rise like giants, tipping the boat on her side, I wonder if it wasn’t the lighthouse who called to me this time, but him.

This human.

My human.

TWO

CASPIAN

“We must be thankful for the sea, lad. For she gives us life. Respect her and love her, and in return, she will do the same for you.”

It’s dark down here. Sediment churns beneath the force of the tumultuous swell, making it near on impossible for me to see. I squeeze my eyes shut and kick my legs. My foot knocks on something solid and I push my toes against it, hoping to use it to propel myself upwards.

My lungs burn, screaming for oxygen. I’ve been down here too long. How long can the human body go without air? My head spins and I kick harder, turning my chin in what I hope is the direction of the sky. The water grips me in a chokehold that I cannot shake – panic rising as fast as the waves did a moment earlier.

I’m going to die.

Salty, sediment rich water rushes into my mouth, and I thrash and kick and throw all my energy into moving out of the sea’s clutches.

This shouldn’t have happened.

Pops checked. I asked him. I made sure.

“How’s the weather looking, Pops?”

There’d been a scent around the farm air this morning. Metallic and heavy. Angry. Like a storm threatening to rock the world beneath our feet. But the sky was clear and Pops was sure. And it’s well known in my family that I am too sensitive – to smells and textures, to clothing and foods. So I didn’t pay it much mind.

And Pops was sure.

“Aye, Lad. Skies are clear. Sea like glass. Perfect day to take the Aurora out.”

My head breaks the surface and I suck in a briny lungful of air, coughing and choking as I do.

I open my eyes and scan the horizon. “Pops!” I yell, my voice nothing but a whisper beneath the roaring waves breaking at my back. The Aurora is ahead of me, upturned with her hull facing the cloud covered sky. “Pops!” I try again, pushing myself in the boat’s direction. But before I reach her, I’m thrown back under. Darkness closes in again and I pound at the water with all I have.

My mind races. How did we get here? How do we survive this? Where is Pops?

“Hand me another beer please, lad.”

Behind my closed eyelids, Pops smiles, his hand reaching out for that beer. He never got it. The storm was too sudden. Too unexpected.

“Caspian. Turn the boat around. Now!”

I’m going to die out here.

Please don’t die, Pops.

The waves had risen into walls of pure hydro muscle that broke over us with the ferocity of an angered sea god, shaking the Aurora to her very core and yet we’d held on tight.

“We’ll be okay. The Aurora is strong. She can carry us safely home.”

There had been panic in Pops’ voice while he held onto the belief that his beloved boat could withstand the storm.