Chapter Four: School of Fish

Malia chewed on her lip, her body rigid as she tried to stay upright while her toes grazed the soft sandy floor in the middle of the park. It didn't help that she could feel Beatrice's piercing gaze on her back, as if it was so terrible that she couldn't use magic to swim after a couple of days of being brought back from the dead. Okay, maybe it was a little embarrassing, especially considering how easy Beatrice made it look, but Malia was stubborn. If anyone could figure it out, it was her.

At least, that's what she told herself before she face-planted into the sand once more.

"You're not very good at this," Beatrice said calmly.

Malia spit some sand from her mouth, and it slowly wisped through the water before fluttering back to the floor. "And the commentary isn't exactly helping. Look, I was never a good swimmer."

"You were on a ship and you're not a good swimmer?"

"Well, yeah, hence the ship." Malia slowly pushed herself to her feet—hey, at least she could stand now—before brushing the sand that was caught in the folds of her clothes. "I thought I'd stay on top of the water, not underneath it."

With that, Beatrice said nothing more than her infamous catchphrase: "Hm."

Malia had her response ready. "Give me a break, okay? It's not like I had a thousand years to master the craft."

"At this rate, it'll take you a thousand years before you can even get to the surface on your own."

Malia frowned but held her tongue. She hated to admit it, but she was slightly intimidated by Beatrice ever since she learned the young woman was anything but young. Even if her last thousand years were spent underwater, Beatrice was bound to be wise in some regards, and the knowledge of time couldn't just be learned from a book. And knowledge was most certainly power.

"Okay, back up," Malia said. "What'd you say again? I have to talk to the water?"

"Talk with it," Beatrice said tersely. "That involves not only saying what you want, but listening to what the water is giving you."

Malia heard Beatrice's unspoken criticism, and this time, she couldn't keep her burning retort to herself.

"Water doesn't speak, you know that?"

Of course, Beatrice wasn't amused. "You're a water spirit now, for goodness sake. Are you really questioning possibilities?" She sighed; as if to emphasize her superiority, she gently rose a few inches off the floor. "The water is not speaking with words, it's speaking with feeling—energy. Feel that energy that gives you life."

For several seconds, Malia automatically nodded slowly. Once she realized what she was doing, she paused.

"I have no idea what you're saying."

Again, Beatrice sighed, and lowered herself back to the ground.

"Nevermind," Malia grumbled, turning her back towards Beatrice's irate glare. "Let me just try to come up with my own way, okay? Because I clearly don't know the same language as you."

"Clearly."

Malia bit back her frustration as she stared at the water—or, at least, through the water. What she was being asked to do was essentially magic, and even if it was considered an advanced form of science, it was a realm of knowledge that she unfortunately had no experience with. It's not like she could just speak to the water if she didn't think it had life to begin with. That was like talking to an imaginary friend that you didn't believe in.

She lifted a hand and slowly moved it in the air—water—in front of her. While her pale green skin still threw her off even after a few days, she had mostly grown accustomed to it; that is, as long as she continued to think it was only temporary. She had a goal, and she never failed to follow through on her past commitments. But if she couldn't do this simple task and regain her life on land? She would lose everything.

As she continued to move her hand, an obvious observation drifted into her mind, and she froze. The movement felt nothing like how it would on land, in the air. Water was denser, and it took more energy to push against those molecules than those in the air. And whenever she did that, the water would push back.

With every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction.

What if the "energy" Beatrice spoke of wasn't something supernatural? What if it was really physics—kinetic and potential energy?

If Malia wanted to move the water, she would apply a force to it. If the water wanted to move her, it would have to apply a force to her.

Sure, she supposed she had partially accomplished that to stand steadily, but that had been by chance. She only managed to get the water to help her remain upright; actual movement required more energy, and simply wishing really hard to fly wasn't going to cut it.

So she tested her theory. She focused on her hand before her, feeling the water surrounding her palm. She imagined that it was a solid surface, and if she pushed against it, it would push back.

She pushed; her hand didn't move.

"Yes!" she squealed, then covered it with a hasty cough.

Thankfully, Beatrice remained silent.

Even if she hadn't, Malia was too focused to care. Instead, she kept her eyes on her hand, then pictured the imaginary solid surface pushing against her.

Suddenly, her hand lurched back a foot.

"Yes!" Malia exclaimed, not bothering to conceal her excitement this time. "Did you see that? See what I just did? I told you I could do it."

"Splendid," Beatrice replied monotone. "But I'll withhold my commendations until you can properly swim."

"Typical," Malia muttered, even though she shared the sentiment.

So she closed her eyes and focused on feeling the water around her. Not feeling it as a supernatural entity like Beatrice had encouraged, but in Malia's own way. To her, the ocean was a force to be reckoned with; she just needed that force to be applied to her.

Even after she felt the sandy ground leave her feet, Malia didn't open her eyes until several seconds later. And when she finally did, not only did she find herself about two feet above the ground, but she saw Beatrice watching her with crossed arms and raised eyebrows.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before Beatrice opened her mouth, likely to release a snappy comment. And after days of having to listen to the woman's condescension, Malia wasn't going to take it any longer, not if she could help it.

So before Beatrice could say a word, Malia swooped down to her and landed—albeit roughly—on her feet.

"That was pretty good, wasn't it?" Malia said, belatedly realizing that she landed a little too close to the woman. But moving away was admitting that she made a mistake, and that was the last thing Malia intended on doing.

For a moment, Beatrice silently glanced down at the minimal space between them, expression blank. "That was... adequate."

"Good enough to start saving people, right?" Malia asked.

With that, Beatrice's frown emerged from her clean slate of a face. "You really are impatient, aren't you?"

"I told you, I can't waste any time. Every day that passes is another day I could've been spending doing something more productive up there."

"So you're not looking to help mortals out of the goodness of your heart?"

Malia sighed. "Don't try to twist my words around. I don't want people to die, and I'll do what I can to help them, but I'm also concerned about my own wellbeing. Call me selfish if you want, I don't care. But if I don't put myself first, no one will."

Beatrice scoffed. "Sounds like mortals haven't changed much in the past thousand years."

From some strange reason, Malia felt overwhelmingly offended by such a petty insult.

"If you're so concerned about saving people, why are you still down here? A thousand years wasn't enough to pay off your debt?"

Malia had meant for her words to be both a jab at Beatrice's abilities and an answer to her lingering curiosity. After all, she couldn't deny that she was genuinely befuddled by the woman's extended existence when there was a clear path to regain a true life. Not that immortality was terrible, but there was only so much you could do when you were underwater with no electronic devices.

So when Beatrice's eyes went wide at the accusation, Malia felt a pang of guilt.

"You may be a water spirit physically, but your heart is clearly still mortal if you think so highly of those people," Beatrice snapped. "I'm willing to help those in need, but to live amongst them? No, thank you. I prefer my life here, as do so many other spirits. If so you desperately want to be with those mortals, then so be it. But don't expect the rest of us to follow. I know I won't."

The ferocity in Beatrice's mannerism was more than Malia had ever seen from the woman, and she had to force herself to keep from stepping away from the burning heat in Beatrice's blazing blue eyes. A part of Malia was alarmed by the woman's sudden change in demeanor; another part was intrigued.

For the past few days, Malia assumed Beatrice was indifferent to everything. She figured she was seeing the other woman through a distant window, but maybe Malia had been looking at a mirror this whole time.

"Okay," Malia said simply.

Beatrice's expression softened slightly as she blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay," Malia repeated. "I don't blame you for wanting to stay here. You're right, a lot of people up there suck. I may be willing to deal with that for the sake of my goals, but not everyone should be expected to. Of course, not everyone should have to, but we don't live in a perfect world. We just have to work with what we've got."

It took a few more seconds for Beatrice's glare to fully vanish, but once it did, she averted her eyes to the sand and tried to tuck some hair behind her ear—it floated back up immediately after.

"Right," she spoke to the floor. "Well, I hope you manage to reach your goals."

For once, Beatrice sounded genuine, and that unexpected shift made Malia grin.

"Thanks," Malia said. "I hope so too."

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