Chapter Eight: Capsized

It was hurricane season around the Atlantic Ocean, and not even Malia's mind was safe.

On the outside, she could hold it together while she kept a steady routine: wake up, wait for the conch, save lives, go back to sleep.

But every night, a storm brewed in her mind, refusing to let her rest.

She thought she did a decent job at hiding it; after all, she figured they didn't technically need sleep if they received their energy from the water around them. It only took a few weeks to find out her hypothesis was wrong.

"Just because you're a water spirit now, doesn't mean you can forgo rest," Beatrice said as they headed out for another day of rescues. "The water can only help you so much; you can only take in so much energy at once."

Malia should have known that; it was basic physics. Power was the amount of energy transferred over a certain period of time, and evidently, Malia's power was limited.

"I'm fine," Malia muttered. "I couldn't exactly get my beauty sleep when the city turned into frat row last night."

That was partially the truth. Malia had always been a light sleeper, and on land, she would frequently jump out of her slumber if a scientific epiphany infiltrated her dreams. The previous night in Okeanos would never have let her rest even if she tried, not when one team of spirits returned from their mission with several crates of wine that fell overboard during the storm. That night, Malia made two discoveries: spirits liked to show off their favorite ways of consuming alcohol underwater, and spirits could still get drunk. That, and she already knew that sound traveled exceptionally well in water.

Whether or not Beatrice understood her, let alone believed her, was a mystery that Malia didn't care to solve. All she cared about was their day's mission and making sure no one else was hurt on her watch.

It started off just like it had for the past few weeks. As they patrolled the waters, Beatrice would detect humans in the path of a storm. By the time they would arrive, the vessel would be caught in the turbulence, and Malia and Beatrice would do everything they could to hold it steady until the worst of it passed. Once the humans were safe, the duo would move on.

"Should we call it a day?" Beatrice asked only a few hours after noon. "It seems like the worst of the storms have weakened."

Malia's gaze snapped from the departing freighter to Beatrice, narrowing along the way. "Why? There's still stuff to do. There are still ways we can help."

Beatrice sighed, but it wasn't as heated as it normally was. "Mortals aren't completely helpless. They've traveled these waters for centuries, and it's not like we're always there to help them. They're stronger than they look."

"And what's wrong with us staying out here to guarantee that they're safe? We can't be too careful."

"We have to take care of ourselves too." Beatrice made a show of rubbing her shoulders and arms. "You were right—the celebrations last night were out of hand. I didn't sleep well at all."

Beatrice clearly wasn't an actress, and at her blatant lies, Malia couldn't restrain her frustrations any longer.

"What's your real reason?" Malia snapped. "Is it because of me? Because if you think I'm doing something wrong, then you can just say it."

Beatrice's eyes narrowed. "Fine. I think you're overexerting yourself. And from experience, that will only lead to more problems."

"So I should slack off instead? If I do that, then I'll never get to where I need to be."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying you don't need to be constantly pushing yourself to do more. You're trying your best. You deserve a break too."

But she didn't.

"If I'm not doing everything I can, then it's not my best. I can do more, I know it."

Beatrice sighed; again, it was softer than her trademark response. But before she could supply more unrequested words of wisdom, her eyes widened and she spun around.

"Oh no," she whispered. "Malia!"

Malia was already readying herself since the sudden change in Beatrice's expression, and the two took off without another word.

The storm had passed, but the waters were still rough; that had to be the reason that a small fishing boat was capsized, and its passengers were hanging onto the hull for dear life.

"Get the mortals!" Beatrice ordered. "I'll right the boat."

Malia didn't need to be told twice, and she surfaced on the side with more of the fishermen.

"Is anyone missing?" she asked immediately, ignoring their agape mouths and wide eyes.

"No?" one passenger managed to mutter over the sounds of the sloshing sea. "We're... We're all here."

"Alright, I need you all to let go of the boat. I'll help you stay afloat, so—"

Before she could finish explaining, the youngest fisherman jumped towards her, hugging her so hard, she likely would've choked if she still needed air to survive. Luckily, she didn't, especially after their crewmates followed suit shortly after. It wasn't long before the small boat was free of passengers, and the seven adults were piled on Malia instead.

Thankfully, Beatrice had a thousand years of water-spiriting experience, and a few seconds later, the boat was righted and dry.

"Thank you!" the youngest fisherman repeatedly said as they remained latched onto Malia's neck, oblivious to their crewmates clamoring back into their craft. "Thank you!"

Malia tried not to cringe when their hug tightened even further. "No prob—! Sorry, you can let go now, you know."

By the time she finally convinced the young fisherman to return to the boat, they were still furtively thanking her, even as they were being helped back over the edge by their crewmates. But before they could get to safety, they suddenly dropped into the water, their appreciation abruptly cut short.

Malia only briefly heard the shouts of their crewmates before she dove after them, not taking her eyes off their shocked face and the diminishing bubbles that escaped them. They were falling fast—too fast, and the mysterious figure behind them was likely behind it.

But Malia didn't care; she couldn't. Because when she saw the fisherman's horrified face, she saw all those that drowned before them.

The fisherman reached out to her as soon as she neared, and she didn't hesitate to seize their arm with both of hers.

As soon as she did, the shouts of the team leader echoed in her mind. She failed to save them; she wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Malia pulled as hard as she could. At the same time, she imagined the water pushing viciously down, freeing the fisherman of whatever held them back.

She expected the opposing force to put up a fight, so when it didn't, Malia released the fisherman out of shock. Just before she could give them an extra boost to swim to the surface, Malia looked down and froze.

Two dark red eyes stared back at her, unblinking, unmoving. Their skin was pale green, just like her own. Short brown hair fluttered in the current, and their plain shirt and pants were akin to Malia's. In fact, aside from their scarlet eyes, they looked like a random resident of Okeanos.

Until they smirked, and their sinister expression sent a shiver through Malia's body.

She knew that look and those bloodshot eyes—how had she forgotten? While the soul before her wasn't exactly the same as what she saw on that fateful day, they were close enough for the memories to flood back to her.

That was the last thing she saw before her world delved into chaos. That was what ended her life as she knew it, and started her desperate need to return to land. That was what made her goal—her stupid, unattainable need for success—even harder to achieve.

That was what sank their ship. That was what killed the team leader, the crew, and her. With a single hand ripping through the bottom of their hull, they ruined everything.

She saw them speeding towards her, their sneer wider than ever, but Malia couldn't bring herself to react. While her eyes noticed the danger before her and her body remembered her rage to survive, her mind could only picture a green hand digging into steel and flashing red lights in darkness. She could only hear desperate screams before they were drowned out by the ruthless rush of water. Her body wanted to—needed to take a breath; her mind refused, no matter how much her lungs burned.

The strange spirit filled her vision with their gleaming grin. Their arm drew back to pierce through steel—no, through her.

Suddenly, they vanished, and in their place was a thin silver rod.

Malia's senses were rattled back into focus when a shrill scream echoed through the water. Connected to the end of the rod was the unknown spirit, clutching onto their thigh where the metal protruded and blood seeped from the wound. The bright scarlet matched their narrowed eyes, and with a final heated glare, they darted away, much too quickly for Malia's shaking body to pursue.

"Malia!" Beatrice's voice was distant and urgent.

Finally, Malia managed to look to the surface.

Above her was chaos. At least five unknown spirits darted through the water, each dressed like the one that dragged the fisherman down—each dressed like her. Various objects rained down on them, ranging from flashlights to cans of vegetables. Through the blurry surface of the water, she could see the fishermen attacking the spirits with everything they could find, whether it be throwing their supplies overboard or hitting them with their fishing poles. One appeared to be holding a long thin pole, and Malia managed to swim out of the way just as a spear sped by her.

"Malia!" Beatrice repeated.

It took another second to spot Beatrice within the swarm. With one hand, she was fighting to keep two spirits back; with her other, she was desperately keeping the young fisherman's head above the surface.

Malia rushed over. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, let alone what she was even capable of when her mind and body felt like stone, but she had to do something. She had to try.

"Hold this one!" Beatrice ordered; the waters shoved the scrambling fisherman towards Malia. "I'll take care of the others."

Her sharp voice and fierce gaze were enough to make Malia follow without thinking, and she instinctively took over in keeping the young fisherman afloat.

Of course, it wasn't that difficult when it was her only responsibility. Malia had the easy job, as always, and it didn't take long for her to boost the fisherman back into the boat. The real struggle came after she sent the small boat away with an extra push, only to turn back towards the chaos and be utterly lost.

Beatrice was fighting five spirits simultaneously, and not only that, she seemed to be winning. While the enemy did everything they could to swarm her from all directions, she easily fought them off with a slight wave of her hand and a rush of water.

When one went for her feet, a slight turn of her ankle sent them flying to the side. Another went for her head; Beatrice only needed to look at them before they were thrown backwards, spinning wildly. Even when one charged at Malia, who could do nothing but stare in shock, Beatrice used the same water to pull them back before harshly shoving them towards the ocean floor.

The other citizens of Okeanos would tell Malia how lucky she was to get Beatrice as a guide. Her strong connection with the water, combined with her skillful movements, apparently made her one of the best spirits in the ocean. While Malia knew Beatrice was proficient, she had never seen her in action.

It didn't take long for the strange spirits to retreat, beaten and haggard while Beatrice remained prim and proper. Beatrice watched them leave, her overall demeanor calm while her bright blue eyes remained sharp. Even after the enemy disappeared from Malia's sight, Beatrice silently continued to watch where they vanished, only turning to Malia a few minutes later.

Instantly, her eyes softened. "Are you alright?"

Malia paused to readjust to the sudden shift. "Uh... yeah."

"Sorry I didn't realize what was going on sooner. You shouldn't have had to go through that."

Why was Beatrice apologizing, out of all people? She saved them all; she was a hero. If anything, it was Malia that needed to ask for forgiveness.

It had been months since Malia became a water spirit, and she still had no idea what she was doing. Sure, she may have helped a few people along the way, but what about the others? What about those that hadn't survived? For each of those times, if only she had been faster or stronger or tougher, they might have lived. And she let them down.

And just then? The fishing boat? It was an embarrassment. Not only did Beatrice have to rescue her multiple times, but even the regular humans saved her. Even without the power of the sea, they weren't afraid to fight. They weren't afraid like Malia had been, like she still was.

Even since she arrived in Okeanos, she would go on about needing to achieve her ambitions, but what gave her the right? She lacked the skills and the character; all she had up until then was luck. Maybe she only got as far as she had because of other people, and now that she had to earn it for herself, she couldn't.

Her thoughts drifted back to her mad dash for land during the flood, and how she yearned to return... for what? For a freshly cooked meal? To run freely in the rain? To... find love?

But she hadn't earned it, not yet. In fact, all she did was force Beatrice to rescue her, just like she had done today, just like she had done so many times before.

As her thoughts swirled in the whirlpool of her mind, it all centered on one fact: she didn't deserve happiness.

"It's not your fault, Malia." Beatrice's voice rang through Malia's spiraling thoughts. "You did everything you could."

Malia had to blink a few times before her vision returned to focus. And even then, it took a while more for her to recognize Beatrice waiting patiently in front of her.

They had drifted to the sea floor at some point. Malia was sitting in the sand, knees bent and shaking, while Beatrice hovered before her with her hands holding Malia's shoulders. Her thumbs would move back and forth over Malia's tense muscles; Malia tried to focus on the feeling, anything to get her traitorous body to relax.

So when Beatrice continued to speak, Malia held onto every word.

"The people you were with on that ship," she said, her voice calmer than the waves above them. "The young sailor, all the people that we've lost at sea—none of them were your fault. You don't have to blame yourself for them."

As much as Malia wanted to believe her, she couldn't. Not when the problem was so much more than that.

"Those... souls that we saw today," Beatrice continued. "I know they look like water spirits, but they're not. Not anymore, at least."

Her mysterious tone was oddly successful at calming Malia's mind, her curiosity triumphing over anxiety. And with a long sigh, Beatrice let go of Malia's shoulder to settle in the sand beside her.

"Those were ghouls," she said, her gaze landing on the waters where Malia last saw them flee. "But first, they were spirits. Like us, they were killed by the water and given a new life. They were taught to help mortals from suffering the same fate. And they did, at first."

Beatrice's gaze dropped to the sand as she ran a hand through the surface. "Until they had a change of heart. Until they decided that mortals were better off dead than alive."

"But... why?" Malia whispered. "They were human too. Why would they want their own kind killed?"

Beatrice shrugged. "Superiority complex, perhaps? Some groups like specific targets: oil rigs, submarines, cruise ships—things with a history of destroying the environment. But others... I can't say for sure. Whatever their reason, they're dangerous, both to mortals and to us, the spirits that protect them."

Malia struggled to understand these ghouls' reasoning. Out of the spirits that she met in Okeanos, she could never picture any of them harming humans, and just the thought of their radiant blue eyes gleaming red instead seemed impossible. But she supposed if humans were capable of hurting others, there was no reason that would change if they were granted immortality.

"And the ocean just lets them get away with it?" Malia asked. "The water gave them life, right? Why can't it just, you know, take it back?"

Beatrice slowly shook her head. "What's given cannot be taken back so easily. The water can, however, refuse to cooperate; thankfully, that makes it harder for ghouls to control the water like we can. Still... they gain their strength by other means."

When Beatrice went silent, Malia forced herself to be patient. As much as she wanted to hear more, Beatrice's solemn expression warned her that her next words wouldn't be pretty.

"They use the mortals that they drag into the sea," Beatrice finally whispered. "They don't just kill them; they steal their life, their energy. They steal it, and use it for themselves."

Suddenly, Malia remembered the young fisherman being dragged into the darkness of the ocean. She pictured the spirit—the ghoul with their scarlet eyes and sinister sneer. She imagined the ghoul taunting her with their captive as a shield, forcing Malia to watch as life drained from their face.

Malia shuddered.

"Which is why you shouldn't blame yourself," Beatrice continued. "Those ghouls? They are the ones to blame for the people we've lost. They may not have the water completely on their side, but they're still powerful. And we did everything we could to save the mortals that we did. Alright?"

A part of Malia wanted to believe her, and she was strangely relieved to know there was a physical force out there working against her.

But the rest of Malia knew that she couldn't pin all of her problems on ghouls. She couldn't blame them for her lack of skills, or for her tendency to make promises she couldn't live up to. They weren't at fault; she was.

Malia nodded. "Alright."

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