Page 4 of Kept By the Kraken

It’s still there.I sigh in relief.

My eyes burn with salty water as I trace the outline of the old marking. It has faded, no longer burning with magic since Thora left this realm for another. But it remains. The tips of my fingers brush against the familiar triangle and up the two intersecting lines. It is the rune for love, for mate.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see the new mark on my wrist glowing brightly with life.I did not ask for this, Thora. Please know I would never ask for this.

When I open my eyes again, the newest rune remains. The stark contrast between the dead and the living is never more apparent than now. I hate it.

But the sea has spoken and my kraken agrees.

My body revolts at the offensive suggestion that Thora could ever be replaced, that another should become my destiny. The contents of my stomach hit the stone floor, bringing me to my knees.

I want to run. To return to the ocean and bury myself beneath the mud, surrendering at last to the long sleep and the cold darkness. It’s almost funny how I wish I could stop time after so many centuries of wanting it to speed up.

Instead, I collapse on the floor in my own vomit and pray to Odin that I die before I ever have a chance to betray my memories.

Chapter 3

Penelope

By the end of the third day, I can get out of bed. I’ve read all about “the bends,” the sickness caused from rising too quickly to the surface on a dive, but the words didn’t convey how awful it feels. It’s as if my insides are heavy, determined to drag me back toward the depths of the ocean and the promise of weightlessness.

I force myself to get dressed and eat a protein bar that tastes like chalk. I wash it down with the instant coffee provided by the rental host. I’ve been in Claw Bay Harbor for almost a week, but I’ve been busy getting my project off the ground and haven’t bothered with groceries. I’ve been living off gas station rations and the vending machines in my lab at the satellite research station where I’ve been permitted access for my postdoc research grant. After the last few days spent in bed recovering, I’m out of all emergency food stashes.

Daniel is right. I suck at adulting.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I try to center myself. I can get it together on my own.

Daniel is wrong. This was a weird freak accident and not a reflection of me. I can adult when I need to. And I don’t need his toxic shit in my head.

I make a mental list, trying to pump myself up. Get on site. See if anything is salvageable. The camera is probably gone, but maybe I can recover the equipment locker. I’ll have to report this to the university and complete the documentation to replace what was lost. Check if there are any clues about what I met in the water. Feed myself something that doesn’t come from a wrapper or can. It’s not hard. Follow the steps.

I step out the front door of the bungalow I’m renting for my sabbatical. It’s early September, but the air is already cold coming off the water and the trees burn in the morning sun, emitting a glow that halos the world in brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. To my left, the coastal forest and cliffs reach out into a wide wilderness and a harsh, thrashing sea. I turn to the right to take the stone steps toward downtown Claw Bay and notice a pile beside the hanging porch swing.

It’s my missing equipment. My camera, my collection locker, my auger. It’s all here. The lens on my camera is busted and the display panel is cracked. There’s a possibility the pressurized collection locker kept the samples safe, but most likely they’re ruined.

They’re here though, but how?

Odis must have gone back after them. But how did he get them? There’s no way he dived for them. He isn’t certified. No way they floated to the surface either. I try reaching him with my cell, but there is no answer, so I leave a message. Giving up, I haul my gear inside and indulge my curiosity.

When the images transfer to my laptop, I scroll all the way to the bottom. The last pictures are blurry, but I pull up the first one and enlarge it. At the grainy edge of the frame is a golden light amid a dark shadow. On the next image, the golden light returns. In the bottom corner, the glow illuminates what looks like hieroglyphics or a symbol of some kind. I study it, knowing that this was the presence with me in the water.

Something in my chest unfurls. I’m not crazy. I wasn’t alone down there.

But what is it?

I enlarge the corner and turn up the sharpness. It’s definitely a symbol, but on what? Skin? An object? I crop the image and save the file before opening a browser.

What the hell do I search for? Strange encounter with a sea monster? Underwater symbols and hieroglyphs? Am I losing my mind: a symptom checklist?

Three hours later, my stomach grumbles. I flop back on the bed and groan. After exhausting those search terms and heading to the academic journals, I’ve learned that yes, I’m probably imagining things. Or, and of course this is the most likely, I discovered an artifact during my encounter.

Shit. I’m gonna have to contact him. There are very few experts in his field and he’s the only one I know personally.

I brace for the reality and write the email, attaching the cropped image and the original. I read the request twice before hitting Send. No matter how much I couch it in academic jargon, Daniel is going to know what I’m saying. I had an encounter. I believe in monsters. I’m delusional.

Slamming the laptop with an unnecessary but satisfying thud, I grab my bag and head for town with my head held high. No matter what my ex says, I know what I saw. Now, all I have to do is prove it.

“Can’t sayI’ve ever seen anything like that, but I keep mostly to the docks. Some of the offshore crews could help ya. The lighthouse keeper may know?” The craggy fisherman scratches his head. The cigarette dangling from his mouth sends littleflakes of ash into the breeze that cling to my skin, and the stench of gutted fish and salty air turns the chowder in my stomach.

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