Regroup, Reuse, Recycle - Chapter 2

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We’d entered the warmth of our home. Hitting us as soon as Gil ducked through the doorway with the boy in his arms. The fireplace fluttered its flames, seeing it must have been stoked higher for our eventual return. The shadows from the fire light felt strangely alive. Mother snapped into motion in an instant, “Lay him down there,” she said, motioning to the bench near the fire. Gil nodded, obeying the order. He set the boy carefully onto the wood while Mother ran off to fetch cloths, water and an old tin from the cupboard within the kitchen. Meanwhile, Father had set his lantern down and leaned on the table, his eyes scanned the boy’s bruised body. “Never seen ears like that, or the tail. Not here at least.” His gaze fell onto me next, it was sharp, yet unreadable.

I felt myself shrink a little, leaning against the wall. I’d looked at the crab, and thought it’d be better for it to be on stable grounding. I sat it on the table next to me, it didn’t seem to mind me holding it. Its small legs clattered against the wood as its pincer tapped the wood, as if declaring its presence to the others. Father’s brow rose, “Well now, you’re an odd one. Aren’t you?” The crab gave another tap, this time with both of its claws. It turned slightly to face me, its jewel-encrusted shell glimmered violet in the firelight. It gave off the impression that it was obedient, but only answering to me.

Gil crossed his arms, watching the crab with a fisherman’s honest curiosity. “That’s no ordinary crab, with those odd jewels, maybe it could fetch a high price at the market. Knowing your background in merchantry and selling things, Mr. Mallory.” Gil reached his hand out slightly towards the crab. It snapped its claw sharply, making him recoil back. I startled at the sudden reaction, but laughed softly to myself. “For some reason, it only lets me touch it…” Father let out a low chuckle. His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than I expected. There was interest, but also something heavier. It was like the weight of the pieces he’d been trying to fit together since my return.

Beside me, Luisa shifted. I could feel the tension rolling off her. She hadn’t said a word since we entered, but her silence was devastatingly apparent. She set her cloak on the counter, only then noticing the book she’d left out early. Its cover faded and was bound in leather. Etched waves sat on its spine. I saw her eyes latch onto the book. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something. But suddenly, the crab clicked its claws once more. My gaze shifted beside me to see what it wanted.

That’s when it happened again. I didn’t feel the motions again. No rush, no warning. Just a sudden shift within the air, and my mind. The moment I focused my attention onto the crab. My vision blurred. It was like before, but this time much more sudden. I saw them again; the glowing words etched quickly within my sightline. Overlaying the world like ink on a page, making itself apparent to me and me only. Luisa quickly gripped my shoulders, turning my sight to her worried and rather frantic expression.

“Chloe…” Her voice went hoarse, suddenly trembling. “It’s your eyes again.” Father straightened his posture, walking forward. “Her eyes? What are you talking about…?” I blinked rapidly, heart hammering. “What—what’s wrong with them? I don’t know…” But I could already tell. The reflection of the mirror in the room showed my face. The faint violet eyes glowed across my irises. The same marks that Luisa mentioned in the cave. The marks from the story. The story of the Fish God. Luisa’s hands tightened their grip on themselves. She didn’t have to open it; she knew the faded illustration by heart. The same image that sat within the pages was now within me.

The silence fell across the room, letting an overwhelmingly heavy weight fall in the room. I couldn’t look away. The weird symbols showed themselves with no sense of shame. Was this a bad thing? I didn’t know. But from Luisa’s reaction, it was something to be wary of. Did this crab just…forcefully activate this?

Father’s voice broke the silence first. Steady, and deep.

“Chloe.”

I swallowed hard, with my gloved hands tightening in my lap. “Those marks in your eyes,” he said, eyes sharp as his trusty knife. “They didn’t come from nowhere. What happened out there? And don’t spare a single detail. Nothing isn’t an answer.” The crab tapped the table once again, almost protectively. I found myself staring at it instead of him. My throat felt dry with anxiety. Luisa shifted slightly beside me, and Father’s eyes instantly focused on her. “And you,” he said with as low a tone I'd ever heard from him. “You’ve been awfully quiet since you walked through the door. Are you hiding something as well? What do you know?” He asked.

Luisa froze, her eyes on the book once more. Drawing the attention of my father’s gaze, he stepped forward. With firm hands, he pulled the book toward him and flipped it open. The worn page fell on an illustration; the Fish God, carved in flowing strokes of ink, surrounded with scale-like imagery, with sacred symbols surrounding it. My father’s eyes narrowed, moving from the page to me. “The same,” he muttered to himself, “Exactly the same.”

Mother bent over the boy by the fire, gently wiping his forehead. She hummed softly under her breath, unaware of the conversation festering feet away from her. Her eyes were attentive to the boy and his condition. Father’s attention came back to us, sharp and heavy. “Both of you. Speak. Now. What do you know?” The words came spilling out before I could stop them—about the cave, the strange tide, the crab, the moment my vision changed. My voice shook, but I made sure to tell everything, not sparing a detail that I could remember. Luisa added her part; her voice was much steadier, as if she’d figured some things out on her end. Though I could see the guilt planted in her eyes.

When we finished, the room fell quiet once more. Nodding heads, the boy’s faint breaths, and the crackle of the firewood filled the room. Father closed the book atop the countertop, pressing his hand flat against its worn cover, weighing the truth of it all. His eyes felt wary as he flicked between the book and me.

He leaned against the countertop, arms crossed and let out a slow breath. “So, it’s come early,” he murmured. “A whole year early.” I blinked at his statement. What did he mean by ‘early’? I knew that this wasn’t normal, but why did my father seem so…lax about this all? “What do you mean?” I responded, not just curious, but prodding for a potential understanding of his attitude. He met my eyes; both of our eyes focused on each other. “The gifting, Chloe. Your gifting has appeared.”