We spend some time getting the yacht kitted out and ready to launch. The old crane on deck is handy when it isn’t fishing season and we haul cargo instead. The tiny ship is our go-to for shore leave when the docks aren’t the right size for our ship, or when we’re still full of cargo. It lives on deck under tarpaulins. The crew, all updated on what is happening, have gathered on deck for the final lowering into the sea.

I’ve gone for DJ. I carry a spare set of weatherproofs, pants and jacket, the smallest size on the ship. I open the door and throw them his way without words. The night air is chilly, especially when one is wet. He grasps the clothing and looks at me, confused.

“I thought you were to tell me about the magic. It has been a long time. Do we go somewhere?”

“Yeah. Kit up, we’re leaving the ship.”

The look on DJ’s face is unreadable. He complies, pulling on the pants and tightening them as much as possible. They are so large it looks nearly comical.

“Who is going?” he asks as he pulls the jacket on.

“Just you and me. Controller and controller.”

“Controller?”

“That’s what they call our type.”

“I thought you said there was only one glove.”

“Only one of this type. C’mon.” I motion to the door and, with one hand holding his pants, he follows me.

“How many others are there?”

“Four more, for five total.”

“What are you, then?”

“I don’t have a glove, no,” I answer vaguely. I can see DJ’s confusion, but another crewmember has fallen into step behind him and he quietens. I think he’s scared, but I don’t feel like offering reassurance. My own nerves are shot. This is going to be hard. I’m simultaneously tired and wired, and my mind is seeking reassurance in the glove on my hand, but I’m not getting it. The seas aren’t chaotic, but they are wild. Even now we roll on the balls of our feet to counter the swells.

We walk onto the open deck and Mac immediately waves me over. He should be resting. He looks tired. It’s coming up on twenty-four hours since DJ was found. The irony of my thoughts makes me chuckle. I wonder how often he thinks the same of me.

“We’re going to have to load you into the yacht before we swing out,” he shouts over the machinery and the wind. “We need to get some distance between the hulls before we drop it.”

The captain is standing beside Mac and leans in close. “You sure you want to do this?”

“No!” I shout.

“But can you?”

I stare out at the seas for a long moment, my gloved hand clenched. “I think so.”

“Just don’t drown,” Mac says cheerfully, but his eyes show his worry. “If you’re struggling, get back to us. We’ll get you back on board.”

I smile my gratitude, but I know once I’m on the seas I won’t be headed back. The risk of approaching the much larger ship is too great. DJ looks terrified as they guide him onto the yacht. I go to follow, but Mac grabs me in a rough, one-armed hug. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll do this, and we can finally be free of this shit. You be careful, too.”

Mac nods, and it looks like a tear sneaks its way from his eye, but I’m probably imagining it. I turn my back on him and climb into the yacht, settling myself near the rudder and getting a firm grip for the nauseating feeling as we swing free from the ship. I’ve only done it once before, but I remember it distinctly. DJ is a respectable distance from me, and I nod for him to hold on. His knuckles turn white and all of a sudden, we’re up. The weightless feeling only lasts a moment before we’re swung into the buffering wind. We’re lowered gently at first, then the sea rises up to meet us and we’re snatched from the crane’s grasp in one movement. I scramble forward and fully release the hook before grabbing the rudder. We don’t need to put the sail fully up, so I leave it at half-mast as I struggle to steer through the waves. Half my focus is on the glove and settling the seas immediately around me. I’m successful, but with every moment my chest tightens with the urge to cough. The Freedom quickly disappears from my sight, and such is my focus that I don’t notice DJ creeping closer until he is right beside me.

I jump and clench my fist in preparation for attack. He simply holds up his hands, eyes wide.

“What can I do to help?”

Maybe I have misjudged him. Pirate, sure, but he is a stowaway, just like me. Still, I hesitate. I know what I need him to do, but I don’t know him well enough to trust him.

A wave crashes heavily into the bow and makes my decision for me. I strip the glove from my hand and reluctantly offer it to DJ. He takes it, awed, and moves closer to me as he slides it on. He’s nearly close enough to be in my way. I’m somewhat reassured when he yells a question to me.

“Ok, what now?”

“Now concentrate on the calmness of the ocean around us. I can’t steer and keep us safe. That’s going to be your job. I can navigate, don’t worry about that, just keep the waves from putting us under.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. It’s all intuitive, mate.” I wait for him to concentrate, the knuckles on his left hand still white with fear. “Oh, and don’t forget, you still need me to drive and get us to shore. The glove ain’t that powerful.”

That could be a lie, I don’t actually know, and I don’t care to find out. DJ glances at me and I smile.

“What if you need to sleep, or go to the bathroom?”

“Do I look like I need sleep?”

“Yes. You do not rest enough, I think.”

“Bah, no lifestyle commentary from the pirate, thank you,” I say, the smile never leaving my face, but something flashes through DJ’s eyes and he quietens for a moment.

“What are your crew going to do, now we have left?”

“They reckon they can fight the pirates off. The coast guard has already been called.”

DJ’s face falls. “Why did we leave, then?”

“To keep you safe. I want you to take up your duty as water controller, and you can’t do that from a jail cell.”

I can see the conflicting emotions on DJ’s face.

“You feel for them?” I ask, incredulous.

“You and I, we the same,” he says. “We hid from bad people. My ship is different to yours, but they treat me better than my family.”

“The water glove, though, it’s your way out. It’s your birthright. You’re meant for so much more than thievery and piracy.”

“Still, I do not wish to see them in jail.”

I shrug slightly. “Not much we can about it.”

DJ nods sadly and moves down the ship to the prow. There he rests his gloved hand in the water, appearing both meditative and focussed. Regardless of his feelings, he does his job and the waves around us lessen. He’s good, I realise, and a natural. A quiver of fear appears in my gut, but I push it down and focus on getting us as far from the Freedom as possible.

A solid half-hour passes in uncomfortable silence, with nothing but the gently lapping waves and the wind to keep us company. There is no moon, and the stars are bright. We’re running on low lighting, a single light inside the cabin as bright as a beacon in the otherwise inky darkness of the night. I can see DJ, but little else beyond the edges of the ship. I wouldn’t be able to steer without him controlling the waves. None of the yacht’s lights, even if I cast them forwards, would offer enough illumination to protect us from the black seas.   

I swear I catch a whisper of another ship – the creaking, the shuffling, the murmur of voices. I look around but there aren’t any other lights, and my heart beats harder in my chest. It’s an odd time to get paranoid. I breathe in and out, trying to calm myself, and focus forwards.

DJ stands suddenly, rocking the boat slightly and destroying my already frayed nerves. He moves forward to stand in the light, looking outwards.

“You hear something?” I say it quietly. He hears me. His control has already grown, and the waves no longer touch our ship at all. Freakishly, he doesn’t respond, just moves slightly closer to me. My gaze goes back out to the darkness again, a shiver sliding down my spine. When I look back to DJ, I realise he is holding balls of water in front of him, similar to my trick.

“What are you doing?” I think the fear in my voice empowers him. His mistake. I’m not scared of him. He fires the water towards me like a bullet. I stand, allowing them to get close before they melt into nothingness. His eyes widen and he brings more water to his hand. I strip off my jacket and stand only in my t-shirt, welcoming the challenge.

“Really? You want to do this? Ok, let’s go,” I say, abandoning the rudder to move towards him. He takes a slight step back, his body betraying him, before firming and throwing more water towards me. It all shucks off me as I surround myself in a layer of . . . whatever it is I control. Nothingness. Null, void.

“What are you?” he finally asks as I get within touching distance.

“I am the Null Controller,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. I never thought I’d use the title Spark gave me. It works, though, and the Water Controller quivers in fear as I reach out and grip his wrist, hard, forcing his palm open to relieve the pain. As soon as it opens, I pull the glove from him and slide it over my own hand.

“That’s mine,” he whimpers. “You shouldn’t be able to do that.”

I raise my hand to strike him, to knock him senseless while I assess what I have to do next. I still need him. His intentions have changed, though, it seems.

“Why?” I ask.

DJ looks up at me and my raised fist and suddenly takes a step back with a nod. I move forward to match him.

Something stitches a line of fire across my ribs, under my raised arm. I look down incredulously, amazed to see red beginning to seep through my shirt. The noise that follows it is unmistakeable and my free hand drops to grasp at the wound.

I’ve been shot.

By who?

DJ moves forward and grabs me, holding me still. “Let me look,” he hisses. I allow it, and he raises my shirt. “Thank you God. It is only graze.”

Confused by his words and the mysterious attack, I’m too slow to react as he pulls me into a chokehold. I feel him trying to crush my wrist, to force me to open my hand in the same way I did to him, but he isn’t as strong.

“Dakila! What are you doing? What is this?”

“Sah! Please, do not hurt him further. He is my friend.”

What?

“He was going to strike you, Dakila.”

“I deserved it. I offended him,” DJ continues to speak to the shadows beyond our vessel. How he can see is beyond me. I remain silent. I have the glove so I’m far from helpless but I need to let the situation play out. Besides, my ribs are burning with pain. I want to curl up and protect them.

The yacht rocks as a man steps onto it. He is tall, thin, with dark skin similar to DJ’s. His white teeth flash in the night. DJ releases me and I stumble slightly.

“Do not move,” the newcomer says. He has a rifle pointed in my direction but it is the long carving knife hanging at his belt that commands my attention. My legs start quivering, completely beyond my control. “Who is your new friend, Dakila?”

“Andy, Sah. A stowaway like me, from the target ship.”

“You don’t say. Hello, Andy. Those that respect me call me Sah.”

When it’s clear he’s waiting for an answer, I stutter, “Hello.”

The blow is vicious and connects hard with my eyebrow, opening the six-month old scar and leaving blood to pour down my face.

“You didn’t understand, I think. Hello, Sah.”

“Hello Sah,” I repeat with my head bowed. Only Mac’s training – and DJ’s presence behind me – kept me on my feet.

“Good. Dakila, what are you doing on this ship with this boy?”

“Sah, the targets have training and weapons. They will not be easy. Andy and I were sent away for our safety.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Sah says. Apparently satisfied with my compliance, he steps back onto his own ship.

“How?” I whisper. DJ answers.

“I drew the ship here.” Louder, he calls to his leader. “Sah, I do not think we should strike this target. Andy says the coastguard have been called. It will not be safe.”

The glare levelled at DJ makes me physically recoil. “Nothing we do is safe. We will take the ship quickly. After all, we now have a hostage.”

I look up in fear. They’re taking me back to the Freedom. I have the glove, but one wayward strike could relieve me of that burden. I’ve failed to protect my ship. I need to do something but I’m outnumbered and outgunned and the pirates are already tying a tow rope to my yacht. DJ seems similarly disappointed.

“Why?” I whisper.

“I’d hoped. . .” DJ starts. He doesn’t finish. Sah calls us over onto his ship. I step over deftly only to be struck behind the knees. I hit the deck, kneeling, and look up at Sah. DJ intervenes again for me.

“Please, Sah, he is a friend. Maybe he joins us.”

“Dunno. What do you reckon, Andy, you wanna be a pirate?”

“No,” I say firmly, my eyes back on the knife. Unfortunately this time, he notices.

“Oh, too bad,” he says, drawing the blade. My entire body quivers. “Scared, I see? Perhaps we can yet persuade him, DJ. We will see how he does as a hostage. You, too. Ready to play that role again?”

“Always, Sah,” DJ says, head bowed.

“Good.” The knife is moving closer to my face. My breathing is short and rapid. I can’t control it. The pain of my ribs and eyebrow are a distant memory. My mind is retreating, back to when I was child, hiding in the closet as the knife came down again and again . . .

The knife cuts into the skin just above my eyebrow. With a deft flick, Sah opens up a wound near the existing cut. Blood pours down my face as he withdraws the blade, the tip stained crimson.

“Good. That should be enough blood to convince them of our intentions. Let’s get going. Douse the light on the yacht.”

I’m shoved to the back of the ship as it falls into complete darkness. The pirates are clearly used to operating in the pitch black. I sit still, breathing slowly, desperately trying to regain my breath. I rub my eye, trying to clear the blood from it but failing terribly. The wound above my eye is now a V shape.

“There is a knife four inches to your left,” Sah says conversationally. I freeze again. “In case you have any thoughts of fight or escape.”

I feel DJ applying pressure to my gloved hand again but I clench my fist hard. He resigns himself to sitting beside me. We’re guarded by two, both armed with knives. Sah has figured, correctly, that my fear of blades overrides my fear of a gun. Besides, the shot might alert my crew.

“Silence, now,” Sah calls after a time. “Any words from anyone and I’ll cut out your tongues.”

I swallow and feel a knife on my throat, further dissuading me from calling out to the looming hull of the Freedom. The ocean seems to be conspiring against us, too. I want to control the waves, to swamp us, but I can’t concentrate beyond my panic. Why is the ocean suddenly calm? Why now?

© KL Burgess