Fredon held onto the rope with both hands, the muscles in his arms burning as the ship pushed forward and the improvised plank slid across the water behind it. The salt hit his face, the wind pulled at the red neckerchief around his neck, and for the first time since his grandfather's death, he felt something that wasn't grief.
He felt freedom.
Zelma saw him from the ship's railing, her eyes wide, her mouth open, completely stunned.
— He's... he's surfing?
She ran to the edge, stretched out her arm, and shouted:
— Fredon! Grab my hand!
He let go of the rope with one hand, stretched his arm out, and their fingers found each other in the air. She pulled him with force, he jumped, and the two of them fell onto the deck in a tangle of arms and legs.
Fredon got up first, helped her to her feet, and smiled in that pure and carefree way she knew so well.
Zelma held his shoulders with both hands, her face red from effort and nerves.
— Are you alright? Are you hurt?
He wiped the salt water from his face with his sleeve and answered with complete naturalness:
— I feel much better now.
She released him slowly, took two steps back, put her hands behind her back, and began tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a strangely endearing and nervous way.
— So... Fredon...
He looked at her with those eyes that hid nothing.
— Yes?
She breathed deeply, her heart beating too fast.
— Why did you chase after me all the way here? Why were you shouting my name?
Fredon slapped his forehead with his hand as if he'd forgotten something important.
— Ah, that's right! I almost forgot, Zelma! I came to show you the photos my grandfather had been hiding for years!
The silence that followed was absolute.
Every person on deck who had been watching them with curiosity froze. A girl dropped the cup she was holding. A young boy leaning against the mast murmured "Lord have mercy" and fell sideways to the floor from sheer astonishment.
Zelma stood still, completely confused, her head full of expectations that had just crumbled like a sandcastle.
*Photos? He came all the way here... for photos?*
Then she gave a slow smile and shook her head.
— Honestly, this is the Fredon I know.
But the smile grew genuine, warm.
— But I'm glad you're here with me.
She started walking toward him, curiosity already overtaking the confusion.
— Well then show me these photos!
Fredon reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out the carefully folded photograph, and held it out to her.
Zelma took the photo, unfolded it, and went quiet.
It was Mr. Zell. But not the serene old man she knew. It was a young Zell, strong, in his mid-twenties, standing at the top of a snow-covered mountain, surrounded by three people smiling as if they had just conquered the world.
— Wow... — She whispered, her eyes fixed on the image. — Mr. Zell was so different. Look at that smile. He looks so... happy.
She looked at Fredon with a more serious expression now.
— So you came all the way to this ship just to show me these photos?
Fredon shook his head.
— Of course not.
She frowned.
— Then why?
He looked at the horizon where the ocean stretched out infinite, breathed deeply, and said with a conviction she had never heard in his voice before:
— I want to have a better adventure than my grandfather did. I want to explore the world. Because if I do that, the advice he gave me in the letter will have been worth it.
Zelma stayed looking at him for a long moment.
And she remembered.
---
*She was seven years old.*
*Fredon knocked on the door every morning with a smile fixed on his face and his hand stretched out.*
*— Come on, Zelma! Today we have another adventure waiting for us!*
*And she went. She always went.*
*They climbed impossible cliffs. They explored dark caves where she was afraid but he laughed. They provoked the mountain wolves just to see how they'd react, and when the wolves came running, she screamed and he put himself between her and the animals without hesitating.*
*He would rather die than let her get hurt.*
*And every evening, when they came back dirty and tired, she looked at him and thought: "One day I'm going to marry you."*
---
In the present, Zelma looked at Fredon, at that smile that hadn't changed in eight years, and smiled back.
— That's really him.
---
The ship moved through the ocean on a steady wind that filled the sails and made the wood creak gently. Fredon and Zelma were leaning against the side railing watching the water pass.
It was then that Fredon saw it.
A light.
Not the reflection of the sun. Something else. The water ahead of the ship glowed with a blue and white luminescence that seemed to come from below, as if there were an invisible wall made of pure light cutting the ocean in two.
His heart accelerated for no apparent reason.
— Zelma... — He said quietly, pointing. — What is that?
She looked and smiled.
— It's the barrier. It separates Anduza from the rest of the world.
Fredon went quiet, his eyes fixed on the light that was drawing closer and closer.
*The same light I saw at the waterfall.*
The ship entered the barrier.
And everything changed.
The light enveloped the hull, climbed the sails, passed through the deck like a silent wave. Fredon felt a strange tingling run through his entire body, starting at the tips of his fingers and rising up his arms to his chest.
But it didn't stop there.
Something deeper happened. A pressure. As if something inside him had been pushed and then pulled back with force. The cord with the six-pointed star around his neck grew suddenly hot, burning lightly against his skin.
He brought his hand to his chest, his eyes half-closed, his breath held.
Zelma turned to him, worried.
— Fredon? Are you alright?
A boy beside them, thin and fair-haired, looked at Fredon with a strange expression.
— He felt more than he should have — he murmured quietly, more to himself than to anyone.
Zelma looked at the boy, confused.
— What do you mean?
The boy shrugged and walked away without answering, but kept watching Fredon sideways as he went.
Fredon blinked. The sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come. The light vanished behind them, leaving a glowing trail in the water that faded slowly.
Zelma touched his arm.
— Did you feel it?
He nodded slowly, still confused.
— I felt... something. As if something inside me had woken up.
She was quiet for a moment, then said quietly:
— Everyone feels something when they cross. But... it doesn't usually be that strong.
Fredon turned back, looked at the light that was already far away, and whispered to himself:
— Goodbye, Anduza.
---
Minutes later, a deep voice echoed across the deck.
— All passengers to the main deck! Immediately!
Fredon and Zelma exchanged glances and began walking toward the crowd gathering at the centre of the ship.
As they walked, Fredon asked quietly:
— Zelma, and you? Where are you going?
She was quiet for a few seconds.
---
*She was five years old.*
*She stood beside Aunt Junia at the edge of the dock, crying so hard she could barely breathe.*
*— Father, I want to come back! I want to stay with you!*
*Her father knelt in front of her, placed his hands on her small shoulders, and said in a firm but gentle voice:*
*— Zelma, my daughter, this is a unique opportunity for you to be on this island. I'm asking you to stay. Hold on. Because we will see each other again in eight years.*
*He kissed her forehead, waved to Aunt Junia, and left.*
*She stayed on the dock crying as the ship disappeared over the horizon.*
---
In the present, Zelma answered quietly:
— I'm going to meet my family.
Fredon looked at her with that simple smile.
— Ah, the one you always talked about when we were little?
She nodded.
— Yes.
---
The captain stood at the centre of the deck, a tall man with a grey beard and eyes as sharp as blades. He held a list of names in one hand and a stamp in the other.
— When I call your name, present your residency passport for the island of Anduza!
He began calling the names one by one. Each person stepped forward, handed over their document, and received a stamp before returning to their place.
Zelma leaned toward Fredon and whispered:
— If they ask for your passport, say you already showed it but it fell into the water.
Fredon looked at her, confused.
— But that's a lie, Zelma. You know it's wrong to lie.
She sighed.
*That's why I have to marry you.*
— I know it is. But trust me.
Fredon hesitated, but then nodded slowly.
— Alright. I'll trust you.
The line moved forward. The captain checked the passports carefully, stamped them, and moved on to the next.
Until it was Fredon's turn.
The captain stopped in front of him, looked him up and down with half-closed eyes, and said:
— I didn't receive your passport, boy.
Fredon went quiet.
*Lie or not lie?*
He remembered his grandfather sitting on the porch one ordinary night, looking at the stars.
*"Never lie, Fredon. Because you wouldn't like it if people lied to you, would you?"*
He breathed deeply.
— No. I don't have a passport. I boarded the ship without authorisation.
Zelma turned to him with wide eyes.
— Too honest!
The captain crossed his arms, his expression hardening.
— Do you know what we do with stowaways?
Fredon tried to explain, the words tumbling over each other.
— I only wanted to accompany my friend, I didn't mean to cause trouble, I can work on the ship to pay for the journey—
The captain raised his hand, cutting him off.
— I'm not interested. The rules are clear. Stowaways go overboard.
He grabbed Fredon's arm with force.
Zelma saw the captain's hand tightening, saw Fredon being pulled, and something inside her broke.
She didn't think.
She ran, kicked the captain's leg with everything she had, grabbed Fredon's arm, and shouted:
— Run!
The two of them shot across the deck as the guards began chasing them with shouts.
— Stop! You have nowhere to escape to!
Zelma shouted back as she ran:
— Then we'll keep running until the end of the voyage!
Fredon ran beside her, completely confused.
— Zelma, why are we running? We can resolve this by talking!
She looked at him as if he had said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
— Not everything can be resolved by talking, Fredon!
They ran through narrow corridors, leapt over crates, dodged around ropes. Zelma held his hand tightly so as not to lose him.
Until Fredon said, his voice strangely hesitant:
— Zelma... could you hold my hand a bit more firmly?
Her heart stopped.
She looked down.
She was holding his hand.
Freely.
Like a couple.
She released it immediately as if she had touched fire, began blowing on her own hands as if they were burning, her face completely red.
It was then that the two guards appeared.
One in front. One behind.
Cornered.
The captain advanced slowly, a smile on his face.
— The running is over, kids.
It was then that they heard it.
A sound.
Deep. Resonant. Distant. Coming from somewhere above the clouds.
Everyone stopped. The captain frowned. The guards exchanged nervous glances.
— What was that? — Someone whispered.
The sound repeated. Louder now. Closer.
The people on deck began looking upward slowly, afraid of what they were going to see.
And they saw it.
A shadow.
Enormous. Dark. Moving behind the clouds like a silent nightmare.
Then it appeared.
A whale.
But not a normal whale.
It was gigantic, the size of three ships together, entirely white like fresh snow, with enormous wings that stretched from side to side like those of an impossible bird. Hanging beneath its body was a golden lantern that shone like a second sun, casting strange shadows across the deck.
The creature dove.
The impact with the water was apocalyptic.
An enormous wave rose up, struck the side of the ship with brutal force. The hull tilted violently to the left. People screamed. Crates slid across the deck and fell into the sea. Ropes snapped with dry cracks. A sail tore clean in two.
Fredon gripped the railing with one hand and held Zelma with the other as the world spun around them.
A sailor fell, hit his head against a mast, and lay unconscious on the floor. Another clung to a rope with both hands, his feet slipping on the tilted deck.
The captain shouted orders that nobody could hear over the noise of the water and the screaming.
The whale disappeared beneath the surface.
The ship returned slowly to an even position, but the rocking continued violently. Salt water covered the deck. Injured people groaned. Broken crates were scattered everywhere.
The captain stood with difficulty, wiped the blood from a cut on his forehead, and shouted:
— Check the damage! I want a report in five minutes!
The sailors ran in every direction.
It was then that everyone heard it.
A sound from beneath the water.
Deep. Continuous. Like a song.
Fredon leaned over the railing and looked down.
There was an enormous shadow circling slowly beneath the ship. Too large. Too close.
Zelma was beside him, her fingers pressed into the wood.
— She didn't leave — she whispered, her voice unsteady.
The captain heard. He turned to them with a pale face.
— Everyone inside! Now!
People ran for the cabins, tripping over each other, pushing, desperate.
Fredon stood still, his eyes fixed on the shadow that kept circling.
The whale was waiting.
But why?
And what was it going to do next?