The pixie goddess of sea waves back.

She waits for a moment of silence before she strikes. The tides are low, the sun is on an all time high and her resolve determined from under the sea. She can see the curves of the ship’s bottom making its lonely journey after intermittent sojourns, potentially to an island far away or long gone, while she gathered her sawdust before she would unleash her spell. It was a special kind of sawdust, reserved for the pixie goddesses of her tribe. She was Zaronga, the agile one, known to be extreme in tenderness and tempest when the mood and times called for it. 

Zaronga loved her home and she knew when she had to protect it. She also knew when to have fun. Like on Ships Fools Day. Every year, when the sun struck on the shores of the pristine waters on the first day of April, a good month before the onslaught of spring, Zaronga would exert her force onto the sea she called home, giving those sailing more than a tenor of shock by initiating the mermaids into a satanic dance of winding jumps and deep whirls with the cries and aerial movements of the whales and sharks. They were all under Zaronga’s nimble thumb on this day and she was on her tiptoes with excitement, the sawdust glowing against the sharp glistening edges of her red hair, her eyes shining brightly, ready for the racket and fun to come. 

As ever year, the spectacle would scare some sailors, surprise others but mainly awe everyone involved, including Zaronga. She loved observing those loyal to her tribe showcase a display of prowess and guarded authority over the Mediterranean Sea. The waves were awash with splash of colors, a kaleidoscope of blue and green and purple hues, gills and fins making tides swoon and major ripples greeting the sunrise. Life from land traversed the waters in a meeting of beings conjoined by breath, by journeys long forgotten and home on earth. The extravaganza was a way to say “Hello!” to those who were unknown. The ensemble made a fool of many and that was what made the day so special to her. Zaronga felt more grounded on Ships Fools Day - it was a clear reminder that she belonged to the waters, her strength unmatched in the face of others sharing the outskirts of her other wise humble abode underneath. 

She was only a pixie after all, unmatched in her demarcated vicinity in the kind of apartheid underneath. She never ventured outside her quarters, could rarely use her powers that had been diminished since the sea centaurs had taken over the under waters, creating the divisions of her time. Her sawdust was unique and only she among her tribe was able to stir up the necessary magic to unleash the valor and strength of force on the waters to parallel the circus of display. It was her lone respite from an otherwise difficult life that hit her hard ten years back as a young orphan whose parents had died of the sea virus that had rampaged onto the waters, killing almost two thirds of her tribe and half the sea creatures. 

That was when the centaurs took over the water kingdom. 

The centaurs knew how necessary it was to showcase their dominance over humans to maintain their power and took advantage of her magical abilities on this one day every year. In return, Zaronga could come up and see the sun, which she missed dearly. She could also see the mermaids, the sea horses, the whales - all the sea creatures who were her neighbours once again though from a distance to maintain proper apartheid rules of 2 meters, a system of distance that had begun in response to the air borne sea virus that at some point became a division of breed and kind. Now, she was unable to tell whether this was healthy for anyone anymore and whether the virus still existed, her mind hazy as she almost felt guilty at how well they had absorbed themselves into the system of repression; they had all convinced themselves of the unwavering argument for separation the centaurs forced upon them during the height of the virus. 

She waited and promptly took a deep breath. It was time. The one time, right when the sun was rising before 7 hours after midnight, that she could say the right spell, close her eyes and blow on the saw dust on Ships Fools Day and create an unimaginably spectacular painting of the sea, in all its glory and splendor. A false show since down below, there was no such display. It was festered with dirt and grime, breeds were starving, magical abilities all but waning and too many fearful to instigate rebellion. The corals were decaying, star fish were no longer visible, and even the whales were dying. Those who were able to garner the strength for the show this morning were pawns of the sea centaurs, receiving meagre emblems of power and feast in return for their service. Those who didn’t abide by the rules were killed -by the virus, according to the centaurs though the disappearances were not accounted for. 

Zaronga saw Kenneydi amongst the mermans. Her heart sank, unable to muster the courage to look at him. She whooshed her fins and tried to push away the thoughts of his different tribal affinity and the boards on clear display by her home, indicating their separate positions and their inability to ever meet. She took another deep breath and looked around. This was it, the moment to make the waters churn and just fall short of toppling the ship, a warning and feast for those on board, and yet she couldn’t yet. What was stopping her this year? The past 9 years had been easy enough. Was it the longing in her heart for old times? The inability to come to terms with how dire the situation had gotten downstairs? The hurt she felt at being duped, misguided by the sea centaurs’ reasoning? The pain of having lost so much so fast?

She knew it was time. 

She had been through too much and now was the time to turn the loss into something more necessary than food to remedy starvation - bravery. She knew she had to do it, for her dignity, for her kingdom. For her parents who died, for Ken, for her people. 

 She looked one last time at the ship, at her favorite merman and before she joined the crew of displaying creatures, she made a split second decision - a change of spell, of heart and maybe of the times - and blew on the sawdust - not even glancing at the ship again as water churned outed in a whirlpool, this year intended to drown and kill for good.