by The Awethors
* * *
MAY SLIPPED IN and out of consciousness.
She coughed. The inside of her mouth tasted like sandpaper. Her stomach cramped with emptiness. She opened her eyes and stretched out a hand, searching for something. A blob of orange with rumpled edges lay nearby. May squinted. As her eyes focused, lines and shades of light formed the shape of a parrot. Unable to continue flying, Swig had curled up in a corner of the boat.
While staring at her friend, May wondered where Swig had come from—how he’d ended up on a pirate ship. She’d never thought to ask. She’d always taken his companionship for granted. Her old self, that is. Her selfish self, the part of her that had been a pirate.
She turned over on her back and stared at the sky.
A dolphin barked. Then another, answering the first call with high-pitched snaps and crackles. Before long, the dolphins’ song filled the air. The racket was symphonic, almost celebratory. Something was happening outside the boat, but what? May needed to know.
She sat up. Weakness hit her full force, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. With limbs that felt like lead covered with parchment, May stood. Her legs wobbled. She reached for the fishnet she’d tied into a hammock the day before. After multiple tries, she climbed up to where she could see outside the boat.
An intake of breath scratched her throat, making it feel drier. “Wake up, Swig,” she rasped, her tongue thick like leather. “Ye—” Despite her discomfort, May remembered her goal to speak like a lady. She began again. “You have to see this.”
The parrot remained still with one eye open.
“Swig?”
She’d seen him sleep that way before but never in such a weakened state. When he didn’t respond, May scooched herself up, as high as she dared without putting herself in danger of toppling over the edge of the boat. She was not fit for a swim, much less a rough landing.
As the dolphins danced and played, their splashes created a mist, a sea spray of water particles. The spray was beautiful, but there wasn’t a shore in sight. May’s lips tugged downward. A pang of regret followed. She wasn’t upset about leaving the pirates but for having escaped without a thorough plan. And for listening to Swig about not taking along food and water.
May mopped her forehead with a billowy sleeve. To her horror, she found it was possible to be thirstier than before.
Sunlight mingled with sea spray created a double rainbow. Dolphins jumped and looped, driving the dory toward the mist. As the boat bobbed closer, the sea spray arched and the rainbows converged. The largest of the dolphins swam to the head of the pod, a group of twelve. It turned and whirled its head in a semicircle, toward the mist. It repeated the gesture twice more.
“It’s as if he’s inviting them to follow,” May whispered.
The lead dolphin barked again before it leaped through the mist. And disappeared. Its companions followed, driving the boat with their wake.
May rubbed her eyes with scorched fists, wondering whether these were delusions brought on by dehydration. When she reopened her eyes, she continued to doubt what she saw. But she was too small—felt too helpless—to do anything about it.
She, Swig, and the boat that carried them were about to pass through the sea spray.