The Tide Between Worlds

One look at the sky was enough for Maren to determine that it was still too early for the spirits to be out.

Its smooth, cloudless expanse remained an endless black, almost as if the night air was stained with bitter squid ink. The full moon still hung lazily in the sky, as round as a pearl, watching over the still sea below it with the sort of calm it could only feel when it didn't fear being outshone by the sun.

And yet, Maren couldn't stop his heart from drumming in his chest as he steered his tired boat to shore.

He had been a sailor for long enough to feel when the threat of daylight loomed over him. The sense for it wasn't something he could put into words. There was more to it than just the lightening of the sky - that came later, only when the sun was already waking up. An eternity before that, the world began preparing for the arrival of the spirits.

The turbulent night sea grew stiller, its surface becoming as slick as the surface of an everlasting, cerulean mirror. The night air hovering over the sea became lighter, ridding Maren’s shoulders of its midnight weight. It wove itself into a quick, briny wind and took off running, sending a warning to the shore.

For when the spirits came, everybody had to be awake. They needed to be at home, by their mirrors with silken rags in their hands.

And Maren was decidedly not. He was still at sea, towing a lucky catch of fish home in his grandfather’s cranky ship, which made the sea horribly anxious.

The small waves rolling around him kept crashing urgently against the back of his ship, trying their best to hurry it to the dark shoreline that stretched across the horizon like a thick ribbon. Their quick, frantic movements rocked Maren’s boat unsteadily under his feet, filling the bottom of his seeping boat with cold water and making his already queasy stomach jump with apprehension.

Perhaps staying out so late, even for such a lucky catch, was not worth the risk. Now, if he had thought that it would buy him any time, Maren would have gladly dived overboard and swam the rest of the way to shore.

But a part of Maren was terrified of what could happen if he was in the water when the spirits came. The mere thought of it sent a wave of chills running down the back of his neck.

Maren had never been late coming home before.

And he didn’t fancy finding out what would happen if he was.

By the time Maren finally reached the shoreline, the sky was already in dreadful bloom. The very tips of the sun’s rays were breaking free from the night, bathing the sky in hues of blush pink, cerulean, and the purest gold. Maren’s least favorite colors spread across the sky like fresh watercolors, seeping through the darkness of the night.

The sight made Maren slightly ill.

He bounded out of his boat before its hull even bit the shore. The soft mounds of glowing sand caved politely under his soaked boots, but he moved too quickly to let himself sink. With a few expert spins of his wrist, he tied the gnarly, sea-bitten rope of his boat to one of the crooked posts planted deep into the sand and secured it.

And then he paused.

His boots sank gently into the wet sand below them as he stared, wide-eyed, at the heavy net teeming with shiny fish weighing down the back of his boat. His heart beat in his ears like a clock, ticking down the time until sunrise.

He could almost taste daylight on his tongue.

But, oh, well. Screw it.

Leaning over the edge of the boat, he hauled the bursting net into his arms and took off across the beach, stumbling under the weight and sending bits of sand flying in his wake.

He ran away from the water, up to where the soft sand of the beach spilled onto the feet of the tall, sharp rock ledge that held his village. He ran up the well-trodden path snaking up the side of the rocks, his boots crunching on the bits of sharp shells and sand that was tracked up there by other sailors returning home. The ones who had come back earlier than him, and didn’t have to outrun the daylight.

At least I have more fish, Maren thought cheerfully as he hurried into the village, the bursting net in his arms blocking his view of the ground and reeking horribly of the sea. All of his risk would pay off when he would sell his lucky catch for three times the coin than he usually did. Maybe then he could finally buy a new boat.

But first, he had to get back home. Back to his mirror.

Even though his legs were burning from exertion, one look behind him made Maren run even faster. The sky’s colors were growing steadily brighter, spilling into each other to form a glowing, tender blue. The sun couldn’t have been more than a handful of minutes away.

As Maren finally scaled the endless face of the rocky cliff, he was instantly greeted by the noises of his bustling town. Patched houses painted with greens the color of a turtle’s belly and blues the color of the clearest summer waters were scattered across the cliff’s surface. Each one of them was already teeming with life.

Rowdy kids chased each other across gardens of apple trees and twisting grapevines. Thin clotheslines overflowing with dresses and breeches flapped urgently in the morning breeze, as if they were waving Maren along his way. His neighbors were already washing off their rags in bins of fresh, cold water brought from the well, ridding them of any spirit energy that was collected from their mirror’s surfaces.

They threw him worried glances as he and his fish flew by them, the tails of his worn jacket flapping.

Even the running children stopped as they saw him, gazing up at him in shock. But their eyes were filled with something different than the adults’.

They were sparkling with excitement, just like the way ocean water winked when it caught the light just so. The children, just like everybody else in the village, grew up hearing about the spirits and their daily journeys to the sea from the heavens. But they haven’t learned to fear them yet. Not like the adults.

Maren used to wonder at the works behind the spirits’ journey to the sea through the mirrors, too. When he was a child, he would watch his parents get up before the sun just to make sure they would have plenty of time to shine their mirrors so the spirits could see their way to the ocean. He wondered what would happen if one day, his parents were to leave their mirror unshined. Then, the spirits couldn’t see their way.

Would they get lost?

Would they be angry?

But Maren didn’t want to know anymore, not after the stories that he heard told by the elders of the village.

And so, with the threat of the sun at his heels, he ran faster.

By the time he reached the top of the hill, the birds had started singing.

His crooked house, painted a dark red color, stood alone only a few feet away, beckoning him home.

Maren ran.

As soon as his fingers reached his doorknob, slick with the salt breeze, he tore open his door and threw himself inside. Tossing his net of fish in a corner, he tore across his house to the small bucket standing near his bed, fishing out a sopping silk rag.

A grand, ancient mirror encased in spun gold stood grounded beside it, looking out of place among the rest of his humble belongings.

The floorboards of his house shrieked in urgency as he dropped beside the mirror, rag in hand.

Desperately, he scrubbed the surface, wiping the unearthly mist that clung to the mirror like a ghost’s skin.

He scrubbed and scrubbed until the muscles in his wrist screamed. Until the mirror’s surface glistened in the golden rays of sunlight that shone through the window.

Maren’s breath hitched.

The sunlight. How long has it been there?

But the mirror’s surface remained perfectly still.

The only thing that could be seen inside it was the reflection of Maren crouching on the floor, his dark hair curled by the ocean breeze and his eyes round with fear.

Maren waited. Nothing changed.

Slowly, he let himself exhale in relief, dropping his hand away from the mirror’s surface.

He’d made it. He was safe, and his risk had paid off!

But Maren’s dreams came crashing down as suddenly, the mirror’s surface began to be beaded with water.

Tiny, winking drops slowly bloomed out of its depths and ran down the face of the mirror like tears.

Maren could have sworn that he could hear the thump his heart made as it fell into his boots.

Frantically, he swiped his rag across the mirror, trying to wipe away the moisture.

But that did no good. The mirror began to ripple under his touch like an ocean’s surface, little waves running down the reflection and then spilling onto Maren’s floor with splats.

“No. No, no, no.” Maren tore off his jacket and threw it onto the floor, attempting to gather up the water. But the mirror continued to drip onto the floor, taking its reflection with it.

Maren locked eyes with his own terrified expression as the mirror’s surface began to melt.

Until suddenly, his face was replaced with another.

Maren leaped back from the mirror just before it completely overflowed, the force of the moving glistening surface sending the mirror’s frame crashing backwards to the floor as its contents spilled entirely out of the mirror like a rolling tidal wave.

Maren scurried back, covering his face from the salty spray that bit at his lips as the wave crashed down onto his floor, wailing with the sound of a thousand muffled screams.

And then the world went quiet.

Appallingly quiet. Even quiet enough for Maren to hear the low, lazy ticks of the ancient clock echoing somewhere in his kitchen.

Slowly, Maren lifted the hand shielding his face.

He expected to see his shabby carpet soaked through to the thread with sea water pooling in every spare corner of his house.

But there was none of that.

There was only a girl.

She lay face-down on his carpet, as still as a bone.

And she was like nothing Maren had ever seen before.

Her hair was not hair at all, but simply the sea trying to remember what it felt like to be still. It spilled across her back and onto the carpet like a translucent tide, shimmering with shades of pearl and deep sapphire, each wave heavy with the memory of the tides. It looked so much like water, in fact, that Maren thought it should soak the carpet beneath her. But the fabric remained perfectly dry.

Her dress swirled around her like pearly sea foam, with no end and no beginning. Even as she lay as still as the dead, the dress’s fabric undulated, reflecting the sun in colors ranging from the deepest sea to the clearest waters.

Maren had seen many beautiful things. He’d seen waves as tall as buildings, whales breaching only a few feet from the bow, and once even a lightning bolt kiss the sea and dance across the waves.

But the girl in front of him seemed more beautiful than all of those things.

Which terrified him.

There was a spirit on his carpet. An unmoving, beautiful spirit that looked dead.

Maren shuddered awake from his previous shock and bounced up from the floor, torn between running out of the house and approaching the girl.

What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to help her? Leave her? Was she dangerous?

Maren’s eyes darted around his kitchen for potential weapons.

But she didn’t look dangerous.

She looked dead.

Tentatively, he stepped towards the still girl, slowly reaching out to stir her with his hand.

Right before he made contact, the girl awoke.

With a gasp as loud as the rushing of the sea, she pushed up from the floor and snapped up her head.

The two locked eyes.

Maren screamed first.

Mostly because she managed to slap him - painfully - right before the two leapt away from each other like fire.

She scurried back across the carpet until her back crashed with the wall and then stared at him with eyes the color of a whale’s song.

Maren’s brain tried desperately to supply words.

What are you? Who are you? You’re a spirit. Why are you in my house? Are you going to kill me?

But what came out instead was, “Your dress is dripping onto my carpet.”

The girl’s gaze silently raked over him.

And then it slipped past him, to the bursting net of fish behind his back.

Her lips curled.

Obviously no longer deeming him a threat, she lifted herself from the floor and walked over to the net of fish, kneeling down in front of them. “They’re dead,” she stated. “All of them.”

“Uhhh. Yeah,” Maren blinked.

The girl poked at one of the fishes. After a moment, she reached into the net and slid a smaller fish through one of the openings, spinning it in her hands.

And then she took a generous bite.

Maren made a noise akin to a man who just swallowed a squid.

After a few chews, the girl shrugged and tossed the fish back into the net. “I’ve always wondered what fish tastes like,” she muttered through her mouthful. “But I can say that I’m quite disappointed.”

Maren wondered if he had simply died in his grandfather’s boat and the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all. That would certainly be plausible. “That’s, uh, because you’re supposed to cook it first.”

“Oh.” The girl’s eyes went round, and she swallowed.

Then, she popped up from the ground and started to circle Maren’s house, inspecting every item in her reach. “You know, it’s fascinating finally being here. I’ve seen the world before through the mirror, but it’s quite different to be able to hold on in your hands.” Her hair undulated like a rolling tide as she walked, and she left a dripping trail in her wake wherever she went. “We can’t really touch things there, on the other side. You people are quite lucky to be able to hold whatever you want.” She picked up a model ship from Maren’s shelf and held it up to her face, inspecting its sinewy wood with naked awe. “Every single day I’ve wondered what it’s like to exist, but nobody would ever forget to shine their mirror. It was getting quite annoying, really, after more than two hundred years. But I’ve never actually seen a human before.” She paused here, looking over her shoulder at Maren. Her expression turned sheepish. “Sorry that I hit you. I’m not quite used to being able to hit things yet and it seemed like a reasonable thing to do. But you seem quite nice.”

Maren wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. To any of that.

Suddenly, the girl whirled and stalked towards him. “Are you afraid of me?” She demanded, her dark eyebrows the color of the night sea furrowing across her brow.

Yes. “No.” Maren swallowed.

Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. She was so close to him that her seafoam dress dripped water onto his boots. “It’s just dawned on me that you might fear me, but you really shouldn’t. Spirits aren’t much different than humans. We’re just like your souls but without a body.” She sighed arduously. “Maybe my mother was right, after all. She told me once that humans were more fearful because they had bodies that made them weak.” Her dark gaze roamed over his face. “But you don’t have to be afraid. Almost ever. You’ll find that there are little things that warrant real troubling over.”

Maren stared at her in awe. He suddenly wished for a pocketful of words that he could give her in return, but found himself sadly empty- handed.

“Well, I really should get going,” the girl sighed as she stepped back away from Maren. “If I’m away too long my family will start wondering where I am. They don’t all share my fascination with the human world.”

Maren’s voice returned to him suddenly. “You’re going? Now?”

The girl frowned. “I must. But you’ve been a most wonderful human host. I thank you dearly.” She dropped into a little bow that sent a splash of water across Maren’s floor.

And then she stepped back to the mirror’s frame, righting it with an arduous sigh. After a moment, she reached forward for it with her hand, and then froze. She turned back to face Maren, who had stumbled after her, and he found that her eyes had suddenly changed. They were now a bright gold, the color of a lighthouse’s beacon through the night. “Will you promise me one thing?” she asked.

Maren nodded.

“Let me in again some day, will you, Maren?”

Maren stared at her in shock, his breath catching in his throat. Even without a response, the edges of the girl’s lips curled up as if they held a small secret. “Thank you,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.