The Fires Beneath the Sea ebook, Lydia Millet [robert munsch read aloud .txt] 📗

“Help us what,” said Max flatly.

“Help us to get Mom back.”

Cara was still a moment, her flip-slops sinking into the mud. Then she pulled up her feet with a sucking sound.

“The night of fires beneath the sea,” she murmured.

“Yes,” said Jax, looking at her sharply. “That’s what she said! How did you know?”

“I found a message in Mom’s office. It reads like a clue. Either that or a prediction or something.”

“And how are we supposed to go, uh, underwater? Last I checked, you and Cara didn’t know scuba,” said Max, who did.

“So maybe you need to teach us.”

“Get out,” said Max. “Seriously, get out. You’re too young, and I’m not even fully certified myself. Remember?”

For a second the three of them stood there, in the mud and the water, an awkward triangle.

“Let’s cross that bridge later,” said Cara. “OK?”

“Look,” said Max. “I’ll keep my doubts to myself on most of this, but as far as going scuba diving with maybe a few days’ prep from someone who’s not even certified, it would be irresponsible. I can’t stand by and watch my baby brother get an embolism because of a bad tip a, like, zoo animal gave him through mental telepathy.”

“She’s not a zoo animal,” retorted Jax. “She’s a wild leatherback, Dermochelys coriacea, the largest of all turtles and the only living species in her genus. They’re critically endangered, which means one of her is worth roughly 300,000 of you.”

“Hey, thanks a lot for the show of support,” said Max.

“Plus, she was caught in a fishing net and almost died and they nursed her back to health,” said Jax, stiff.

“But Jax,” said Cara, “you’ve never been able to read animals. You don’t go around talking to pets or anything. So how did you do it?”

“I don’t know, but there was something different about her,” said Jax, softening slightly. “Dermochelys is one aspect of her, but not all aspects. That’s all I get right now.”

“So you’re not gonna be having deep talks with Rufus, then,” said Max.

“This was an individual with a special capacity,” said Jax.

“Phew, that’s a relief,” said Max.

“But there are more of them.”

“More talking turtles?” asked Max.

“More like her, whatever she is. I’ll know them when I see them.”

I’ll know them when I see them, thought Cara. See. See. Vision. Visionary. Interpreter, arbiter and visionary. She’d have to look up the other words from the message; “interpreter” was easy, but “arbiter” she didn’t know. Or “selkie.”

Faintly they heard the telltale bang of the screen door. Probably their dad stepping out onto the porch, stretching and bending down for the Sunday paper.

“Here, little dude,” said Max. “Let me help you with these,” and he picked up Jax’s terrarium to carry it back into the house.

They met in Max’s bedroom next, and he turned on his usual loud music—this time to disguise the conversation. It was the Ramones, something violent about beating up rats with a baseball bat.

Cara told them both about the skate eggs, which made Max shrug and Jax look perplexed, though definitely not as alarmed as she had been.

“I guess you had to be there,” she ended up saying, when neither of them had much of a response. “So here’s the message.” And she unfurled the small scroll and read it out loud.

They were silent for a while after she stopped.

“Well, that’s clear as mud,” said Max.

Jax cocked his head.

“So first off,” said Max, “it sounds like we have to find out when the seas are going to light up. Which—I mean, who the hell knows how we do that?”

“We have to wait and see,” said Jax. “Watch and wait. Wait and see.”

“Second, where is this meeting actually supposed to be? The poem, or whatever it is, said ‘sea.’ Which covers, oh, about two-thirds of the Earth’s surface last time I counted. So that doesn’t really, uh, pinpoint a location,” said Max.

“She told me where to look,” said Jax.

“She?” asked Cara.

“The turtle. She said there’s a finger that points to it.”

“A finger that points to it,” repeated Max. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s what she said. We have to find the finger and look where it’s pointing,” said Jax. “And that’s where we watch for the fires.”

“Man, hope it’s not the middle one,” said Max.

“How droll,” said Jax. “Quite humorous.”

“Whatever, you two go ahead. Find the finger,” said Max. “But then there’s still a problem. I mean, even if we figure out those two deals, there’s still the question of what we’re supposed to do. Once we get underwater. I mean I have no clue what any of that gibberish is supposed to mean.”

“Three must visit the old selkie …,” mused Cara. “I think the three clearly means us. And I just looked up ‘selkie’ in dad’s big dictionary, and it’s supposed to be some kind of mythic creature that turns from a seal into a woman or something. So maybe the turtle’s friend is a seal?”

“And who are the Whydahlee?” asked Jax. “And their bones … is it like an Indian burial ground?”

“Who knows?” said Max, making a face. “Not exactly ol’ Bill Shakespeare, is it.”

“Why don’t you take that one,” said Cara. “For now, Jax and I will try to find out where in the sea we’re looking. And you try to find out who Whydah Lee is, where she’s buried or whatever. OK?”

“And how should I do that? Ask around?”

“Like, you could start by just googling Whydah Lee or something.”

“True,” said Max. “When in doubt, google.”

“We’ll leave the underwater fires till later,” said Cara. “That one does seem kind of vague.”

She and Jax set off on their bikes by mid-morning, knapsacks on their back holding bottles filled with melting ice cubes and a couple of chocolate bars they’d picked up at a gas station convenience store. They headed for a spot in the next village along, called Eastham, inside the national seashore. Jax said he thought they would find the finger there.

They coasted along the curving, tree-shaded streets