Page 1 of Storm and Sea

Il Messaggero

Marzo, 1961

Despite its size and impact on the lives of every organism on Earth, the ocean remains a mystery. More than eighty percent of the ocean has never been mapped, explored, or even seen by humans. A greater percentage of the moon has been mapped when compared to the sea.

While there is still much to uncover, Italy’s leading oceanographers have already made groundbreaking discoveries. Earlier this week, oceanographer Dr. Raphi mapped the first of what he suspects to be hundreds of deep ocean canyons he’s dubbed ‘trenches.’ They range deep⁠—

“M..mi…misteei?”

Atreus narrowed his eyes, demanding the letters on the page stay still.

“M— mistray—m…”

Atreus stumbled over the jumble of letters. The more he stared at the washed-up newspaper, the more the words taunted him. He’d found it dried out on the beach, and the black-and-white photos of men on boats sparked a flicker of hope that maybe some of the words would be familiar enough to decipher.

Guilt ate at him as the symbols refused to make sense. All Giovanni’s efforts to teach him to read were wasted. He could handle three-lettered words like ‘and’ or ‘sea.’ He’d even patted himself on the back for quickly identifying the word ‘earth.’ He tried challenging himself with one of the longer ones like ‘mystery,’ but…

“My…Mi…eery?”

The sound coming off his tongue didn’t sound like a word so much as a random jumble of sounds.

“Damn it!” he cursed. Crumpling the paper in frustration, he tossed the ball out the open window where it would fall over two hundred feet before sinking into the ocean.

Atreus ran a hand through his thick curls, irritated. He wanted to impress Giovanni, to prove that he’d been practicing his letters over the winter. Of course, his stupid brain wouldn’t cooperate. He’d stared at the page less than five minutes before the letters began flipping and switching places like rowdy seal pups.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said to the random assortment of things he’d scavenged over the years, “I don’t need to read to do my job.”

He tugged at a long strand of curly hair, wondering if Leo’s mom might be willing to cut it for him. It always turned out better when she cut it, instead of the uneven chunks he hacked off with a rusty knife in front of a shattered mirror propped against the wall.

Human hair was such a pain. It grew back way too fast.

He eyed the piles of his treasures, wishing they would talk back for once. Anything from fraying ropes, fishing gear, and the occasional tire washed ashore on his beach. He’d also found heavier objects like an entire wooden chair, panes of glass, and metal scrap on the ocean floor, likely remnants of old ship wreckage.

“As long as I work hard, he’ll be….”

What? Proud? Happy? Satisfied with his employee’s work? Atreus knew it was likely the last of those options, but a small part of him dared to hope it would be the first.

He took a steadying breath, trying to calm the anxiety that churned like a whirlpool in his chest.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the official start of the fishing season. He’d waited all winter for this day—all those miserable, freezing months when he was starved for both food and company. Forced to survive on his meager shellfish trappings and food stores, Atreus was disappointed with how much weight he’d lost. He’d done everything in his power to remain in shape, keeping his muscles strong and ready for hours and hours of lifting fishing nets. But even more than the lack of nutrition, he was starved for the company of people. Atreus hadn’t spoken a word to another soul in over two months. Other than his magpie’s nest of random things, he was alone. He didn’t mind the cold; in fact, Atreus rather enjoyed it. But he hated winter. Going so long without seeing another face made him feel like the last person alive.

The fishing season couldn’t have come at a better time. He was down to his last half-dozen cans of sardines, and his traps hadn’t caught anything in over a week. If he waited much longer, he would need to resort to stealing his food. The thought alone made Atreus sick, bringing unwanted flashes of his younger days to the surface.

Thirteen winters—that’s how old he was when his father left. Every day, he’d waited on the sandy shore. Hour by hour, time stretched like a drought, leaving behind nothing but a husk of who he used to be. Yet his young heart dared hope for the day his father would come back.

He never did.

In those early days, Atreus learned the true meaning of the word hunger. It was an emptiness so painful he feared his stomach would cannibalize itself. But he survived. He fought. He adapted.

And if not for those starvation-fueled acts of desperation, he’d never be where he was now. He would never know the kindness in the hearts of humans—or one human in particular. Atreus’s stomach tightened with guilt at the memory of his first meeting with Giovanni.

He’d been desperate in those early days of isolation. At thirteen winters, Atreus was skin and bone, barely strong enough to swim the quarter-mile channel that separated his lighthouse from the island of Baia Vita. His body trembled as he dragged himself onto the beach, the weight of his decision beating down on him as though he stood beneath a cascading waterfall. He was trespassing now, sneaking into the territory of the most terrifying creatures in the world—humans.

Bloodthirsty creatures without the ability to change. They were landlocked and had a penchant for ending the lives of anything that swam too close. For years, Atreus’s father filled his mind with stories of humans and their greed and cruelty. He even showed Atreus scars on his body as evidence of their ruthlessness. As a child, the sound of a human boat puttering too close sent him shivering to his father with tears in his eyes.

But those were the days when he had someone to depend on. Now, there was no one.

Nobody to help him navigate the world. Nobody to teach him how to fish. How to maximize his resources. And when the easy-to-catch crustaceans on the seafloor migrated out of the bay… Atreus had nothing to eat.