Emily Windsnap and the Crystal Caves

Prologue
It was the most glorious ship you could imagine, and it danced on the waves like a ballerina: tip­toeing across oceans with an elegance rarely seen before — ​or since.
It was built to survive anything. The waves that day would put it to the test.
Waves like these were only talked about in hushed voices, as though describing them out
loud would invoke the wrath of the ocean giants.
Surely such things could not exist. But today they did. The grandest ship ever built now seemed little more than a toy, tossed about by the waves, which now treated it like prey that they wished to play with before consuming.
The ship rolled and slid, leaning one way, heeling over the other. Its large sail was flung to the fore, the rear, inside out and back again. The ship teetered over the mountainous waves, now more like an acrobat than a ballerina, listing and lurching at impossible angles. All those on board were terrified, but none showed it.
“Hold tight!” their leader cried. “We can sur­vive this! We know what those two are like. It won’t last forever. It never does.”
“It’s never been this bad before!” came a reply from the deck.
“Just hold on. Trust me. Have I ever let you down?”
They all knew the answer to this: their leader had never let them down, and never would. So, they held on to any part of the ship that seemed stable enough to sustain them as waves crashed over them, turning the deck beneath their feet into a pool and blinding them with salt from the fierce spray.
The only things towering higher than the waves were the two figures who loomed over it all: one coming from the sea, the other floating in the clouds.
Their voices carried across the violent night as they exchanged curses and threats.
Only snatches could be heard from those on the ship.
“. . . never win . . .”
“. . . stole from me . . .”
“. . . thought we had a deal . . .”
“. . . traitor . . .”
The two bellowed at each other, on and on. They had never fought like this before, it was true. And the bond that had once brought them together was now little more than a weapon to hurl at each other. And hurl it, they did.
The air began to crackle with danger and menace as they drew closer to each other.
“. . . for a thousand years . . .”
“. . . exist as an island . . .”
From the sea, a shape was held aloft. A weapon, glinting like diamonds against the sky. From above, another weapon was drawn.
And then — ​
The weapons clashed. As they did, the most enormous bolt of lightning forked across the sky, lighting it up. It seemed the whole world was on fire. Every­thing was electricity: beginning with the weapons, encircling the sky, and finally spearing the ocean.
The pair was powerless to do anything but watch as the force of their combined magic and their anger split the ocean in two.
“No!” they cried in unison. The first time they had agreed on anything for many months.
The ocean became two mountains of water, and the ship — ​along with all its occupants — ​toppled over the edge and into the chasm.
The pair scrambled to undo what they had caused. But it was too late. The ocean closed again, the sea calmed, and the storm ended, dying as swiftly as their anger.
The time for curses and threats had passed. Now, all that was left was regret. The two figures, filled with blame and guilt, parted as the sun’s light returned.
Their union was over, the ship was lost, and the world would suffer the consequences for the next thousand years.