Dawn on August 3 came without color. While the wind ceased, the ocean continued to move. The waves grew steeper and more frequent overnight, and by mid-morning, the clouds had lowered so much that they almost met the water. Then the world shrank down to a gray bowl with us at the center.

Before noon, gusts of wind tore the foam from the swells and flung it across the deck in ragged streaks and whistled through the rigging. The water’s shine faded.

By afternoon, the sun vanished behind the clouds, and the sky turned dark gray, then closed off to black. A chilly mist hung in the air, and the wind picked up, howling and rattling the boat. We found ourselves trapped inside a spinning cage.

The waves rose in jagged, chaotic peaks, driven straight down toward us by the spinning wind. Si slowed the boat down to a breathless crawl and held the bow into the oncoming swell, which reared up and blocked out the sky ahead of us.

Thunder exploded overhead and hollowed out my ears. Thuy let out a small, choked gasp. Toan burrowed into Mom’s chest.

Another wave shook the boat, and pain tore up my flank. I wanted to scream, but I held it in.

“Mighty Whale, Lord of the South Sea, please protect us,” Mrs. Si pleaded.

Beyond the groaning hull, the Dragon King of the South Sea raged on, smashing his tail to whip the water into black walls of waves tipped with white fire, each one a moving mountain that meant to bury us whole. Where was the Monkey King, to grab the Dragon King by the tail and put him in his place?