by Aaron Galvin
“Those to the questions we all have…what would one do if given a chance to change the past? Can one right the wrongs they made? Can one ever be truly forgiven?” Watawa walked to the couch his brother had sat upon and took a seat. His gaze found Garrett. “What do you think?”
Garrett swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know.”
“A wise answer,” said Watawa. “Perhaps the wisest of all. My brother has yet to learn this. He cannot accept the value in the unknowable.” Watawa’s lone eye squinted. “I sense my brother’s unease in you. Many questions lay on your heart, yes?”
Garrett felt a shiver up his back. “Yes.”
“Ask them,” said Watawa. “And I will give you what answers I can.”
Garrett drew a blank. Come on, idiot. Think! He thought back to Wilda and tried recalling the questions he so desperately wanted to ask her, yet he thought only of Lenny, changing in the boat, and talking him through his own changes from Killer Whale into human form.
“Why am I like this?” Garrett asked. “What is this world—”
“And your place in it?”
Garrett nodded.
Watawa glanced at the tome on the table in front of him. The same Quill had left behind. “Has anyone told why you and I, Orc and Nomad, aye, and Merrows too, why we are all Salt Children? What that means?”
“No…” Garrett walked to the couch and sat opposite the one-eyed Nomad. “No one’s told me anything.”
“Long ago, when the Ancients ruled the Salt, peace existed amongst the four races.” Watawa turned the tome for Garrett to inspect. He pointed at a Blue Whale. “The Ancients.”
Garrett stared at the mottled grey complexion of the giant beast. Massive beyond compare, the largest being on the planet.
“And the younger races”—Watawa pointed to a Great White Shark and a Striped Dolphin—“who seemed but children compared to their wisdom.”
Garrett thought back to meeting Wilda at the Indianapolis Zoo, her silvery hair and wrinkled skin. He remembered the Nomad and his dreadlocks, like black and silvery snakes. Younger races? Garrett wondered of the shark and dolphin images. How old does that make the Ancients?
Garrett stared down upon the page and noticed the bottom corner torn off. “What was that?”
“The fourth race, the Sancul.” Watawa shook his head. “Powerful as the Ancients and enemy to them and their Salt Children. They are gone from this world now, banished to the abyss. One morning”—Watawa continued before Garrett could ask more about the Sancul—“as the four rulers swam together, they happened upon a creature near the surface.”
Watawa flipped the page.
“A man?” Garrett asked.
Watawa nodded. “The Ancient asked his fellows what should be done with this new being. The Nomad thought it unnatural for a creature to struggle to swim. He suggested they take mercy on the beast and kill it.”
Garrett stared at the Great White’s pointed teeth and its cold eyes that gave nothing away. No hint that it felt anything at all. He shuddered, recalling how he felt when standing in the Nomad’s presence at the Indianapolis zoo. Remembered flinching when its dead, black eyes gazed upon him.
Watawa pointed to the dolphin. “The Merrow swam closest. Youngest of all the races and ever one to follow the Ancient’s lead, she thought to befriend the Man and learn if it could be taught.”
Turning the page, Garrett saw the next one had been ripped out. “The Sancul?”
“Aye,” said Watawa. “The Sancul sensed an eagerness in Man, a bottomless hunger to match its own. It warned Man would be reckless, for how else should such a creature find its way so far into the Salt with no means of returning home?”
Garrett listened to a log pop in the fire. He settled deeper into his cushion.
“The Ancient acknowledged the Sancul’s claim, yet took the advice of the Salt children. It showed mercy by carrying Man to shore that he might live. Then he asked Man to come every day to see if it might learn what the Merrow would teach.”
“And the Sancul?” Garrett asked.
“Retreated to the depths…and waited.” Watawa turned the page. “Soon Merrow and Man were inseparable, but Man quickly grew sad. It desired the Salt Children to come ashore and see its home. The Nomad believed no creature should exist in two worlds and refused."
Garrett couldn’t tell if he detected disappointment in Watawa’s tone, or some small manner of respect at the Nomad’s refusal to Man’s offer. He hesitated to ask, fearing Watawa might quit his historical account if Garrett bothered him with too many questions.
Watawa turned another page and cleared his throat. “The Merrow volunteered, curious to see these new lands. Fearful for one of its Children, the Ancient said it too would go ashore, but warned the Merrow doing so would change them both forever. That once a being chose to live in two worlds, it must return to both forever.”
“And they did go,” said Garrett. “Right?”
“Aye,” said Watawa quietly.
On the next page, Garrett saw plumes of sea spray at the surface, shot skyward from the blowholes of the whales and dolphins.
“And to this day, until the end of days, both Ancient and Merrow must return to the surface for life.”
“And Orcs,” said Garrett, recalling his own need to surface. I want to know about those like me! Garrett fought the urge to beg answers from Watawa. “Y-you forgot about them.”
“They had not yet come to be.” Watawa returned his focus to the book. “Upon their return, the Merrow relayed all she had seen to the Sancul and the Nomad. The Sancul grew even more distrustful of Man and envious of a world beyond his reach. He ordered his subjects to the far north and south to bring down the ice caps and flood the world with Salt.”
Garrett looked on the next page filled with drowned men and women. He quickly turned it.
“But the Ancients and Merrows again took mercy on Man,” said Watawa neutrally.
Garrett smiled as he looked at the illustration of men and women seated on the backs of whales. Others held onto the dorsal fins of dolphins. That’s so awesome. I’ll bet the Orcs helped too. He thought before recalling Watawa’s mention Orcs hadn’t come to exist yet.
“They kept Man afloat until the Salt gave way to the Hard again. The Ancient warned Man away to keep him hidden until justice was wrought on the Sancul for attempted genocide. But the wily Sancul claimed his actions were only to protect the Salt and its Children. Ever merciful, the Ancient thought it little coincidence the Salt had five oceans, yet only four races. It deemed Man should be welcomed as the fifth race and the Sancul’s punishment a means of providing Man with Salt life.”
Garrett flipped the page and gasped at the number of seals and sea lions lain out upon the rocks. “Selkies…”
“Aye,” said Watawa grimly. “The Sancul wisely accepted the decision, but suggested Man be given a lesser form. It warned the Ancient that to give Salt life, Salt life must also be taken in equal measure, for nothing comes without cost. In its desire to keep the peace, the Ancient agreed and set the Sancul to its task.”
Garrett looked on the next page with horror. The seals and sea lions from the previous page now lay dead, their bodies stripped of their coats. Men stretched the sealskins upon racks to dry while women wove the heads into closed hoods.
Watawa frowned. “The Sancul had rightly judged the dark desires in man’s heart to swim amongst the Salt Children.”
That’s horrible. Garrett thought, flipping to the next page where seals and sea lions swam underwater.
“Soon the Salt teemed with Selkies and harmony existed for a time,” the one-eyed Nomad continued his tale. “Pleased with his decision, the Ancient commissioned a city built, half on the Hard, half in the Salt to solidify the union amongst the now five races.”
Garrett saw a gleaming city next, set half upon a beach of white sand, the other in crystal green waters. The caps of its ivory towers resembled golden conch shells. An illustrious city bursting with wealth and beauty
leapt off the page, the artist having captured the city’s utter magnificence in great detail.
Whoa. Garrett thought. How do I go there?
“But it was not to last,” said Watawa.
Garrett gaped at the hundreds of boats crewed by men in Selkie suits. Seal heads in the water and hind flippers above the surface as their owners dove.
“Soon the Nomads cried to their high chieftain of hunger. They claimed Man fished and plundered with no regard for the Salt Children. That Man reviled them, yet loved the Merrows. The Ancient refused to hear their claims, holding to the belief Man was inherently good.”
The Ancients must not have known many then. Garrett frowned, thinking on all the chaos and negativity the news invaded upon him daily. Terrorist acts, students with guns, political scandals. Garrett shook his head. How did the Ancients not see it coming?
"The Sancul knew better. Playing to the greed he rightly guessed in them, he taught Man the true riches of the Salt lay not in fish, but in something larger…”
Garrett near wept at the next page. So much for the goodness in Man.
Boats circled around whales with enough harpoons that Garrett imagined them as living pincushions. Except even he knew as he looked upon the page there was nothing alive about these animals. The artist had depicted men cheering aboard the decks. Others walked along the behemoth’s back to stick it with more harpoons.
“Then one morning, the Sancul brought news to the Ancient king.” Watawa paused, his head bowed low. “Man had lured his son into the shallow and killed him. They stripped his body bare for the blubbery riches and the rest they left to rot upon the Hard.”
Garrett didn’t linger on the hulking bones of a Blue Whale, turning the page after a mere glimpse. The next revealed the once great city, now ruined and afire.
“In his rage, the Ancient ordered the bastion of unity sunk and all inside drowned.” Watawa paused. “But the Sancul suggested a different fate for Man. ‘Death would be quick,’ he said to the Ancient. ‘But to pay for his crimes through servitude…’”
Garrett gasped at the illustration of men in hooded suits, chained together as they worked in dark caverns. He thought of Lenny and Paulo, wondered where they were and what life must be like for them. Is this the way they live?
“All was not lost, however. The Merrow alone refused to forego her trust in Man. She vowed to live among them as proof not all were killers,” said Watawa. “The Sancul had other plans. He followed the Merrow and maimed her, leaving her to drown in Salt.”
Garrett stared in awe at the young dolphin-lady, sinking below the surface. She’s beautiful.
“Her faith was rewarded,” said Watawa, straightening as he turned the page.
Garrett smiled at the sight of the seals and sea lions surrounding the dolphin lady. One rose under her, reminding Garrett of how Paulo had kept him from sinking. “They saved her…”
“Aye. The Selkies swam the Merrow to shore and nursed her back to health. She returned to the Ancient king and told him of the Sancul’s betrayal, thus beginning the War of the Ancients.”
“H-how did it end?”
Watawa turned his lone eye on Garrett, squinted. “The way all wars finish.”
Garrett winced at the next page; the ocean’s water turned crimson with bloated corpses floating near the surface—sharks, dolphins, whales, and seals.
“In the end, the Ancient king, Senchis, defeated his enemy. He had his rival’s body cut into five pieces and sunk in the deepest parts of the five oceans as a warning to the Sancul supporters never to rise again.”
Garrett looked on the tattered remains of the torn out page where he assumed pictures of the Sancul had been drawn. Why is he telling me all this—Garrett glanced at Watawa and saw the Nomad’s lone eye squint—if the Sancul are all gone?
Watawa looked away. "The Ancients had won the war, but grew sad as the years passed. They watched Man spread and devour, just as the Sancul had warned, and tired of the bickering between Merrow and Nomad. The Ancients decided they had lingered too long in this world and felt, like the Sancul, the time for their rule had passed. They would retreat into their Salt forms, never to return.”
“But what about the Orcs?” Garrett asked and noticed Watawa’s cheek twitch. “W-what about those like me?”
Watawa’s face tightened. “When the Ancients made known their decision, both Merrow and Nomad cried the wars would begin anew as each wrestled for control of the Salt. The Merrow begged the Ancients stay, for without them, the Salt would surely descend into chaos once more.
"The Ancient took pity on its favored Salt Child. Her beauty and innocence swaying him against the barbarous acts he knew full well the Nomad would commit. However, the Ancient again warned the Merrow that no decision comes without cost. That what she asked of him may indeed be Merrow’s undoing. The Merrow readily agreed to the consequences, fearing the Nomad’s bite more. And so the Ancient used what little magic remained in the world to give her a gift, a protector.”
Garrett felt something swell in him as Watawa turned the page, revealing the portrait of a Killer Whale. Wicked.
“Orcs…” Watawa said, his voice near a growl. “Near powerful as an Ancient, smart as the Merrow, and deadlier than Nomads. Created to keep peace throughout the Salt.”
“And they did, didn’t they?” Garrett asked, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Proud that he hailed from a line of peacekeepers. “My kind kept the peace?”
Watawa shook his head.
The library doors opened with a loud echo. Garrett looked up and noticed a servant girl in the doorway.
“P-pardon, m’lords,” she stammered. “The Lord Crayfish asked that I secret the umm…” She glanced at Garrett.
“The Orc,” said Watawa.
“A-aye,” said the girl. “He asked that I show you to your room, m’lord. He does not wish you seen by his guests.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” asked Garrett. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Do as you’re bidden, Orc,” Watawa squinted at him. “Else your decision reflect poorly on your friends. Your being here, as it is, brings them much trouble.”
“I didn’t ask them to bring me,” said Garrett. “And I don’t have any friends down here.”
Watawa squinted. “You do, however low they may be thought of. They are friends to you nonetheless. So go now…the Ancients are not done with you, Garrett Weaver.”
Garrett felt a tingle up his spine. “How did you know my last name?”
“Only once my eye was plucked, did I begin to see. The Ancients have shown me many visions, one clearer than all.”
Garrett hesitated. “Wh-what was it?”
“An ancient loom, sunk below the waves. Behind it stands an Orc calf, passing the shuttle back and forth through the tapestry,” said Watawa quietly. “A weaver to bind all threads together.”
“Me?” Garrett swallowed hard. “But I…I don’t even know how.”
“You’ve been weaving all your life.” Watawa grinned. Then he headed for the door.
Garrett followed. “Wait!”
Watawa stopped. “Yes?”
“Will I see you again?”
“If the Ancients will it.” Watawa touched his forehead with his left hand, then his chest, and made a wide sweeping arc with his hand open. “May they bless you and the currents you swim.”
Garrett watched him leave.
The servant girl remained in the doorway, head bowed low.
Garrett stepped forward. “D-did you say you were going to take me to my room?”
“Aye,” she said and spun on her heel. “This way, m’lord.”
M’lord? Garrett followed her out of the library.
Though shorter than he, the girl walked quick enough that Garrett found himself double-timing his strides to keep up. He didn’t exactly see her face fully, but gathered they were of a similar age when she glanced back to see if he kept up. She’s pretty too, he thought, as the girl led him down a seri
es of halls he’d not yet been through, and then up a flight of stone stairs.
Unlike the rooms below, Garrett found the doors closed on this level. He followed the servant to the furthest room at the end and watched her produce a silver key from the pocket of her drab dress. Only then did Garrett notice she had no hood. She’s not a Selkie.
The locked clicked open and the girl entered the darkened room. A moment later, the dim glow of flame struck to candle. Garrett crossed the threshold and saw it a simple room, but regal. A giant bed with its four wooden posts carved in the form of squid tentacles.
Wicked…
The girl moved to start a fire in the hearth and hurriedly stepped away when Garrett crossed to look out the window. He took in the whole of Crayfish Cavern far below—the pier, the boardwalk, and even open still ponds far to the east.
Garrett heard a fire crackle behind him.
The servant girl stood beside the newly lit hearth, trembling.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett asked.
“Nuthin’, m’lord,” she said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “My Lord Crayfish says I’m…I’m a gift for you.”
Garrett kept his gaze fixated on the stone floor. “I don’t understand.”
“He says I belong to you for the night. To…to do with as you will.”
Garrett thought back to Ishmael and his vile speech about bedding and the pretty black girl he’d had his eye on. This is insane. What do I say?
“H-have I displeased you, m’lord?” she asked. “Oh, please say I haven’t.”
Garrett heard the fear in her voice. “No…No, I just…”
Garrett looked up, truly seeing her for the first time. Her skin pale as the white chowder, hair black as the Nomads had been. She can’t be much older than I am…
“What is this place?” Garrett asked, more to himself than the girl.
“Crayfish Cavern, m’lord.”
“No, not that. This place.” Garrett shook. “You being sent here for me as a…a…”
“A gift, m’lord.”
“Right! I mean, how messed up is that?” Garrett heard the panic in his voice. “You’re what? fifteen, maybe sixteen?”
The girl’s head forehead wrinkled.
