by D. H. Dunn
The fear that had been building inside Nima’s stomach became icy terror, chills running through her.
The bubble around them came to a halt, leaving Nima and Val in near darkness save the two blue-white orbs that focused on them, the light narrowing into a brighter beam that shrunk, until the three of them were all it shone upon.
Nima let go of the boat, shielding her eyes from the brilliance with her free hand. There was a pressure outside that seemed to push against her heart, a malevolence in the dark waters that sent shivers across her skin.
A voice thundered inside the bubble, Nima crying out with surprise. The child in her arms stirred for a moment. Nima felt the voice as much as heard it, a deep rattling that vibrated her bones as it shook through her.
“Curiosities,” the deep voice said, each syllable dragged out slowly, like the tide ebbing in. There was a moisture to the speech in addition to the low tones, like they were being addressed by the floor of the ocean itself, all sand and kelp.
“I had hoped for the waker, but I was not yet roused. My reach will extend, in time. I did witness you departing me. Curiosities.”
Nima inhaled, realizing she had not breathed since the light shone upon her. The baby yawned slowly, its eyes open now. The eyes remained fixed on them, evidence of some monstrous creature that had lived under the island, some life that was too massive for them to see through the murky depths.
Nima struggled to recall the name Tanira had mentioned, who she was looking for on the island.
“Sessgrenimath?” Nima asked, the word sounding as small as she felt.
The creature issued forth a sound Nima supposed was a laugh. There was little mirth within it, rather it reminded her of massive logs rolling down a hill, or an avalanche. She found herself crunching down, trying to shield herself and the child.
When the sound was over, the voice spoke again.
“A scuttler name,” it said. “A name that can be spoken in one breath. Insulting. Too small a name for so vast a concept as I, but scuttlers are small.”
Val was kneeling, Nima was not sure if he did so out of reverence or fatigue. He ran one webbed hand through his hair.
“Are you--are you the island?” Val said. “The island we were just on?”
“I am no land, no sea.”
Val moved back slightly in the canoe, bumping into Nima. Together they huddled together, the vibrations from the voice rumbling through them.
“I am no place to dwell or travel. The crawlers, carvers. I could feel them on me. Prickly and sharp, harsh diggers with little imagination. Were I not imprisoned by the scuttlers so long ago, I would never have allowed the vile sun upon my shell for so long, so long as to allow life to leech upon me. The crawlers will know the sea now, and my hide no more.”
She imagined the Thartark in the ocean. She had seen evidence of hundreds of them on the island. Were they all lost? What could Tanira have needed that could be worth something so monstrous?
Something about herself or Val had caused this creature to take an interest in them, and only due to that were they alive.
For the moment.
“You said we were curiosities,” Nima said. “Is that why you brought us here?”
In response, the bubble began to move slowly again, coming to rest so that one of the two eyes dominated the area in front of them.
The blue light from the eye narrowed to an even tighter beam, a thin rope of light which focused on Val.
“I have brought you here, because you are curious to me. I know your kind. Water glider, whale speaker. You whisperer to my children’s children. You cross the seas but leave little wake. No crawler or scuttler, you have neither my intrigue nor my annoyance. I have watched your kind, through blinks and shudders. You do not interest me, but what you carry with you does.”
The beam of light moved, landing first on Nima but crawling down her body to land in her arms, directly on the infant. The baby had returned to sleep, even with the blue light focused directly onto the shining white crystal on her forehead.
“The tiny link,” Sessgrenimath said. “I have felt your touch, hundreds of times before. A prod and poke. Enough to move me, but never enough to fully rouse. Until now, glorious now, never fully awake. Each time I feel you and I try to respond. I see for moments through your tiny eyes, as you are held and cared for by the gliders. Then darkness, and I slumber too as I await the next poke.”
Nima pulled the baby out of the light.
“She is just a child. She is helpless.”
“She is connected to me, and therefore she is greater than you. Any of you. Certainly, greater than any scuttler could hope to be.” As the voice spoke, the bubble seemed to shudder with emotion, the angry waters of the sea just outside.
The beam moved from the child and onto Nima’s face, nearly blinding her with its azure light. The child nuzzled closer to Nima in her arms, burying her face in Nima’s chest.
“You. You have the look of the scuttlers. The imprisoners, the pair from long ago. Those who brought war and chains to my scaled children in far off worlds and then even to me. To me, in my arrogance when I thought I could not be touched. Bringers of sleep, of binds and shackles!” The walls of the bubble shook with the force of the voice’s anger, even as they closed in upon the trio. Nima could see the oily surface of the bubble, the blue light that was pinned to her, reflected on its surface.
“She is not your enemy!” Val shouted. “None of us are.”
For a moment, the blue light widened to engulf all of them. In the wider frame, Nima could see that hundreds of fish now swam alongside them, of many colors and shapes. The sides of their sphere increased slowly, the intensity of the azure light fading slightly. It then returned to Nima’s face.
“No. The glider is correct,” Sessgrenimath said. “You may not be my enemy. Though you have their look, I can see you are no scuttler. Your look is new, as was the look of the one who freed me. Lock breaker and cage ender, was she. Yet she is not you, and you are not her. What are you then, and what is your intent?”
“I am . . . my name is Nima. I travelled here from another place, another world. I--my intent is only to help my friends. Val, his people, this child.”
The light deepened as it focused on her, darkening.
“Curious. You have the essence of the Under about you, small Nima. You seek to help your friends. Tell me, the other who has your look but not your essence, the one who freed me. Is she your companion? What is her intent?”
“She is . . . I thought she was my friend, and I thought I knew her intent. Now, I am not sure. I do think she freed you, but I don’t know why.”
“It seems odd to travel with those you know so little about, but that is too small a matter for me to ponder further. Intent or no, your companion did me a great service. She removed the key, perhaps she means to free my children as well? That would undo much that the scuttlers have done, which would be a great day indeed.”
“Maybe you know what Tanira wants,” Nima said. “You mentioned the Under. Have you been--”
“You think to question me? You exist at my whim, while the angry sea seethes to crush and consume you.” Sessgrenimath’s reply shuddered the sides of the sphere, the ocean beyond distorting in time with his speech.
Nima cast a nervous glance at the multicolored surface of the bubble, only this massive creature’s magic allowing them to survive. She struggled to come up with something to say, some way to reassure this ominous being.
“As to your companion, I care not for the why, and my cares are the only that I am concerned with.” The boat shook with its words, shuddering in the tiny water that had been brought along with them. “I am free again, released to dive and swim, to breed both offspring and plans. Plans for the scuttlers and plans for the worlds beyond. There is a door to the beginning, to your Under. I will breach it again, in time. My hide is strong and my patience great. The right brood, the right moment. My tide will come in, and she will regret.”
> “Regret?” Val said. “Who will? Sir, I--”
“Now the glider speaks as well? I tire of this conversation, so it is at an end. I have much to begin, I must recover my strength so I may dive.”
“Val, the Tempest,” Nima said. “Maybe when he has tried to wake up in the past, it causes the waves. If he dives…”
“My descent into the depths will cause disturbances, waves and thrashing. You wish to warn the gliders, to save them? I grant you that attempt, to repay the Link. The tiny pokes and prods, they kept my mind from the sands, kept me from the end. Thus, I return you to the surface, tiny Link, with your climber and your glider. You will find my children’s children waiting for you to speed your return.”
“Soon I dive, to gain strength for my return. The sea will churn with my passage, great waves and storms such as you gliders have never known. Prepare, or do not. It matters little to me. Farewell, tiny link.”
Chapter 22
Val leaned up against the bow of their boat, the spray washing over him. Above his head the night stars blinked back, with only a few wisps of clouds to block them. Far behind them, he knew the storm still raged, spurred by Sessgrenimath’s waking.
In the bow of the boat, Nima slept with the Scrye in her arms. The small child had not awoken again since their strange meeting with the gargantuan presence, but it was clear that Sessgrenimath’s interest in the Scrye is what had saved them. On the infant’s forehead, the white crystal gleamed ceaselessly, reminding Val that though the skies looked calm, the Tempest was coming.
Nima herself had fallen asleep hours earlier, nodding off from exhaustion just as soon as they had been safe on the surface.
Val had watched her drift off with the Scrye in his arms, unable to conjure words that could capture how much gratitude he felt for all Nima had done. Neither could his mind fully grasp the enormity of what Sessgrenimath seemed to represent.
Val had chosen to focus his attention then to the two mistwhales that had been waiting for them when their bubble returned to the ocean’s surface.
Summoned by Sessgrenimath, Val had found he could not fully communicate with either of the beasts as he could a normal mistwhale, but they seemed intent on rushing them back to Caenola at speeds he could not have imagined, far swifter than any mistwhale he had ever seen.
The sea and waves were the same he had looked at all his life, moonlight dancing upon them as it had a thousand times before, yet it all seemed changed. Below those waves existed something that challenged all the Elders had taught him, something too massive and far-reaching for Val to understand. The unease encompassed more than just Sessgrenimath, though. Like the sea itself, reality was volatile and changing, the fact leaving Val both cold and hopeful. Chaos and change seemed more possible, each in equal measure.
The craft skimmed along the surface, Val marveling at the smoothness of the ride. In the moonlight he could see the waves still present on the sea, but the whales seemed to find a way to keep them at a level position, even through the heavy swells. Watching them, Val wondered if perhaps these whales were not mistwhales but some variant.
Nima’s head bobbed slightly with the small movements of the boat, the infant clutched close to her. She was a strange creature, this woman from another world. So full of optimism and hope, so ready to risk herself for people she had only just met.
She was unlike any female Val had ever encountered, no other had inspired any thoughts inside him such as this one had. In all his life, Val had been content with a future of being alone. Now he found himself wondering.
His mother had pestered him to join the last two Dances of the Calm rituals, being two seasons into his manhood. His mother had told him she wanted him to find a mate, to stop keeping a hut to himself. Perhaps this was true, but Val suspected she wanted more. She wanted a new generation, she wanted a clutch, no matter what she said. Perhaps she thought the act of the Calm would inspire in him a desire to take a mate.
Val enjoyed the company of his fellow Caenolans, male and female, yet his interest had always been with the destiny of his people, not his own future. How long would they stay under the feet of the Thartark? How long would they stay in this endless cycle of Tempest and Calm, Emissary and oil?
The same grass grew on the beach each Calm when they returned. The same rocks were there, the same kelp in the water. What did any one rock, any one blade of grass matter, if they never any different? Was this all his people would ever be?
Now, that was all certain to change, and Nima and her friend were at the heart of it, as was his father. Truly, it was his father who had brought the break in the cycle to his people by defying the Thartark. Nima and Tanira had helped Val perhaps repair some of the damage. Val had been exiled by the Elders for his father’s actions, and that was before Val himself had defied them and stolen the mistwhale. What would they say on his return?
They were returning with the Scrye, that had to count for something. Looking at the small sleeping form in Nima’s arms, he was reminded that here again was change. No Scrye had even awoken, looked upon the world with open eyes, uttered and gave voice. Val had been taught that all of this was impossible, and yet he had seen it happen. Was it possible the Scrye was, in fact, just a Caenolan like himself?
Perhaps appearances were not as critical as he had thought. Nima’s skin was soft and devoid of scales, yet it was pleasing when she touched his arm or face. Her eyes were white with brown centers, the eyes of a beast in the forest. Yet when those eyes looked at him, he did not feel fear or tension, he felt understood and accepted.
The vessel swept along through the sea, Val gliding on the waves just as Sessgrenimath had said. He watched Nima sleep for a time, then allowed fatigue to take him as well.
Nima watched Val’s eyes open. Since waking, she had been watching him, now he was looking back at her. Nima could not say how long he had been doing so, but she smiled at him and was glad when he returned the expression.
Her dreams had been dark, filled with knives and betrayal, of lights in the sky and dark gods below the waves.
The Scrye slept soundly in her arms, as she had since their meeting with Sessgrenimath. The look on her face was of pure peace. Yet Val had said the gleaming white crystal in her forehead signified the coming Tempest.
Looking over her shoulder, she could see the dark clouds in the distance. The mistwhales that had been summoned were speeding them ahead of the storm, but far behind them, it still lurked over the water, a shadow and a promise.
Nima scowled at the waves, holding the Scrye a bit tighter. She had seen enough of the ocean, she wanted to be back on the land, to return to a world of stone and sense.
“How far away do you think Caenola is?” she asked Val, watching as he absently ran a webbed hand into the ocean, bringing the seawater to his face to dampen his skin.
“At this rate, I think we will be back to the city by sunup,” he said.
“That’s good. What kind of a welcome do you think we will receive?”
“I am not certain,” Val said. “I was thinking on that earlier. We have disobeyed the Elders, in a direct way. Even my father did not do that. Yet we will be returning with the Scrye and confirmation a Tempest is coming. We will need to make my people listen.”
She stopped for a moment, the sleeping form in her arms shifting slightly. There was so much she didn’t know about this tiny creature, this helpless child they had saved together.
“You said you would explain the Scrye to me, Val. This seems like a good time.”
“I’ll try,” Val said, allowing a sigh into the night air. The air was cooler now, she hoped that was another sign Caenola was closer.
“I realize now my people’s customs are unusual to you, Nima. Before meeting you and Tanira, it never occurred to me there was any other cultures but us and the Thartark.”
“I never imagined there could be other worlds but mine,” Nima said with a laugh. “We’re all learning together. So, I can try to understand and respect. H
ow did this child become the Scrye? Was she born this way?”
Val shook his head. “It is complicated. I am unsure even where to start. There is one Scrye in each birthing. All others are infants, only one is the Scrye.”
“Birthing?” Nima said. “Where is her mother? Her father?”
“Hmm.” Val said, nodding. “Perhaps I understand your confusion. You think we mate and raise young as the animals do. You are looking for her bloodline.”
Nima stared back at Val in confusion, not knowing which of the many questions flooding her mind to ask first. “Maybe you should explain how all of this works for you.”
“I can,” Val said. “Though I am surprised. I guess I never thought about it working differently. We mate on cycle, all of the interested males and females of Caenola will mate to produce offspring. It is a great celebration, there are many days leading up to the Night of Lights festival.”
“You all mate at the same time?” Nima asked, eyes wide as she imagined a tent or field with hundreds of writhing Caenolans in it.
“Of course not,” Val laughed. “That would be chaotic. On the final eve of the Night of Lights there is a great dance, with many rings of interested males and females. On the last rotation through the ring, we each don a hooded cloak that blocks our vision. This represents the dark between the lights. Then we are paired off and consummate the evening.”
Hooded cloak? Nima wondered what it would be like to lie with someone and not know who they are. The idea seemed very strange to her, but she supposed her customs would appear just as strange to Val.
“So, you have no idea who you are with?”
“You are with one of the village, that is all that matters. The next day, the males will assume the duties of the females as well as their own while the females begin the weeks of preparation. Then when the birthing is near, all the mothers and hopeful parents will attend as the births are performed. The time needed is variable, but generally all the children will have been birthed within a few days.”
