The Reef
Page 39
The sirens turned one by one to move further out to the deeper water, then dived under the sea in unison. Below the surface were dozens more of their kind, hovering in the half-light. They swam out to sea until the temperature fell quickly. More joined them until over a hundred sirens had gathered. They glided through the water in neat rows, following in each other’s jet-stream. The sirens kicked their tails hard to descend. Those at the front called out and listened, steered the group up into warmer currents to travel quickly. As they looked up they could see the light of day filtering through. They had never swum so fast in their lives and they could feel the water pushing hard against their skins.
They sliced through the sea for what seemed like an endless amount of time, their long hair stretched out behind. The females climbed as they felt a change in the water, and that was when they knew it was near. They could feel Quidlo’s drag, then quickened their pace, spread over a wider area, kicking past skates and rays.
At the front she could see the tentacle, thick, long, extending into the darkness ahead, where its body was too far away to be seen. She screamed through the water, called for columns of sirens to swim ahead, into the dark, to the other side of Quidlo. Sirens whistled past, their gills pulsating, whilst a dozen more stayed behind the squid. Then those behind prepared to sing through the water.
Several sirens lingered on each side of Quidlo, and maintained the same pace as the beast, following its drag. She could see segments of coral still attached to the thick hide, whilst more females sliced through the water up ahead. She heard the voices of her kind and they, too, called out. Ahead, sirens by the beast’s head sang, low-pitched, a frequency they had never sung for an age, and they hit the same chord.
Quidlo slowed down, its tentacles began to shudder, the ends flapping. Sirens had to swim back to avoid being struck. Muscles vibrated under its hide. The squid halted in the water, hovered in the gloom, before it slid down towards the colder water, and the same notes were maintained, an ultra-Iow chord, halting the beast, until half the sirens changed pitch, climbing scales and octaves by the fathom. Everything in the water began to shudder.
The sirens surrounded Quidlo over hundreds of feet, and dragged it down with their voices, and they could see that its muscles vibrated more, visibly shaking the water, until they struck the highest note they knew of. The creature’s eyes closed, then the squid collapsed on itself, folded in, rapidly, emitted a bass groan, then turned and fell down through the water, and the sirens kicked up, away from the drag towards the light, and looked down until the beast had descended into black and the water was calm.
The hundred sirens stopped singing, reformed in a huddle. Their heads were hung low. Some of them held each other for minutes. Tuna swam past them, but they did not look up. One by one they turned, looking down all the time, and dragged themselves through the water and back the way they came. The sea was silent and there was too much salt in the water for their tears to be noticed by anyone but themselves.
Of course, she knew it was only stunned. For how long, she didn’t know. It was sad to have to do that-they couldn’t kill this ancient beast. A new reef would have to be built. They would have to sink more ships, regain more of the surface metal. It would take forever. She had no idea how far they were from the islands. Perhaps they were nearer the mainland? How would they breed? Questions floated through her mind.
They would have to start all over again.
Manolin looked across the remains of the village. There was not much for him to see. Wood lay strewn across the beach, dead fish and molluscs amongst the debris. Moments earlier a piece of coral had fallen from a palm tree and nearly hit him on the head.
A group of villagers walked along the lagoon, so he ran up to them. They were all men, and were collecting what few personal belongings they could find.
‘We can build it again,’ Manolin said. Then, to himself, with a smile, ‘I was wondering what I was going to do here. Something to get my teeth into.’
They looked at him but said nothing, their eyes displaying some despair. Behind them, the waves spilt on the beach, dumping cargo from the naval vessels. More metal and wood was being washed up, each wave delivering. Then he saw a small boat approaching the island. There were men inside.
Manolin turned to the villagers. ‘Chaps, I don’t mean to alarm, but those are naval men out there. Could be a spot of trouble ...’ One of the villagers, Mhulo, raised his hand. Manolin frowned, turned to look at the boat. At the edge of his vision, he saw another group of islanders, women this time, walking along the shore, down to where the water met the sand. They were carrying blow pipes. He looked from the boat to the women and back again. The men were approaching the shallower water. One of them stood up, waved his arms to the women. Manolin watched the women raise their pipes, then form two neat rows. He wondered how the women had seen the boat in advance. The front row knelt down. They all fired and, silently, the men fell into the water or the boat. He could see parts of their bodies shaking until they became still. Oddly, the boat began to drift away again as if the tide was removing it for them. Manolin watched it for several minutes until it had passed around the island as quickly as it had arrived.
The women walked back up the beach and into the forest. He scratched his head, shook it, not quite believing they had just done that. The event was eerie, he thought. And the recognition of that word sent a shudder through his body. He turned around again to see that the village men had gone. They were further up the beach now, a few items under their arms.
He was alone. Myranda had gone to see if Lewys was all right. Manolin knew the boy could look after himself. The sun was high and Manolin was sweating. He had to shade his eyes when he looked back towards where the reef had been. There was nothing there now, no darkness on the surface of the water. The waves approached the island faster, louder and with more energy since there was nothing to act as a breakwater.
He walked along the beach, his hands in his pockets, his head held high as he observed his new home. As you looked along the edge of the palm forest and up at the volcano, large and still, overlooking the island, you could see small birds circling the summit. Shading his eyes with his hand as he scanned along the curve of the shore, wondered where he would build his hut.
He would have to start all over again.
Epilogue
Hundreds of people made their way through the rush hour streets of Escha. Rain sparked off the old stone walls, off cobbled streets. People bumped past each other through thin passageways, their heads facing the puddles. A vendor at a newspaper stood idly, his hat drawn across his eyes, his collar turned up. A group of black rumel youths smoked cigarettes as people passed them. You could smell them streets away. All the time, no one looked at each other as if eye contact was a sin. A beggar huddled in a doorway, his legs drawn in so he wouldn’t get kicked. A group of workmen were leaving the docks. They carried their equipment, ladders and tools, though the same streets in which people were crammed, howling shouting obscenities over the voice of the newspaper vendor. If you listened carefully you could hear he was calling out yet more headlines about building work from the tidal wave that struck the city a year ago.
An elderly woman was escorting a little girl past a row of commercial buildings. Oil lanterns had been lit, and the girl looked up with big eyes at the beams of light that forced columns of rain to sparkle. At every shop, the girl pressed her face on the window as she passed. Her breathing steamed them up then she drew lines though the mist with her fingers. She moved on to the next, whilst the woman waited patiently.
People knocked them as they passed and the woman let out a sigh. Some would shout at her to get out of the way, but she turned to keep an eye on the girl. They saw an old man who was selling mussels from an alleyway, arranged in order of size. He looked down at the girl, but did not smile. She skipped on, not really caring about his rudeness.
The girl paused at one particular window. A toy shop. A man with a broad moustache ste
pped out, one of those old top hats on his head. Then he pulled his coat around him, winked at her, strode down the street.
The girl turned back to the row of dolls behind the glass. She pointed at one in particular. ‘I like that one. Why’s it got funny clothes? It looks like an explorer. I wonder where he’s been. He must have had an adventure.’
The doll had black hair, golden skin. It wore a pair of shortened breeches, a loose shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It looked noticeably different to any of the others.
The woman took a closer look by the girl’s eye-line. ‘Yes, it probably is. But come on, your mother wants you home before it gets dark. We can look another time.’
The woman walked on, but the girl remained by the window, careful not to steam it up. She stood on tip-toes to get a better look. Then she looked down at her shoes as someone splashed her. All she could see were people’s legs moving rapidly. Everyone in a rush. Everyone was rude. She turned to leave the doll, to find her grandmother again.
In her haste she trotted through the streets forgetting the doll as quickly as she had seen it.
The End
T H E R E E F
Mark Charan Newton was born in 1981, and holds a degree in Environmental Science. After working in bookselling, he moved into editorial positions at imprints covering film and media tie-in fiction and, later, science fiction and fantasy. He currently lives and works in Nottingham. His other books include the Legends of the Red Sun series, including Nights of Villjamur, City of Ruin and The Book of Transformations.
The Reef is an eBook exclusive.
You can find out more about the author at his website
www.markcnewton.com
First published in 2008 by Pendragon Press
This electronic edition published 2011 by Tor
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Copyright © 2011 by Mark Charan Newton
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Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Epilogue