by Jenn Reese
His mother always talked about moving to a moon-side nest, but he and his dad knew that would never happen. The old moon-side Kampii families passed their homes to their children, and the Elders had long since forbidden the carving of any new ones in the “good” areas. Something about the structural integrity of the coral, Elder Peleke had said. Hoku had a feeling there was more to it than that, but he never questioned the social injustice of it all out loud. Who would listen to a lowly sand-sider, anyway?
Aluna would, if he ever found the courage to talk to her. She never said anything about his family’s nest or status, or her own. Fresh, clean currents flowed through her family nest. Glow-in-the-dark spirals and starfish and seashells decorated every surface. Even their resting sticks bore the hand-carved Shifting Tides seahorse emblem. But despite everything Aluna had and everything he didn’t have, not even the tiniest hint of disgust or pity ever showed on her face. She was just Aluna, same as ever.
When they got to his nest, both his parents were out on work assignments and his grandma Nani was napping. Good. He didn’t want to answer any questions about what they were doing.
They swam through the cramped tunnel to his room. There was nothing he loved more than his workshop, except getting the chance to show it off. He immediately darted to his desk, hooked his knees around his worn resting stick, and tapped on the lantern to wake up the lightning fish inside. The fish darted back and forth, faster and faster, their bodies glowing brighter and brighter.
“You’ve been busy!” Aluna said, nodding to the new jars of artifacts hooked to the ceiling and secured to his desk.
He shrugged. “Elder Peleke still won’t take me on as an apprentice, so I have to learn everything myself. Which means lots of failed experiments,” he said. “I haven’t gotten anything to work in weeks, except for the Extra Ears.”
“Extra Ears? Is that what you’re calling the hearing artifact you made?”
“You like it?” he asked. “I like coming up with names for the artifacts almost as much as I like making them.” “Extra Ears” was a vast improvement over his first two naming attempts, “Hearing Helpers” and “Ears x 10.”
He reached for his “in progress” jar, carefully removed the Extra Ears artifacts, and placed them on the sticky plate attached to his desk. He loved his sticky plate; it had been in his family for generations. The flat square of metal grabbed other metal things and clung to them. Magic, his mother called it, but his grandma pronounced it “magnet.”
“How do they work?” Aluna reached for one of the Ears, but Hoku batted her hand away.
“No touching! They’re very delicate. I think we both remember what happened the last time you tried to help.” He looked up at the jar labeled SHARK DETECTOR and the mangled metal bits inside. Such a waste.
“I forgot what a snoot you are with your bits of metal,” she said, but she didn’t reach for the artifacts again.
“I have to be careful,” he said. “If I do something wrong, I might break the artifacts already in our ears. And then we won’t be hearing anything besides whales and waves.”
The Extra Ears on his sticky plate looked like tiny plugs attached to bent pieces of coated wire. He plucked one gently from the plate and tightened two tiny screws. It didn’t matter what they looked like; it only mattered that they worked. And they did. He’d tested one the night before and overheard the neighbors fighting three nests away. Once he perfected the design and showed it to the Elders, Elder Peleke would have to take him on as an apprentice, even though he was a lowly sand-side kid and not the son of someone important.
“Ready!” Hoku said.
Aluna drifted over and held her short hair out of the way. Hoku pressed the artifact against the inside of her ear, then wrapped the wire around the outside to secure it in place.
“By the tides!” Aluna said.
“What? What do you hear?”
“A mumble-jumble mostly, but I can hear that little squid Jessia gossiping to someone about the boy she likes — oh!” Aluna looked at him and giggled.
“What? Who is she talking about? Tell me!” he begged. Jessia had smiled at him that very morning. She had nice teeth. He grabbed the other hearing artifact and scrambled to affix it to his ear with none of the delicacy he’d used with the first one.
“Oh, she’s moved off. I can’t hear her anymore. Too bad!” Aluna said. “Are freckles really that cute? I hadn’t noticed. But now that old fish Moke is going on and on about what he wants for dinner.”
“Shhh!” Hoku said, but she was right. All he could hear was Moke talking about fish. He couldn’t hear Jessia at all. Had Aluna made the whole thing up? This wouldn’t be the first time she’d teased him about one of his crushes. He put a hand to his cheek. He had a lot of freckles.
“Hoku, these Extra Ears are amazing. You’re a genius,” Aluna said, and he instantly forgave her.
“Let’s get to the council dome,” he said. And see how much trouble we can find.
THE ELDERS’ VOICES were faint, but when Hoku clung to the council dome and pressed his Extra Ear against the slick, opaque surface, he could make out the words. Aluna followed his example.
“. . . simply ridiculous,” Elder Maylea said. “It’s already dangerous enough sending our trade team to the Human settlement. Who knows what horrors have overtaken the rest of the Above World. The ancients came to the City of Shifting Tides for a reason, and that reason has not changed.”
“The surviving Humans have reverted to barbarism and worse,” said Elder Peleke. “Our scouts have seen Humans with fingers made of knives, with artificial eyes that burn like fires! And the Humans that do not reshape themselves with tech simply cower in their villages or wage senseless, bloody wars with their neighbors.” He grunted. “Theirs has always been a savage heritage.”
“Their heritage is the same as ours, Peleke,” Aluna’s father said. His voice, even through the sound shield, resonated stronger than the rest. “A few hundred years of separation does not erase the thousands of years that came before. We were all Humans once.”
“But our security is based on the fact that none of the Above Worlders know where we are,” Elder Maylea said. “Sarah Jennings went to great lengths to keep our location a secret. Not even the other Kampii tribes know where to find us, and we are still three dozen years away from the next Exchange. The more contact we have with others, the greater the risk.”
“Yes, there is safety in isolation,” Kapono said. “But are we afraid of contact for the right reasons? Are we jumping at sharks, or just at their shadows? We could use the outpost at Seahorse Alpha to communicate with other colonies, to learn about our past, to plan for our future! And yet, Seahorse Alpha has never even been opened in my lifetime. We have imprisoned it in a glowfield, as if knowledge itself were dangerous.” Kapono lowered his voice and spoke slowly. “As long as our gaze remains inward, we will never truly know what is happening in the Above World.”
The Elders fell silent. Aluna and her father were so alike, Hoku thought. More alike than either of them realized.
Elder Inoa’s voice broke the quiet. “Are you suggesting that we reject the ways of our ancestors, reject the very will of Sarah Jennings herself? That we rejoin the Above World while we are at our most vulnerable?”
Rejoin the Above World!
Hoku couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Above World had always seemed like a dream to him, a world filled with endless artifacts and machines and people who knew how to use them. Sometimes he wished he’d been born in ancient times, before the Kampii gave up that wondrous, mechanical life.
But he’d heard other stories, too. Tales of Humans with poisonous weapons for arms and with hearts of cold metal, who roamed the Above World killing whomever they wanted. With the Deepfell hunting the oceans and those Humans on dry land, the only safe place in all the wide world was right where they were: hidden in the City of Shifting Tides.
There was a silence in the council dome. Hoku pressed his ea
r harder against the dome’s surface, afraid that he’d miss Kapono’s answer. His heart pounded and the breathing shell at his neck pulsed rapidly to keep up. Half a meter away, Aluna’s shell pulsed just as fast, her eyes wide.
The silence seemed to last forever. Then Aluna’s father said, “No, no. Of course not. You all know how I feel about the Above World. It’s too dangerous, too unpredictable. My allegiance has always been, and will always be, to the Coral Kampii and our founding principles. I believe I have already proven my loyalty.”
“My mother,” Aluna whispered to Hoku. “He’s talking about my mother. He could have gone to the Above World when she got sick. I bet the Humans had medicines that could have saved her. But he didn’t. He let her die instead. To him, that’s loyalty.”
Hoku looked at her, saw her lips pressed together and her brown eyes fierce. He didn’t know what to say. He never did. Aluna’s loss made him feel guilty that he still had his own mother. Guilty, and grateful.
Elder Inoa said, “Yes, of course you have proven your loyalty. No one thinks otherwise. But we must stay hidden as long as possible, if not forever. It is who we are. We must trust the Elders before us and keep the Seahorse Alpha outpost secure. Exposing our people to the information inside will only cause more strife. Kampii must not fight Kampii. Not ever again.”
Aluna whispered, “The outpost! We have to —”
“Even so,” Elder Kapono said, and Aluna clamped her mouth shut so they could hear. “Heed my words: this is not the last death our people will suffer.”
“It is not,” Elder Peleke agreed. “But as you know better than anyone, in dark times, some Kampii must die to preserve the way of life for the rest.”
The Elders all spoke their agreement at once.
“We will encourage more pregnancies,” Elder Inoa said. She herself had borne eight children, and she never let anyone forget it. Fertility was a great badge of honor for the women in the City of Shifting Tides.
“Yes, more pregnancies,” Elder Peleke said. “We can offer incentives. Our reasons need not be apparent.”
“Then the matter is settled,” said Elder Maylea. “We will weather this storm as we always have. As Sarah Jennings would have wanted us to. By the moon!”
The other Elders repeated, “By the moon!”
“The next order of business is the taxation of whitefish harvests from the sand-side farmers —”
“Enough,” Aluna said. She let go of the dome and drifted from its surface. She ripped off her Extra Ear and held it out. “Here, take it. I don’t want it anymore.”
Hoku stared at the artifact pinched between her fingers.
This is not the last death. Some must die . . .
“Take it,” she repeated.
He did. In the dome below, he could hear the Elders arguing about harvest rights. He quickly removed his own Extra Ear and shoved them both into one of his pockets.
“What should we do?” he asked her. Aluna always knew what to do. She always had a plan. No matter what, he could count on her to tell him where to go.
This time, she laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound.
“What should we do? Pass the tides, like good little fish,” she said. “And hope that the next Kampii to die isn’t someone we love.”
ALUNA SAID GOOD NIGHT to Hoku and swam for her nest, her thoughts dark. She kept seeing the same images, over and over: Makina’s dead white eyes, the broken necklace in her palm, Hoku’s worried face pressed against the council dome. How could she live a normal life knowing it was only a matter of time before someone else died?
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t be living a normal life. Maybe her own necklace would be the next to fail.
She changed direction and headed for the training dome. A few weapon drills would calm her tumultuous mind. Most days, they were the only thing that could. If only she were allowed to be a hunter like her brothers! She loved fighting — the emotional rush, the way her mind and body worked together, the rare feeling of power and control, even if it was just over herself. And she was good at it, too. But girls were forbidden to do anything the Elders deemed dangerous while the Coral Kampii population was below its “minimum safe level.” And now, with the Elders wanting more babies, she’d be lucky to do anything as deadly as shucking a mussel or skinning a fish.
Her brother Anadar was in the dome when she got there, going through a complicated spear set. Aluna treaded by the entrance, not wanting to distract him. Besides, she loved watching the swish of his long spear as it pierced the water. He wasn’t as strong or naturally talented as their older brothers, Pilipo and Ehu, but he worked harder and had more patience. And so far, he’d kept her training a secret.
When Anadar finished his series of moves, he saluted the old stone warriors’ shrine at the north curve of the dome and turned to her.
“I thought I might see you tonight, after everything,” he said, and that was all the mention he made of Makina. But there was a look in his eyes, a sadness, and Aluna wondered if he didn’t need this session as much as she did. Not that they could actually talk about it. Unless Daphine was part of the conversation, Aluna and her brothers stuck to the same three topics: eating, hunting, and which one of them would win in a fight.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he said. “Grab your spear.”
Aluna grinned and darted for the weapons stuck to the nearby wall with jellyfish goo. A few of the spears had only one point, but most had sharpened metal tips on both ends. She chose the shortest, sturdiest spear, to match her smaller stature. One day, she’d wield the longer sinuous weapons and make them dance in the water, just as her brothers did.
“This is your last lesson before you get your tail, so let’s make it a good one,” Anadar said in his best grown-up teacher voice. “I want to see every spear set you’ve learned so far.”
She groaned. “All of them? But I want to learn something new!”
“Then you better find enlightenment in a set you already know.”
Aluna sighed and swam to the center of the dome, about three meters above the sandy floor. Before she started training, she’d thought the weapon sets were beautiful, but stupid. The hunter performed a series of moves with the weapon, but without an opponent. Some of the spear twirls and positions looked far too elaborate to ever be useful in a real fight. But after she learned her first set — Spear in Six Directions — she began to understand. The sets conditioned the body to understand the weapon, to feel its ebb and flow. And they were much harder than they looked. She never concentrated more than when she was learning a new series of moves.
She faced north, saluted the shrine and her brother, then began.
Her body did most of the work. It knew the moves, directed the spear to poke or slash, twist or spin. Her mind focused on intent. It was not enough to go through the motions. She had to understand what each of them meant. She had to give them heart, imbue them with her spirit. She wasn’t just poking the point toward the sand; she was driving it into the gills of an imaginary Great White.
After Six Directions, she performed two dolphin-style sets called Chase the Seal and Playing in the Surf that involved tumbles and quick changes of direction. By the end of the second one, her breathing necklace was pulsing so fast that she thought she might pass out.
“Go on,” Anadar said. “There is no time to catch your breath in the middle of a fight. Push.”
Push through the exhaustion. He’d been telling her that since the first day she picked up a knife. The only limits you have are the ones you set yourself.
Aluna saluted and began Devil in the Depths, a shark-style set with fast, sharp movements. Her arms wobbled, and the first few strikes were sloppy. She pushed, and found a second wave of strength.
When she had finished the rest of her sets, she stopped treading and drifted to the ocean floor. Her breath came in great gasps, and she held her side to ease the cramp in her ribs. Her spear hung lifeless from her hand. If Great White attacked right now, she’d al
most welcome its jaws.
“Not bad,” Anadar said. “A little messy at times, but you maintained good speed and power. Let’s go over the spinning combination in the White Coral set. I think you have the wrong grip in one part.”
Aluna looked at him. Was he serious? His brown eyes sparkled their response. Tides’ teeth — he was.
She pulled herself upright with a groan, adjusted her hands on the spear, and adopted the White Coral stance.
Push.
Her father was waiting for her when she got back to the nest. His tail curled around his resting stick in the common room, the resting stick no one else dared use. He didn’t look at her when she entered but stared at his dinner pouch, seemingly transfixed by whatever food Daphine had prepared for the family that night.
Aluna hurried through the room, eager to collapse and savor her well-earned exhaustion. She had almost made it to the other side when her father spoke.
“That girl should never have been in the kelp forest alone,” he said. “Her death was an unfortunate accident.”
Aluna stopped and twirled to face him. “An accident?” The anger and frustration she’d just purged from her system returned in one flash of a tail. “How can you say that? It was her necklace!”
His eyes flickered wide, but he recovered quickly from the surprise. “You’re talking nonsense. The girl made a foolish mistake and she died for it.”
“But you know it’s the necklaces,” she sputtered. “And you know more people are going to die just like Makina!”
You let my mother die, too. You chose the City of Shifting Tides over your own wife. She couldn’t say the words out loud. Not to him. But they both felt the accusation floating there, an invisible barrier always between them.
“Lower your voice,” he hissed. “I know the girl was your friend, but if I tell you her death was an accident, then you’ll believe it was an accident. Do you understand me?”
Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them into the ocean. “The Elders listen to you. I know they’re afraid, but they listen to you. They would follow you anywhere.” Even to the Above World.
