Through the Whirlpool

by K. Eastkott

  Jade sat up and watched the newscast on her mom’s phone.

  “MAURI COVE LAUNCHES ECO-FUEL,” rolled the headline over video images of Mauri Cove and surrounding coastline as a commentary droned, “Last night, quiet Mauri Cove took a giant step toward the development of an ecologically harmonious society when Synengine Energies launched its new synthetic fuels laboratory. Synengine Energies is a multinational group with installations in over fifteen countries.”

  The picture snapped to Mayor Robbins’ rosy face: “Their choice of our town as a base for this experimental facility is a great boost for local employment. We must support this bid for a clean, green future in this wonderful region.”

  Then a harder visage appeared, cloaked in dark glasses, under which Jade read, “Dr. Norman Hagues, CEO, Synengine Energies Inc.” His voice sounded like gravel under car tires: “We are proud to be collaborating with the people of this town to create more jobs… a better future for your kids in a more loving, trusting world…”

  “The new fuel is 100% efficient, producing no emissions,” the newscaster’s voice continued. “Furthermore, the refinement process creates absolutely no waste…”

  The screen changed to a shot of a crystal flask containing an oily substance that danced and flowed in sparkling colors. Jade gasped as a deja-vu feeling thumped her in her guts. She tried to shake it: “Wow. They open a science lab here, and that makes us superstars!”

  She lay back on her towel, closing her eyes. Her mind drifted back to that tunnel... It was all fading… the sun leaching out her strength. It didn’t matter.

  “Jade! What’s that?”

  Sitting up, she saw her mom squinting down at the water. The sun shining off the surface meant that all she could see was the sea’s green-gold glitter.

  “What?” As her eyes adjusted, she discerned her brother having another go at riding a wave. Kyle was not paddling out far enough to catch them before they broke. Then he’d sit on his board waiting too long. The truth was his arms were way too short for him to get up a decent speed. She chuckled.

  “Look!”

  She looked. “All I see is one really bad surfer. You know, Kyle just doesn’t have what it takes in the surfing department.”

  “You weren’t so hot yourself when you were his age, Miss Superior. But I don’t mean Kyle. What’s that out there?”

  Now that her eyes had got used to the glare, Jade saw, beyond the breakers, what looked like a dark smudge on the water. It was moving, but not very fast. Could it be a school of fish? Or a… It didn’t look like any creature she recognized. The long, dark shape slid slowly, calmly, across the bay. Her mother’s voice was tense but calm:

  “Come on, let’s get Kyle out of the water.”

  Alone

  The sky was aflame with gold, ruby red, and polished copper. Streaks of purple like the shreds of a king’s robe snagged the clouds, as if some titan-sized monarch, fleeing for his life, had left his riches strewn across the battlefield of his defeat. The endless sea reflected the sunset’s colors, and as hard as he scanned the horizon line, Kreh-ursh could see no break or cloud to indicate the land where his people’s village lay nestled in its protected bay.

  His body still rolled from the waves’ motion. Even here on the sand, he could sense the bottomless deep of the ocean below, hear whispering currents flowing all around. The solid shore pitched and dipped as if this island too were an enormous vessel, a thousand times larger, a million times older than the great canoe that had dropped him here just a short time ago.

  The landing was abrupt. That morning Kreh-ursh had watched the twin bluffs that harbored his home meld into the line of the coast. Eventually, even that verdant band had sunk below the horizon without a final farewell. Then only waves remained, heaving the canoe high, releasing it into their troughs.

  At that point the shahiroh had blindfolded him, depriving him of any chance to track their course. Soon he felt the canoe change direction. Though he tried to chart their course from the prevailing breeze and slap of waves against the hull, the regular stroke of the Shahees’ paddles put him off. Finally he gave up. They were heading generally east. He would have to plot his position afresh when they arrived. So he sat, blind and silent, allowing the ocean’s green music to soften the pain of leaving home, and seduce him with its whispered promises of adventure. Throughout the day they traveled, the Shahees’ paddles slicing a regular rhythm under a relentless sun.

  As they approached Zjhuud-geh, sighted late in the afternoon, with the sun sinking behind them, his blindfold was removed. Squinting, Kreh-ursh glanced back at Geh-meer, but she looked totally absorbed in herself. Then his attention was grabbed by the island as they skirted its reef in a wide circle. Huge rollers ripped themselves to silvery ribbons on its perimeter.

  Finally, the chief shahiroh called out a command, and the vessel turned and began to surf in on the back of a slow roller. A low hum arose fore and aft, resonating through the craft’s timbers, issuing from the mouths of Shahee and shahiroh. The entire vessel began to tingle, raising goose bumps up and down Kreh-ursh’s arms. All the Shahee strained their paddles into the water with more force than ever, pushing the great canoe ever harder and faster, straight toward the island. Just as it looked like they would be dashed into pieces against the coral—marked by a line of crashing surf ahead—all seven shahiroh rose to their feet with a belly-rich shout. Their gray-blue robes flapped and snapped like ragged wings in the wind. Surf flashed, wrapping the canoe in silver mist. It seemed to Kreh-ursh that the fine vapor acted as a kind of cushion, lifting and carrying the heavy vessel over the sharp coral. Then they were sliding through into the smooth waters of the lagoon, the violence of the ocean behind them.

  A deep calm surrounded the voyagers. The air was heavy, as if it had lain undisturbed for long years. Yet the ocean’s fresh salt still laced the atmosphere. Barely a breeze blew to disturb the evening’s warmth, the sun stretching its seductive rays over the island’s shoulder. A sense of peacefulness pervaded after their day-long battle against the currents. Unknown perfumes wafted across the lagoon, underscored by the warm wetness of rotting plant life. After a day away from land, the smell felt like a welcome.

  Zjhuud-geh was an ancient volcano. Perfectly round, its steep cone seemed to touch the sky. Lava flows, forgotten in prehistory, had scored deep valleys down its slopes and carved rocky bays and inlets out of its coastline. Except for the bare peak, trailing its wisp of smoke, it was covered in dense jungle, which even spilled out onto the crescent-shaped, golden beaches, creating an impenetrable curtain between land and sea.

  They circled the island to the gentle sound of waves softly washing sand, slapping rock above the reef’s dull roar. That and the rhythmic dip of paddles, kept in time by the chief shahiroh’s clicking tongue. From the island came the thousand-throated rustling of living jungle—tweets, calls, shrieks, and whistles pricking the continuous noise like golden embroidery on a vast emerald tapestry.

  Finally, the canoe glided into this protected bay. When its keel gently bumped aground, the chief shahiroh approached Kreh-ursh, sitting farthest forward in the canoe. She jerked her thumb at the beach and growled a brief command. He scrambled over the side into thigh-deep water and stood watching as his only contact with home backed slowly out of the bay, turned, and slid out of sight around a rocky headland.

  Now he gazed at the sunset. A feeling of loneliness and desolation washed over him like a slow, glassy wave—huge, green, and cold. As the fiery colors of the sun gave way to twilit purples, a cool breeze flowed across the water. Thinking about a fire and a place to sleep, he walked off along the shore, looking for driftwood.

  Rescue

  Joan had jumped up and was running toward the water’s edge, her daughter powering after. Jade overtook her on the hard sand near the water and went crashing into the surf, yelling, “Kyle! Kyle! Come in!”

  But in the brief moments they had taken their eyes off him, her brother had managed to get a long wa
y out, surprisingly so. His tiny figure on the bright orange board flipped quite expertly over an incoming wave. He must have worked out that he was taking the waves too near the beach, but he was now too far to surf a wave back in. He was near the swift ocean current that flowed past the heads. Jade could no longer see any dark shape in the water. In any case, it had looked much too big for a shark, hadn’t it? How big did sharks grow? Some other fish? A killer whale?

  She realized her board was up the beach next to their towels. No time to run back. Her mother crashed into the surf beside her.

  “Stay here!” Joan commanded, her lawyer voice one you did not disobey. Yet she hesitated, looking along the sand. All the other swimmers were far down the other end. She waded deeper, calling to Kyle, but the distant figure seemed not to hear. Jade knew her mother was not such a great swimmer.

  “No, Mom. You stay, I’ll go.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Jade plunged in and began to swim out with powerful strokes. She tried to keep her mind off the dark shape, not to think about the pair of enormous jaws with jagged, shining teeth that might close around her legs, pull her down. She couldn’t imagine how painful a shark bite might be, whether the teeth sliced straight through or needed two or three good chomps to sever a thigh muscle. Maybe it was so quick, you didn’t feel it. Or maybe… Her fear energized her as never before. Don’t think, just swim, get out to Kyle. Three years of classes—before the summer she had passed the second level of her First Aid and Life Saving Certificate—meant she was a good enough swimmer. When a wave came at her, she dived under, then popped up the other side. Every couple of minutes she tried to sight Kyle and adjust her course. No sign of the dark shape. That was good news, she hoped.

  Soon she was within fifty yards of him, a fragile waif on a vast, undulating field of green. Looking tired and miserable, he was sitting on his board crying, having realized he could not reach the shore again, with no strength left to paddle. Seeing Jade, his eyes lit up.

  “No!” Jade yelled.

  But he had already thrown himself from his board and begun thrashing through the peaking waves. It was the worst thing he could do.

  “Stay with your board!”

  Kyle did not seem to hear. If he reached Jade and tried to grab her, he might pull them both under. Jade looked around, could see no sign of any big fish. Kyle was still over thirty yards away when suddenly he yelped, plunging under the water. Jade cried out, launching herself toward her brother. Yet when he burst up again to the surface, he was not ripped in two; no bright blood foamed red into the green; there was no gory, shark-inflicted wound as Jade had imagined, no flashing teeth. Instead, he was plastered in thick, brown goo that had coated his skin and hair. It formed a greasy mat extending all around him. Like oil or grease, it floated in a long, rolling raft on the surface, weighing him down. He went under again. Jade moved closer, doing the breast stroke, but was unsure how to act. If she tried to reach him, she would also get trapped. Maybe she would not be able to keep herself afloat, let alone Kyle. She circled around where he was struggling.

  “Swim toward me!” she called. “Get yourself out of it!”

  Her brother was also a good swimmer for his age, but Jade could see he was getting seriously tired. She had to act. Just as she was about to plunge forward, a flash against the green made her turn her head: Kyle’s orange board slipping down the side of a wave. She swam over and grabbed it. Then she closed to where her brother was struggling. Giant waves heaved them up and down, but the slick hugged the surface like a heavy blanket.

  “Kyle! Grab on!”

  Jade pushed the board toward him, opening up a channel through the ooze. Though Kyle scrabbled wildly, his oily hands slipped, unable to gain a proper grip. Some of the scum wrapped around Jade’s shoulders and arms as well. It felt heavy, dragging her down—strange, the way it floated. Finally, Kyle was able to heave his body half onto the board. Jade kicked backward, hard. The muck was closing in. More of it stuck to her body, staining her limbs. She kept kicking as hard as she could, struggling to keep her head free.

  Then they were clear, heading for the beach. But that golden strip appeared a lifetime away, visible like paradise in distant glimpses between the moving hills. They had drifted a long way out. The same wind that had pulled Kyle so far had blown them both over half a mile out, far beyond Point Mauri. Below her, Jade felt the strong pull of the ocean current sliding sideways down the coast and out again to sea. How would they escape?

  She made sure Kyle was lying securely. He was retching and coughing but conscious. Then she began to swim slowly shoreward. It was not easy. She had to pull the board, swimming with only one arm, unable to get behind to kick because the lower half of Kyle’s body hung down into the sea. She kept pulling, thrashing along with one arm, kicking as hard as she could, but the coast was not getting any closer. She must not give up. She knew about swimming across the current to escape from the rip, but it took all the strength she could muster. A large wave broke unexpectedly over them. Jade swallowed water and lost her stroke. She rested for a few moments, trying to cough the seawater from her lungs and get her bearings. Then she kept going. Soon she swallowed more water. This time she did not stop, could not. Her vision was beginning to blur. She could no longer tell whether she was still swimming in the direction of the coast or not, but forced herself to continue, not fighting the current, just trying to cross it. They must have been swept far down the coast by now. Her swimming arm had now become a dead weight from tiredness. She grabbed the board with that hand and began to use the other to swim with. It was her weakest arm. Kyle started to slide off the board. Jade had no more strength.

  “Hold on, Kyle! You must hold on!”

  He stirred, seemed to hear his sister. Though he did not pull himself back onto the board, he gripped harder. Jade became aware of a buzzing sound in her ears, getting steadily louder. This was what happened before you passed out. She must not! Yet still the buzzing got stronger. She resisted, struck out harder with arm and legs. The buzzing became a consistent, slapping drone. It seemed to be more intense with each wave she pushed through. She knew she was just hallucinating because she was getting tired, had no idea whether the beach was any closer. If only she could see it! Maybe she was just swimming in circles.

  Then over the top of a wave she glimpsed an aluminum hull, a small dinghy. The drone became the roar of an outboard, and a boat came alongside. Strong, adult hands were pulling Kyle up out of the water. With the movement, the metal hull swung toward her and smacked against her head. The shock left her gasping, breathing in water. She realized she had made a bad mistake… she couldn’t breathe! Couldn’t see! A fogginess enwrapped her and she began to sink into the deep green. Then a firm hand grabbed her abruptly, vice-like, under the arm. It hauled at her, pulling her toward the surface. Her head whacked the metal side again. Then she was being raised from water into air—pure, rich, clean air! But her lungs were drowned and she still could not breathe. The haze turned black, like night. The last thing she felt was her head painfully crack a third time, against the floor of the boat as she was laid down. Then everything switched off.

  Trance

  Bronze tongues of flame flickered hungrily up toward the six meer-zjhur, or redfish, dangling from a sharpened stick above the fire. The smell of roasting flesh stabbed at Kreh-ursh’s stomach. He had drunk more of his potion than he knew he should. If things went well, he would have to survive on this island for at least twenty days, maybe longer. He must not waste the potion. In the canoe he had tried to be as firm as possible, but by mid-morning the rumbling in his stomach must have been audible to the entire crew. At noon, when the paddlers ceased their stroke to eat a scanty meal of dried fish and vegetables, he limited himself to a few sips. Then he fixed his concentration on an invisible point in his mind and tried to shut out the obscenely loud sounds of chewing, belching, and swallowing. In the afternoon, his stomach seemed to shrink, happily, and he did not much notice his hunger.

/>   Now, though, the pain was like a dagger, lacerating his insides, demanding food. He could smell it all around. Apart from fish and other seafood that must inhabit the waters of the bay in abundance, his oversensitive nostrils seduced him with the perfume of tropical fruit. He could smell maa-sheesh, the plump, fist-sized fruit with flesh the color of ocean surf and a taste of both sugar and salt that grew on the lowlands around the coast. The wind also brought the scent of baal-aarsh melons, which looked like volcanic rocks on the outside but were the most intense sunset orange within. They were chewy, tangy, full of juice, and his mouth watered at the thought of them. Then the wind briefly changed, and he was sure he could faintly detect, wafted down from the volcano’s higher slopes, the sugary-acid bite of the bluish purple zjheh-rohsh clusters, lounging on their low vines among the trees.

  He finally pulled a fish impatiently from the skewer. It was agony to chew slowly and carefully, locating the many spines with his tongue and spitting them into the fire, when what he really wanted to do was wolf the flesh down as fast as he could. He managed to curb his hunger, finishing off just three of the fish. Those that remained, he wrapped in a large leaf to save for the next day. Sea-nomad-becoming required continual exertion. He had only the potion prepared by his mother and food he had time to gather. He needed to ration himself.

  Then, huddling close to the little fire in its hearth of sand, he stared into the flames, clearing his mind to begin the exercises. His eyes searched through the embers, seeking the different colors he could find there, relaxing, tuning his concentration, emptying his mind of thought. The flames absorbed his complete attention. Little by little he began to see beyond…

  The shahiroh appeared with no warning, but not suddenly. She seemed to materialize out of the firelight on the far side of the fire. When he became aware of her, Kreh-ursh was unsure how long she had been standing there. She gave the impression of having existed since the birth of time, growing from the sand like an ancient, black-rooted loman tree. Her dark robes merged with the darkness behind her, the ceremonial mask could be a gray-silver billow of smoke frozen perversely in its horrible grimace, and her power enwrapped her like an invisible cloak. Behind the carved wood only the shining points of her eyes—glittering jewels that anchored her in time and space—and the harsh rasp of her breath through the breathing hole showed she was alive.