Cerulean (One Thousand Blues)

by Anna Kyss

  CERULEAN

  Anna Kyss

  CERULEAN

  Anna Kyss

  Copyright © 2012

  All Rights Reserved.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Cover art by Renu Sharma

  http://www.thedarkrayne.com/

  Edited by Red Adept Editing

  http://redadeptpublishing.com/editing-services/

  Layout provided by Everything Indie

  http://www.everything-indie.com

  CONTENTS

  Aqua

  Cyan

  Turquoise

  Tuna

  Cobalt

  Indigo

  Steel

  Teal

  Azure

  Ocean

  Navy

  Midnight

  Tropical

  Cloud

  Sky

  Surf

  Spruce

  Ultramarine

  Rain

  Mist

  Cerulean

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Notes

  ~Aqua~

  1

  I propel myself through the turquoise waters with undulations of my tail. No one has seen me. Luckily. Leaving Maluhia alone is forbidden.

  My heart races from the danger, the exertion, the excitement. I revel in the blood flowing through my veins, the adrenaline pumping through my body—I feel alive. Daring. Elated.

  If only I could suck up these feelings, bottle and save them for later, when the apathy rushes back in; for now, I absorb them. I have to make myself feel. The price for indifference could be my life.

  A reef sits in front of me, one of the few remaining in our sector of the seas. The yellows, reds, and oranges of the ever-growing coral contrast with the ocean blue that bathes them. The pink and white tentacles of the anemones await their orange-and-white-striped friends—clown fish.

  My classes have taught about this funny word, clown; once upon a time, people dressed in costumes and painted their faces to create laughter. I try to imagine it: a world where clothes and words are enough to make people grin. In my world, all the Skin and languages together are not enough to make us smile. My people do not laugh anymore.

  A purple-and-white-striped eel pokes its head from the rocks, peers around, then darts away. He startles the groups of fish, and they swim straight toward me. A rainbow of fins and glittery scales swarms around me.

  Rainbow—another of those curious words from my lessons. I try to picture those colors, imagine a sky, but it is too hard. In this world of a thousand blues, the reef is the only place to spot a rainbow.

  Memories always draw me back to this spot, despite the threat of discovery. My best friend’s name was Rainbow, but a thousand blues can be too many. In our underwater world, happiness dissolves into the waters, while detachment and lethargy seep in.

  With ’Bow, her smile left before she lost the last of her baby teeth. By the time she received her flipper-fins, she no longer wanted to play, and she stopped coming to the daily swims. Soon, she never left her family pod. Hopelessness crushed her, and she did the Unmentionable.

  Sorrow fills the hollow left by our abandoned friendship, bringing up memories of others who are missing. My mother. My father. Gloom weighs me down.

  Blinking back the tears that threaten to escape, I will myself to shake the negative thoughts from my head, then open my eyes to the wonders of the reef.

  This is why I face the dangers of leaving the pod complex: to remember, to see the rainbow, to stimulate my senses and invigorate myself. I cannot follow the path ’Bow took.

  I will not succumb.

  *

  A sea turtle approaches and circles me, growing closer with each rotation. The mottled greens of its shell blend with the kelp and algae. I kick my tail, edging myself nearer, but the turtle dips down and disappears into the shadows of the seaweed.

  Left to float alone, I wonder how the turtle swims above the Surface—climbs onto Land—to lay its eggs. How can the turtle, with its thin skin and fragile eggshells, survive above the waters when people cannot?

  I cannot resist looking up. Light breaks through the Surface, painting the sea in bands of cerulean. I yearn to swim up, to view the Land that we have lost. I burn to know what lies above the waters. Could there be a cure, too late to help ’Bow and my parents, but one that may save others from the same terrible fate?

  I hide these forbidden dreams deep inside, choking down the possibilities and swallowing my desires. Once again, I have abandoned my caution. I could be taken away just for thinking about breaching the Surface.

  The reef fish break their lovely dance and scatter. I scan the waters for what scared away those tiny jewels of the sea.

  Something floats toward me. I freeze.

  At first, the grayish-black coat reminds me of an oddly shaped monk seal. As he grows closer though, I notice the long limbs of a man. Unlike our Skin, which is seamless, his suit has strange plastic tracks—possibly a way to get in and out. He carries a heavy tank upon his back, wears a clear mask on his face, and holds a long tube between his teeth. Bubbles flow in a steady stream behind him. Is he breathing through that long tube? Does he not have gills?

  I forget to hide until he spots me. My heart races as he approaches, hands in front of him, wide open. I think he is trying to show me he is safe.

  This… this is exciting. A stranger, without gills, swimming at my reef! I want to get closer, to learn more.

  He swims within a tail’s reach. I am tempted to reach out and touch his smooth, black suit, to see if it feels as rubbery as it looks, but I restrain myself.

  I peer into his foggy mask. His deep brown eyes widen as he scans my body. He stares at each thing that makes us different: my gills, my tail, my Skin. I gape just as much at the large tank, the strange hose, the clear mask. I can barely break away my gaze.

  He lifts his hand… waves. I remember learning about the old ways of greeting—another habit lost under the water. My fingers flutter back, moving even faster than my tail. Who is this person? He is too different to be from another sector. How can he survive under the water without gills? Could he be from…?

  I shake the thought out of my head before it even forms. Nobody exists above the Surface anymore.

  He slowly reaches his hand toward me, and I stay still, watching for what he will do next. If visiting the reef is not allowed, meeting with a non-sector resident must be forbidden. Adrenaline surges through my body. Never before have I felt so alive.

  When he grasps my hand, I whistle in surprise, but let him guide me over the reef to a sandy patch of ocean floor. Our two hands look so odd together, my teal Skin contrasting with his bare tan hand, free of any Skin or suit.

  He bends to pick up a long spiraling shell, which rests upon the sand. Using the shell, he carves spirals and lines into the sand. The movement of the water quickly wipes away his work, and he begins again. I stare at his symbols until suddenly, I make sense of them. He writes in one of the lost languages! I carefully sound out the swirls—no, the letters—in my mind. J…E…S…S…E. But what does it mean?

  He points to hims
elf, to the disappearing letters, then back to himself.

  His name! Not many in Maluhia could read the lost languages. But languages are my specialty, so it is my job to learn as many as possible, to preserve the knowledge. How fortuitous that I was the one to encounter this…writer.

  I point to myself, just as he had done, and click out my name: Chey. Through the fog of his mask, I see his eyes crinkle in confusion. He shakes his head and offers me the shell. Does he not understand Dolphin-speak?

  I bite my lip and try to remember how to form the sounds of my name. SH…AY. His eyes widen, but he nods his understanding. Is my name odd even to this stranger?

  He checks something attached to his hose and looks up… toward the Surface. He takes the shell and draws a sunken boat, pointing off to the side of the reef. I know of this boat, a shipwreck from above-water times that rests on the ocean floor.

  The flowing water nearly wipes the sand clean. Jesse then draws a person, pointing to himself, and another person, pointing to me, at the side of the fading wreck.

  He wants to meet again. But when?

  He carves out a round circle, with lines around it and looks at me. I squint, turn my head to the side, but cannot make out what he means before the gentle ocean current smoothes the sand. Through the mask, I can see wrinkles forming in the tiny area between both eyes.

  Suddenly, he looks up at me and draws the Surface with light rays shining down through it. He points to the drawing, then mimics sleeping, eyes closed and head on hands; he gestures again to the disappearing picture, followed by the same sleeping motion—and repeats that cycle five more times.

  Seven sleeps’ time. I nod my understanding.

  He swims up. I watch his body grow tiny, then disappear upon reaching the Surface. A whole new world opens up to me, filled with things I never thought possible.

  A human, who swims above the Surface.

  A human, who survives without gills.

  What other surprises are waiting to reveal themselves to me?

  The Surface ripples smooth, leaving no evidence of Jesse’s departure. I have not thought about ’Bow or my parents the entire time I was with him, and the ever-present despair is missing. In its place is excitement… anticipation… even happiness. For the first time in many months, I have something to look forward to, rather than many things to dread.

  I will visit the shipwreck, see Jesse, in seven sleeps’ time. My face feels strange—cheeks full, chin taut—and when I reach up to feel what is wrong, I realize that I am smiling.

  ~Cyan~

  2

  Long strands of my ink-black hair swirl around me, dancing as though alive. I glide through the turquoise seas. Each swing of my tail prosthetic sends me closer to home.

  A whistle sounds through the depths, one I would recognize anywhere. I place my whistle against my lips and blow—long and hard—through the rigid plastic casing.

  Haku torpedoes toward me, still whistling. As the familiar gray dolphin appears, I dive. My whole body ripples. She flies underneath me at precisely the right moment, and I grasp her flippers as she bullets forward.

  My heartbeat lifts with our speed. If only I could always fly through the waters, for the exhilaration reminds me that I am alive. Humans will never match the dolphins’ speed though, so I must be content with Haku’s ride.

  It is hard to imagine the long ago time when humans and dolphins were not partnered. Haku has told me her family’s stories—of slavery and slaughter—from long ago, before we moved under the seas—when people assumed humans were smarter, the only species that really mattered.

  The Pairings prevent this from happening again. Each human is paired with a dolphin, partners in the blue world we share. The Pairing is a commitment ceremony: a promise that we will protect one another; a reminder of the co-existence of our two species; and an acknowledgement of our equality. The lifelong union creates a bond as strong as parent, sibling, or mate.

  We receive our flipper-fins upon our eleventh ocean cycles and our tail prosthetics on our fifteenth cycles. Both days are exciting, allowing more freedom, more possibilities than before. Neither compares to the seventh cycle though, when the Pairing occurs—when we choose our dolphin partners and commit to them. Girls match with she-calves, and boys with he-calves.

  Within minutes of Haku picking me up, I see the high curving walls of Maluhia in the distance. The water-filled hemisphere contains all of our sector’s pods and protects us from the dangers of the seas.

  We near a side entrance to the pod complex, nearly hidden amongst the thick algae bloom. I take a moment to gather myself. I must not be seen sneaking back inside Maluhia.

  Haku scolds me in the clicks and whistles of Dolphin-speak. “What were you thinking?” Her tail flukes slap through the water as she whistles her distress. “They are watching you so closely already. To leave the pod…”

  “I know,” I click back, apologetically rubbing her sleek skin. “But I must take risks; I have to feel alive… to prevent the Unmentionable.”

  “Risks!” She slices the water with her front flippers. “Where did you go?”

  “The reef.” I look away.

  Her beak nuzzles my hair. “You are still missing ’Bow.”

  I sigh. Haku understands.

  Haku nudges me toward the hatch. “Look how the turquoise has deepened. You are late for your class.”

  “Stingers!” The hatch pulls open far too slowly. After sliding through the round opening, I tug off my tail prosthetic, freeing my legs, and hide it in one of the unused storage bins. My tail is my most prized possession; the prosthetic is cerulean, my favorite of the blues, and measures the length of my body. Sparkly scales coat the upper half, while long, transparent tail flukes decorate the bottom.

  My tail is also a dead giveaway that I swam into the open ocean. Only Haku can know I left the pod complex. She alone will protect my secret. But even Haku cannot know of Jesse.

  I kick my legs faster, urging my body toward the learning pod. I cannot afford to be late when they are already watching me. The Committee expects so much: punctuality, compliance, and positivity. But the more the darkness sets in, the harder it becomes to meet their expectations.

  What if I fail?

  The learning pod is one of the few buildings that are oxygen-fed. The ancient learning tools—books and computers—have not survived in the water. Teaching occurs orally: through lecture, discussion, and debate. For that, we must speak words.

  As I enter the small room, Professor S. is already calling the roll. “Sequoia, Skye, Soleil, Sunshine, Sycamore,” he reads, waiting to hear each student’s response between each name.

  Stingers! He is already past the Cs. Professor S. looks up and scowls in my direction. “Chey—late again? I have to report this.”

  Another negative. My stomach churns, and bile rises in my throat as I sink into my chair. I cannot afford another negative, not now, not when reports are met with increased scrutiny. Heightened supervision. How will I meet Jesse again if I am being monitored so closely? I will have to work hard to earn Professor S.’s favor.

  I swallow my worries and pay attention. Professor S. is just beginning his lecture, and I excel in languages. Perhaps I can impress him and avoid the negative report.

  “Our test tomorrow will cover the transition to the Universal Language. Who can remind the class what prompted this transition?” He paces back and forth, in front of us.

  I shoot my hand up.

  “Chey.” Professor S. nods in my direction. “Tell us about language in the A.W.”

  “In the above-water times, there were different languages for each cultural group, for nearly every con… country.” I remember that unfamiliar word, thankfully. “Altogether, there were over sixty-five hundred different living languages and many forgotten languages. People found it difficult to communicate with one another when they left their sectors—I mean, their countries.”

  “Very good, Chey. Class, what changes were made in the B.
W.?”

  I pause for a second, but no one responds. Sequoia polishes her indigo Skin; Mount’ snores, head pressed against his acrylic desktop. Sol’ stares across the room, toward the curved pod walls, her eyes blank. For some it is lethargy, for others lack of motivation. Either way, the lack of interest is just the beginning of what is to come for them. I know that from ’Bow… and from my parents.

  “Changes in the B.W.?” Professor S. prompts, looking irritated.

  This is my opportunity. I raise my hand, and Professor S. beckons to me.

  “After the Disaster, at the beginning of the below-water times, it was decided to adapt one language to be spoken universally among all of the surviving sectors. The top five languages were voted upon, based on six pre-determined factors, and the winner became the Universal Language.”

  Professor S. gazes at me, nodding at my thorough and accurate answers. Every pod member must study the Universal Language for five full cycles during their schooling, but not everyone shares my interest in the languages. Hopefully, my participation will deter him from reporting my tardiness.

  Class continues, with more test review, and I answer question after question. I could ace the test without studying. I have specialized in the languages for nearly two cycles.

  Each student is assigned a specialty upon his or her fifteenth cycle. Some specialties involve manual labor, like pod construction and food acquisition; others involve intellectual pursuits, like scientific research. The Committee determines our specialties through teacher recommendation, natural aptitude, and performance ratings. Personal preference is not taken into consideration.

  The languages incorporate history, story-telling, cultural integration, and a complex understanding of the words of many species. Languages is the rarest of the specialties. In addition to the Universal Language, I have to learn the languages of our fellow underwater mammals. Dolphin-speak is easy. Everyone learns Dolphin-speak from youth.