by Anna Kyss
I had not realized the Humpbacks would be beginning the concert today. Two different types of Whale-song. What a treat!
The whales swim in and face their audience in a semi-circle. Their hums vibrate all around me. The Humpbacks, with their steel-gray bodies and cream-colored bellies, regularly migrate to our waters, year after year. Humpback-song is regularly heard, resonating through the waters. No matter how often I hear it though, I cannot help but shiver.
The whales begin filling the seas with their haunting moans, drawn-out bellows, and rhythmic clicks. The fleshy hooks of their dorsal fins tremble with the deepening of their song. I close my eyes and let the music fill me, the melodies instantly transforming into words: another song about nature. The Humpbacks love to honor the beauty of the seas with their soul-touching lyrics.
When they end their song, I open my eyes to watch the twelve majestic bodies swim… up, up, up… toward the Surface.
Before I can blink, three enormous forms approach out of the indigo of the Deep. The cobalt bodies stop before they reach the circle, too immense to come closer. One half of a tail fluke is larger than I am. One barnacle outsizes my entire hand.
The Giants have finally arrived. I cannot help but quiver in excitement.
The middle whale, the grandest, begins the Song. A long, low groan reverberates through the waters. The other two chime in with melodic bellows, bass-laden clicks, and mournful cries. The cetaceous orchestra of sounds touches me deeply.
I close my eyes and pay attention to the complex lyrics.
The world was young, and we swam free,
Until humans turned deadly.
Friends and family, all killed,
Innocent whale blood spilled.
The ocean ran red,
Blues lay dead.
Few remained,
Swimming through waters bloodstained.
When the whale slaughter ended,
Human death descended.
Turning on each other,
Sister killing sister,
Brother killing brother.
Poisons, bombs, killing faster,
In the end, the Great Disaster.
They said farewell to the trees,
The lucky escaped to the seas.
After years, surviving underneath,
To you, our secret we bequeath:
While your kind is dying,
Those in charge are lying.
Above the Surface, on dry sand,
Poison no longer pollutes the Land.
Past deeds forgiven,
Our advice, simply given:
Go and explore;
There is Land to Restore.
All three whales disappear into the inky darkness of the Deep. People whistle their applause. Only Professor S. and I remain silent, stunned by the lyrics.
“Professor,” I pause, trying to think of how to phrase my question. “Have you… Have you ever heard the Giants sing before?”
He shakes his head. “They come so rarely. The last time they swam to our sector, I was but a young boy.”
“Have you heard of this rumor before? People dwelling above the Surface?” I keep my face neutral, as if only commenting on their song.
Professor S. grabs me by my elbow and pulls me away from the crowd. He leans close, so close that I can see each of the scales on his ash-gray Skin. “Chey, you must never speak of this Song. The Giants’ lyrics are very… dangerous. If the Authority finds out…” He bites his lip and looks around once more.
“So it is true?”
He sighs. “I do not know. I can tell you that it is the type of message the Authority would want… silenced.”
“Silence, Professor?” The Authority treads water next to us. I did not even hear him approach.
Professor S. runs his fingers through his gray-speckled hair, seeming to have trouble responding.
“Yes, we just moved away from the crowd to have silence to… think about the Giants’ lyrics,” I click quickly.
Professor S.’s gray eyes flash in warning.
“I cannot wait to hear your translations. Their song was probably far more interesting than the Humpbacks’ repetitive nature poems.”
“Actually,” the professor interjects, “they sang much of the same. It was interesting to hear about the similarities of the reefs from around the world.”
“And their recitation of the different blues in each of the waters they swim in,” I add, winking at Professor S. from behind the Authority’s back.
“Poets!” the Authority curses. “I had hoped to hear information of the other sectors.”
“Perhaps when the Fins come; they have always been more intellectually minded,” Professor S. clicks.
Most pod members have begun the slow rise back to our sector’s waters, deserting the waters of the Deep. The Authority seems to notice this, as well. “Curfew approaches, Chey. I will meet with you in one month’s time to see how your punishment is progressing.”
One month’s time? He expects me to last for an entire month longer on pod arrest? How can he not see that the isolation, the separation from Haku, and the torture of Dr. Cloud’s appointments only drag me down?
Or is that the point? Is the Authority trying to break me?
I cannot get the Giants’ lyrics out of head: While your kind is dying, those in charge are lying. What does it all mean? As I accompany Professor S. back to my prison, these thoughts repeat again and again and again.
I hand over my flipper-fins and am about to swim into the children’s residence when Professor S. grasps my upper arms. He leans close and whispers, “Remember: tell no one of the lyrics.”
My mind races as I pass the residence mother and swim up the flights of stairs. I open my capsule, look around my cramped sleeping space, and make a decision. I need answers now more than ever.
I cannot forget such lyrics. They might hold the cure for my people.
Tomorrow, I will sneak out of Maluhia once again.
Tomorrow, I will meet Jesse.
~Teal~
8
As the first band of light pierces the water, I slip out the entrance of the children’s residence. The residence mother has not even awakened. The waters are still so dark that no one paddles through the streets. Sticking to the midnight blues, I swim furiously for the isolated side hatch.
I stayed awake late into the night developing a plan to see Jesse again. So far, things have gone as intended. Nobody saw me leave the children’s residence. I hung the sign for rest on my capsule door, which should give me until our midday meal to return.
Jesse did not share a time to meet. Do we even share the same methods of telling time? Does he know of the light aqua of our waking time, the turquoise of mid-day, and the indigos of the eve?
I remember learning of the complicated time-telling methods of the A.W. and the mechanisms to keep track of it all. How odd to think of humans so dependent on mechanics, to imagine the need for devices to keep track of those archaic things: minutes and hours. Now, we have only the hues of the sea to guide us.
A pair of flipper-fins rests in an open storage cubby, just as I hoped. I hold the cobalt-hued flippers to my shoulder, but they only fall to my mid-arm, rather than my wrist as they should. My flipper-fins are still confiscated though, so I reluctantly pull the others on. The flippers must be forced over my heels, while my toes curl with the lack of space.
Regret fills me when I see the empty cubby; if I had a choice, I would not steal them. Theft is nearly non-existent in our sector. With no expectation of privacy and few personal belongings, missing items can easily be found. Besides, no one would risk the possible infraction—no one besides me, apparently.
I can think of no other way to make it to the shipwreck. Few would risk the long swim through the open seas without their tail. Traversing that amount of water would be impossible with only my bare legs.
I must see Jesse. I need to discover if the Giants were singing the truth. Are humans really living above
the Surface?
A tiny bubble of hope builds for if the Surface is inhabited, an entire range of possibilities opens up.
After scanning the waters, I slip undetected out the hatch and into the spreading aqua of the sea. With strong strokes of my arms and legs, I distance myself from the rules and the burdens of my home.
A lionfish passes by. I watch his vermilion-and-white stripes, his small body framed by long strands of mane. It is rumored that an animal once existed that resembled this fish; larger than even Haku, it roamed the Land. How curious the Surface must be, to have contained such a creature.
Soon Mahulia is so far away, it cannot be seen. I have done it: left without being caught or detained. I only hope that Jesse shows up. With the Authority’s harsh punishment the last time, I cannot imagine what he would do were it discovered that I willfully defied him.
Finally, the massive hull of the downed boat looms over me. Larger than even the Giants, it rises from its underwater grave and brings to mind tales from the A.W. How odd it must have been, to look down into the waters from the Surface.
The ancient hull is rotted, marred with holes and other marks of time. Long strands of kelp rise along the wood, swaying in the gentle current. Schools of fish scurry about, mistaking the old wreck for the corals of the reef.
I relax upon a large rock that juts from the sandy ocean floor near the wreck. Jesse is not here… yet. I can only hope he comes.
*
As the sea brightens to turquoise, I still wait. To battle the boredom, I paddle my teal-Skinned legs in tune to the movement of the fish. Every year, on our remembrance date, we may choose new Skin. Designed to be an extra protection for our fragile human bodies, the rough scales and thin blubber-like layer serve to prevent the scrapes, scratches, and gashes that once existed above the Surface. Our protective scales come in many shades: all the blues and greens of the sea. But Skin never comes in red, for red draws the predator and begs for his attention.
Humans have few enemies under the sea. The sectors maintain a peaceful co-existence; community members have no choice but to live in harmony, without the violence of old. Our dolphin partners can protect against most of the ocean hazards. Only the predator remains a risk.
The tiny schools of fish swimming around the wreck dart away. Remembering the reef, I turn on my back and peer up at the Surface. A small, black shape wiggles high above me, ripples spreading across the Surface.
As the object descends, its details become clearer: legs kicking downward, arms pushing through the water, a stream of bubbles billowing behind.
I cannot wait any longer and swim to meet him. As he grows near, I see Jesse’s deep brown eyes through the dull plastic of his mask. This time, when he reaches for my hand, I squeeze back. I have so much to ask Jesse, so much to say. After letting forth a set of whistles and clicks, I can see his confusion—raised hands, shrugged shoulders—seemingly universal signs of “I do not understand.” I have not thought through this plan.
I dive to the sea bottom and search the sand. The area around the boat is smooth, but goods from the boat lie buried in the sand. Finally, I stumble upon a small blade, covered in moss.
Jesse moves slower than me, and by the time he reaches the bottom, I have already begun to spell out the words I need. LIV… ABUV. The flow of the water wipes away the letters before my question is finished. I click rapidly in frustration.
Jesse finds a soft, white shell. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the shipwreck, toward the largest hole, and then, he disappears inside.
How brave he is to enter the old vessel, without hesitation or doubt. Jesse seems different from the members of my pod. He is brave, adventurous, curious—everything I have sought to be, to fight away the darkness.
Jesse pops his head out of the hole. I squeal in surprise. When he holds out his hand, I cannot stop myself from swimming into the gaping opening after him. On the inside of the wreck, the water darkens, but there are many holes and gaps that filter small bands of light.
Jesse reaches out his hand—the hand that holds the white shell—to a wooden board on the ship’s side. “THANK U,” he writes, and the letters do not wash away.
My wonder at his quick wit in figuring out how to communicate fades with the meaning of his words. He is thanking me? For what?
My confusion must show for he adds, “MEETING ME.”
I grab the shell out of his hands. “LIV ABUV SURFAS?” Writing is such a lost art that I am unsure I spell each word accurately, and I worry he will not understand. I do not take another gillful of water until he nods. I quickly scribe the next in my long list of questions: “ON BOTE OR ON LAND?”
Jesse stares at the words before reaching out for the shell. He slowly etches one word into the wood, “BOTH.”
The Giants sang the truth. Humans can survive above the waters. Does the Authority really know? And if so, why has he hidden this knowledge from us? I stare at the small shell—grateful for its communication and frustrated at its limitations.
I hold my hand against the wood once more. “R U ALONE?”
Jesse reaches for the shell. His thumb grazes the back of my hand. “LOTS OF US.”
I look closely into his mask. His dark eyes stare back. He continues to bite on the strange mouthpiece as bubbles dance around him.
I see no signs of jest or joke. If I am reading the lost language correctly, he has written that many humans are living above the Surface. The Authority must know. How can this be hidden from someone so powerful?
But if the Authority wants it to remain unknown, then I am in great danger. What steps will he take to protect the other pod members from learning this? At what cost does such secrecy come?
I have made a huge mistake. I so desired to see Jesse again—to get answers—that I neglected to think of the consequences. I could try to explain my absence, if I am caught. But what if they discover our… writing? The words on the boards—in the lost language only a few still know—are clear evidence that I was here. I rub at them, try to scratch the words away; long, deep lines crisscross the board, but the white letters can still be seen. Their permanence, so pleasing only moments before, is proof that I know of what exists above the Surface.
Surely search parties have been dispatched. My only hope is to get far enough away that nobody suspects I was near the old shipwreck. I cannot be connected with this… treasonous writing. As icy cold fear spreads through my body, I race to leave the wreck. I swim toward the first patch of light only to realize it is too small to squeeze through.
Somersaulting in the other direction, I zoom toward the hole. In the process, I trip over an enormous metal anchor that snakes up from the sand. My head hits the rusty tip, and I bounce off, sliding to the ground. My eyes wince shut with the pain. My leg is tangled in the heavy chain that surrounds the forked metal.
I crack my eyes open. The blue of the water has been muddied by a steady stream of red.
Red! I raise my hand to my head and grimace at the pain of the open wound. Blood billows around me, swirling further away with each push of the water. We must escape. Blood brings great danger in the seas.
Jesse’s hands remove my flipper-fins, free my leg. He gently touches my face, and I can see the question in his eyes. Are you okay?
I pull him to the hole, swim out from the wreck, and survey the waters. Red ribbons trace my path. If only there were a way to bind my injury.
I have inadvertently—stupidly—beckoned the biggest danger in the ocean, my blood calling as clearly as Haku’s whistle through the water. I swim further from the ship, still scanning the seas. Nothing… yet.
Jesse grabs my elbow. I point to the Surface and try to push him upward. He is slower with that heavy tank and his above-the-Surface limbs. I cannot allow Jesse to remain with me; he might not even realize the danger.
He shakes his head, touching my wound once more. He will not leave while I am injured. I have no choice but to put the whistle to my lips and blow. I did not want to involv
e Haku; I do not want to endanger her even now, but it is our only chance. Haku can swim Jesse to the Surface and carry me back to the pod complex. I blow again—louder, stronger—using the last of my energy.
My body feels heavy and tired, but Jesse supports me by my elbows. He mimics my circular glances, slowly twirling me in a circle as he looks in every direction. Maybe even he recognizes the danger brought forth by my blood. I try to focus my mind. We need to do something. Treading water just makes us targets as my scent flows through the water from the dissipating scarlet.
A large burst of bubbles shoots from Jesse’s mouthpiece. His eyes widen while his grip tightens on my elbows. I spin around to see the tiger shark soar through the water, following that steady stream of blood. I instinctively summon one last burst of energy and thrust Jesse away from me, using both my hands and my feet.
The tiger shark is nearly upon me. I remain frozen, exhausted, my injury affecting me more and more as the moments tick by. Everything begins to move slowly: the slate gray shark, three times the size of our dolphins; the flow of the water; the movement of the other sea creatures.
His mouth opens as he grows closer; I can see each and every tooth.
Just as I prepare for the pain of his chomp, Haku torpedoes through the water and smashes into the predator. She circles and bashes him a second time.
Haku is risking herself to save me. A hand grasps me, and I feel myself being tugged up… up… up.
Haku. I must protect Haku.
The cerulean fades into blackness.
~Azure~
9
Something is wrong. A heat like nothing I have felt before beats down on me. Everything feels dry… my Skin, my lips, my throat.
Dry? I force my eyes open and flinch from the blinding light before squeezing them closed and covering them with my hand.
“She’s awake,” a voice calls. He speaks the Universal Language with an odd dialect. But there are no dialects and variations left.
