by Ryu Mitsuse
When members of one species must sink to the seafloor when they stop swimming, and members of another may rest their fins in fatigue and yet remain afloat, it is clear which will win a battle for the same region of water.
To make matters worse, the fish loved to eat trilobite eggs and young above all other food. Surely the trilobites, too, ate what fish eggs and young came drifting in toward the shores. But with the fish controlling the vast reaches of the ocean, the trilobites felt ever more pressure upon their confined habitat.
Amidst the roaring spray along the rocky coast and in warm inlets surrounded by lush jungle, one by one, the trilobites slowly disappeared.
There could hardly be any more dramatic a transition in the history of life on this planet than the one that came when the mantle of dominance passed from trilobite to fish.
In time, the fish would expand their great realm even farther. Near the end of the age that followed, several groups among them left the receding seas, congregating where the sun shone brightest and the air was clear, braving the dangers of the land and penetrating the continental interiors. These intrepid adventurers were to mark two great achievements in the annals of life.
The first true terrestrial animals appeared. And it was inevitable that eventually, a new sort of animal would arise that could stand on its hind legs alone. Meanwhile the sea rang on, in constant motion, recording the songs of effort and of the rise and fall of the multifarious creatures living within its borders, their unfulfilled dreams and their courage.
Constellations changed their shape in silence: the Leviathan to the Dragon, the Dragon to the Amphora, the Hunter to the Necklace. Many of the twinkling stars burst, spewing immense energy during their brief death fires, and then disappeared from the sky, leaving nebulous clouds of fading light behind.
The long years passed, as they always had and as they always would.
Until the end of time, if such a thing exists.
Surging and receding . . .
Surging and receding . . .
Rolling in, rolling back out again.
Into night, then into day, then back into night.
The traveler falls to his knees and speaks: “Aah, I thirst!”
The sea is filled with sounds unnumbered. Sound travels through water more quickly than it does through air, and water makes countless noises of its own. The complex flow of the currents, the shape of the seafloor, the thick forests of kelp, all divert whatever waves of sound may reach them—gathering in, then scattering them in all directions.
There is the tiny sound of bubbles stirred by currents along the bottom, finding their way through the cracks in the rocks of the seafloor. And there is another sound: the continual plinking of small shell fragments passed along by the tide as they fall slowly into the clusters of coral. At the shoreline, air mixes with the rising waves, forming a froth that curls back down onto the surface with a roar as of distant thunder. High on a sea cliff, the rock face crumbles and falls, creating deep vibrations in the ocean trenches, ominous ripples in the pressure of the depths.
And then there are the sounds created by the myriad creatures living in the sea:
grrk . . . grrk . . . grrrrk . . .
—The somnambulant spinning-wheel sound of a bivalve sucking in water.
kak . . . krikkrik . . . kak . . .
—The faint echo of starfish bending and stretching their pallid legs for purchase on a rock.
klak . . . klak . . . klak . . .
—The jaws of crustaceans clacking in long unsated hunger.
worrr . . . wrroorrr . . . wrroorr . . .
—The threatening rumble as a school of massive cartilaginous fish courses by.
The fish sweep their fins through the water in broad, powerful movements, sending eddies to toss the smaller creatures around them. Then, as the sound of their passage recedes into the distance, small holes open in the soft mud of the seafloor, and annelids extend tassel-like gills to sway in the current. A grayish-white head emerges from a larger hole; then, startled by the sway of a nearby clump of seaweed, it retreats, drawing its gills back in behind it.
shwoo . . .
—A jet of water shoots from the hole.
zwoosh . . .
—A rushing sound like rain beating down upon the surface of the water heralds another approach. An enormous school of tiny crustaceans sweeps by in a netlike formation. The sound lingers until the school reaches a trench and disappears into the depths.
High above, the shadow of a large fish streaks in pursuit, carving an elegant curve through the water.
sha sha sha sha
—The sound of fins pushing with incredible force against the current reaches the seafloor.
When that, too, recedes, a moment of silence visits the ocean.
Only the sound of the striking of waves on a distant shore comes slowly through the channels between the reefs.
He stuck his head out of his hole again and looked around. Something was swimming deep in the kelp forest. He caught occasional glimpses of a broad tailfin, part of a dorsal fin, a scaly side. Finally, it came closer: a big, docile cartilaginous fish.
He marked its course and slid from his hole. Flitting up past the undulating kelp, he headed for the shore, choosing a path through the narrow gaps between the reefs. The big fish seemed startled to see him, and it whirred its pectoral fins to beat a swift retreat. A school of smaller fish streamed into the channel between the reefs, sweeping like leaves in the wind, filling the entire waterway. For a moment he could see nothing but their glistening scales all around him. Then he emerged into open water, a place where the seafloor dropped away at an incredible pitch. He knew that if he followed its slope down, he would reach a dangerously deep chasm where vast quantities of water came spilling from a river into the sea. He knew these depths were inhabited only by strange fish and seaweed of a variety not seen in his usual territory.
He cut straight across the underwater gully, quickly reaching the reef on the opposite side.
Something was lurking down at the bottom of that dark chasm that piqued his interest. It was half buried in the silt between the two reefs and had been there for a very long time. Even though it just lay there, covered with red rust, wrapped in blackened fronds of kelp, it made his skin tingle with warning each time he crossed over it.
Already, a long time had passed since he first noticed the strange object. Yet he had never once descended to take a closer look. Occasionally, other sea creatures would venture down into the dark depths of the trench in pursuit of prey, only to come rushing madly back to the shallows as though spurred on by some terrible fright. Perhaps others simply sank farther and farther, unseen, never returning from that dark gulf. He twisted around, heading for shallower water.
Suddenly, the surf nearby began to whirl ferociously. Glancing backward, he caught the briefest glimpse of a dark shape as it darted past like an arrow; he recognized the silhouette of a large, lethal bony fish.
He spun around, belly rubbing against the reef below, then shot upward so that when the fish made its next approach he would have the advantage of elevation. Once again it darted at him, and he dodged aside. On the fish’s third pass he struck, and the battle was over.
Quickly taking only the most delicious entrails into his mouth, he thrust the still-writhing carcass away. The seawater around the two combatants was stained red, and several blood trails snaked out along the currents. A cloud of smaller fish had already gathered. He swallowed his meal quickly, ejecting the water he had taken in with it through his dorsal vent—a blast of foam that scattered the scavengers. It would not be wise to linger here much longer. Larger, more violent fish would come when they caught the scent of blood—they’d be here any moment. He shook off the school of smaller fish that were trailing him and rode the crashing waves toward the shore. One flurry of fins and he was safe on a low reef where he liked to rest. Here, the frothy waves beat upon his back as he crawled up onto an outcropping where jets of water shot from
cracks in the rock.
From this vantage point, he could look out over the lead-colored sea on one side and the dry, brown flats on the other. The sea and the land were almost the same elevation here, with only the white belt of crashing surf that stretched on as far as he could see separating them. The wind blowing in from the distant deep sounded a constant whistle in his ears. He imagined that wind crossing over the sea, then over the flat plains beyond the surf. He lifted his body and stretched out his neck, staring across the reaches of the plain. Not a hint of movement anywhere. A thin, brownish haze obscured the distance. To his left, far on the horizon, something like a forest loomed, its spirelike tips emerging from the haze.
It was quiet. Truly quiet. The only sounds were the voices of the wind and of the waves against the shore.
How many days had passed since he had first seen this sight?
A familiar unease rose again in his mind—an inherent distrust of this motionless, eerily quiet world.
The wind grew steadily colder and the surface of the sea grew rough, spraying foam.
He leapt, catching the wind, then plunged back into the water with a loud splash. For a while he swam parallel to the shore. Now and then, his glistening, dark blue skin would disappear under the gray waves. Fighting his way through the reef, he made his way up a flat slab of rock protruding from the waves. There, he sprawled his exhausted body and blew out the water that had come down his alimentary tract. A hard wind caught the water he expelled, turning it into a fine plume of spray. He stuck his head underwater several times, shaking it to wash away the innumerable bits of grit and sand caught in his gills.
Ahead, the reef formed a complicated network of waterways. He had never ventured farther than this point. He had always assumed that even if he did he would just find more of the same gray ocean and hazy brown land.
And besides, he liked it here on this flat shelf. The reefs surrounding it held a plentiful number of the large-shelled crustaceans he favored, and he liked the view of the dry flats.
Supporting himself with his hind limbs, he raised his large, round eyes, searching.
The blowhole on his back sprayed a fine mist, making a dim rainbow in the air.
There it was.
A large, squarish shape far off in the middle of the plain. He had no idea what it was, only that it was wholly different from anything else in this barren land and seascape. He had no idea when it might have arrived, or who might’ve put or built it there. Its very existence was a deep mystery to him. The strange object projected a feeling that was unlike the deathly silence of this place—a sensation that one could never go too near it, let alone touch it. It thrilled all of his senses to terror.
And yet he found himself coming to this rocky shelf with increasing frequency.
Even though his primal fear of the object was unabated, the sight of it sitting there in the middle of the vast expanse of nothing excited him.
The wind blew harder and colder, blasting his wet body.
For a long time he sat, facing the flats.
Gradually, the sky and the land dimmed until there was no telling them apart, until the only thing he could see was the long foamy white line of the shore. Soon, that too was swallowed by the darkness, and his awareness of his surroundings extended only to the bracing wind and the thrashing waves against his back.
He looked around as though waking from a dream, then plunged back into the water.
With the coming of night, all the creatures of the ocean emerged from their holes, filling the heavy seas. Ahead of him, two large fish fought. Their bodies twisted, revolving like a wheel. He looked closer and saw that each held on to the other’s tail—each had in fact swallowed the other’s tail up to the rearmost fin. Swimming closer, he grabbed the two and tore off both their heads. The large skulls caught in his throat, but he swallowed them whole. He had just broken through the gathering swarm of small scavengers when he spotted something else: a bright orange spherical shape, approaching rapidly—almost on top of him already. Strong, supple limbs darted out, wrapping around his body in several places. His assailant was one of the many-legged mollusks he had seen living in these parts. He covered his head, narrowly avoiding a snap from the creature’s beak, and kicked at the water. Then he thrust his right shoulder against the mollusk, trying to shake it off. This was usually effective. But this time, the move did nothing to weaken the thing’s grip on his body. Changing tactics, he bit at the thick tentacle that clutched his head, trying to tear it off. This worked, and once he had the rest of the tentacles off his back and sides, he tore the baglike thing into three pieces and tossed them aside. The many-legged mollusks were not bad tasting; it would make a good meal for the tasseled annelids living along the seafloor.
He sped onward, passing through a dark channel to reach a familiar section of reef in the shadow of a kelp forest, where the beating of his gills slowed for the first time since he had been attacked. The pod that was his home lay on its side beneath the reef’s overhanging edge. The pod was covered with stony shells, and its top was wrapped in broadleaf seaweed, but the round hole through which he entered and exited had been worn to a polished silvery color by his passage. If its full mass were lifted from the silt where it lay, the pod would likely be as large as the towering reef above it, but he knew nothing of this.
He went through the opening and settled himself inside a double-walled cocoon within. At once, a rush of air bubbles erupted from the base of the cocoon, surrounding his body. The air clung to his dark blue skin, forming a beaded mantle. Something flowed deep into his body then. At the same time, something that had accumulated inside his body began to dissolve and flow away. He rested on his side at the bottom of the cocoon and began to sleep. He had never looked to see exactly what made the bubbles at the bottom of the chamber, but it made this place very special to him, and he would not have left it for anything.
The seafloor at night was filled with a cacophony of noises, both far and near, mingling and echoing all around him. Nestled in his pod, he was only dimly aware of the furious activity of the sleepless annelids and echinoderms and the movements of even simpler organisms through the water. He shifted once, then fell into a deep sleep. A passing fish with glowing green points of light along its belly poked its snout momentarily into the pod, but then, startled by something, it swiftly retreated into the black depths.
More long years passed.
Every day, he made the trip from his lair between the two reefs to look out on the leaden sea and the brown land. Aside from that he hunted and slept, and that was all. There was plenty of food, and his occasional battles with the larger cartilaginous fish were more a source of entertainment and stimulation than any real threat. He had never thought to want a companion, nor had he ever encountered another creature like himself.
Another day came that began as usual: he left his lair, passing through the kelp forest, and slid into the narrow channel between the reefs. At some point, the echinoderms had multiplied until they covered the walls of this passage, growing more like seaweed than animals. He noticed that the usual swarms of translucent fish were nowhere to be seen. Then he saw that the other schools of small fish had also vanished, leaving the channel eerily quiet. He thrust against the water, slowing his speed, and looked around. Something was different, of that he was sure. The little annelids that dug holes in the seafloor and waved their gills in the water were all hiding, their hard heads sealing the entrances to their tubes.
What were they afraid of?
He checked the reef, his nerves tingling, yet there was no sign of danger anywhere, so he returned to his regular route.
When he passed over the dark chasm, he looked down to see a school of large cartilaginous fish swimming furtively in the murky depths.
It occurred to him that they must be down there hiding from something. But what?
Fish rarely went down there. Yet something had driven them to seek the safety of deeper water, causing them to forget their usual fear in
the face of a greater danger.
He felt the first pang of unease in his heart. An instinctual sense of warning filled him, a feeling of fear such as he had never known. For a moment, he wondered if he should return to his lair or perhaps seek the shelter of the depths like the lurking fish. In the end, he chose a third option.
He advanced, body tensed, acutely aware of the water around him.
By the time he had reached the rocky shelf beyond the reef, he was convinced that this day was unlike any other day out of all the days in the long years he had known. A fear he could not place gripped his whole being. Driven by a burning desire to know what it was that seemed so threatening, he clambered up onto the flat outcropping.
Around him spread the leaden sea and the brown expanse of the flats. The wind blew in from the open sea, strong as always. He shivered in the icy cold.
Far across the plains, a thick haze rose like smoke, swaying into the sky.
His body stiffened.
Farther, beyond the haze, something like a giant mountain range was moving. It stretched all the way up to the ashen sky, forming at least three peaks. He had never known such a thing to exist on the land, nor had he ever seen such a thing—even on the clearest of days, which this was not.
Then he saw more—another thing just like the first one, looming far behind it, and another one, so far away he could just make out a silhouette on the edge of the horizon, sliding from right to left.
There was something queer about the way those shadowy shapes moved, something that chilled his heart with terror.
What could they be?
If he had, at that point in his life, ever seen a mountain or even an undersea ridge, he would have realized how closely these things he was now watching resembled those massive rocky formations, and the fear would have driven him mad. Fortunately for him, he knew nothing about mountains or any such lofty things. That something as massive as a mountain might move struck him as no more odd than the shifting of the tides.